{"answer":"Weston had foreseen,\nbefore she had the power of forming some opinion of Frank Churchill's\nfeelings. The Enscombe family were not in town quite so soon as had been\nimagined, but he was at Highbury very soon afterwards. He rode down\nfor a couple of hours; he could not yet do more; but as he came from\nRandalls immediately to Hartfield, she could then exercise all her quick\nobservation, and speedily determine how he was influenced, and how she\nmust act. They met with the utmost friendliness. There could be no doubt\nof his great pleasure in seeing her. But she had an almost instant doubt\nof his caring for her as he had done, of his feeling the same tenderness\nin the same degree. She watched him well. It was a clear thing he was\nless in love than he had been. Absence, with the conviction probably\nof her indifference, had produced this very natural and very desirable\neffect.\n\nHe was in high spirits; as ready to talk and laugh as ever, and seemed\ndelighted to speak of his former visit, and recur to old stories: and he\nwas not without agitation. It was not in his calmness that she read\nhis comparative difference. He was not calm; his spirits were evidently\nfluttered; there was restlessness about him. Lively as he was, it seemed\na liveliness that did not satisfy himself; but what decided her belief\non the subject, was his staying only a quarter of an hour, and hurrying\naway to make other calls in Highbury. \"He had seen a group of old\nacquaintance in the street as he passed--he","question":"\n\nA very little quiet reflection was enough to satisfy Emma as to the\nnature of her agitation on hearing this news of Frank Churchill. She\nwas soon convinced that it was not for herself she was feeling at all\napprehensive or embarrassed; it was for him. Her own attachment had\nreally subsided into a mere nothing; it was not worth thinking of;--but\nif he, who had undoubtedly been always so much the most in love of the\ntwo, were to be returning with the same warmth of sentiment which he had\ntaken away, it would be very distressing. If a separation of two\nmonths should not have cooled him, there were dangers and evils before\nher:--caution for him and for herself would be necessary. She did\nnot mean to have her own affections entangled again, and it would be\nincumbent on her to avoid any encouragement of his.\n\nShe wished she might be able to keep him from an absolute declaration.\nThat would be so very painful a conclusion of their present\nacquaintance! and yet, she could not help rather anticipating something\ndecisive. She felt as if the spring would not pass without bringing a\ncrisis, an event, a something to alter her present composed and tranquil\nstate.\n\nIt was not very long, though rather longer than Mr."}
{"answer":"by the\nquestion of regard. The usual fee charged for this work is 10_s_.\n6_d_.; but when this cannot be paid, a large number of cases are\nundertaken free. The Army goes to as much trouble in these unpaid\ncases as in any others, only then it is not able to flood the country\nwith printed bills. Of course, where well-to-do people are concerned,\nit expects that its out-of-pocket costs will be met.\n\nThe cases with which it has to deal are of all kinds. Often those who\nhave disappeared are found to have done so purposely, perhaps leaving\nbehind them manufactured evidence, such as coats or letters on a\nriver-bank, suggesting that they have committed suicide. Generally,\nthese people are involved in some fraud or other trouble. Again,\nhusbands desert their wives, or wives their husbands, and vanish, in\nwhich instances they are probably living with somebody else under\nanother name. Or children are kidnapped, or girls are lured away, or\nindividuals emigrate to far lands and neglect to write. Or, perhaps,\nthey simply sink out of all knowledge, and vanish effectually enough\ninto a paupers grave.\n\nBut the oddest cases of all are those of a complete loss of memory, a\nthing that is by no means so infrequent as is generally supposed. The\nexperience of the Army is that the majority of these cases happen\namong those who lead a studious life. The victim goes out in his usual\nhealth and suddenly forgets everything. His mind becomes a total\nblank. Yet certain instincts remain, such as that of earning a living.\n\nThus, to take a single recent example, the son of","question":"THE INTERNATIONAL INVESTIGATION DEPARTMENT\n\nThis is a curious and interesting branch of the work of the Salvation\nArmy. About two thousand times a year it receives letters or personal\napplications, asking it to find some missing relative or friend of the\nwriter or applicant. In reply, a form is posted or given, which must\nbe filled up with the necessary particulars. Then, if it be a London\ncase, the Officer in charge sends out a skilled man to work up clues.\nIf, on the other hand, it be a country case, the Officer in charge of\nthe Corps nearest to where it has occurred, is instructed to initiate\nthe inquiry. Also, advertisements are inserted in the Army papers,\nknown as 'The War Cry' and 'The Social Gazette,' both in Great Britain\nand other countries, if the lost person is supposed to be on the\nContinent or in some distant part of the world.\n\nThe result is that a large percentage of the individuals sought for\nare discovered, alive or dead, for in such work the Salvation Army has\nadvantages denied to any other body, scarcely excepting the Police.\nIts representatives are everywhere, and to whatever land they may\nbelong or whatever tongue they may speak, all of them obey an order\nsent out from Headquarters wholeheartedly and uninfluenced"}
{"answer":"came with remorse and with tears, with curses and\ntransports.  There were moments of such positive intoxication, of such\nhappiness, that there was not the faintest trace of irony within me, on\nmy honour.  I had faith, hope, love.  I believed blindly at such times\nthat by some miracle, by some external circumstance, all this would\nsuddenly open out, expand; that suddenly a vista of suitable\nactivity--beneficent, good, and, above all, READY MADE (what sort of\nactivity I had no idea, but the great thing was that it should be all\nready for me)--would rise up before me--and I should come out into the\nlight of day, almost riding a white horse and crowned with laurel.\nAnything but the foremost place I could not conceive for myself, and\nfor that very reason I quite contentedly occupied the lowest in\nreality.  Either to be a hero or to grovel in the mud--there was\nnothing between.  That was my ruin, for when I was in the mud I\ncomforted myself with the thought that at other times I was a hero, and\nthe hero was a cloak for the mud: for an ordinary man it was shameful\nto defile himself, but a hero was too lofty to be utterly defiled, and\nso he might defile himself.  It is worth noting that these attacks of\nthe \"sublime and the beautiful\" visited me even during the period of\ndissipation and just at the times when I was touching the bottom.  They\ncame in separate spurts, as though reminding me of themselves, but did\nnot banish the dissipation by","question":"\nBut the period of my dissipation would end and I always felt very sick\nafterwards.  It was followed by remorse--I tried to drive it away; I\nfelt too sick.  By degrees, however, I grew used to that too.  I grew\nused to everything, or rather I voluntarily resigned myself to enduring\nit.  But I had a means of escape that reconciled everything--that was\nto find refuge in \"the sublime and the beautiful,\" in dreams, of\ncourse.  I was a terrible dreamer, I would dream for three months on\nend, tucked away in my corner, and you may believe me that at those\nmoments I had no resemblance to the gentleman who, in the perturbation\nof his chicken heart, put a collar of German beaver on his great-coat.\nI suddenly became a hero.  I would not have admitted my six-foot\nlieutenant even if he had called on me.  I could not even picture him\nbefore me then.  What were my dreams and how I could satisfy myself\nwith them--it is hard to say now, but at the time I was satisfied with\nthem.  Though, indeed, even now, I am to some extent satisfied with\nthem.  Dreams were particularly sweet and vivid after a spell of\ndissipation; they"}
{"answer":"of dead bodies.'\n\n\"I told him all my adventures, and he made me acquainted with his;\ntelling me that he had been sent to the Emperor of Morocco by a\nChristian power, to conclude a treaty with that prince, in consequence\nof which he was to be furnished with military stores and ships to help\nto demolish the commerce of other Christian Governments.\n\n\"'My mission is done,' said this honest eunuch; 'I go to embark for\nCeuta, and will take you to Italy. _Ma che sciagura d'essere senza\ncoglioni!_'\n\n\"I thanked him with tears of commiseration; and instead of taking me to\nItaly he conducted me to Algiers, where he sold me to the Dey. Scarcely\nwas I sold, than the plague which had made the tour of Africa, Asia, and\nEurope, broke out with great malignancy in Algiers. You have seen\nearthquakes; but pray, miss, have you ever had the plague?\"\n\n\"Never,\" answered Cunegonde.\n\n\"If you had,\" said the old woman, \"you would acknowledge that it is far\nmore terrible than an earthquake. It is common in Africa, and I caught\nit. Imagine to yourself the distressed situation of the daughter of a\nPope, only fifteen years old, who, in less than three months, had felt\nthe miseries of poverty and slavery, had been ravished almost every day,\nhad beheld her mother drawn in quarters, had experienced famine and war,\nand was dying of the plague in Algiers. I did not die, however, but my\neunuch, and the Dey, and almost the whole seraglio of Algiers perished.\n\n\"As soon as the first fury of this terrible pestilence was over, a sale\nwas made","question":"\n\"Astonished and delighted to hear my native language, and no less\nsurprised at what this man said, I made answer that there were much\ngreater misfortunes than that of which he complained. I told him in a\nfew words of the horrors which I had endured, and fainted a second time.\nHe carried me to a neighbouring house, put me to bed, gave me food,\nwaited upon me, consoled me, flattered me; he told me that he had never\nseen any one so beautiful as I, and that he never so much regretted the\nloss of what it was impossible to recover.\n\n\"'I was born at Naples,' said he, 'there they geld two or three thousand\nchildren every year; some die of the operation, others acquire a voice\nmore beautiful than that of women, and others are raised to offices of\nstate.[13] This operation was performed on me with great success and I\nwas chapel musician to madam, the Princess of Palestrina.'\n\n\"'To my mother!' cried I.\n\n\"'Your mother!' cried he, weeping. 'What! can you be that young\nprincess whom I brought up until the age of six years, and who promised\nso early to be as beautiful as you?'\n\n\"'It is I, indeed; but my mother lies four hundred yards hence, torn in\nquarters, under a heap"}
{"answer":"my heart, perhaps\n  Only too ready to allow your passion.\n\n  TARTUFFE\n  Your words are somewhat hard to understand,\n  Madam; just now you used a different style.\n\n  ELMIRE\n  If that refusal has offended you,\n  How little do you know a woman's heart!\n  How ill you guess what it would have you know,\n  When it presents so feeble a defence!\n  Always, at first, our modesty resists\n  The tender feelings you inspire us with.\n  Whatever cause we find to justify\n  The love that masters us, we still must feel\n  Some little shame in owning it; and strive\n  To make as though we would not, when we would.\n  But from the very way we go about it\n  We let a lover know our heart surrenders,\n  The while our lips, for honour's sake, oppose\n  Our heart's desire, and in refusing promise.\n  I'm telling you my secret all too freely\n  And with too little heed to modesty.\n  But--now that I've made bold to speak--pray tell me.\n  Should I have tried to keep Damis from speaking,\n  Should I have heard the offer of your heart\n  So quietly, and suffered all your pleading,\n  And taken it just as I did--remember--\n  If such a declaration had not pleased me,\n  And, when I tried my utmost to persuade you\n  Not to accept the marriage that was talked of,\n  What should","question":"SCENE V\n\n  TARTUFFE, ELMIRE; ORGON (under the table)\n\n\n  TARTUFFE\n  They told me that you wished to see me here.\n\n  ELMIRE\n  Yes. I have secrets for your ear alone.\n  But shut the door first, and look everywhere\n  For fear of spies.\n\n  (Tartuffe goes and closes the door, and comes back.)\n  We surely can't afford\n  Another scene like that we had just now;\n  Was ever anyone so caught before!\n  Damis did frighten me most terribly\n  On your account; you saw I did my best\n  To baffle his design, and calm his anger.\n  But I was so confused, I never thought\n  To contradict his story; still, thank Heaven,\n  Things turned out all the better, as it happened,\n  And now we're on an even safer footing.\n  The high esteem you're held in, laid the storm;\n  My husband can have no suspicion of you,\n  And even insists, to spite the scandal-mongers,\n  That we shall be together constantly;\n  So that is how, without the risk of blame,\n  I can be here locked up with you alone,\n  And can reveal to you"}
{"answer":"In the presence of these overflowings,\nafter they had continued for a couple of years, the associates of either\nparty sometimes felt that something should be done for what they called\n\"the real good, don't you know?\" of the child. The only thing done,\nhowever, in general, took place when it was sighingly remarked that she\nfortunately wasn't all the year round where she happened to be at the\nawkward moment, and that, furthermore, either from extreme cunning or\nfrom extreme stupidity, she appeared not to take things in.\n\nThe theory of her stupidity, eventually embraced by her parents,\ncorresponded with a great date in her small still life: the complete\nvision, private but final, of the strange office she filled. It was\nliterally a moral revolution and accomplished in the depths of her\nnature. The stiff dolls on the dusky shelves began to move their arms\nand legs; old forms and phrases began to have a sense that frightened\nher. She had a new feeling, the feeling of danger; on which a new remedy\nrose to meet it, the idea of an inner self or, in other words, of\nconcealment. She puzzled out with imperfect signs, but with a prodigious\nspirit, that she had been a centre of hatred and a messenger of insult,\nand that everything was bad because she had been employed to make it so.\nHer parted lips locked themselves with the determination to be employed\nno longer. She would forget everything, she would repeat nothing, and\nwhen, as a tribute to the successful application of her system, she\nbegan to be called a little idiot, she tasted","question":"\n\nIn that lively sense of the immediate which is the very air of a child's\nmind the past, on each occasion, became for her as indistinct as\nthe future: she surrendered herself to the actual with a good faith\nthat might have been touching to either parent. Crudely as they had\ncalculated they were at first justified by the event: she was the little\nfeathered shuttlecock they could fiercely keep flying between them. The\nevil they had the gift of thinking or pretending to think of each other\nthey poured into her little gravely-gazing soul as into a boundless\nreceptacle, and each of them had doubtless the best conscience in the\nworld as to the duty of teaching her the stern truth that should be her\nsafeguard against the other. She was at the age for which all stories\nare true and all conceptions are stories. The actual was the absolute,\nthe present alone was vivid. The objurgation for instance launched\nin the carriage by her mother after she had at her father's bidding\npunctually performed was a missive that dropped into her memory with the\ndry rattle of a letter falling into a pillar-box. Like the letter it\nwas, as part of the contents of a well-stuffed post-bag, delivered in\ndue course at the right address."}
{"answer":"more dreadful than it should have done. She was glad that\na visit to Mrs. Vyse now fell due; the tenants moved into Cissie Villa\nwhile she was safe in the London flat.\n\n\"Cecil--Cecil darling,\" she whispered the evening she arrived, and crept\ninto his arms.\n\nCecil, too, became demonstrative. He saw that the needful fire had been\nkindled in Lucy. At last she longed for attention, as a woman should,\nand looked up to him because he was a man.\n\n\"So you do love me, little thing?\" he murmured.\n\n\"Oh, Cecil, I do, I do! I don't know what I should do without you.\"\n\nSeveral days passed. Then she had a letter from Miss Bartlett. A\ncoolness had sprung up between the two cousins, and they had not\ncorresponded since they parted in August. The coolness dated from what\nCharlotte would call \"the flight to Rome,\" and in Rome it had increased\namazingly. For the companion who is merely uncongenial in the mediaeval\nworld becomes exasperating in the classical. Charlotte, unselfish in the\nForum, would have tried a sweeter temper than Lucy's, and once, in the\nBaths of Caracalla, they had doubted whether they could continue\ntheir tour. Lucy had said she would join the Vyses--Mrs. Vyse was an\nacquaintance of her mother, so there was no impropriety in the plan and\nMiss Bartlett had replied that she was quite used to being abandoned\nsuddenly. Finally nothing happened; but the coolness remained, and, for\nLucy, was even increased when she opened the letter and read as follows.\nIt had been forwarded from Windy Corner.\n\n\n\"Tunbridge Wells,\n\n\"September.\n\n\"Dearest Lucia,\n\n\"I have news of you at last!","question":"\nThe Comic Muse, though able to look after her own interests, did not\ndisdain the assistance of Mr. Vyse. His idea of bringing the Emersons to\nWindy Corner struck her as decidedly good, and she carried through the\nnegotiations without a hitch. Sir Harry Otway signed the agreement,\nmet Mr. Emerson, who was duly disillusioned. The Miss Alans were\nduly offended, and wrote a dignified letter to Lucy, whom they held\nresponsible for the failure. Mr. Beebe planned pleasant moments for the\nnew-comers, and told Mrs. Honeychurch that Freddy must call on them as\nsoon as they arrived. Indeed, so ample was the Muse's equipment that she\npermitted Mr. Harris, never a very robust criminal, to droop his head,\nto be forgotten, and to die.\n\nLucy--to descend from bright heaven to earth, whereon there are shadows\nbecause there are hills--Lucy was at first plunged into despair, but\nsettled after a little thought that it did not matter the very least.\nNow that she was engaged, the Emersons would scarcely insult her and\nwere welcome into the neighbourhood. And Cecil was welcome to bring whom\nhe would into the neighbourhood. Therefore Cecil was welcome to bring\nthe Emersons into the neighbourhood. But, as I say, this took a little\nthinking, and--so illogical are girls--the event remained rather greater\nand rather"}
{"answer":"that thou seest thy wretched brother dye,\nWho was the modell of thy Fathers life.\nCall it not patience (Gaunt) it is dispaire,\nIn suffring thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,\nThou shew'st the naked pathway to thy life,\nTeaching sterne murther how to butcher thee:\nThat which in meane men we intitle patience\nIs pale cold cowardice in noble brests:\nWhat shall I say, to safegard thine owne life,\nThe best way is to venge my Glousters death\n\n   Gaunt. Heauens is the quarrell: for heauens substitute\nHis Deputy annointed in his sight,\nHath caus'd his death, the which if wrongfully\nLet heauen reuenge: for I may neuer lift\nAn angry arme against his Minister\n\n   Dut. Where then (alas may I) complaint my selfe?\n  Gau. To heauen, the widdowes Champion to defence\n  Dut. Why then I will: farewell old Gaunt.\nThou go'st to Couentrie, there to behold\nOur Cosine Herford, and fell Mowbray fight:\nO sit my husbands wrongs on Herfords speare,\nThat it may enter butcher Mowbrayes brest:\nOr if misfortune misse the first carreere,\nBe Mowbrayes sinnes so heauy in his bosome,\nThat they may breake his foaming Coursers backe,\nAnd throw the Rider headlong in the Lists,\nA Caytiffe recreant to my Cosine Herford:\nFarewell old Gaunt, thy sometimes brothers wife\nWith her companion Greefe, must end her life\n\n   Gau. Sister farewell: I must to Couentree,\nAs much good stay with thee, as go with mee\n\n   Dut. Yet one word more: Greefe boundeth where it falls,\nNot with the emptie hollownes, but weight:\nI take my leaue, before I haue begun,\nFor sorrow ends not,","question":"Scaena Secunda.\n\nEnter Gaunt, and Dutchesse of Gloucester.\n\n  Gaunt. Alas, the part I had in Glousters blood,\nDoth more solicite me then your exclaimes,\nTo stirre against the Butchers of his life.\nBut since correction lyeth in those hands\nWhich made the fault that we cannot correct,\nPut we our quarrell to the will of heauen,\nWho when they see the houres ripe on earth,\nWill raigne hot vengeance on offenders heads\n\n   Dut. Findes brotherhood in thee no sharper spurre?\nHath loue in thy old blood no liuing fire?\nEdwards seuen sonnes (whereof thy selfe art one)\nWere as seuen violles of his Sacred blood,\nOr seuen faire branches springing from one roote:\nSome of those seuen are dride by natures course,\nSome of those branches by the destinies cut:\nBut Thomas, my deere Lord, my life, my Glouster,\nOne Violl full of Edwards Sacred blood,\nOne flourishing branch of his most Royall roote\nIs crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt;\nIs hackt downe, and his summer leafes all vaded\nBy Enuies hand, and Murders bloody Axe.\nAh Gaunt! His blood was thine, that bed, that wombe,\nThat mettle, that selfe-mould that fashion'd thee,\nMade him a man: and though thou liu'st, and breath'st,\nYet art thou slaine in him: thou dost consent\nIn some large measure to thy Fathers death,\nIn"}
{"answer":"discover how with most advantage\n    They may vex us with shot or with assault.\n    To intercept this inconvenience,\n    A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have plac'd;\n    And even these three days have I watch'd\n    If I could see them. Now do thou watch,\n    For I can stay no longer.\n    If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word;\n    And thou shalt find me at the Governor's.               Exit\n  BOY. Father, I warrant you; take you no care;\n    I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them.              Exit\n\n          Enter SALISBURY and TALBOT on the turrets, with\n            SIR WILLIAM GLANSDALE, SIR THOMAS GARGRAVE,\n                            and others\n\n  SALISBURY. Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd!\n    How wert thou handled being prisoner?\n    Or by what means got'st thou to be releas'd?\n    Discourse, I prithee, on this turret's top.\n  TALBOT. The Earl of","question":"SCENE 4.\n\n                        France. Before Orleans\n\n               Enter, on the walls, the MASTER-GUNNER\n                       OF ORLEANS and his BOY\n\n  MASTER-GUNNER. Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is\n    besieg'd,\n    And how the English have the suburbs won.\n  BOY. Father, I know; and oft have shot at them,\n    Howe'er unfortunate I miss'd my aim.\n  MASTER-GUNNER. But now thou shalt not. Be thou rul'd\n    by me.\n    Chief master-gunner am I of this town;\n    Something I must do to procure me grace.\n    The Prince's espials have informed me\n    How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd,\n    Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars\n    In yonder tower, to overpeer the city,\n    And thence"}
{"answer":"sailors from a\nwar-ship, their faces pictures of sturdy health, spent the earlier\nhours of the evening at the small round tables.  Very infrequent tipsy\nmen, swollen with the value of their opinions, engaged their companions\nin earnest and confidential conversation.  In the balcony, and here and\nthere below, shone the impassive faces of women.  The nationalities of\nthe Bowery beamed upon the stage from all directions.\n\nPete aggressively walked up a side aisle and took seats with Maggie at\na table beneath the balcony.\n\n\"Two beehs!\"\n\nLeaning back he regarded with eyes of superiority the scene before\nthem.  This attitude affected Maggie strongly.  A man who could regard\nsuch a sight with indifference must be accustomed to very great things.\n\nIt was obvious that Pete had been to this place many times before, and\nwas very familiar with it.  A knowledge of this fact made Maggie feel\nlittle and new.\n\nHe was extremely gracious and attentive.  He displayed the\nconsideration of a cultured gentleman who knew what was due.\n\n\"Say, what deh hell?  Bring deh lady a big glass!  What deh hell use is\ndat pony?\"\n\n\"Don't be fresh, now,\" said the waiter, with some warmth, as he\ndeparted.\n\n\"Ah, git off deh eart',\" said Pete, after the other's retreating form.\n\nMaggie perceived that Pete brought forth all his elegance and all his\nknowledge of high-class customs for her benefit.  Her heart warmed as\nshe reflected upon his condescension.\n\nThe orchestra of yellow silk women and bald-headed men gave vent to a\nfew bars of anticipatory music and a girl, in a pink dress with short\nskirts,","question":"\nAn orchestra of yellow silk women and bald-headed men on an elevated\nstage near the centre of a great green-hued hall, played a popular\nwaltz.  The place was crowded with people grouped about little tables.\nA battalion of waiters slid among the throng, carrying trays of beer\nglasses and making change from the inexhaustible vaults of their\ntrousers pockets.  Little boys, in the costumes of French chefs,\nparaded up and down the irregular aisles vending fancy cakes.  There\nwas a low rumble of conversation and a subdued clinking of glasses.\nClouds of tobacco smoke rolled and wavered high in air about the dull\ngilt of the chandeliers.\n\nThe vast crowd had an air throughout of having just quitted labor.  Men\nwith calloused hands and attired in garments that showed the wear of an\nendless trudge for a living, smoked their pipes contentedly and spent\nfive, ten, or perhaps fifteen cents for beer.  There was a mere\nsprinkling of kid-gloved men who smoked cigars purchased elsewhere.\nThe great body of the crowd was composed of people who showed that all\nday they strove with their hands.  Quiet Germans, with maybe their\nwives and two or three children, sat listening to the music, with the\nexpressions of happy cows.  An occasional party of"}
{"answer":"vicissitudes of light and shade is man subject! He ponders the\nmystery of human subjectivity in general. He thinks he perceives with\nCrossbones, his favorite author, that, as one may wake up well in the\nmorning, very well, indeed, and brisk as a buck, I thank you, but ere\nbed-time get under the weather, there is no telling how--so one may wake\nup wise, and slow of assent, very wise and very slow, I assure you, and\nfor all that, before night, by like trick in the atmosphere, be left in\nthe lurch a ninny. Health and wisdom equally precious, and equally\nlittle as unfluctuating possessions to be relied on.\n\nBut where was slipped in the entering wedge? Philosophy, knowledge,\nexperience--were those trusty knights of the castle recreant? No, but\nunbeknown to them, the enemy stole on the castle's south side, its\ngenial one, where Suspicion, the warder, parleyed. In fine, his too\nindulgent, too artless and companionable nature betrayed him. Admonished\nby which, he thinks he must be a little splenetic in his intercourse\nhenceforth.\n\nHe revolves the crafty process of sociable chat, by which, as he\nfancies, the man with the brass-plate wormed into him, and made such a\nfool of him as insensibly to persuade him to waive, in his exceptional\ncase, that general law of distrust systematically applied to the race.\nHe revolves, but cannot comprehend, the operation, still less the\noperator. Was the man a trickster, it must be more for the love than the\nlucre. Two or three dirty dollars the motive to so many nice wiles? And\nyet how full of mean needs his seeming. Before","question":"CHAPTER XXIII. IN WHICH THE POWERFUL EFFECT OF NATURAL SCENERY IS EVINCED IN THE CASE OF THE MISSOURIAN, WHO, IN VIEW OF THE REGION ROUND-ABOUT CAIRO, HAS A RETURN OF HIS CHILLY FIT.\n\n\n\nAt Cairo, the old established firm of Fever & Ague is still settling up\nits unfinished business; that Creole grave-digger, Yellow Jack--his hand\nat the mattock and spade has not lost its cunning; while Don Saturninus\nTyphus taking his constitutional with Death, Calvin Edson and three\nundertakers, in the morass, snuffs up the mephitic breeze with zest.\n\nIn the dank twilight, fanned with mosquitoes, and sparkling with\nfire-flies, the boat now lies before Cairo. She has landed certain\npassengers, and tarries for the coming of expected ones. Leaning over\nthe rail on the inshore side, the Missourian eyes through the dubious\nmedium that swampy and squalid domain; and over it audibly mumbles his\ncynical mind to himself, as Apermantus' dog may have mumbled his bone.\nHe bethinks him that the man with the brass-plate was to land on this\nvillainous bank, and for that cause, if no other, begins to suspect him.\nLike one beginning to rouse himself from a dose of chloroform\ntreacherously given, he half divines, too, that he, the philosopher,\nhad unwittingly been betrayed into being an unphilosophical dupe. To\nwhat"}
{"answer":"to me!  'Tis the first time!--and just when I must\nquit you!\n\nROXANE (collected, and fanning herself):\n  Thus,--you would fain revenge your grudge against my cousin?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  My fair lady is on his side?\n\nROXANE:\n  Nay,--against him!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Do you see him often?\n\nROXANE:\n  But very rarely.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  He is ever to be met now in company with one of the cadets,. . .one New--\nvillen--viller--\n\nROXANE:\n  Of high stature?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Fair-haired!\n\nROXANE:\n  Ay, a red-headed fellow!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Handsome!. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  Tut!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  But dull-witted.\n\nROXANE:\n  One would think so, to look at him!\n(Changing her tone):\n  How mean you to play your revenge on Cyrano?  Perchance you think to put him\ni' the thick of the shots?  Nay, believe me, that were a poor vengeance--he\nwould love such a post better than aught else!  I know the way to wound his\npride far more keenly!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  What then?  Tell. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  If, when the regiment march to Arras, he were left here with his beloved\nboon companions, the Cadets, to sit with crossed arms so long as the war\nlasted!  There is your method, would you enrage a man of his kind; cheat him\nof his chance of mortal danger, and you punish him right fiercely.\n\nDE GUICHE (coming nearer):\n  O woman! woman!  Who but a woman had e'er devised so subtle a trick?\n\nROXANE:\n  See you not how he will eat out his heart, while his friends gnaw their\nthick fists","question":"Roxane, De Guiche, the duenna standing a little way off.\n\nROXANE (courtesying to De Guiche):\n  I was going out.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  I come to take my leave.\n\nROXANE:\n  Whither go you?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  To the war.\n\nROXANE:\n  Ah!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Ay, to-night.\n\nROXANE:\n  Oh!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  I am ordered away.  We are to besiege Arras.\n\nROXANE:\n  Ah--to besiege?. . .\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Ay.  My going moves you not, meseems.\n\nROXANE:\n  Nay. . .\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  I am grieved to the core of the heart.  Shall I again behold you?. . .When?\nI know not.  Heard you that I am named commander?. . .\n\nROXANE (indifferently):\n  Bravo!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Of the Guards regiment.\n\nROXANE (startled):\n  What! the Guards?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Ay, where serves your cousin, the swaggering boaster.  I will find a way to\nrevenge myself on him at Arras.\n\nROXANE (choking):\n  What mean you?  The Guards go to Arras?\n\nDE GUICHE (laughing):\n  Bethink you, is it not my own regiment?\n\nROXANE (falling seated on the bench--aside):\n  Christian!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  What ails you?\n\nROXANE (moved deeply):\n  Oh--I am in despair!  The man one loves!--at the war!\n\nDE GUICHE (surprised and delighted):\n  You say such sweet words"}
{"answer":"minutes the servant returned, and with a look which did\nnot quite confirm his words, said he had been mistaken, for that Miss\nTilney was walked out. Catherine, with a blush of mortification, left\nthe house. She felt almost persuaded that Miss Tilney was at home, and\ntoo much offended to admit her; and as she retired down the street,\ncould not withhold one glance at the drawing-room windows, in\nexpectation of seeing her there, but no one appeared at them. At the\nbottom of the street, however, she looked back again, and then, not at a\nwindow, but issuing from the door, she saw Miss Tilney herself. She was\nfollowed by a gentleman, whom Catherine believed to be her father,\nand they turned up towards Edgar's Buildings. Catherine, in deep\nmortification, proceeded on her way. She could almost be angry herself\nat such angry incivility; but she checked the resentful sensation; she\nremembered her own ignorance. She knew not how such an offence as hers\nmight be classed by the laws of worldly politeness, to what a degree\nof unforgivingness it might with propriety lead, nor to what rigours of\nrudeness in return it might justly make her amenable.\n\nDejected and humbled, she had even some thoughts of not going with the\nothers to the theatre that night; but it must be confessed that they\nwere not of long continuance, for she soon recollected, in the first\nplace, that she was without any excuse for staying at home; and, in the\nsecond, that it was a play she wanted very much to see. To the theatre\naccordingly they all went; no","question":"\n\n\"Mrs. Allen,\" said Catherine the next morning, \"will there be any harm\nin my calling on Miss Tilney today? I shall not be easy till I have\nexplained everything.\"\n\n\"Go, by all means, my dear; only put on a white gown; Miss Tilney always\nwears white.\"\n\nCatherine cheerfully complied, and being properly equipped, was more\nimpatient than ever to be at the pump-room, that she might inform\nherself of General Tilney's lodgings, for though she believed they were\nin Milsom Street, she was not certain of the house, and Mrs. Allen's\nwavering convictions only made it more doubtful. To Milsom Street she\nwas directed, and having made herself perfect in the number, hastened\naway with eager steps and a beating heart to pay her visit, explain her\nconduct, and be forgiven; tripping lightly through the church-yard, and\nresolutely turning away her eyes, that she might not be obliged to\nsee her beloved Isabella and her dear family, who, she had reason to\nbelieve, were in a shop hard by. She reached the house without any\nimpediment, looked at the number, knocked at the door, and inquired for\nMiss Tilney. The man believed Miss Tilney to be at home, but was not\nquite certain. Would she be pleased to send up her name? She gave her\ncard. In a few"}
{"answer":"FLUTE. O sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost sixpence a day\n    during his life; he could not have scaped sixpence a day. An\nthe\n    Duke had not given him sixpence a day for playing Pyramus,\nI'll\n    be hanged. He would have deserved it: sixpence a day in\nPyramus,\n    or nothing.\n\n                           Enter BOTTOM\n\n  BOTTOM. Where are these lads? Where are these hearts?\n  QUINCE. Bottom! O most courageous day! O most happy hour!\n  BOTTOM. Masters, I am to discourse wonders; but ask me not\nwhat;\n    for if I tell you, I am not true Athenian. I will tell you\n    everything, right as it fell out.\n  QUINCE. Let us hear, sweet Bottom.\n  BOTTOM. Not a word of me. All that I will tell you is, that the\n    Duke hath dined. Get your apparel together; good strings to\nyour\n    beards, new ribbons to your pumps; meet presently at the\npalace;\n    every man look o'er his part; for the short and the long is,\nour\n    play is preferr'd. In any case, let Thisby have clean linen;\nand\n    let not him that plays the lion pare his nails, for they\nshall\n    hang out for the lion's claws.","question":"SCENE II.\nAthens. QUINCE'S house\n\nEnter QUINCE, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING\n\n  QUINCE. Have you sent to Bottom's house? Is he come home yet?\n  STARVELING. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt he is\ntransported.\n  FLUTE. If he come not, then the play is marr'd; it goes not\n    forward, doth it?\n  QUINCE. It is not possible. You have not a man in all Athens\nable\n    to discharge Pyramus but he.\n  FLUTE. No; he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft man in\n    Athens.\n  QUINCE. Yea, and the best person too; and he is a very paramour\nfor\n    a sweet voice.\n  FLUTE. You must say 'paragon.' A paramour is- God bless us!- A\n    thing of naught.\n\n                           Enter SNUG\n\n  SNUG. Masters, the Duke is coming from the temple; and there is\ntwo\n    or three lords and ladies more married. If our sport had gone\n\n    forward, we had all been made men.\n "}
{"answer":"by the\nquestion of regard. The usual fee charged for this work is 10_s_.\n6_d_.; but when this cannot be paid, a large number of cases are\nundertaken free. The Army goes to as much trouble in these unpaid\ncases as in any others, only then it is not able to flood the country\nwith printed bills. Of course, where well-to-do people are concerned,\nit expects that its out-of-pocket costs will be met.\n\nThe cases with which it has to deal are of all kinds. Often those who\nhave disappeared are found to have done so purposely, perhaps leaving\nbehind them manufactured evidence, such as coats or letters on a\nriver-bank, suggesting that they have committed suicide. Generally,\nthese people are involved in some fraud or other trouble. Again,\nhusbands desert their wives, or wives their husbands, and vanish, in\nwhich instances they are probably living with somebody else under\nanother name. Or children are kidnapped, or girls are lured away, or\nindividuals emigrate to far lands and neglect to write. Or, perhaps,\nthey simply sink out of all knowledge, and vanish effectually enough\ninto a paupers grave.\n\nBut the oddest cases of all are those of a complete loss of memory, a\nthing that is by no means so infrequent as is generally supposed. The\nexperience of the Army is that the majority of these cases happen\namong those who lead a studious life. The victim goes out in his usual\nhealth and suddenly forgets everything. His mind becomes a total\nblank. Yet certain instincts remain, such as that of earning a living.\n\nThus, to take a single recent example, the son of","question":"THE INTERNATIONAL INVESTIGATION DEPARTMENT\n\nThis is a curious and interesting branch of the work of the Salvation\nArmy. About two thousand times a year it receives letters or personal\napplications, asking it to find some missing relative or friend of the\nwriter or applicant. In reply, a form is posted or given, which must\nbe filled up with the necessary particulars. Then, if it be a London\ncase, the Officer in charge sends out a skilled man to work up clues.\nIf, on the other hand, it be a country case, the Officer in charge of\nthe Corps nearest to where it has occurred, is instructed to initiate\nthe inquiry. Also, advertisements are inserted in the Army papers,\nknown as 'The War Cry' and 'The Social Gazette,' both in Great Britain\nand other countries, if the lost person is supposed to be on the\nContinent or in some distant part of the world.\n\nThe result is that a large percentage of the individuals sought for\nare discovered, alive or dead, for in such work the Salvation Army has\nadvantages denied to any other body, scarcely excepting the Police.\nIts representatives are everywhere, and to whatever land they may\nbelong or whatever tongue they may speak, all of them obey an order\nsent out from Headquarters wholeheartedly and uninfluenced"}
{"answer":"Above an hour, my lord.\n  COMINIUS. 'Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their drums.\n    How couldst thou in a mile confound an hour,\n    And bring thy news so late?\n  MESSENGER. Spies of the Volsces\n    Held me in chase, that I was forc'd to wheel\n    Three or four miles about; else had I, sir,\n    Half an hour since brought my report.\n\n                           Enter MARCIUS\n\n  COMINIUS. Who's yonder\n    That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods!\n    He has the stamp of Marcius, and I have\n    Before-time seen him thus.\n  MARCIUS. Come I too late?\n  COMINIUS. The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabor\n    More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue\n    From every meaner man.\n  MARCIUS. Come I too late?\n  COMINIUS. Ay, if you come not in the blood of others,\n    But mantled in your own.\n  MARCIUS. O! let me clip ye\n    In arms as sound as when I woo'd, in heart\n    As merry as when our nuptial day was done,\n    And tapers burn'd to bedward.\n  COMINIUS. Flower of warriors,\n   ","question":"SCENE VI.\nNear the camp of COMINIUS\n\nEnter COMINIUS, as it were in retire, with soldiers\n\n  COMINIUS. Breathe you, my friends. Well fought; we are come off\n    Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands\n    Nor cowardly in retire. Believe me, sirs,\n    We shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have struck,\n    By interims and conveying gusts we have heard\n    The charges of our friends. The Roman gods,\n    Lead their successes as we wish our own,\n    That both our powers, with smiling fronts encount'ring,\n    May give you thankful sacrifice!\n\n                         Enter A MESSENGER\n\n    Thy news?\n  MESSENGER. The citizens of Corioli have issued\n    And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle;\n    I saw our party to their trenches driven,\n    And then I came away.\n  COMINIUS. Though thou speak'st truth,\n    Methinks thou speak'st not well. How long is't since?\n  MESSENGER."}
{"answer":"I heare of none but the new Proclamation,\n    That's clapt vpon the Court Gate\n\n    L.Cham. What is't for?\n    Lou. The reformation of our trauel'd Gallants,\n    That fill the Court with quarrels, talke, and Taylors\n\n    L.Cham. I'm glad 'tis there;\n    Now I would pray our Monsieurs\n    To thinke an English Courtier may be wise,\n    And neuer see the Louure\n\n    Lou. They must either\n    (For so run the Conditions) leaue those remnants\n    Of Foole and Feather, that they got in France,\n    With all their honourable points of ignorance\n    Pertaining thereunto; as Fights and Fire-workes,\n    Abusing better men then they can be\n    Out of a forreigne wisedome, renouncing cleane\n    The faith they haue in Tennis and tall Stockings,\n    Short blistred Breeches, and those types of Trauell;\nAnd vnderstand againe like honest men,\n    Or pack to their old Playfellowes; there, I take it,\n    They may Cum Priuilegio, wee away\n    The lag end of their lewdnesse, and be laugh'd at\n\n    L.San. Tis time to giue 'em Physicke, their diseases\n    Are growne so catching\n\n    L.Cham. What a losse our Ladies\n    Will haue of these trim","question":"L.Ch. Is't possible the spels of France should iuggle\nMen into such strange mysteries?\nL.San. New customes,\n    Though they be neuer so ridiculous,\n    (Nay let 'em be vnmanly) yet are follow'd\n\n    L.Ch. As farre as I see, all the good our English\n    Haue got by the late Voyage, is but meerely\n    A fit or two o'th' face, (but they are shrewd ones)\n    For when they hold 'em, you would sweare directly\n    Their very noses had been Councellours\n    To Pepin or Clotharius, they keepe State so\n\n    L.San. They haue all new legs,\n    And lame ones; one would take it,\n    That neuer see 'em pace before, the Spauen\n    A Spring-halt rain'd among 'em\n\n    L.Ch. Death my Lord,\n    Their cloathes are after such a Pagan cut too't,\n    That sure th'haue worne out Christendome: how now?\n    What newes, Sir Thomas Louell?\n    Enter Sir Thomas Louell.\n\n    Louell. Faith my Lord,\n   "}
{"answer":"I must cony-catch; I must shift.\n\nPISTOL.\nYoung ravens must have food.\n\nFALSTAFF.\nWhich of you know Ford of this town?\n\nPISTOL.\nI ken the wight; he is of substance good.\n\nFALSTAFF.\nMy honest lads, I will tell you what I am about.\n\nPISTOL.\nTwo yards, and more.\n\nFALSTAFF.\nNo quips now, Pistol. Indeed, I am in the waist two yards about; but\nI am now about no waste; I am about thrift. Briefly, I do mean to\nmake love to Ford's wife; I spy entertainment in her; she discourses,\nshe carves, she gives the leer of invitation; I can construe the\naction of her familiar style; and the hardest voice of her behaviour,\nto be Englished rightly, is 'I am Sir John Falstaff's.'\n\nPISTOL.\nHe hath studied her will, and translated her will out of honesty into\nEnglish.\n\nNYM.\nThe anchor is deep; will that humour pass?\n\nFALSTAFF.\nNow, the report goes she has all the rule of her husband's purse; he\nhath a legion of angels.\n\nPISTOL.\nAs many devils entertain; and 'To her, boy,' say I.\n\nNYM.\nThe humour rises; it is good; humour me the angels.\n\nFALSTAFF.\nI have writ me here a letter to her; and here another to Page's wife,\nwho even now gave me good eyes too, examined my parts with most\njudicious oeillades; sometimes the beam of her view gilded my foot,\nsometimes my portly belly.\n\nPISTOL.\nThen did the sun on dunghill shine.\n\nNYM.\nI thank thee for that humour.\n\nFALSTAFF.\nO! she did so course o'er my exteriors with such a greedy intention\nthat the appetite of her eye did seem to scorch me up like a\nburning-glass. Here's another letter to her: she bears the purse\ntoo; she is a region in","question":"SCENE 3.\n\nA room in the Garter Inn.\n\n[Enter FALSTAFF, HOST, BARDOLPH, NYM, PISTOL, and ROBIN.]\n\nFALSTAFF.\nMine host of the Garter!\n\nHOST.\nWhat says my bully rook? Speak scholarly and wisely.\n\nFALSTAFF.\nTruly, mine host, I must turn away some of my followers.\n\nHOST.\nDiscard, bully Hercules; cashier; let them wag; trot, trot.\n\nFALSTAFF.\nI sit at ten pounds a week.\n\nHOST.\nThou'rt an emperor, Caesar, Keiser, and Pheazar. I will entertain\nBardolph; he shall draw, he shall tap; said I well, bully Hector?\n\nFALSTAFF.\nDo so, good mine host.\n\nHOST.\nI have spoke; let him follow. [To BARDOLPH] Let me see thee froth and\nlime. I am at a word; follow.\n\n[Exit.]\n\nFALSTAFF.\nBardolph, follow him. A tapster is a good trade; an old cloak makes\na new jerkin; a withered serving-man a fresh tapster. Go; adieu.\n\nBARDOLPH.\nIt is a life that I have desired; I will thrive.\n\nPISTOL.\nO base Hungarian wight! Wilt thou the spigot wield?\n\n[Exit BARDOLPH.]\n\nNYM.\nHe was gotten in drink. Is not the humour conceited?\n\nFALSTAFF.\nI am glad I am so acquit of this tinder-box: his thefts were too open;\nhis filching was like an unskilful singer--he kept not time.\n\nNYM.\nThe good humour is to steal at a minim's rest.\n\nPISTOL.\n'Convey' the wise it call. 'Steal!' foh! A fico for the phrase!\n\nFALSTAFF.\nWell, sirs, I am almost out at heels.\n\nPISTOL.\nWhy, then, let kibes ensue.\n\nFALSTAFF.\nThere is no remedy;"}
{"answer":"(speaking more warmly):\n  Buckingham suffered dumbly,--so have I,--\n  Adored his Queen, as loyally as I,--\n  Was sad, but faithful,--so am I. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  And you\n  Are fair as Buckingham!\n\nCYRANO (aside--suddenly cooled):\n  True,--I forgot!\n\nROXANE:\n  Must I then bid thee mount to cull this flower?\n\nCYRANO (pushing Christian toward the balcony):\n  Mount!\n\nROXANE:\n  This heart-breathing!. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Mount!\n\nROXANE:\n  This brush of bee's wing!. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Mount!\n\nCHRISTIAN (hesitating):\n  But I feel now, as though 'twere ill done!\n\nROXANE:\n  This moment infinite!. . .\n\nCYRANO (still pushing him):\n  Come, blockhead, mount!\n\n(Christian springs forward, and by means of the bench, the branches, and the\npillars, climbs to the balcony and strides over it.)\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Ah, Roxane!\n\n(He takes her in his arms, and bends over her lips.)\n\nCYRANO:\n  Aie!  Strange pain that wrings my heart!\n  The kiss, love's feast, so near!  I, Lazarus,\n  Lie at the gate in darkness.  Yet to me\n  Falls still a crumb or two from the rich man's board--\n  Ay, 'tis my heart receives thee, Roxane--mine!\n  For on the lips you press you kiss as well\n  The words I spoke just now!--my words--my words!\n(The lutes play):\n  A sad air,--a gay air: the monk!\n(He begins to run as if he came from a long way off, and cries out):\n  Hola!\n\nROXANE:\n  Who is it?\n\nCYRANO:\n  I--I was but passing by. . .\n  Is Christian there?\n\nCHRISTIAN (astonished):\n  Cyrano!\n\nROXANE:\n  Good-day, cousin!\n\nCYRANO:\n","question":"Cyrano, Christian, Roxane.\n\nROXANE (coming out on the balcony):\n  Still there?\n  We spoke of a. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  A kiss!  The word is sweet.\n  I see not why your lip should shrink from it;\n  If the word burns it,--what would the kiss do?\n  Oh! let it not your bashfulness affright;\n  Have you not, all this time, insensibly,\n  Left badinage aside, and unalarmed\n  Glided from smile to sigh,--from sigh to weeping?\n  Glide gently, imperceptibly, still onward--\n  From tear to kiss,--a moment's thrill!--a heartbeat!\n\nROXANE:\n  Hush! hush!\n\nCYRANO:\n  A kiss, when all is said,--what is it?\n  An oath that's ratified,--a sealed promise,\n  A heart's avowal claiming confirmation,--\n  A rose-dot on the 'i' of 'adoration,'--\n  A secret that to mouth, not ear, is whispered,--\n  Brush of a bee's wing, that makes time eternal,--\n  Communion perfumed like the spring's wild flowers,--\n  The heart's relieving in the heart's outbreathing,\n  When to the lips the soul's flood rises, brimming!\n\nROXANE:\n  Hush! hush!\n\nCYRANO:\n  A kiss, Madame, is honorable:\n  The Queen of France, to a most favored lord\n  Did grant a kiss--the Queen herself!\n\nROXANE:\n  What then?\n\nCYRANO"}
{"answer":"   employers. She told me she was an English woman, and that was a pleasant\n          circumstance to me, because I had heard they had less prejudice against\n          color than Americans entertained. It was agreed that we should try each\n          other for a week. The trial proved satisfactory to both parties, and I was\n          engaged for a month.\n\n          The heavenly Father had been most merciful to me in leading me to this\n          place. Mrs. Bruce was a kind and gentle lady, and proved a true and\n          sympathizing friend. Before the stipulated month expired, the necessity of\n          passing up and down stairs frequently, caused my limbs to swell so\n          painfully, that I became unable to perform my duties. Many ladies would\n          have thoughtlessly discharged me; but Mrs. Bruce made arrangements to save\n          me steps, and employed a physician to attend upon me. I had not yet told\n    ","question":"\nMy greatest anxiety now was to obtain employment. My health was greatly\nimproved, though my limbs continued to trouble me with swelling whenever I\nwalked much. The greatest difficulty in my way was, that those who employed\nstrangers required a recommendation; and in my peculiar position, I could,\n          of course, obtain no certificates from the families I had so faithfully\n          served.\n\n          One day an acquaintance told me of a lady who wanted a nurse for her babe,\n          and I immediately applied for the situation. The lady told me she preferred\n          to have one who had been a mother, and accustomed to the care of infants. I\n          told her I had nursed two babes of my own. She asked me many questions,\n          but, to my great relief, did not require a recommendation from my former\n      "}
{"answer":". .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Roxane, in her short frock, was Madeleine. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  Was I fair then?\n\nCYRANO:\n  You were not ill to see!\n\nROXANE:\n  Ofttimes, with hands all bloody from a fall,\n  You'd run to me!  Then--aping mother-ways--\n  I, in a voice would-be severe, would chide,--\n(She takes his hand):\n  'What is this scratch, again, that I see here?'\n(She starts, surprised):\n  Oh!  'Tis too much!  What's this?\n(Cyrano tries to draw away his hand):\n  No, let me see!\n  At your age, fie!  Where did you get that scratch?\n\nCYRANO:\n  I got it--playing at the Porte de Nesle.\n\nROXANE (seating herself by the table, and dipping her handkerchief in a glass\nof water):\n  Give here!\n\nCYRANO (sitting by her):\n  So soft! so gay maternal-sweet!\n\nROXANE:\n  And tell me, while I wipe away the blood,\n  How many 'gainst you?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Oh!  A hundred--near.\n\nROXANE:\n  Come, tell me!\n\nCYRANO:\n  No, let be.  But you, come tell\n  The thing, just now, you dared not. . .\n\nROXANE (keeping his hand):\n  Now, I dare!\n  The scent of those old days emboldens me!\n  Yes, now I dare.  Listen.  I am in love.\n\nCYRANO:\n  Ah!. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  But with one who knows not.\n\nCYRANO:\n  Ah!. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  Not yet.\n\nCYRANO:\n  Ah!. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  But who, if he knows not, soon shall learn.\n\nCYRANO:\n  Ah!. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  A poor youth who all this time has loved\n  Timidly,","question":"Cyrano, Roxane.\n\nCYRANO:\n  Blessed be the moment when you condescend--\n  Remembering that humbly I exist--\n  To come to meet me, and to say. . .to tell?. . .\n\nROXANE (who has unmasked):\n  To thank you first of all.  That dandy count,\n  Whom you checkmated in brave sword-play\n  Last night,. . .he is the man whom a great lord,\n  Desirous of my favor. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Ha, De Guiche?\n\nROXANE (casting down her eyes):\n  Sought to impose on me. . .for husband. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Ay!  Husband!--dupe-husband!. . .Husband a la mode!\n(Bowing):\n  Then I fought, happy chance! sweet lady, not\n  For my ill favor--but your favors fair!\n\nROXANE:\n  Confession next!. . .But, ere I make my shrift,\n  You must be once again that brother-friend\n  With whom I used to play by the lake-side!. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Ay, you would come each spring to Bergerac!\n\nROXANE:\n  Mind you the reeds you cut to make your swords?. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  While you wove corn-straw plaits for your dolls' hair!\n\nROXANE:\n  Those were the days of games!. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  And blackberries!. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  In those days you did everything I bid!."}
{"answer":"harmless.\nBut the look of them, added to the difficulty of the shore and the high\nrunning of the surf, was more than enough to disgust me of that\nlanding-place. I felt willing rather to starve at sea than to confront\nsuch perils.\n\nIn the meantime I had a better chance, as I supposed, before me. North\nof Haulbowline Head the land runs in a long way, leaving, at low tide, a\nlong stretch of yellow sand. To the north of that, again, there comes\nanother cape--Cape of the Woods, as it was marked upon the chart--buried\nin tall green pines, which descended to the margin of the sea.\n\nI remembered what Silver had said about the current that sets northward\nalong the whole west coast of Treasure Island; and seeing from my\nposition that I was already under its influence, I preferred to leave\nHaulbowline Head behind me, and reserve my strength for an attempt to\nland upon the kindlier-looking Cape of the Woods.\n\nThere was a great, smooth swell upon the sea. The wind blowing steady\nand gentle from the south, there was no contrariety between that and the\ncurrent, and the billows rose and fell unbroken.\n\nHad it been otherwise, I must long ago have perished; but as it was, it\nis surprising how easily and securely my little and light boat could\nride. Often, as I still lay at the bottom, and kept no more than an eye\nabove the gunwale, I would see a big blue summit heaving close above me;\nyet the coracle would but bounce a little, dance as if on springs, and\nsubside on the","question":"\nTHE CRUISE OF THE CORACLE\n\n\nIt was broad day when I awoke and found myself tossing at the southwest\nend of Treasure Island. The sun was up, but was still hid from me behind\nthe great bulk of the Spy-glass, which on this side descended almost to\nthe sea in formidable cliffs.\n\nHaulbowline Head and Mizzen-mast Hill were at my elbow, the hill bare\nand dark, the head bound with cliffs forty or fifty feet high and\nfringed with great masses of fallen rock. I was scarce a quarter of a\nmile to seaward, and it was my first thought to paddle in and land.\n\nThat notion was soon given over. Among the fallen rocks the breakers\nspouted and bellowed; loud reverberations, heavy sprays flying and\nfalling, succeeded one another from second to second; and I saw myself,\nif I ventured nearer, dashed to death upon the rough shore or spending\nmy strength in vain to scale the beetling crags.\n\nNor was that all, for crawling together on flat tables of rock, or\nletting themselves drop into the sea with loud reports, I beheld huge\nslimy monsters--soft snails, as it were, of incredible bigness--two or\nthree score of them together, making the rocks to echo with their\nbarkings.\n\nI have understood since that they were sea lions, and entirely"}
{"answer":"as it was by the twenty-\ntwo astronomical establishments of Great Britain, it spoke\nplainly enough.  It boldly denied the possibility of success,\nand pronounced in favor of the theories of Captain Nicholl.\nBut this was nothing more than mere English jealousy.\n\nOn the 8th of October President Barbicane published a manifesto\nfull of enthusiasm, in which he made an appeal to \"all persons\nof good will upon the face of the earth.\"  This document,\ntranslated into all languages, met with immense success.\n\nSubscription lists were opened in all the principal cities of\nthe Union, with a central office at the Baltimore Bank, 9\nBaltimore Street.\n\nIn addition, subscriptions were received at the following banks\nin the different states of the two continents:\n\n     At Vienna, with S. M. de Rothschild.\n     At Petersburg, Stieglitz and Co.\n     At Paris, The Credit Mobilier.\n     At Stockholm, Tottie and Arfuredson.\n     At London, N. M. Rothschild and Son.\n     At Turin, Ardouin and Co.\n     At Berlin, Mendelssohn.\n     At Geneva, Lombard, Odier and Co.\n     At Constantinople, The Ottoman Bank.\n     At Brussels, J. Lambert.\n     At Madrid, Daniel Weisweller.\n     At Amsterdam, Netherlands Credit Co.\n     At Rome, Torlonia and Co.\n     At Lisbon, Lecesne.\n     At Copenhagen, Private Bank.\n     At","question":"\n\nThe astronomical, mechanical, and topographical difficulties\nresolved, finally came the question of finance.  The sum\nrequired was far too great for any individual, or even any\nsingle State, to provide the requisite millions.\n\nPresident Barbicane undertook, despite of the matter being a\npurely American affair, to render it one of universal interest,\nand to request the financial co-operation of all peoples.\nIt was, he maintained, the right and duty of the whole earth\nto interfere in the affairs of its satellite.  The subscription\nopened at Baltimore extended properly to the whole world-- _Urbi\net orbi_.\n\nThis subscription was successful beyond all expectation;\nnotwithstanding that it was a question not of lending but of\ngiving the money.  It was a purely disinterested operation in\nthe strictest sense of the term, and offered not the slightest\nchance of profit.\n\nThe effect, however, of Barbicane's communication was not\nconfined to the frontiers of the United States; it crossed\nthe Atlantic and Pacific, invading simultaneously Asia and\nEurope, Africa and Oceanica.  The observatories of the Union\nplaced themselves in immediate communication with those of\nforeign countries.  Some, such as those of Paris, Petersburg,\nBerlin, Stockholm, Hamburg, Malta, Lisbon, Benares, Madras,\nand others, transmitted their good wishes; the rest maintained\na prudent silence, quietly awaiting the result.  As for the\nobservatory at Greenwich, seconded"}
{"answer":"she MUST share! \"Just what you saw from the\ndining room a minute ago was the effect of that. What _I_ saw--just\nbefore--was much worse.\"\n\nHer hand tightened. \"What was it?\"\n\n\"An extraordinary man. Looking in.\"\n\n\"What extraordinary man?\"\n\n\"I haven't the least idea.\"\n\nMrs. Grose gazed round us in vain. \"Then where is he gone?\"\n\n\"I know still less.\"\n\n\"Have you seen him before?\"\n\n\"Yes--once. On the old tower.\"\n\nShe could only look at me harder. \"Do you mean he's a stranger?\"\n\n\"Oh, very much!\"\n\n\"Yet you didn't tell me?\"\n\n\"No--for reasons. But now that you've guessed--\"\n\nMrs. Grose's round eyes encountered this charge. \"Ah, I haven't\nguessed!\" she said very simply. \"How can I if YOU don't imagine?\"\n\n\"I don't in the very least.\"\n\n\"You've seen him nowhere but on the tower?\"\n\n\"And on this spot just now.\"\n\nMrs. Grose looked round again. \"What was he doing on the tower?\"\n\n\"Only standing there and looking down at me.\"\n\nShe thought a minute. \"Was he a gentleman?\"\n\nI found I had no need to think. \"No.\" She gazed in deeper wonder. \"No.\"\n\n\"Then nobody about the place? Nobody from the village?\"\n\n\"Nobody--nobody. I didn't tell you, but I made sure.\"\n\nShe breathed a vague relief: this was, oddly, so much to the good. It\nonly went indeed a little way. \"But if he isn't a gentleman--\"\n\n\"What IS he? He's a horror.\"\n\n\"A horror?\"\n\n\"He's--God help me if I know WHAT he is!\"\n\nMrs. Grose looked round once more; she fixed her eyes on the duskier\ndistance, then, pulling herself together, turned to me with abrupt\ninconsequence. \"It's time we should be at church.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm not fit for church!\"\n\n\"Won't it do you","question":"Oh, she let me know as soon as, round the corner of the house, she\nloomed again into view. \"What in the name of goodness is the matter--?\"\nShe was now flushed and out of breath.\n\nI said nothing till she came quite near. \"With me?\" I must have made a\nwonderful face. \"Do I show it?\"\n\n\"You're as white as a sheet. You look awful.\"\n\nI considered; I could meet on this, without scruple, any innocence. My\nneed to respect the bloom of Mrs. Grose's had dropped, without a rustle,\nfrom my shoulders, and if I wavered for the instant it was not with what\nI kept back. I put out my hand to her and she took it; I held her hard\na little, liking to feel her close to me. There was a kind of support in\nthe shy heave of her surprise. \"You came for me for church, of course,\nbut I can't go.\"\n\n\"Has anything happened?\"\n\n\"Yes. You must know now. Did I look very queer?\"\n\n\"Through this window? Dreadful!\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"I've been frightened.\" Mrs. Grose's eyes expressed\nplainly that SHE had no wish to be, yet also that she knew too well her\nplace not to be ready to share with me any marked inconvenience. Oh,\nit was quite settled that"}
{"answer":"thou art King,\nlet not vs that are Squires of the Nights bodie, bee call'd\nTheeues of the Dayes beautie. Let vs be Dianaes Forresters,\nGentlemen of the Shade, Minions of the Moone;\nand let men say, we be men of good Gouernment, being\ngouerned as the Sea, by our noble and chast mistris the\nMoone, vnder whose countenance we steale\n\n   Prin. Thou say'st well, and it holds well too: for the\nfortune of vs that are the Moones men, doeth ebbe and\nflow like the Sea, beeing gouerned as the Sea is, by the\nMoone: as for proofe. Now a Purse of Gold most resolutely\nsnatch'd on Monday night, and most dissolutely\nspent on Tuesday Morning; got with swearing, Lay by:\nand spent with crying, Bring in: now, in as low an ebbe\nas the foot of the Ladder, and by and by in as high a flow\nas the ridge of the Gallowes\n\n   Fal. Thou say'st true Lad: and is not my Hostesse of\nthe Tauerne a most sweet Wench?\n  Prin. As is the hony, my old Lad of the Castle: and is\nnot a Buffe Ierkin a most sweet robe of durance?\n  Fal. How now? how now mad Wagge? What in thy\nquips and thy quiddities? What a plague haue I to doe\nwith a Buffe-Ierkin?\n  Prin. Why, what a poxe haue I to doe with my Hostesse\nof the Tauerne?\n  Fal. Well, thou hast call'd her to a reck'ning many a\ntime and oft\n\n   Prin. Did I euer call for thee to pay thy part?\n ","question":"Scaena Secunda.\n\n\nEnter Henry Prince of Wales, Sir Iohn Falstaffe, and Pointz.\n\n  Fal. Now Hal, what time of day is it Lad?\n  Prince. Thou art so fat-witted with drinking of olde\nSacke, and vnbuttoning thee after Supper, and sleeping\nvpon Benches in the afternoone, that thou hast forgotten\nto demand that truely, which thou wouldest truly know.\nWhat a diuell hast thou to do with the time of the day?\nvnlesse houres were cups of Sacke, and minutes Capons,\nand clockes the tongues of Bawdes, and dialls the signes\nof Leaping-houses, and the blessed Sunne himselfe a faire\nhot Wench in Flame-coloured Taffata; I see no reason,\nwhy thou shouldest bee so superfluous, to demaund the\ntime of the day\n\n   Fal. Indeed you come neere me now Hal, for we that\ntake Purses, go by the Moone and seuen Starres, and not\nby Phoebus hee, that wand'ring Knight so faire. And I\nprythee sweet Wagge, when thou art King, as God saue\nthy Grace, Maiesty I should say, for Grace thou wilte\nhaue none\n\n   Prin. What, none?\n  Fal. No, not so much as will serue to be Prologue to\nan Egge and Butter\n\n   Prin. Well, how then? Come roundly, roundly\n\n   Fal. Marry then, sweet Wagge, when"}
{"answer":"the cost of\ninterest and maintenance.\n\nThe object of this and similar Shelters is to afford to men upon the\nverge of destitution the choice between such accommodation as is here\nprovided and the common lodging-house, known as a 'kip house,' or the\ncasual ward of a workhouse. Those who avail themselves of these\nShelters belong, speaking generally, to the destitute or nearly\ndestitute classes. They are harbours of refuge for the unfortunates\nwho find themselves on the streets of London at nightfall with a few\ncoppers or some other small sum in their pockets. Many of these social\nwrecks have sunk through drink, but many others owe their sad position\nto lack or loss of employment, or to some other misfortune.\n\nFor an extra charge of 1d. the inmates are provided with a good\nsupper, consisting of a pint of soup and a large piece of bread, or of\nbread and jam and tea, or of potato-pie. A second penny supplies them\nwith breakfast on the following morning, consisting of bread and\nporridge or of bread and fish, with tea or coffee.\n\nThe dormitories, both of the fivepenny class on the ground floor and\nof the threepenny class upstairs, are kept scrupulously sweet and\nclean, and attached to them are lavatories and baths. These lavatories\ncontain a great number of brown earthenware basins fitted with taps.\nReceptacles are provided, also, where the inmates can wash their\nclothes and have them dried by means of an ingenious electrical\ncontrivance and hot air, capable of thoroughly drying any ordinary\ngarment in twenty minutes while its owner takes a bath.\n\nThe man in charge of this apparatus","question":"MEN'S SOCIAL WORK, LONDON\n\n\n\nTHE MIDDLESEX STREET SHELTER\n\nThe first of the London Institutions of the Salvation Army which I\nvisited was that known as the Middlesex Street Shelter and Working\nMen's Home, which is at present under the supervision of Commissioner\nSturgess. This building consists of six floors, and contains sleeping\naccommodation for 462 men. It has been at work since the year 1906,\nwhen it was acquired by the Army with the help of that well-known\nphilanthropist, the late Mr. George Herring.\n\nOf the 462 men accommodated daily, 311 pay 3d. for their night's\nlodging, and the remainder 5d. The threepenny charge entitles the\ntenant to the use of a bunk bedstead with sheets and an American cloth\ncover. If the extra 2d. is forthcoming the wanderer is provided with a\nproper bed, fitted with a wire spring hospital frame and provided with\na mattress, sheets, pillow, and blankets. I may state here that as in\nthe case of this Shelter the building, furniture and other equipment\nhave been provided by charity, the nightly fees collected almost\nsuffice to pay the running expenses of the establishment. Under less\nfavourable circumstances, however, where the building and equipment\nare a charge on the capital funds of the Salvation Army, the\nexperience is that these fees do not suffice to meet"}
{"answer":"that behalf,\nBold of your worthiness, we single you\nAs our best-moving fair solicitor.\nTell him the daughter of the King of France,\nOn serious business, craving quick dispatch,\nImportunes personal conference with his Grace.\nHaste, signify so much; while we attend,\nLike humble-visag'd suitors, his high will.\n\nBOYET.\nProud of employment, willingly I go.\n\nPRINCESS.\nAll pride is willing pride, and yours is so.\n\n[Exit BOYET.]\n\nWho are the votaries, my loving lords,\nThat are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke?\n\nFIRST LORD.\nLord Longaville is one.\n\nPRINCESS.\nKnow you the man?\n\nMARIA.\nI know him, madam: at a marriage feast,\nBetween Lord Perigort and the beauteous heir\nOf Jaques Falconbridge, solemnized\nIn Normandy, saw I this Longaville.\nA man of sovereign parts, he is esteem'd,\nWell fitted in arts, glorious in arms:\nNothing becomes him ill that he would well.\nThe only soil of his fair virtue's gloss,--\nIf virtue's gloss will stain with any soil,--\nIs a sharp wit match'd with too blunt a will;\nWhose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills\nIt should none spare that come within his power.\n\nPRINCESS.\nSome merry mocking lord, belike; is't so?\n\nMARIA.\nThey say so most that most his humours know.\n\nPRINCESS.\nSuch short-liv'd wits do wither as they grow.\nWho are the rest?\n\nKATHARINE.\nThe young Dumain, a well-accomplish'd youth,\nOf all that virtue love for virtue lov'd;\nMost power to do most harm, least knowing ill,\nFor he hath wit to make an ill shape good,\nAnd shape to win grace though he had no wit.\nI saw him at the Duke Alencon's once;\nAnd much too little of that good I saw\nIs my report to his great worthiness.\n\nROSALINE.\nAnother of these students at that time\nWas there with him, if I have","question":"ACT II. SCENE I.\n\nThe King of Navarre's park. A pavilion and tents at a\ndistance.\n\n[Enter the PRINCESS OF FRANCE, ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET,\nLORDS, and other Attendants.]\n\nBOYET.\nNow, madam, summon up your dearest spirits:\nConsider who the king your father sends,\nTo whom he sends, and what's his embassy:\nYourself, held precious in the world's esteem,\nTo parley with the sole inheritor\nOf all perfections that a man may owe,\nMatchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight\nThan Aquitaine, a dowry for a queen.\nBe now as prodigal of all dear grace\nAs Nature was in making graces dear\nWhen she did starve the general world beside,\nAnd prodigally gave them all to you.\n\nPRINCESS.\nGood Lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean,\nNeeds not the painted flourish of your praise:\nBeauty is bought by judgment of the eye,\nNot utt'red by base sale of chapmen's tongues.\nI am less proud to hear you tell my worth\nThan you much willing to be counted wise\nIn spending your wit in the praise of mine.\nBut now to task the tasker: good Boyet,\nYou are not ignorant, all-telling fame\nDoth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow,\nTill painful study shall outwear three years,\nNo woman may approach his silent court:\nTherefore to's seemeth it a needful course,\nBefore we enter his forbidden gates,\nTo know his pleasure; and in"}
{"answer":" I thinke would better please 'em: by my life,\n    They are a sweet society of faire ones\n\n    Lou. O that your Lordship were but now Confessor,\n    To one or two of these\n\n    San. I would I were,\n    They should finde easie pennance\n\n    Lou. Faith how easie?\n    San. As easie as a downe bed would affoord it\n\n    Cham. Sweet Ladies will it please you sit; Sir Harry\n    Place you that side, Ile take the charge of this:\n    His Grace is entring. Nay, you must not freeze,\n    Two women plac'd together, makes cold weather:\n    My Lord Sands, you are one will keepe 'em waking:\n    Pray sit betweene these Ladies\n\n    San. By my faith,\n    And thanke your Lordship: by your leaue sweet Ladies,\n    If I chance to talke a little wilde, forgiue me:\n    I had it from my Father\n\n    An.Bul. Was he mad Sir?\n    San. O very mad, exceeding mad, in loue too;\n    But he would bite none, iust as I doe now,\n    He would Kisse you Twenty with a breath\n\n    Cham. Well said my Lord:\n    So now y'are fairely seated: Gentlemen,\n ","question":"Hoboies. A small Table vnder a State for the Cardinall, a longer\nTable for\nthe Guests. Then Enter Anne Bullen, and diuers other Ladies, &\nGentlemen,\n    as Guests at one Doore; at an other Doore enter Sir Henry\n    Guilford.\n\n    S.Hen.Guilf. Ladyes,\n    A generall welcome from his Grace\n    Salutes ye all; This Night he dedicates\n    To faire content, and you: None heere he hopes\n    In all this Noble Beuy, has brought with her\n    One care abroad: hee would haue all as merry:\n    As first, good Company, good wine, good welcome,\n    Can make good people.\n    Enter L[ord]. Chamberlaine L[ord]. Sands, and Louell.\n\n    O my Lord, y'are tardy;\n    The very thought of this faire Company,\n    Clapt wings to me\n\n    Cham. You are young Sir Harry Guilford\n\n    San. Sir Thomas Louell, had the Cardinall\n    But halfe my Lay-thoughts in him, some of these\n    Should finde a running Banket, ere they rested,\n  "}
{"answer":"to go and work in this vineyard. We set out--a Pole, a\nTyrolese, and myself. Upon my arrival I was honoured with a\nsub-deaconship and a lieutenancy. I am to-day colonel and priest. We\nshall give a warm reception to the King of Spain's troops; I will answer\nfor it that they shall be excommunicated and well beaten. Providence\nsends you here to assist us. But is it, indeed, true that my dear sister\nCunegonde is in the neighbourhood, with the Governor of Buenos Ayres?\"\n\nCandide assured him on oath that nothing was more true, and their tears\nbegan afresh.\n\nThe Baron could not refrain from embracing Candide; he called him his\nbrother, his saviour.\n\n\"Ah! perhaps,\" said he, \"we shall together, my dear Candide, enter the\ntown as conquerors, and recover my sister Cunegonde.\"\n\n\"That is all I want,\" said Candide, \"for I intended to marry her, and I\nstill hope to do so.\"\n\n\"You insolent!\" replied the Baron, \"would you have the impudence to\nmarry my sister who has seventy-two quarterings! I find thou hast the\nmost consummate effrontery to dare to mention so presumptuous a design!\"\n\nCandide, petrified at this speech, made answer:\n\n\"Reverend Father, all the quarterings in the world signify nothing; I\nrescued your sister from the arms of a Jew and of an Inquisitor; she has\ngreat obligations to me, she wishes to marry me; Master Pangloss always\ntold me that all men are equal, and certainly I will marry her.\"\n\n\"We shall see that, thou scoundrel!\" said the Jesuit Baron de\nThunder-ten-Tronckh, and that instant struck him across the face with\nthe flat of his sword. Candide in","question":"\n\"I shall have ever present to my memory the dreadful day, on which I saw\nmy father and mother killed, and my sister ravished. When the Bulgarians\nretired, my dear sister could not be found; but my mother, my father,\nand myself, with two maid-servants and three little boys all of whom had\nbeen slain, were put in a hearse, to be conveyed for interment to a\nchapel belonging to the Jesuits, within two leagues of our family seat.\nA Jesuit sprinkled us with some holy water; it was horribly salt; a few\ndrops of it fell into my eyes; the father perceived that my eyelids\nstirred a little; he put his hand upon my heart and felt it beat. I\nreceived assistance, and at the end of three weeks I recovered. You\nknow, my dear Candide, I was very pretty; but I grew much prettier, and\nthe reverend Father Didrie,[16] Superior of that House, conceived the\ntenderest friendship for me; he gave me the habit of the order, some\nyears after I was sent to Rome. The Father-General needed new levies of\nyoung German-Jesuits. The sovereigns of Paraguay admit as few Spanish\nJesuits as possible; they prefer those of other nations as being more\nsubordinate to their commands. I was judged fit by the reverend\nFather-General"}
{"answer":"means were\nemployed to counteract it. It seemed as if I were destined to sink\nunder this grievous affliction, or at least that it would hinder me from\navailing myself of any opportunity of escaping from the valley.\n\nAn incident which occurred as nearly as I can estimate about three weeks\nafter the disappearance of Toby, convinced me that the natives, from\nsome reason or other, would interpose every possible obstacle to my\nleaving them.\n\nOne morning there was no little excitement evinced by the people near\nmy abode, and which I soon discovered proceeded from a vague report\nthat boats, had been seen at a great distance approaching the bay.\nImmediately all was bustle and animation. It so happened that day that\nthe pain I suffered having somewhat abated, and feeling in much better\nspirits than usual, I had complied with Kory-Kory's invitation to visit\nthe chief Mehevi at the place called the 'Ti', which I have before\ndescribed as being situated within the precincts of the Taboo Groves.\nThese sacred recesses were at no great distance from Marheyo's\nhabitation, and lay between it and the sea; the path that conducted to\nthe beach passing directly in front of the Ti, and thence skirting along\nthe border of the groves.\n\nI was reposing upon the mats, within the sacred building, in company\nwith Mehevi and several other chiefs, when the announcement was first\nmade. It sent a thrill of joy through my whole frame;--perhaps Toby was\nabout to return. I rose at once to my feet, and my instinctive impulse\nwas to hurry down to the beach, equally regardless of the distance that\nseparated","question":"IN looking back to this period, and calling to remembrance the\nnumberless proofs of kindness and respect which I received from the\nnatives of the valley, I can scarcely understand how it was that, in the\nmidst of so many consolatory circumstances, my mind should still have\nbeen consumed by the most dismal forebodings, and have remained a\nprey to the profoundest melancholy. It is true that the suspicious\ncircumstances which had attended the disappearance of Toby were enough\nof themselves to excite distrust with regard to the savages, in whose\npower I felt myself to be entirely placed, especially when it was\ncombined with the knowledge that these very men, kind and respectful\nas they were to me, were, after all, nothing better than a set of\ncannibals.\n\nBut my chief source of anxiety, and that which poisoned every temporary\nenjoyment, was the mysterious disease in my leg, which still remained\nunabated. All the herbal applications of Tinor, united with the severer\ndiscipline of the old leech, and the affectionate nursing of Kory-Kory,\nhad failed to relieve me. I was almost a cripple, and the pain I endured\nat intervals was agonizing. The unaccountable malady showed no signs\nof amendment: on the contrary, its violence increased day by day, and\nthreatened the most fatal results, unless some powerful"}
{"answer":"moments of despair, wood softens and stone grows flexible beneath the\nhuman will. Such was the thought of Aramis, when, after having fought\nthe fight, he decided upon flight--a flight most dangerous, since all\nthe assailants were not dead; and that, admitting the possibility of\nputting the bark to sea, they would have to fly in open day, before the\nconquered, so interested on recognizing their small number, in pursuing\ntheir conquerors. When the two discharges had killed ten men, Aramis,\nfamiliar with the windings of the cavern, went to reconnoiter them one\nby one, and counted them, for the smoke prevented seeing outside; and\nhe immediately commanded that the canoe should be rolled as far as the\ngreat stone, the closure of the liberating issue. Porthos collected all\nhis strength, took the canoe in his arms, and raised it up, whilst the\nBretons made it run rapidly along the rollers. They had descended into\nthe third compartment; they had arrived at the stone which walled the\noutlet. Porthos seized this gigantic stone at its base, applied his\nrobust shoulder, and gave a heave which made the wall crack. A cloud of\ndust fell from the vault, with the ashes of ten thousand generations of\nsea birds, whose nests stuck like cement to the rock. At the third shock\nthe stone gave way, and oscillated for a minute. Porthos, placing his\nback against the neighboring rock, made an arch with his foot, which\ndrove the block out of the calcareous masses which served for hinges and\ncramps. The stone fell, and daylight was visible, brilliant, radiant,\nflooding the cavern through the opening,","question":"Chapter XLIX. An Homeric Song.\n\n\nIt is time to pass to the other camp, and to describe at once the\ncombatants and the field of battle. Aramis and Porthos had gone to the\ngrotto of Locmaria with the expectation of finding there their canoe\nready armed, as well as the three Bretons, their assistants; and they\nat first hoped to make the bark pass through the little issue of the\ncavern, concealing in that fashion both their labors and their flight.\nThe arrival of the fox and dogs obliged them to remain concealed. The\ngrotto extended the space of about a hundred _toises_, to that little\nslope dominating a creek. Formerly a temple of the Celtic divinities,\nwhen Belle-Isle was still called Kalonese, this grotto had beheld more\nthan one human sacrifice accomplished in its mystic depths. The first\nentrance to the cavern was by a moderate descent, above which distorted\nrocks formed a weird arcade; the interior, very uneven and dangerous\nfrom the inequalities of the vault, was subdivided into several\ncompartments, which communicated with each other by means of rough and\njagged steps, fixed right and left, in uncouth natural pillars. At the\nthird compartment the vault was so low, the passage so narrow, that the\nbark would scarcely have passed without touching the side; nevertheless,\nin"}
{"answer":"his head at them: Auaunt you\nCurres, be thy mouth or blacke or white:\nTooth that poysons if it bite:\nMastiffe, Grey-hound, Mongrill, Grim,\nHound or Spaniell, Brache, or Hym:\nOr Bobtaile tight, or Troudle taile,\nTom will make him weepe and waile,\nFor with throwing thus my head;\nDogs leapt the hatch, and all are fled.\nDo, de, de, de: sese: Come, march to Wakes and Fayres,\nAnd Market Townes: poore Tom thy horne is dry,\n  Lear. Then let them Anatomize Regan: See what\nbreeds about her heart. Is there any cause in Nature that\nmake these hard-hearts. You sir, I entertaine for one of\nmy hundred; only, I do not like the fashion of your garments.\nYou will say they are Persian; but let them bee\nchang'd.\nEnter Gloster.\n\n  Kent. Now good my Lord, lye heere, and rest awhile\n\n   Lear. Make no noise, make no noise, draw the Curtaines:\nso, so, wee'l go to Supper i'th' morning\n\n   Foole. And Ile go to bed at noone\n\n   Glou. Come hither Friend:\nWhere is the King my Master?\n  Kent. Here Sir, but trouble him not, his wits are gon\n\n   Glou. Good friend, I prythee take him in thy armes;\nI haue ore-heard a plot of death vpon him:\nThere is a Litter ready, lay him in't,\nAnd driue toward Douer friend, where thou shalt meete\nBoth welcome, and protection. Take vp thy Master,\nIf thou should'st dally halfe an houre, his life\nWith thine, and all that offer to defend him,\nStand in assured losse. Take vp, take vp,\nAnd follow me, that will to some","question":"Scena Sexta.\n\n\nEnter Kent, and Gloucester.\n\n  Glou. Heere is better then the open ayre, take it thankfully:\nI will peece out the comfort with what addition I\ncan: I will not be long from you.\n\nExit\n\n  Kent. All the powre of his wits, haue giuen way to his\nimpatience: the Gods reward your kindnesse.\nEnter Lear, Edgar, and Foole.\n\n  Edg. Fraterretto cals me, and tells me Nero is an Angler\nin the Lake of Darknesse: pray Innocent, and beware\nthe foule Fiend\n\n   Foole. Prythee Nunkle tell me, whether a madman be\na Gentleman, or a Yeoman\n\n   Lear. A King, a King\n\n   Foole. No, he's a Yeoman, that ha's a Gentleman to\nhis Sonne: for hee's a mad Yeoman that sees his Sonne a\nGentleman before him\n\n   Lear. To haue a thousand with red burning spits\nCome hizzing in vpon 'em\n\n   Edg. Blesse thy fiue wits\n\n   Kent. O pitty: Sir, where is the patience now\nThat you so oft haue boasted to retaine?\n  Edg. My teares begin to take his part so much,\nThey marre my counterfetting\n\n   Lear. The little dogges, and all;\nTrey, Blanch, and Sweet-heart: see, they barke at me\n\n   Edg. Tom, will throw"}
{"answer":"up with frenzied cries.\n\"Hurrah for Ardan!  Hurrah for Barbicane!  Hurrah for Nicholl!\"\nrose to the skies.  Thousands of persons, noses in air, armed\nwith telescopes and race-glasses, were questioning space,\nforgetting all contusions and emotions in the one idea of\nwatching for the projectile.  They looked in vain!  It was no\nlonger to be seen, and they were obliged to wait for telegrams\nfrom Long's Peak.  The director of the Cambridge Observatory was\nat his post on the Rocky Mountains; and to him, as a skillful\nand persevering astronomer, all observations had been confided.\n\nBut an unforeseen phenomenon came in to subject the public\nimpatience to a severe trial.\n\nThe weather, hitherto so fine, suddenly changed; the sky became\nheavy with clouds.  It could not have been otherwise after the\nterrible derangement of the atmospheric strata, and the dispersion\nof the enormous quantity of vapor arising from the combustion of\n200,000 pounds of pyroxyle!\n\nOn the morrow the horizon was covered with clouds-- a thick and\nimpenetrable curtain between earth and sky, which unhappily\nextended as far as the Rocky Mountains.  It was a fatality!\nBut since man had chosen so to disturb the atmosphere, he was\nbound to accept the consequences of his experiment.\n\nSupposing, now, that the experiment had succeeded, the travelers\nhaving started on the 1st of December, at 10h. 46m. 40s. P.M.,\nwere due on the 4th at 0h. P.M. at their destination.  So that\nup to that time it would have been very difficult after all to\nhave observed, under such conditions, a body so small as the shell.\nTherefore they waited","question":"\n\nAt the moment when that pyramid of fire rose to a prodigious\nheight into the air, the glare of flame lit up the whole of\nFlorida; and for a moment day superseded night over a\nconsiderable extent of the country.  This immense canopy of fire\nwas perceived at a distance of one hundred miles out at sea, and\nmore than one ship's captain entered in his log the appearance\nof this gigantic meteor.\n\nThe discharge of the Columbiad was accompanied by a\nperfect earthquake.  Florida was shaken to its very depths.\nThe gases of the powder, expanded by heat, forced back the\natmospheric strata with tremendous violence, and this\nartificial hurricane rushed like a water-spout through the air.\n\nNot a single spectator remained on his feet!  Men, women\nchildren, all lay prostrate like ears of corn under a tempest.\nThere ensued a terrible tumult; a large number of persons were\nseriously injured.  J. T. Maston, who, despite all dictates of\nprudence, had kept in advance of the mass, was pitched back 120\nfeet, shooting like a projectile over the heads of his\nfellow-citizens.  Three hundred thousand persons remained deaf\nfor a time, and as though struck stupefied.\n\nAs soon as the first effects were over, the injured, the deaf,\nand lastly, the crowd in general, woke"}
{"answer":"his arms.\n\n\"Farewell, dear darling of my soul. My parting blessing on my love. We\nshall meet again, where the weary are at rest!\"\n\nThey were her husband's words, as he held her to his bosom.\n\n\"I can bear it, dear Charles. I am supported from above: don't suffer\nfor me. A parting blessing for our child.\"\n\n\"I send it to her by you. I kiss her by you. I say farewell to her by\nyou.\"\n\n\"My husband. No! A moment!\" He was tearing himself apart from her.\n\"We shall not be separated long. I feel that this will break my heart\nby-and-bye; but I will do my duty while I can, and when I leave her, God\nwill raise up friends for her, as He did for me.\"\n\nHer father had followed her, and would have fallen on his knees to both\nof them, but that Darnay put out a hand and seized him, crying:\n\n\"No, no! What have you done, what have you done, that you should kneel\nto us! We know now, what a struggle you made of old. We know, now what\nyou underwent when you suspected my descent, and when you knew it. We\nknow now, the natural antipathy you strove against, and conquered, for\nher dear sake. We thank you with all our hearts, and all our love and\nduty. Heaven be with you!\"\n\nHer father's only answer was to draw his hands through his white hair,\nand wring them with a shriek of anguish.\n\n\"It could not be otherwise,\" said the prisoner. \"All things have worked\ntogether as they have fallen out. It was the always-vain","question":"XI. Dusk\n\n\nThe wretched wife of the innocent man thus doomed to die, fell under\nthe sentence, as if she had been mortally stricken. But, she uttered no\nsound; and so strong was the voice within her, representing that it was\nshe of all the world who must uphold him in his misery and not augment\nit, that it quickly raised her, even from that shock.\n\nThe Judges having to take part in a public demonstration out of doors,\nthe Tribunal adjourned. The quick noise and movement of the court's\nemptying itself by many passages had not ceased, when Lucie stood\nstretching out her arms towards her husband, with nothing in her face\nbut love and consolation.\n\n\"If I might touch him! If I might embrace him once! O, good citizens, if\nyou would have so much compassion for us!\"\n\nThere was but a gaoler left, along with two of the four men who had\ntaken him last night, and Barsad. The people had all poured out to the\nshow in the streets. Barsad proposed to the rest, \"Let her embrace\nhim then; it is but a moment.\" It was silently acquiesced in, and they\npassed her over the seats in the hall to a raised place, where he, by\nleaning over the dock, could fold her in"}
{"answer":"their capacities and\nstrength. The results of this movement, carried out upon a great\nscale, can be seen in the remoter parts of Ireland, which, as the\nvisitor will observe, appear to be largely populated by very young\nchildren and by persons getting on in years. Whether or no this is a\nsatisfactory state of affairs is not for me to say, although the\nmatter, too large to discuss here, is one upon which I may have my own\nopinion.\n\nColonel Lamb, the head of the Salvation Army Emigration Department,\ninformed me that during the past seven years the Army has emigrated\nabout 50,000 souls, of whom 10,000 were assisted out of its funds, the\nrest paying their own way or being paid for from one source or\nanother. From 8,000 to 10,000 people have been sent during the present\nyear, 1910, most of them to Canada, which is the Mecca of the\nSalvation Army Emigration policy. So carefully have all these people\nbeen selected, that not 1 per cent have ever been returned to this\ncountry by the Canadian Authorities as undesirable. The truth is that\nthose Authorities have the greatest confidence in the discretion of\nthe Army, and in its ability to handle this matter to the advantage of\nall concerned.\n\nThat this is true I know from personal experience, since when, some\nyears ago, I was a Commissioner from the British Government and had\nauthority to formulate a scheme of Colonial land-settlement, the Prime\nMinister of Canada, Sir Wilfrid Laurier, told me so himself in the\nplainest language. Indeed, he did more, formally offering a huge block\nof territory to be selected","question":"THE EMIGRATION DEPARTMENT\n\n\n\nSome years ago I was present one night in the Board-room at Euston\nStation and addressed a shipload of emigrants who were departing to\nCanada under the auspices of the Salvation Army. I forget their exact\nnumber, but I think it was not less than 500. What I do not forget,\nhowever, is the sorrow that I felt at seeing so many men in the prime\nof life leaving the shores of their country for ever, especially as\nmost of them were not married. This meant, amongst other things, that\nan equal number of women who remained behind were deprived of the\npossibility of obtaining a husband in a country in which the females\nalready outnumber the males by more than a million. I said as much in\nthe little speech I made on this occasion, and I think that some one\nanswered me with the pertinent remark that if there was no work at\nhome, it must be sought abroad.\n\n[Illustration: INMATES OF A MEN'S INDUSTRIAL HOME.]\n\nThere lies the whole problem in a nutshell--men must live. As for the\naged and the incompetent and the sick and the unattached women, these\nare left behind for the community to support, while young and active\nmen of energy move off to endow new lands with"}
{"answer":"the subject of his desire was being\ndelayed. He was anxious to turn the talk to his own feelings. All was\nripe for it. His Carrie was beside him. He wanted to plunge in and\nexpostulate with her, and yet he found himself fishing for words and\nfeeling for a way.\n\n\"You got home all right,\" he said, gloomily, of a sudden, his tune\nmodifying itself to one of self-commiseration.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Carrie, easily.\n\nHe looked at her steadily for a moment, slowing his pace and fixing her\nwith his eye.\n\nShe felt the flood of feeling.\n\n\"How about me?\" he asked.\n\nThis confused Carrie considerably, for she realised the flood-gates\nwere open. She didn't know exactly what to answer. \"I don't know,\" she\nanswered.\n\nHe took his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, and then let it\ngo. He stopped by the walk side and kicked the grass with his toe. He\nsearched her face with a tender, appealing glance.\n\n\"Won't you come away from him?\" he asked, intensely.\n\n\"I don't know,\" returned Carrie, still illogically drifting and finding\nnothing at which to catch.\n\nAs a matter of fact, she was in a most hopeless quandary. Here was a\nman whom she thoroughly liked, who exercised an influence over her,\nsufficient almost to delude her into the belief that she was possessed\nof a lively passion for him. She was still the victim of his keen eyes,\nhis suave manners, his fine clothes. She looked and saw before her a\nman who was most gracious and sympathetic, who leaned toward her with a\nfeeling that was a delight to observe. She could not resist","question":"\n\nWhen Carrie came Hurstwood had been waiting many minutes. His blood was\nwarm; his nerves wrought up. He was anxious to see the woman who had\nstirred him so profoundly the night before.\n\n\"Here you are,\" he said, repressedly, feeling a spring in his limbs and\nan elation which was tragic in itself.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Carrie.\n\nThey walked on as if bound for some objective point, while Hurstwood\ndrank in the radiance of her presence. The rustle of her pretty skirt\nwas like music to him.\n\n\"Are you satisfied?\" he asked, thinking of how well she did the night\nbefore.\n\n\"Are you?\"\n\nHe tightened his fingers as he saw the smile she gave him.\n\n\"It was wonderful.\"\n\nCarrie laughed ecstatically.\n\n\"That was one of the best things I've seen in a long time,\" he added.\n\nHe was dwelling on her attractiveness as he had felt it the evening\nbefore, and mingling it with the feeling her presence inspired now.\n\nCarrie was dwelling in the atmosphere which this man created for her.\nAlready she was enlivened and suffused with a glow. She felt his drawing\ntoward her in every sound of his voice.\n\n\"Those were such nice flowers you sent me,\" she said, after a moment or\ntwo. \"They were beautiful.\"\n\n\"Glad you liked them,\" he answered, simply.\n\nHe was thinking all the time that"}
{"answer":"or idled\nnear them were sometimes caught in the spreading movement.\n\nOne fine morning a young man whose hair was not immoderately long, but\nabundant and curly, and who was otherwise English in his equipment, had\njust turned his back on the Belvedere Torso in the Vatican and was\nlooking out on the magnificent view of the mountains from the adjoining\nround vestibule.  He was sufficiently absorbed not to notice the\napproach of a dark-eyed, animated German who came up to him and placing\na hand on his shoulder, said with a strong accent, \"Come here, quick!\nelse she will have changed her pose.\"\n\nQuickness was ready at the call, and the two figures passed lightly\nalong by the Meleager, towards the hall where the reclining Ariadne,\nthen called the Cleopatra, lies in the marble voluptuousness of her\nbeauty, the drapery folding around her with a petal-like ease and\ntenderness.  They were just in time to see another figure standing\nagainst a pedestal near the reclining marble: a breathing blooming\ngirl, whose form, not shamed by the Ariadne, was clad in Quakerish gray\ndrapery; her long cloak, fastened at the neck, was thrown backward from\nher arms, and one beautiful ungloved hand pillowed her cheek, pushing\nsomewhat backward the white beaver bonnet which made a sort of halo to\nher face around the simply braided dark-brown hair.  She was not\nlooking at the sculpture, probably not thinking of it: her large eyes\nwere fixed dreamily on a streak of sunlight which fell across the\nfloor.  But she became conscious of the two strangers who suddenly\npaused as if to contemplate","question":"\n    \"L' altra vedete ch'ha fatto alla guancia\n     Della sua palma, sospirando, letto.\"\n                              --Purgatorio, vii.\n\n\nWhen George the Fourth was still reigning over the privacies of\nWindsor, when the Duke of Wellington was Prime Minister, and Mr. Vincy\nwas mayor of the old corporation in Middlemarch, Mrs. Casaubon, born\nDorothea Brooke, had taken her wedding journey to Rome.  In those days\nthe world in general was more ignorant of good and evil by forty years\nthan it is at present.  Travellers did not often carry full information\non Christian art either in their heads or their pockets; and even the\nmost brilliant English critic of the day mistook the flower-flushed\ntomb of the ascended Virgin for an ornamental vase due to the painter's\nfancy.  Romanticism, which has helped to fill some dull blanks with\nlove and knowledge, had not yet penetrated the times with its leaven\nand entered into everybody's food; it was fermenting still as a\ndistinguishable vigorous enthusiasm in certain long-haired German\nartists at Rome, and the youth of other nations who worked"}
{"answer":"touch'd to death,\n    He did oppose his foe;\n    And with such sober and unnoted passion\n    He did behove his anger ere 'twas spent,\n    As if he had but prov'd an argument.\n  FIRST SENATOR. You undergo too strict a paradox,\n    Striving to make an ugly deed look fair;\n    Your words have took such pains as if they labour'd\n    To bring manslaughter into form and set\n    Quarrelling upon the head of valour; which, indeed,\n    Is valour misbegot, and came into the world\n    When sects and factions were newly born.\n    He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer\n    The worst that man can breathe,\n    And make his wrongs his outsides,\n    To wear them like his raiment, carelessly,\n    And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart,\n    To bring it into danger.\n    If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill,\n    What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill!\n  ALCIBIADES. My lord-\n  FIRST SENATOR. You cannot make gross sins look clear:\n    To revenge is no valour, but to bear.\n  ALCIBIADES. My lords, then, under favour, pardon me\n    If I speak like a captain:\n    Why do fond men expose themselves to","question":"The Senate House\n\nEnter three SENATORS at one door, ALCIBIADES meeting them, with\nattendants\n\n  FIRST SENATOR. My lord, you have my voice to't: the fault's\nbloody.\n    'Tis necessary he should die:\n    Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.\n  SECOND SENATOR. Most true; the law shall bruise him.\n  ALCIBIADES. Honour, health, and compassion, to the Senate!\n  FIRST SENATOR. Now, Captain?\n  ALCIBIADES. I am an humble suitor to your virtues;\n    For pity is the virtue of the law,\n    And none but tyrants use it cruelly.\n    It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy\n    Upon a friend of mine, who in hot blood\n    Hath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth\n    To those that without heed do plunge into't.\n    He is a man, setting his fate aside,\n    Of comely virtues;\n    Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice-\n    An honour in him which buys out his fault-\n    But with a noble fury and fair spirit,\n    Seeing his reputation"}
{"answer":"owne misfortune on the backe\nOf such as haue before indur'd the like.\nThus play I in one Prison, many people,\nAnd none contented. Sometimes am I King;\nThen Treason makes me wish my selfe a Beggar,\nAnd so I am. Then crushing penurie,\nPerswades me, I was better when a King:\nThen am I king'd againe: and by and by,\nThinke that I am vn-king'd by Bullingbrooke,\nAnd straight am nothing. But what ere I am,\n\nMusick\n\nNor I, nor any man, that but man is,\nWith nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd\nWith being nothing. Musicke do I heare?\nHa, ha? keepe time: How sowre sweet Musicke is,\nWhen Time is broke, and no Proportion kept?\nSo is it in the Musicke of mens liues:\nAnd heere haue I the daintinesse of eare,\nTo heare time broke in a disorder'd string:\nBut for the Concord of my State and Time,\nHad not an eare to heare my true Time broke.\nI wasted Time, and now doth Time waste me:\nFor now hath Time made me his numbring clocke;\nMy Thoughts, are minutes; and with Sighes they iarre,\nTheir watches on vnto mine eyes, the outward Watch,\nWhereto my finger, like a Dialls point,\nIs pointing still, in cleansing them from teares.\nNow sir, the sound that tels what houre it is,\nAre clamorous groanes, that strike vpon my heart,\nWhich is the bell: so Sighes, and Teares, and Grones,\nShew Minutes, Houres, and Times: but my Time\nRuns poasting on, in Bullingbrookes proud ioy,\nWhile I stand fooling heere, his iacke o'th' Clocke.\nThis Musicke mads me, let it sound no more,\nFor though it haue holpe madmen to their","question":"Scaena Quarta.\n\nEnter Richard.\n\n  Rich. I haue bin studying, how to compare\nThis Prison where I liue, vnto the World:\nAnd for because the world is populous,\nAnd heere is not a Creature, but my selfe,\nI cannot do it: yet Ile hammer't out.\nMy Braine, Ile proue the Female to my Soule,\nMy Soule, the Father: and these two beget\nA generation of still breeding Thoughts;\nAnd these same Thoughts, people this Little World\nIn humors, like the people of this world,\nFor no thought is contented. The better sort,\nAs thoughts of things Diuine, are intermixt\nWith scruples, and do set the Faith it selfe\nAgainst the Faith: as thus: Come litle ones: & then again,\nIt is as hard to come, as for a Camell\nTo thred the posterne of a Needles eye.\nThoughts tending to Ambition, they do plot\nVnlikely wonders; how these vaine weake nailes\nMay teare a passage through the Flinty ribbes\nOf this hard world, my ragged prison walles:\nAnd for they cannot, dye in their owne pride.\nThoughts tending to Content, flatter themselues,\nThat they are not the first of Fortunes slaues,\nNor shall not be the last. Like silly Beggars,\nWho sitting in the Stockes, refuge their shame\nThat many haue, and others must sit there;\nAnd in this Thought, they finde a kind of ease,\nBearing their"}
{"answer":"'pehee, pehee' (fish, fish).\nTowards the time when they were expected to return the vocal telegraph\nwas put into operation--the inhabitants, who were scattered throughout\nthe length of the valley, leaped upon rocks and into trees, shouting\nwith delight at the thoughts of the anticipated treat. As soon as the\napproach of the party was announced, there was a general rush of the\nmen towards the beach; some of them remaining, however, about the Ti in\norder to get matters in readiness for the reception of the fish, which\nwere brought to the Taboo Groves in immense packages of leaves, each one\nof them being suspended from a pole carried on the shoulders of two men.\n\nI was present at the Ti on one of these occasions, and the sight was\nmost interesting. After all the packages had arrived, they were laid in\na row under the verandah of the building and opened.\n\nThe fish were all quite small, generally about the size of a herring,\nand of every variety. About one-eighth of the whole being reserved\nfor the use of the Ti itself, the remainder was divided into numerous\nsmaller packages, which were immediately dispatched in every direction\nto the remotest parts of the valley. Arrived at their destination, these\nwere in turn portioned out, and equally distributed among the various\nhouses of each particular district. The fish were under a strict Taboo,\nuntil the distribution was completed, which seemed to be effected in the\nmost impartial manner. By the operation of this system every man, woman,\nand child in the vale, were at one and the same time partaking of","question":"THERE was no instance in which the social and kindly dispositions of the\nTypees were more forcibly evinced than in the manner the conducted their\ngreat fishing parties. Four times during my stay in the valley the young\nmen assembled near the full of the moon, and went together on these\nexcursions. As they were generally absent about forty-eight hours, I was\nled to believe that they went out towards the open sea, some distance\nfrom the bay. The Polynesians seldom use a hook and line, almost always\nemploying large well-made nets, most ingeniously fabricated from the\ntwisted fibres of a certain bark. I examined several of them which had\nbeen spread to dry upon the beach at Nukuheva. They resemble very much\nour own seines, and I should think they were nearly as durable.\n\nAll the South Sea Islanders are passionately fond of fish; but none\nof them can be more so than the inhabitants of Typee. I could not\ncomprehend, therefore, why they so seldom sought it in their waters, for\nit was only at stated times that the fishing parties were formed, and\nthese occasions were always looked forward to with no small degree of\ninterest.\n\nDuring their absence the whole population of the place were in a\nferment, and nothing was talked of but"}
{"answer":"forth:\nAnd at the time of my departure thence,\nHe was much fear'd by his Physician\n\n   Wor. I would the state of time had first beene whole,\nEre he by sicknesse had beene visited:\nHis health was neuer better worth then now\n\n   Hotsp. Sicke now? droope now? this sicknes doth infect\nThe very Life-blood of our Enterprise,\n'Tis catching hither, euen to our Campe.\nHe writes me here, that inward sicknesse,\nAnd that his friends by deputation\nCould not so soone be drawne: nor did he thinke it meet,\nTo lay so dangerous and deare a trust\nOn any Soule remou'd, but on his owne.\nYet doth he giue vs bold aduertisement,\nThat with our small coniunction we should on,\nTo see how Fortune is dispos'd to vs:\nFor, as he writes, there is no quailing now,\nBecause the King is certainely possest\nOf all our purposes. What say you to it?\n  Wor. Your Fathers sicknesse is a mayme to vs\n\n   Hotsp. A perillous Gash, a very Limme lopt off:\nAnd yet, in faith, it is not his present want\nSeemes more then we shall finde it.\nWere it good, to set the exact wealth of all our states\nAll at one Cast? To set so rich a mayne\nOn the nice hazard of one doubtfull houre,\nIt were not good: for therein should we reade\nThe very Bottome, and the Soule of Hope,\nThe very List, the very vtmost Bound\nOf all our fortunes\n\n   Dowg. Faith, and so wee should,\nWhere now remaines a sweet reuersion.\nWe may boldly spend, vpon the hope\nOf what is to come in:\nA","question":"Actus Quartus. Scoena Prima.\n\n\nEnter Harrie Hotspurre, Worcester, and Dowglas.\n\n  Hot. Well said, my Noble Scot, if speaking truth\nIn this fine Age, were not thought flatterie,\nSuch attribution should the Dowglas haue,\nAs not a Souldiour of this seasons stampe,\nShould go so generall currant through the world.\nBy heauen I cannot flatter: I defie\nThe Tongues of Soothers. But a Brauer place\nIn my hearts loue, hath no man then your Selfe.\nNay, taske me to my word: approue me Lord\n\n   Dow. Thou art the King of Honor:\nNo man so potent breathes vpon the ground,\nBut I will Beard him.\nEnter a Messenger.\n\n  Hot. Do so, and 'tis well. What letters hast there?\nI can but thanke you\n\n   Mess. These Letters come from your Father\n\n   Hot. Letters from him?\nWhy comes he not himselfe?\n  Mes. He cannot come, my Lord,\nHe is greeuous sicke\n\n   Hot. How? haz he the leysure to be sicke now,\nIn such a iustling time? Who leades his power?\nVnder whose Gouernment come they along?\n  Mess. His Letters beares his minde, not I his minde\n\n   Wor. I prethee tell me, doth he keepe his Bed?\n  Mess. He did, my Lord, foure dayes ere I set"}
{"answer":"determine with th' ancient of warre\nOn our proceeding\n\n   Reg. Sister you'le go with vs?\n  Gon. No\n\n   Reg. 'Tis most conuenient, pray go with vs\n\n   Gon. Oh ho, I know the Riddle, I will goe.\n\nExeunt. both the Armies.\n\nEnter Edgar.\n\n  Edg. If ere your Grace had speech with man so poore,\nHeare me one word\n\n   Alb. Ile ouertake you, speake\n\n   Edg. Before you fight the Battaile, ope this Letter:\nIf you haue victory, let the Trumpet sound\nFor him that brought it: wretched though I seeme,\nI can produce a Champion, that will proue\nWhat is auouched there. If you miscarry,\nYour businesse of the world hath so an end,\nAnd machination ceases. Fortune loues you\n\n   Alb. Stay till I haue read the Letter\n\n   Edg. I was forbid it:\nWhen time shall serue, let but the Herald cry,\nAnd Ile appeare againe.\nEnter.\n\n  Alb. Why farethee well, I will o're-looke thy paper.\nEnter Edmund.\n\n  Bast. The Enemy's in view, draw vp your powers,\nHeere is the guesse of their true strength and Forces,\nBy dilligent discouerie, but your hast\nIs now vrg'd on you\n\n   Alb. We will greet the time.\nEnter.\n\n  Bast. To both these Sisters haue I sworne my loue:\nEach iealous of the other, as the stung\nAre of the Adder. Which of them shall I take?\nBoth? One? Or neither? Neither can be enioy'd\nIf both remaine aliue: To take the Widdow,\nExasperates, makes mad her Sister Gonerill,\nAnd hardly shall I carry out my side,\nHer husband being aliue.","question":"Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.\n\n\nEnter with Drumme and Colours, Edmund, Regan. Gentlemen, and\nSouldiers.\n\n  Bast. Know of the Duke if his last purpose hold,\nOr whether since he is aduis'd by ought\nTo change the course, he's full of alteration,\nAnd selfereprouing, bring his constant pleasure\n\n   Reg. Our Sisters man is certainely miscarried\n\n   Bast. 'Tis to be doubted Madam\n\n   Reg. Now sweet Lord,\nYou know the goodnesse I intend vpon you:\nTell me but truly, but then speake the truth,\nDo you not loue my Sister?\n  Bast. In honour'd Loue\n\n   Reg. But haue you neuer found my Brothers way,\nTo the fore-fended place?\n  Bast. No by mine honour, Madam\n\n   Reg. I neuer shall endure her, deere my Lord\nBe not familiar with her\n\n   Bast. Feare not, she and the Duke her husband.\nEnter with Drum and Colours, Albany, Gonerill, Soldiers.\n\n  Alb. Our very louing Sister, well be-met:\nSir, this I heard, the King is come to his Daughter\nWith others, whom the rigour of our State\nForc'd to cry out\n\n   Regan. Why is this reasond?\n  Gone. Combine together 'gainst the Enemie:\nFor these domesticke and particular broiles,\nAre not the question heere\n\n   Alb. Let's then"}
{"answer":"in attitudes of chronic dejection, was scattered among the\nbenches.\n\nA girl of the painted cohorts of the city went along the street.  She\nthrew changing glances at men who passed her, giving smiling\ninvitations to men of rural or untaught pattern and usually seeming\nsedately unconscious of the men with a metropolitan seal upon their\nfaces.\n\nCrossing glittering avenues, she went into the throng emerging from the\nplaces of forgetfulness.  She hurried forward through the crowd as if\nintent upon reaching a distant home, bending forward in her handsome\ncloak, daintily lifting her skirts and picking for her well-shod feet\nthe dryer spots upon the pavements.\n\nThe restless doors of saloons, clashing to and fro, disclosed animated\nrows of men before bars and hurrying barkeepers.\n\nA concert hall gave to the street faint sounds of swift, machine-like\nmusic, as if a group of phantom musicians were hastening.\n\nA tall young man, smoking a cigarette with a sublime air, strolled near\nthe girl.  He had on evening dress, a moustache, a chrysanthemum, and a\nlook of ennui, all of which he kept carefully under his eye.  Seeing\nthe girl walk on as if such a young man as he was not in existence, he\nlooked back transfixed with interest.  He stared glassily for a moment,\nbut gave a slight convulsive start when he discerned that she was\nneither new, Parisian, nor theatrical.  He wheeled about hastily and\nturned his stare into the air, like a sailor with a search-light.\n\nA stout gentleman, with pompous and philanthropic whiskers, went\nstolidly by, the broad of his back sneering at the girl.\n\nA","question":"\nUpon a wet evening, several months after the last chapter, two\ninterminable rows of cars, pulled by slipping horses, jangled along a\nprominent side-street.  A dozen cabs, with coat-enshrouded drivers,\nclattered to and fro.  Electric lights, whirring softly, shed a blurred\nradiance.  A flower dealer, his feet tapping impatiently, his nose and\nhis wares glistening with rain-drops, stood behind an array of roses\nand chrysanthemums.  Two or three theatres emptied a crowd upon the\nstorm-swept pavements.  Men pulled their hats over their eyebrows and\nraised their collars to their ears.  Women shrugged impatient shoulders\nin their warm cloaks and stopped to arrange their skirts for a walk\nthrough the storm.  People having been comparatively silent for two\nhours burst into a roar of conversation, their hearts still kindling\nfrom the glowings of the stage.\n\nThe pavements became tossing seas of umbrellas.  Men stepped forth to\nhail cabs or cars, raising their fingers in varied forms of polite\nrequest or imperative demand.  An endless procession wended toward\nelevated stations.  An atmosphere of pleasure and prosperity seemed to\nhang over the throng, born, perhaps, of good clothes and of having just\nemerged from a place of forgetfulness.\n\nIn the mingled light and gloom of an adjacent park, a handful of wet\nwanderers,"}
{"answer":"little boys ran to and fro, dodging, hurling stones\nand swearing in barbaric trebles.\n\nFrom a window of an apartment house that upreared its form from amid\nsquat, ignorant stables, there leaned a curious woman.  Some laborers,\nunloading a scow at a dock at the river, paused for a moment and\nregarded the fight.  The engineer of a passive tugboat hung lazily to a\nrailing and watched.  Over on the Island, a worm of yellow convicts\ncame from the shadow of a building and crawled slowly along the river's\nbank.\n\nA stone had smashed into Jimmie's mouth.  Blood was bubbling over his\nchin and down upon his ragged shirt.  Tears made furrows on his\ndirt-stained cheeks.  His thin legs had begun to tremble and turn weak,\ncausing his small body to reel.  His roaring curses of the first part\nof the fight had changed to a blasphemous chatter.\n\nIn the yells of the whirling mob of Devil's Row children there were\nnotes of joy like songs of triumphant savagery.  The little boys seemed\nto leer gloatingly at the blood upon the other child's face.\n\nDown the avenue came boastfully sauntering a lad of sixteen years,\nalthough the chronic sneer of an ideal manhood already sat upon his\nlips.  His hat was tipped with an air of challenge over his eye.\nBetween his teeth, a cigar stump was tilted at the angle of defiance.\nHe walked with a certain swing of the shoulders which appalled the\ntimid.  He glanced over into the vacant lot in which the little raving\nboys from Devil's Row seethed","question":"\nA very little boy stood upon a heap of gravel for the honor of Rum\nAlley.  He was throwing stones at howling urchins from Devil's Row who\nwere circling madly about the heap and pelting at him.\n\nHis infantile countenance was livid with fury.  His small body was\nwrithing in the delivery of great, crimson oaths.\n\n\"Run, Jimmie, run!  Dey'll get yehs,\" screamed a retreating Rum Alley\nchild.\n\n\"Naw,\" responded Jimmie with a valiant roar, \"dese micks can't make me\nrun.\"\n\nHowls of renewed wrath went up from Devil's Row throats.  Tattered\ngamins on the right made a furious assault on the gravel heap.  On\ntheir small, convulsed faces there shone the grins of true assassins.\nAs they charged, they threw stones and cursed in shrill chorus.\n\nThe little champion of Rum Alley stumbled precipitately down the other\nside.  His coat had been torn to shreds in a scuffle, and his hat was\ngone.  He had bruises on twenty parts of his body, and blood was\ndripping from a cut in his head.  His wan features wore a look of a\ntiny, insane demon.\n\nOn the ground, children from Devil's Row closed in on their antagonist.\nHe crooked his left arm defensively about his head and fought with\ncursing fury.  The"}
{"answer":"subsequently, this remuneration is added to\nin proportion to the value of the labour, till in the end some of them\nearn 8s. or 9s. a week in addition to their board and lodging.\n\nI asked the Officer in charge what he had to say as to the charges of\nsweating and underselling which have been brought against the\nSalvation Army in connexion with this and its other productive\nInstitutions.\n\nHe replied that they neither sweated nor undersold. The men whom they\npicked up had no value in the labour market, and could get nothing to\ndo because no one would employ them, many of them being the victims of\ndrink or entirely unskilled. Such people they overlooked, housed, fed,\nand instructed, whether they did or did not earn their food and\nlodging, and after the first week paid them upon a rising scale. The\nresults were eminently satisfactory, as even allowing for the\ndrunkards they found that but few cases, not more than 10 per cent,\nwere hopeless. Did they not rescue these men most of them would sink\nutterly; indeed, according to their own testimony many of such\nwastrels were snatched from suicide. As a matter of fact, also, they\nemployed more men per ton of paper than any other dealers in the\ntrade.\n\nWith reference to the commercial results, after allowing for interest\non the capital invested, the place did not pay its way. He said that a\nsum of L15,000 was urgently required for the erection of a new\nbuilding on this site, some of those that exist being of a\nrough-and-ready character. They were trying to raise subscriptions\ntowards this","question":"THE SPA ROAD ELEVATOR\n\n\n\nBERMONDSEY\n\nThe next Institution that I inspected was that of a paper-sorting\nworks at Spa Road, Bermondsey, where all sorts of waste paper are\ndealt with in enormous quantities. Of this stuff some is given and\nsome is bought. Upon delivery it goes to the sorters, who separate it\nout according to the different classes of the material, after which it\nis pressed into bales by hydraulic machinery and sold to merchants to\nbe re-made.\n\nThese works stand upon two acres of land. Parts of the existing\nbuildings were once a preserve factory, but some of them have been\nerected by the Army. There remain upon the site certain\ndwelling-houses, which are still let to tenants. These are destined to\nbe pulled down whenever money is forthcoming to extend the factory.\n\nThe object of the Institution is to find work for distressed or fallen\npersons, and restore them to society. The Manager of this 'Elevator,'\nas it is called, informed me that it employs about 480 men, all of\nwhom are picked up upon the streets. As a rule, these men are given\ntheir board and lodging in return for work during the first week, but\nno money, as their labour is worth little. In the second week, 6d. is\npaid to them in cash; and,"}
{"answer":"Temperance\n\n   Cor. O my deere Father, restauratian hang\nThy medicine on my lippes, and let this kisse\nRepaire those violent harmes, that my two Sisters\nHaue in thy Reuerence made\n\n   Kent. Kind and deere Princesse\n\n   Cor. Had you not bin their Father, these white flakes\nDid challenge pitty of them. Was this a face\nTo be oppos'd against the iarring windes?\nMine Enemies dogge, though he had bit me,\nShould haue stood that night against my fire,\nAnd was't thou faine (poore Father)\nTo houell thee with Swine and Rogues forlorne,\nIn short, and musty straw? Alacke, alacke,\n'Tis wonder that thy life and wits, at once\nHad not concluded all. He wakes, speake to him\n\n   Gen. Madam do you, 'tis fittest\n\n   Cor. How does my Royall Lord?\nHow fares your Maiesty?\n  Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o'th' graue,\nThou art a Soule in blisse, but I am bound\nVpon a wheele of fire, that mine owne teares\nDo scal'd, like molten Lead\n\n   Cor. Sir, do you know me?\n  Lear. You are a spirit I know, where did you dye?\n  Cor. Still, still, farre wide\n\n   Gen. He's scarse awake,\nLet him alone a while\n\n   Lear. Where haue I bin?\nWhere am I? Faire day light?\nI am mightily abus'd; I should eu'n dye with pitty\nTo see another thus. I know not what to say:\nI will not sweare these are my hands: let's see,\nI feele this pin pricke, would I were assur'd\nOf my condition\n\n   Cor.","question":"\nScaena Septima.\n\nEnter Cordelia, Kent, and Gentleman.\n\n  Cor. O thou good Kent,\nHow shall I liue and worke\nTo match thy goodnesse?\nMy life will be too short,\nAnd euery measure faile me\n\n   Kent. To be acknowledg'd Madam is ore-pai'd,\nAll my reports go with the modest truth,\nNor more, nor clipt, but so\n\n   Cor. Be better suited,\nThese weedes are memories of those worser houres:\nI prythee put them off\n\n   Kent. Pardon deere Madam,\nYet to be knowne shortens my made intent,\nMy boone I make it, that you know me not,\nTill time, and I, thinke meet\n\n   Cor. Then be't so my good Lord:\nHow do's the King?\n  Gent. Madam sleepes still\n\n   Cor. O you kind Gods!\nCure this great breach in his abused Nature,\nTh' vntun'd and iarring senses, O winde vp,\nOf this childe-changed Father\n\n   Gent. So please your Maiesty,\nThat we may wake the King, he hath slept long?\n  Cor. Be gouern'd by your knowledge, and proceede\nI'th' sway of your owne will: is he array'd?\nEnter Lear in a chaire carried by Seruants]\n  Gent. I Madam: in the heauinesse of sleepe,\nWe put fresh garments on him.\nBe by good Madam when we do awake him,\nI doubt of his"}
{"answer":"there with a trader I was cook\nin.\"\n\n\"The anchorage is on the south, behind an islet, I fancy?\" asked the\ncaptain.\n\n\"Yes, sir, Skeleton Island they calls it. It were a main place for\npirates once, and a hand we had on board knowed all their names for it.\nThat hill to the nor'ard they calls the Foremast Hill; there are three\nhills in a row running south'ard--fore, main, and mizzen, sir. But the\nmain--that's the big 'un, with the cloud on it--they usually calls the\nSpy-glass, by reason of a lookout they kept when they was in the\nanchorage cleaning; for it's there they cleaned their ships, sir, asking\nyour pardon.\"\n\n\"I have a chart here,\" said Captain Smollett. \"See if that's the place.\"\n\nLong John's eyes burned in his head as he took the chart, but, by the\nfresh look of the paper, I knew he was doomed to disappointment. This\nwas not the map we found in Billy Bones's chest, but an accurate copy,\ncomplete in all things--names, and heights, and soundings--with the\nsingle exception of the red crosses and the written notes. Sharp as must\nhave been his annoyance, Silver had the strength of mind to hide it.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" said he, \"this is the spot, to be sure, and very prettily\ndrawed out. Who might have done that, I wonder? The pirates were too\nignorant, I reckon. Ay, here it is: 'Captain Kidd's Anchorage'--just the\nname my shipmate called it. There's a strong current runs along the\nsouth, and then away nor'ard up the west coast. Right you was, sir,\"\nsaid he, \"to haul your wind and keep","question":"\nCOUNCIL OF WAR\n\n\nThere was a great rush of feet across the deck. I could hear people\ntumbling up from the cabin and the foc's'le; and slipping in an instant\noutside my barrel, I dived behind the foresail, made a double towards\nthe stern, and came out upon the open deck in time to join Hunter and\nDoctor Livesey in the rush for the weather bow.\n\nThere all hands were already congregated. A belt of fog had lifted\nalmost simultaneously with the appearance of the moon. Away to the\nsouthwest of us we saw two low hills, about a couple of miles apart, and\nrising behind one of them a third and higher hill, whose peak was still\nburied in the fog. All three seemed sharp and conical in figure.\n\nSo much I saw almost in a dream, for I had not yet recovered from my\nhorrid fear of a minute or two before. And then I heard the voice of\nCaptain Smollett issuing orders. The _Hispaniola_ was laid a couple of\npoints nearer the wind, and now sailed a course that would just clear\nthe island on the east.\n\n\"And now, men,\" said the captain, when all was sheeted home, \"has any\none of you ever seen that land ahead?\"\n\n\"I have, sir,\" said Silver. \"I've watered"}
{"answer":"I must own\nhe had a good shape, and a soft and white skin; but he had little or no\nmind or philosophy, and you might see plainly that he had never been\ninstructed by Doctor Pangloss. In three months time, having lost all his\nmoney, and being grown tired of my company, he sold me to a Jew, named\nDon Issachar, who traded to Holland and Portugal, and had a strong\npassion for women. This Jew was much attached to my person, but could\nnot triumph over it; I resisted him better than the Bulgarian soldier. A\nmodest woman may be ravished once, but her virtue is strengthened by it.\nIn order to render me more tractable, he brought me to this country\nhouse. Hitherto I had imagined that nothing could equal the beauty of\nThunder-ten-Tronckh Castle; but I found I was mistaken.\n\n\"The Grand Inquisitor, seeing me one day at Mass, stared long at me, and\nsent to tell me that he wished to speak on private matters. I was\nconducted to his palace, where I acquainted him with the history of my\nfamily, and he represented to me how much it was beneath my rank to\nbelong to an Israelite. A proposal was then made to Don Issachar that he\nshould resign me to my lord. Don Issachar, being the court banker, and a\nman of credit, would hear nothing of it. The Inquisitor threatened him\nwith an _auto-da-fe_. At last my Jew, intimidated, concluded a bargain,\nby which the house and myself should belong to both in common; the Jew\nshould have for himself Monday, Wednesday, and","question":"\n\"I was in bed and fast asleep when it pleased God to send the Bulgarians\nto our delightful castle of Thunder-ten-Tronckh; they slew my father and\nbrother, and cut my mother in pieces. A tall Bulgarian, six feet high,\nperceiving that I had fainted away at this sight, began to ravish me;\nthis made me recover; I regained my senses, I cried, I struggled, I bit,\nI scratched, I wanted to tear out the tall Bulgarian's eyes--not knowing\nthat what happened at my father's house was the usual practice of war.\nThe brute gave me a cut in the left side with his hanger, and the mark\nis still upon me.\"\n\n\"Ah! I hope I shall see it,\" said honest Candide.\n\n\"You shall,\" said Cunegonde, \"but let us continue.\"\n\n\"Do so,\" replied Candide.\n\nThus she resumed the thread of her story:\n\n\"A Bulgarian captain came in, saw me all bleeding, and the soldier not\nin the least disconcerted. The captain flew into a passion at the\ndisrespectful behaviour of the brute, and slew him on my body. He\nordered my wounds to be dressed, and took me to his quarters as a\nprisoner of war. I washed the few shirts that he had, I did his cooking;\nhe thought me very pretty--he avowed it; on the other hand,"}
{"answer":"men that have been\ncarbonadoed, as they call it, in the tropic seas.\"\n\n\"Well, well, captain,\" replied my uncle, \"we must all be the way we're\nmade.\"\n\nBut it chanced that this fancy of the captain's had a great share in my\nmisfortunes. For though I had promised myself not to let my kinsman out\nof sight, I was both so impatient for a nearer look of the sea, and\nso sickened by the closeness of the room, that when he told me to \"run\ndown-stairs and play myself awhile,\" I was fool enough to take him at\nhis word.\n\nAway I went, therefore, leaving the two men sitting down to a bottle\nand a great mass of papers; and crossing the road in front of the inn,\nwalked down upon the beach. With the wind in that quarter, only little\nwavelets, not much bigger than I had seen upon a lake, beat upon the\nshore. But the weeds were new to me--some green, some brown and long,\nand some with little bladders that crackled between my fingers. Even so\nfar up the firth, the smell of the sea-water was exceedingly salt and\nstirring; the Covenant, besides, was beginning to shake out her sails,\nwhich hung upon the yards in clusters; and the spirit of all that I\nbeheld put me in thoughts of far voyages and foreign places.\n\nI looked, too, at the seamen with the skiff--big brown fellows, some in\nshirts, some with jackets, some with coloured handkerchiefs about their\nthroats, one with a brace of pistols stuck into his pockets, two or\nthree with knotty bludgeons, and all with their","question":"As soon as we came to the inn, Ransome led us up the stair to a small\nroom, with a bed in it, and heated like an oven by a great fire of coal.\nAt a table hard by the chimney, a tall, dark, sober-looking man sat\nwriting. In spite of the heat of the room, he wore a thick sea-jacket,\nbuttoned to the neck, and a tall hairy cap drawn down over his ears; yet\nI never saw any man, not even a judge upon the bench, look cooler, or\nmore studious and self-possessed, than this ship-captain.\n\nHe got to his feet at once, and coming forward, offered his large hand\nto Ebenezer. \"I am proud to see you, Mr. Balfour,\" said he, in a fine\ndeep voice, \"and glad that ye are here in time. The wind's fair, and the\ntide upon the turn; we'll see the old coal-bucket burning on the Isle of\nMay before to-night.\"\n\n\"Captain Hoseason,\" returned my uncle, \"you keep your room unco hot.\"\n\n\"It's a habit I have, Mr. Balfour,\" said the skipper. \"I'm a cold-rife\nman by my nature; I have a cold blood, sir. There's neither fur,\nnor flannel--no, sir, nor hot rum, will warm up what they call\nthe temperature. Sir, it's the same with most"}
{"answer":"Count of Bucquoi;\n  Assembling my own men, I fell on his,\n  And charged three separate times!\n\nCYRANO (without lifting his eyes from his book):\n  And your white scarf?\n\nDE GUICHE (surprised and gratified):\n  You know that detail?. . .Troth!  It happened thus:\n  While caracoling to recall the troops\n  For the third charge, a band of fugitives\n  Bore me with them, close by the hostile ranks:\n  I was in peril--capture, sudden death!--\n  When I thought of the good expedient\n  To loosen and let fall the scarf which told\n  My military rank; thus I contrived\n  --Without attention waked--to leave the foes,\n  And suddenly returning, reinforced\n  With my own men, to scatter them!  And now,\n  --What say you, Sir?\n\n(The cadets pretend not to be listening, but the cards and the dice-boxes\nremain suspended in their hands, the smoke of their pipes in their cheeks.\nThey wait.)\n\nCYRANO:\n  I say, that Henri Quatre\n  Had not, by any dangerous odds, been forced\n  To strip himself of his white helmet plume.\n\n(Silent delight.  The cards fall, the dice rattle.  The smoke is puffed.)\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  The ruse succeeded, though!\n\n(Same suspension of play, etc.)\n\nCYRANO:\n  Oh, may be!  But\n  One does not lightly abdicate the honor\n  To serve as target to the enemy\n(Cards, dice, fall again, and the cadets smoke with evident delight):\n  Had I been present when your scarf fell low,\n  --Our courage, Sir, is","question":"The same.  De Guiche.\n\nDE GUICHE (to Carbon):\n  Good-day!\n(They examine each other.  Aside, with satisfaction):\n  He's green.\n\nCARBON (aside):\n  He has nothing left but eyes.\n\nDE GUICHE (looking at the cadets):\n  Here are the rebels!  Ay, Sirs, on all sides\n  I hear that in your ranks you scoff at me;\n  That the Cadets, these loutish, mountain-bred,\n  Poor country squires, and barons of Perigord,\n  Scarce find for me--their Colonel--a disdain\n  Sufficient! call me plotter, wily courtier!\n  It does not please their mightiness to see\n  A point-lace collar on my steel cuirass,--\n  And they enrage, because a man, in sooth,\n  May be no ragged-robin, yet a Gascon!\n(Silence.  All smoke and play):\n  Shall I command your Captain punish you?\n  No.\n\nCARBON:\n  I am free, moreover,--will not punish--\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Ah!\n\nCARBON:\n  I have paid my company--'tis mine.\n  I bow but to headquarters.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  So?--in faith!\n  That will suffice.\n(Addressing himself to the cadets):\n  I can despise your taunts\n  'Tis well known how I bear me in the war;\n  At Bapaume, yesterday, they saw the rage\n  With which I beat back the"}
{"answer":" Qu. It may be so: but yet my inward soule\nPerswades me it is otherwise: how ere it be,\nI cannot but be sad: so heauy sad,\nAs though on thinking on no thought I thinke,\nMakes me with heauy nothing faint and shrinke\n\n   Bush. 'Tis nothing but conceit (my gracious Lady.)\n  Qu. 'Tis nothing lesse: conceit is still deriu'd\nFrom some fore-father greefe, mine is not so,\nFor nothing hath begot my something greefe,\nOr something, hath the nothing that I greeue,\n'Tis in reuersion that I do possesse,\nBut what it is, that is not yet knowne, what\nI cannot name, 'tis namelesse woe I wot.\nEnter Greene.\n\n  Gree. Heauen saue your Maiesty, and wel met Gentlemen:\nI hope the King is not yet shipt for Ireland\n\n   Qu. Why hop'st thou so? Tis better hope he is:\nFor his designes craue hast, his hast good hope,\nThen wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipt?\n  Gre. That he our hope, might haue retyr'd his power,\nand driuen into dispaire an enemies hope,\nWho strongly hath set footing in this Land.\nThe banish'd Bullingbrooke repeales himselfe,\nAnd with vp-lifted Armes is safe arriu'd\nAt Rauenspurg\n\n   Qu. Now God in heauen forbid\n\n   Gr. O Madam 'tis too true: and that is worse,\nThe L[ord]. Northumberland, his yong sonne Henrie Percie,\nThe Lords of Rosse, Beaumond, and Willoughby,\nWith all their powrefull friends are fled to him\n\n   Bush. Why haue you not proclaim'd Northumberland\nAnd the rest of the reuolted faction, Traitors?\n  Gre. We haue: whereupon the Earle of","question":"Scena Secunda.\n\nEnter Queene, Bushy, and Bagot.\n\n  Bush. Madam, your Maiesty is too much sad,\nYou promis'd when you parted with the King,\nTo lay aside selfe-harming heauinesse,\nAnd entertaine a cheerefull disposition\n\n   Qu. To please the King, I did: to please my selfe\nI cannot do it: yet I know no cause\nWhy I should welcome such a guest as greefe,\nSaue bidding farewell to so sweet a guest\nAs my sweet Richard; yet againe me thinkes,\nSome vnborne sorrow, ripe in fortunes wombe\nIs comming towards me, and my inward soule\nWith nothing trembles, at something it greeues,\nMore then with parting from my Lord the King\n\n   Bush. Each substance of a greefe hath twenty shadows\nWhich shewes like greefe it selfe, but is not so:\nFor sorrowes eye, glazed with blinding teares,\nDiuides one thing intire, to many obiects,\nLike perspectiues, which rightly gaz'd vpon\nShew nothing but confusion, ey'd awry,\nDistinguish forme: so your sweet Maiestie\nLooking awry vpon your Lords departure,\nFinde shapes of greefe, more then himselfe to waile,\nWhich look'd on as it is, is naught but shadowes\nOf what it is not: then thrice-gracious Queene,\nMore then your Lords departure weep not, more's not seene;\nOr if it be, 'tis with false sorrowes eie,\nWhich for things true, weepe things imaginary\n\n "}
{"answer":"she is daughter and half heir\n    Unto our brother here, Don Ciprian,\n    And shall enjoy the moiety of his land,\n    I'll grace her marriage with an uncle's gift,\n    And this is it:  in case the match go forward,\n    The tribute which you pay shall be releas'd;\n    And, if by Balthazar she have a son,\n    He shall enjoy the kingdom after us.\n\n  AMBASS.  I'll make the motion to my sovereign liege,\n    And work it if my counsel may prevail.\n\n  KING.  Do so, my lord; and, if he give consent,\n    I hope his presence here will honour us\n    In celebration of the nuptial day,--\n    And let himself determine of the time.\n\n  AMBASS.  Wilt please your Grace command me ought beside?\n\n  KING.  Commend me to the king; and so, farewell!\n    But where's Prince Balthazar, to take his leave?\n\n  AMBASS.  That is perform'd already, my good lord.\n\n  KING.  Amongst the rest of what you have in charge,\n    The prince's ransom must not be forgot:\n    That's none of mine, but his that took him prisoner,--\n    And well his forwardness deserves reward:\n    It was Horatio, our knight-marshall's son.\n\n  AMBASS.  Between us there's a","question":"                [The Spanish court.]\n\n                Enter the KING OF SPAIN, PORTINGAL\n                AMBASSADOR, DON CIPRIAN, &c.\n\n  KING.  Brother of Castille, to the prince's love\n    What says your daughter Bel-imperia?\n\n  CIP.  Although she coy it, as becomes her kind,\n    And yet dissemble that she loves the prince,\n    I doubt not, aye, but she will stoop in time;\n    And, were she froward,--which she will not be,--\n    Yet herein shall she follow my advice,\n    Which is to love him or forgo my love.\n\n  KING.  Then, lord ambassador of Portingal,\n    Advise thy king to make this marriage up\n    For strengthening of our late-confirmed league;\n    I know no better means to make us friends.\n    Her dowry shall be large and liberal;\n    Besides that"}
{"answer":"not yet come vp,\nYour Vnckle Worcesters Horse came but to day,\nAnd now their pride and mettall is asleepe,\nTheir courage with hard labour tame and dull,\nThat not a Horse is halfe the halfe of himselfe\n\n   Hotsp. So are the Horses of the Enemie\nIn generall iourney bated, and brought low:\nThe better part of ours are full of rest\n\n   Worc. The number of the King exceedeth ours:\nFor Gods sake, Cousin, stay till all come in.\n\nThe Trumpet sounds a Parley. Enter Sir Walter Blunt.\n\n  Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the King,\nIf you vouchsafe me hearing, and respect\n\n   Hotsp. Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt:\nAnd would to God you were of our determination.\n\nSome of vs loue you well: and euen those some\nEnuie your great deseruings, and good name,\nBecause you are not of our qualitie,\nBut stand against vs like an Enemie\n\n   Blunt. And Heauen defend, but still I should stand so,\nSo long as out of Limit, and true Rule,\nYou stand against anoynted Maiestie.\nBut to my Charge.\nThe King hath sent to know\nThe nature of your Griefes, and whereupon\nYou coniure from the Brest of Ciuill Peace,\nSuch bold Hostilitie, teaching his dutious Land\nAudacious Crueltie. If that the King\nHaue any way your good Deserts forgot,\nWhich he confesseth to be manifold,\nHe bids you name your Griefes, and with all speed\nYou shall haue your desires, with interest;\nAnd Pardon absolute for your selfe, and these,\nHerein mis-led, by your suggestion\n\n   Hotsp. The King is kinde:\nAnd well wee know, the King\nKnowes at what time","question":"Scoena Tertia.\n\n\nEnter Hotspur, Worcester, Dowglas, and Vernon.\n\n  Hotsp. Wee'le fight with him to Night\n\n   Worc. It may not be\n\n   Dowg. You giue him then aduantage\n\n   Vern. Not a whit\n\n   Hotsp. Why say you so? lookes he not for supply?\n  Vern. So doe wee\n\n   Hotsp. His is certaine, ours is doubtfull\n\n   Worc. Good Cousin be aduis'd, stirre not to night\n\n   Vern. Doe not, my Lord\n\n   Dowg. You doe not counsaile well:\nYou speake it out of feare, and cold heart\n\n   Vern. Doe me no slander, Dowglas: by my Life,\nAnd I dare well maintaine it with my Life,\nIf well-respected Honor bid me on,\nI hold as little counsaile with weake feare,\nAs you, my Lord, or any Scot that this day liues.\nLet it be seene to morrow in the Battell,\nWhich of vs feares\n\n   Dowg. Yea, or to night\n\n   Vern. Content\n\n   Hotsp. To night, say I\n\n   Vern. Come, come, it may not be.\nI wonder much, being me[n] of such great leading as you are\nThat you fore-see not what impediments\nDrag backe our expedition: certaine Horse\nOf my Cousin Vernons are"}
{"answer":"Even in taking oath against the truth.\n\n  CLEANTE\n  Your case is bad, so far as I can see;\n  This deed of gift, this trusting of the secret\n  To him, were both--to state my frank opinion--\n  Steps that you took too lightly; he can lead you\n  To any length, with these for hostages;\n  And since he holds you at such disadvantage,\n  You'd be still more imprudent, to provoke him;\n  So you must go some gentler way about.\n\n  ORGON\n  What! Can a soul so base, a heart so false,\n  Hide neath the semblance of such touching fervour?\n  I took him in, a vagabond, a beggar! ...\n  'Tis too much! No more pious folk for me!\n  I shall abhor them utterly forever,\n  And henceforth treat them worse than any devil.\n\n  CLEANTE\n  So! There you go again, quite off the handle!\n  In nothing do you keep an even temper.\n  You never know what reason is, but always\n  Jump first to one extreme, and then the other.\n  You see your error, and you recognise\n  That you've been cozened by a feigned zeal;\n  But to make up for't, in the name of reason,\n  Why should you plunge into a worse mistake,\n  And find no difference in character\n  Between a worthless scamp, and all good people?\n  What! Just because a rascal boldly duped you\n  With pompous show of","question":"ACT V   SCENE I\n\n  ORGON, CLEANTE\n\n\n  CLEANTE\n  Whither away so fast?\n\n  ORGON\n  How should I know?\n\n  CLEANTE\n  Methinks we should begin by taking counsel\n  To see what can be done to meet the case.\n\n  ORGON\n  I'm all worked up about that wretched box.\n  More than all else it drives me to despair.\n\n  CLEANTE\n  That box must hide some mighty mystery?\n\n  ORGON\n  Argas, my friend who is in trouble, brought it\n  Himself, most secretly, and left it with me.\n  He chose me, in his exile, for this trust;\n  And on these documents, from what he said,\n  I judge his life and property depend.\n\n  CLEANTE\n  How could you trust them to another's hands?\n\n  ORGON\n  By reason of a conscientious scruple.\n  I went straight to my traitor, to confide\n  In him; his sophistry made me believe\n  That I must give the box to him to keep,\n  So that, in case of search, I might deny\n  My having it at all, and still, by favour\n  Of this evasion, keep my conscience clear\n "}
{"answer":"her\nand to doze off to sleep.\n\nMost of the first month of his life had been passed thus in sleeping; but\nnow he could see quite well, and he stayed awake for longer periods of\ntime, and he was coming to learn his world quite well.  His world was\ngloomy; but he did not know that, for he knew no other world.  It was dim-\nlighted; but his eyes had never had to adjust themselves to any other\nlight.  His world was very small.  Its limits were the walls of the lair;\nbut as he had no knowledge of the wide world outside, he was never\noppressed by the narrow confines of his existence.\n\nBut he had early discovered that one wall of his world was different from\nthe rest.  This was the mouth of the cave and the source of light.  He\nhad discovered that it was different from the other walls long before he\nhad any thoughts of his own, any conscious volitions.  It had been an\nirresistible attraction before ever his eyes opened and looked upon it.\nThe light from it had beat upon his sealed lids, and the eyes and the\noptic nerves had pulsated to little, sparklike flashes, warm-coloured and\nstrangely pleasing.  The life of his body, and of every fibre of his\nbody, the life that was the very substance of his body and that was apart\nfrom his own personal life, had yearned toward this light and urged his\nbody toward it in the same way that the cunning chemistry of a plant\nurges it","question":"\n\nHe was different from his brothers and sisters.  Their hair already\nbetrayed the reddish hue inherited from their mother, the she-wolf; while\nhe alone, in this particular, took after his father.  He was the one\nlittle grey cub of the litter.  He had bred true to the straight wolf-\nstock--in fact, he had bred true to old One Eye himself, physically, with\nbut a single exception, and that was he had two eyes to his father's one.\n\nThe grey cub's eyes had not been open long, yet already he could see with\nsteady clearness.  And while his eyes were still closed, he had felt,\ntasted, and smelled.  He knew his two brothers and his two sisters very\nwell.  He had begun to romp with them in a feeble, awkward way, and even\nto squabble, his little throat vibrating with a queer rasping noise (the\nforerunner of the growl), as he worked himself into a passion.  And long\nbefore his eyes had opened he had learned by touch, taste, and smell to\nknow his mother--a fount of warmth and liquid food and tenderness.  She\npossessed a gentle, caressing tongue that soothed him when it passed over\nhis soft little body, and that impelled him to snuggle close against"}
{"answer":" Edg. O Gods! Who is't can say I am at the worst?\nI am worse then ere I was\n\n   Old. 'Tis poore mad Tom\n\n   Edg. And worse I may be yet: the worst is not,\nSo long as we can say this is the worst\n\n   Oldm. Fellow, where goest?\n  Glou. Is it a Beggar-man?\n  Oldm. Madman, and beggar too\n\n   Glou. He has some reason, else he could not beg.\nI'th' last nights storme, I such a fellow saw;\nWhich made me thinke a Man, a Worme. My Sonne\nCame then into my minde, and yet my minde\nWas then scarse Friends with him.\nI haue heard more since:\nAs Flies to wanton Boyes, are we to th' Gods,\nThey kill vs for their sport\n\n   Edg. How should this be?\nBad is the Trade that must play Foole to sorrow,\nAng'ring it selfe, and others. Blesse thee Master\n\n   Glou. Is that the naked Fellow?\n  Oldm. I, my Lord\n\n   Glou. Get thee away: If for my sake\nThou wilt ore-take vs hence a mile or twaine\nI'th' way toward Douer, do it for ancient loue,\nAnd bring some couering for this naked Soule,\nWhich Ile intreate to leade me\n\n   Old. Alacke sir, he is mad\n\n   Glou. 'Tis the times plague,\nWhen Madmen leade the blinde:\nDo as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure:\nAboue the rest, be gone\n\n   Oldm. Ile bring him the best Parrell that I haue\nCome on't what will.\n\nExit\n\n  Glou. Sirrah,","question":"Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.\n\n\nEnter Edgar.\n\n  Edg. Yet better thus, and knowne to be contemn'd,\nThen still contemn'd and flatter'd, to be worst:\nThe lowest, and most deiected thing of Fortune,\nStands still in esperance, liues not in feare:\nThe lamentable change is from the best,\nThe worst returnes to laughter. Welcome then,\nThou vnsubstantiall ayre that I embrace:\nThe Wretch that thou hast blowne vnto the worst,\nOwes nothing to thy blasts.\nEnter Glouster, and an Oldman.\n\nBut who comes heere? My Father poorely led?\nWorld, World, O world!\nBut that thy strange mutations make vs hate thee,\nLife would not yeelde to age\n\n   Oldm. O my good Lord, I haue bene your Tenant,\nAnd your Fathers Tenant, these fourescore yeares\n\n   Glou. Away, get thee away: good Friend be gone,\nThy comforts can do me no good at all,\nThee, they may hurt\n\n   Oldm. You cannot see your way\n\n   Glou. I haue no way, and therefore want no eyes:\nI stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seene,\nOur meanes secure vs, and our meere defects\nProue our Commodities. Oh deere Sonne Edgar,\nThe food of thy abused Fathers wrath:\nMight I but liue to see thee in my touch,\nI'ld say I had eyes againe\n\n   Oldm. How now? who's there?\n"}
{"answer":"not yet come vp,\nYour Vnckle Worcesters Horse came but to day,\nAnd now their pride and mettall is asleepe,\nTheir courage with hard labour tame and dull,\nThat not a Horse is halfe the halfe of himselfe\n\n   Hotsp. So are the Horses of the Enemie\nIn generall iourney bated, and brought low:\nThe better part of ours are full of rest\n\n   Worc. The number of the King exceedeth ours:\nFor Gods sake, Cousin, stay till all come in.\n\nThe Trumpet sounds a Parley. Enter Sir Walter Blunt.\n\n  Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the King,\nIf you vouchsafe me hearing, and respect\n\n   Hotsp. Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt:\nAnd would to God you were of our determination.\n\nSome of vs loue you well: and euen those some\nEnuie your great deseruings, and good name,\nBecause you are not of our qualitie,\nBut stand against vs like an Enemie\n\n   Blunt. And Heauen defend, but still I should stand so,\nSo long as out of Limit, and true Rule,\nYou stand against anoynted Maiestie.\nBut to my Charge.\nThe King hath sent to know\nThe nature of your Griefes, and whereupon\nYou coniure from the Brest of Ciuill Peace,\nSuch bold Hostilitie, teaching his dutious Land\nAudacious Crueltie. If that the King\nHaue any way your good Deserts forgot,\nWhich he confesseth to be manifold,\nHe bids you name your Griefes, and with all speed\nYou shall haue your desires, with interest;\nAnd Pardon absolute for your selfe, and these,\nHerein mis-led, by your suggestion\n\n   Hotsp. The King is kinde:\nAnd well wee know, the King\nKnowes at what time","question":"Scoena Tertia.\n\n\nEnter Hotspur, Worcester, Dowglas, and Vernon.\n\n  Hotsp. Wee'le fight with him to Night\n\n   Worc. It may not be\n\n   Dowg. You giue him then aduantage\n\n   Vern. Not a whit\n\n   Hotsp. Why say you so? lookes he not for supply?\n  Vern. So doe wee\n\n   Hotsp. His is certaine, ours is doubtfull\n\n   Worc. Good Cousin be aduis'd, stirre not to night\n\n   Vern. Doe not, my Lord\n\n   Dowg. You doe not counsaile well:\nYou speake it out of feare, and cold heart\n\n   Vern. Doe me no slander, Dowglas: by my Life,\nAnd I dare well maintaine it with my Life,\nIf well-respected Honor bid me on,\nI hold as little counsaile with weake feare,\nAs you, my Lord, or any Scot that this day liues.\nLet it be seene to morrow in the Battell,\nWhich of vs feares\n\n   Dowg. Yea, or to night\n\n   Vern. Content\n\n   Hotsp. To night, say I\n\n   Vern. Come, come, it may not be.\nI wonder much, being me[n] of such great leading as you are\nThat you fore-see not what impediments\nDrag backe our expedition: certaine Horse\nOf my Cousin Vernons are"}
{"answer":"consists of Ancients, Corporals,\nLieutenants, Gentlemen of Companies, Slaues as\nragged a Lazarus in the painted Cloth, where the Gluttons\nDogges licked his Sores; and such, as indeed were\nneuer Souldiers, but dis-carded vniust Seruingmen, younger\nSonnes to younger Brothers, reuolted Tapsters and\nOstlers, Trade-falne, the Cankers of a calme World, and\nlong Peace, tenne times more dis-honorable ragged,\nthen an old-fac'd Ancient; and such haue I to fill vp the\nroomes of them that haue bought out their seruices: that\nyou would thinke, that I had a hundred and fiftie totter'd\nProdigalls, lately come from Swine-keeping, from eating\nDraffe and Huskes. A mad fellow met me on the way,\nand told me, I had vnloaded all the Gibbets, and prest the\ndead bodyes. No eye hath seene such skar-Crowes: Ile\nnot march through Couentry with them, that's flat. Nay,\nand the Villaines march wide betwixt the Legges, as if\nthey had Gyues on; for indeede, I had the most of them\nout of Prison. There's not a Shirt and a halfe in all my\nCompany: and the halfe Shirt is two Napkins tackt together,\nand throwne ouer the shoulders like a Heralds\nCoat, without sleeues: and the Shirt, to say the truth,\nstolne from my Host of S[aint]. Albones, or the Red-Nose\nInne-keeper of Dauintry. But that's all one, they'le finde\nLinnen enough on euery Hedge.\nEnter the Prince, and the Lord of Westmerland.\n\n  Prince. How now blowne Iack? how now Quilt?\n  Falst. What Hal? How now mad Wag, what a Deuill\ndo'st thou in Warwickshire? My good Lord of Westmerland,\nI cry you mercy, I thought your Honour had already\nbeene at Shrewsbury\n\n ","question":"Scaena Secunda.\n\n\nEnter Falstaffe and Bardolph.\n\n  Falst. Bardolph, get thee before to Couentry, fill me a\nBottle of Sack, our Souldiers shall march through: wee'le\nto Sutton-cop-hill to Night\n\n   Bard. Will you giue me Money, Captaine?\n  Falst. Lay out, lay out\n\n   Bard. This Bottle makes an Angell\n\n   Falst. And if it doe, take it for thy labour: and if it\nmake twentie, take them all, Ile answere the Coynage.\nBid my Lieutenant Peto meete me at the Townes end\n\n   Bard. I will Captaine: farewell.\nEnter.\n\n  Falst. If I be not asham'd of my Souldiers, I am a\nsowc't-Gurnet: I haue mis-vs'd the Kings Presse damnably.\nI haue got, in exchange of a hundred and fiftie\nSouldiers, three hundred and odde Pounds. I presse me\nnone but good House-holders, Yeomens Sonnes: enquire\nme out contracted Batchelers, such as had beene ask'd\ntwice on the Banes: such a Commoditie of warme slaues,\nas had as lieue heare the Deuill, as a Drumme; such as\nfeare the report of a Caliuer, worse then a struck-Foole,\nor a hurt wilde-Ducke. I prest me none but such Tostes\nand Butter, with Hearts in their Bellyes no bigger then\nPinnes heads, and they haue bought out their seruices:\nAnd now, my whole Charge"}
{"answer":"Emma could now\nacknowledge, that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his\ncontinuing to love her had been irresistible.--Beyond this, it must ever\nbe unintelligible to Emma.\n\nThe event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her fresh\nreason for thinking so.--Harriet's parentage became known. She proved\nto be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the\ncomfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to\nhave always wished for concealment.--Such was the blood of gentility\nwhich Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!--It was likely to\nbe as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what\na connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley--or for the\nChurchills--or even for Mr. Elton!--The stain of illegitimacy,\nunbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed.\n\nNo objection was raised on the father's side; the young man was treated\nliberally; it was all as it should be: and as Emma became acquainted\nwith Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully\nacknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could\nbid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet's\nhappiness with any good-tempered man; but with him, and in the home he\noffered, there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and\nimprovement. She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her,\nand who had better sense than herself; retired enough for safety,\nand occupied enough for cheerfulness. She would be never led into\ntemptation, nor left for it to find her out. She would be","question":"\n\nIf Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a\nmomentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of her\nattachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able to accept another man from\nunbiased inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer from the\nrecurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the party\nfrom London, and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour\nalone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied--unaccountable\nas it was!--that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley,\nand was now forming all her views of happiness.\n\nHarriet was a little distressed--did look a little foolish at first:\nbut having once owned that she had been presumptuous and silly, and\nself-deceived, before, her pain and confusion seemed to die away with\nthe words, and leave her without a care for the past, and with the\nfullest exultation in the present and future; for, as to her friend's\napprobation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by\nmeeting her with the most unqualified congratulations.--Harriet was\nmost happy to give every particular of the evening at Astley's, and the\ndinner the next day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight.\nBut what did such particulars explain?--The fact was, as"}
{"answer":"         She ne're had knowne pompe; though't be temporall,\n          Yet if that quarrell. Fortune, do diuorce\n          It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance, panging\n          As soule and bodies seuering\n\n          Old L. Alas poore Lady,\n          Shee's a stranger now againe\n\n          An. So much the more\n          Must pitty drop vpon her; verily\n          I sweare, tis better to be lowly borne,\n          And range with humble liuers in Content,\n          Then to be perk'd vp in a glistring griefe,\n          And weare a golden sorrow\n\n          Old L. Our content\n          Is our best hauing\n\n          Anne. By my troth, and Maidenhead,\n          I would not be a Queene\n\n        ","question":"Enter Anne Bullen, and an old Lady.\n\nAn. Not for that neither; here's the pang that pinches.\nHis Highnesse, hauing liu'd so long with her, and she\nSo good a Lady, that no Tongue could euer\nPronounce dishonour of her; by my life,\n          She neuer knew harme-doing: Oh, now after\n          So many courses of the Sun enthroaned,\n          Still growing in a Maiesty and pompe, the which\n          To leaue, a thousand fold more bitter, then\n          'Tis sweet at first t' acquire. After this Processe.\n          To giue her the auaunt, it is a pitty\n          Would moue a Monster\n\n          Old La. Hearts of most hard temper\n          Melt and lament for her\n\n          An. Oh Gods will, much better\n"}
{"answer":"        Exeunt Lady and Nurse.\n\n  Cap. A jealous hood, a jealous hood!\n\n\n  Enter three or four [Fellows, with spits and logs and baskets.\n\n    What is there? Now, fellow,\n\n  Fellow. Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what.\n\n  Cap. Make haste, make haste. [Exit Fellow.] Sirrah, fetch drier\n      logs.\n    Call Peter; he will show thee where they are.\n\n  Fellow. I have a head, sir, that will find out logs\n    And never trouble Peter for the matter.\n\n  Cap. Mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha!\n    Thou shalt be loggerhead. [Exit Fellow.] Good faith, 'tis day.\n    The County will be here with music straight,\n    For so he said he would.                         Play music.\n    I hear him near.\n    Nurse! Wife! What, ho! What, nurse, I say!\n\n                              Enter Nurse.\n    Go waken Juliet; go and trim her up.\n    I'll go and chat with Paris. Hie, make haste,\n    Make haste! The","question":"Scene IV.\nCapulet's house.\n\nEnter Lady of the House and Nurse.\n\n\n  Lady. Hold, take these keys and fetch more spices, nurse.\n\n  Nurse. They call for dates and quinces in the pastry.\n\n                       Enter Old Capulet.\n\n\n  Cap. Come, stir, stir, stir! The second cock hath crow'd,\n    The curfew bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock.\n    Look to the bak'd meats, good Angelica;\n    Spare not for cost.\n\n  Nurse. Go, you cot-quean, go,\n    Get you to bed! Faith, you'll be sick to-morrow\n    For this night's watching.\n\n  Cap. No, not a whit. What, I have watch'd ere now\n    All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick.\n\n  Lady. Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time;\n    But I will watch you from such watching now.\n                                 "}
{"answer":"has five or six millions in his pocket, will go to\nthe other end of the world to seek your mistress and bring her to you to\nVenice. If he find her, he will keep her to himself; if he do not find\nher he will get another. I advise you to forget your valet Cacambo and\nyour mistress Cunegonde.\"\n\nMartin was not consoling. Candide's melancholy increased; and Martin\ncontinued to prove to him that there was very little virtue or happiness\nupon earth, except perhaps in El Dorado, where nobody could gain\nadmittance.\n\nWhile they were disputing on this important subject and waiting for\nCunegonde, Candide saw a young Theatin friar in St. Mark's Piazza,\nholding a girl on his arm. The Theatin looked fresh coloured, plump, and\nvigorous; his eyes were sparkling, his air assured, his look lofty, and\nhis step bold. The girl was very pretty, and sang; she looked amorously\nat her Theatin, and from time to time pinched his fat cheeks.\n\n\"At least you will allow me,\" said Candide to Martin, \"that these two\nare happy. Hitherto I have met with none but unfortunate people in the\nwhole habitable globe, except in El Dorado; but as to this pair, I would\nventure to lay a wager that they are very happy.\"\n\n\"I lay you they are not,\" said Martin.\n\n\"We need only ask them to dine with us,\" said Candide, \"and you will see\nwhether I am mistaken.\"\n\nImmediately he accosted them, presented his compliments, and invited\nthem to his inn to eat some macaroni, with Lombard partridges, and\ncaviare, and to drink some Montepulciano, Lachrymae Christi, Cyprus and\nSamos","question":"\nUpon their arrival at Venice, Candide went to search for Cacambo at\nevery inn and coffee-house, and among all the ladies of pleasure, but to\nno purpose. He sent every day to inquire on all the ships that came in.\nBut there was no news of Cacambo.\n\n\"What!\" said he to Martin, \"I have had time to voyage from Surinam to\nBordeaux, to go from Bordeaux to Paris, from Paris to Dieppe, from\nDieppe to Portsmouth, to coast along Portugal and Spain, to cross the\nwhole Mediterranean, to spend some months, and yet the beautiful\nCunegonde has not arrived! Instead of her I have only met a Parisian\nwench and a Perigordian Abbe. Cunegonde is dead without doubt, and there\nis nothing for me but to die. Alas! how much better it would have been\nfor me to have remained in the paradise of El Dorado than to come back\nto this cursed Europe! You are in the right, my dear Martin: all is\nmisery and illusion.\"\n\nHe fell into a deep melancholy, and neither went to see the opera, nor\nany of the other diversions of the Carnival; nay, he was proof against\nthe temptations of all the ladies.\n\n\"You are in truth very simple,\" said Martin to him, \"if you imagine that\na mongrel valet, who"}
{"answer":"was a greater\nact of injustice. But I should be glad to know how my sister came to be\nscullion to a Transylvanian prince who has taken shelter among the\nTurks.\"\n\n\"But you, my dear Pangloss,\" said Candide, \"how can it be that I behold\nyou again?\"\n\n\"It is true,\" said Pangloss, \"that you saw me hanged. I should have been\nburnt, but you may remember it rained exceedingly hard when they were\ngoing to roast me; the storm was so violent that they despaired of\nlighting the fire, so I was hanged because they could do no better. A\nsurgeon purchased my body, carried me home, and dissected me. He began\nwith making a crucial incision on me from the navel to the clavicula.\nOne could not have been worse hanged than I was. The executioner of the\nHoly Inquisition was a sub-deacon, and knew how to burn people\nmarvellously well, but he was not accustomed to hanging. The cord was\nwet and did not slip properly, and besides it was badly tied; in short,\nI still drew my breath, when the crucial incision made me give such a\nfrightful scream that my surgeon fell flat upon his back, and imagining\nthat he had been dissecting the devil he ran away, dying with fear, and\nfell down the staircase in his flight. His wife, hearing the noise,\nflew from the next room. She saw me stretched out upon the table with my\ncrucial incision. She was seized with yet greater fear than her husband,\nfled, and tumbled over him. When they came to themselves a little, I\nheard the wife say to","question":"\n\"I ask your pardon once more,\" said Candide to the Baron, \"your pardon,\nreverend father, for having run you through the body.\"\n\n\"Say no more about it,\" answered the Baron. \"I was a little too hasty, I\nown, but since you wish to know by what fatality I came to be a\ngalley-slave I will inform you. After I had been cured by the surgeon of\nthe college of the wound you gave me, I was attacked and carried off by\na party of Spanish troops, who confined me in prison at Buenos Ayres at\nthe very time my sister was setting out thence. I asked leave to return\nto Rome to the General of my Order. I was appointed chaplain to the\nFrench Ambassador at Constantinople. I had not been eight days in this\nemployment when one evening I met with a young Ichoglan, who was a very\nhandsome fellow. The weather was warm. The young man wanted to bathe,\nand I took this opportunity of bathing also. I did not know that it was\na capital crime for a Christian to be found naked with a young\nMussulman. A cadi ordered me a hundred blows on the soles of the feet,\nand condemned me to the galleys. I do not think there ever"}
{"answer":"that thou seest thy wretched brother dye,\nWho was the modell of thy Fathers life.\nCall it not patience (Gaunt) it is dispaire,\nIn suffring thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,\nThou shew'st the naked pathway to thy life,\nTeaching sterne murther how to butcher thee:\nThat which in meane men we intitle patience\nIs pale cold cowardice in noble brests:\nWhat shall I say, to safegard thine owne life,\nThe best way is to venge my Glousters death\n\n   Gaunt. Heauens is the quarrell: for heauens substitute\nHis Deputy annointed in his sight,\nHath caus'd his death, the which if wrongfully\nLet heauen reuenge: for I may neuer lift\nAn angry arme against his Minister\n\n   Dut. Where then (alas may I) complaint my selfe?\n  Gau. To heauen, the widdowes Champion to defence\n  Dut. Why then I will: farewell old Gaunt.\nThou go'st to Couentrie, there to behold\nOur Cosine Herford, and fell Mowbray fight:\nO sit my husbands wrongs on Herfords speare,\nThat it may enter butcher Mowbrayes brest:\nOr if misfortune misse the first carreere,\nBe Mowbrayes sinnes so heauy in his bosome,\nThat they may breake his foaming Coursers backe,\nAnd throw the Rider headlong in the Lists,\nA Caytiffe recreant to my Cosine Herford:\nFarewell old Gaunt, thy sometimes brothers wife\nWith her companion Greefe, must end her life\n\n   Gau. Sister farewell: I must to Couentree,\nAs much good stay with thee, as go with mee\n\n   Dut. Yet one word more: Greefe boundeth where it falls,\nNot with the emptie hollownes, but weight:\nI take my leaue, before I haue begun,\nFor sorrow ends not,","question":"Scaena Secunda.\n\nEnter Gaunt, and Dutchesse of Gloucester.\n\n  Gaunt. Alas, the part I had in Glousters blood,\nDoth more solicite me then your exclaimes,\nTo stirre against the Butchers of his life.\nBut since correction lyeth in those hands\nWhich made the fault that we cannot correct,\nPut we our quarrell to the will of heauen,\nWho when they see the houres ripe on earth,\nWill raigne hot vengeance on offenders heads\n\n   Dut. Findes brotherhood in thee no sharper spurre?\nHath loue in thy old blood no liuing fire?\nEdwards seuen sonnes (whereof thy selfe art one)\nWere as seuen violles of his Sacred blood,\nOr seuen faire branches springing from one roote:\nSome of those seuen are dride by natures course,\nSome of those branches by the destinies cut:\nBut Thomas, my deere Lord, my life, my Glouster,\nOne Violl full of Edwards Sacred blood,\nOne flourishing branch of his most Royall roote\nIs crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt;\nIs hackt downe, and his summer leafes all vaded\nBy Enuies hand, and Murders bloody Axe.\nAh Gaunt! His blood was thine, that bed, that wombe,\nThat mettle, that selfe-mould that fashion'd thee,\nMade him a man: and though thou liu'st, and breath'st,\nYet art thou slaine in him: thou dost consent\nIn some large measure to thy Fathers death,\nIn"}
{"answer":"Master\nHeathcliff, you are not fit for enjoying a ramble this morning.  How ill\nyou do look!'\n\nCatherine surveyed him with grief and astonishment: she changed the\nejaculation of joy on her lips to one of alarm; and the congratulation on\ntheir long-postponed meeting to an anxious inquiry, whether he were worse\nthan usual?\n\n'No--better--better!' he panted, trembling, and retaining her hand as if\nhe needed its support, while his large blue eyes wandered timidly over\nher; the hollowness round them transforming to haggard wildness the\nlanguid expression they once possessed.\n\n'But you have been worse,' persisted his cousin; 'worse than when I saw\nyou last; you are thinner, and--'\n\n'I'm tired,' he interrupted, hurriedly.  'It is too hot for walking, let\nus rest here.  And, in the morning, I often feel sick--papa says I grow\nso fast.'\n\nBadly satisfied, Cathy sat down, and he reclined beside her.\n\n'This is something like your paradise,' said she, making an effort at\ncheerfulness.  'You recollect the two days we agreed to spend in the\nplace and way each thought pleasantest?  This is nearly yours, only there\nare clouds; but then they are so soft and mellow: it is nicer than\nsunshine.  Next week, if you can, we'll ride down to the Grange Park, and\ntry mine.'\n\nLinton did not appear to remember what she talked of and he had evidently\ngreat difficulty in sustaining any kind of conversation.  His lack of\ninterest in the subjects she started, and his equal incapacity to\ncontribute to her entertainment, were so obvious that she could not\nconceal her disappointment.  An indefinite alteration had come","question":"\n\nSummer was already past its prime, when Edgar reluctantly yielded his\nassent to their entreaties, and Catherine and I set out on our first ride\nto join her cousin.  It was a close, sultry day: devoid of sunshine, but\nwith a sky too dappled and hazy to threaten rain: and our place of\nmeeting had been fixed at the guide-stone, by the cross-roads.  On\narriving there, however, a little herd-boy, despatched as a messenger,\ntold us that,--'Maister Linton wer just o' this side th' Heights: and\nhe'd be mitch obleeged to us to gang on a bit further.'\n\n'Then Master Linton has forgot the first injunction of his uncle,' I\nobserved: 'he bid us keep on the Grange land, and here we are off at\nonce.'\n\n'Well, we'll turn our horses' heads round when we reach him,' answered my\ncompanion; 'our excursion shall lie towards home.'\n\nBut when we reached him, and that was scarcely a quarter of a mile from\nhis own door, we found he had no horse; and we were forced to dismount,\nand leave ours to graze.  He lay on the heath, awaiting our approach, and\ndid not rise till we came within a few yards.  Then he walked so feebly,\nand looked so pale, that I immediately exclaimed,--'Why,"}
{"answer":"We thanke you both, yet one but flatters vs,\nAs well appeareth by the cause you come,\nNamely, to appeale each other of high treason.\nCoosin of Hereford, what dost thou obiect\nAgainst the Duke of Norfolke, Thomas Mowbray?\n  Bul. First, heauen be the record to my speech,\nIn the deuotion of a subiects loue,\nTendering the precious safetie of my Prince,\nAnd free from other misbegotten hate,\nCome I appealant to this Princely presence.\nNow Thomas Mowbray do I turne to thee,\nAnd marke my greeting well: for what I speake,\nMy body shall make good vpon this earth,\nOr my diuine soule answer it in heauen.\nThou art a Traitor, and a Miscreant;\nToo good to be so, and too bad to liue,\nSince the more faire and christall is the skie,\nThe vglier seeme the cloudes that in it flye:\nOnce more, the more to aggrauate the note,\nWith a foule Traitors name stuffe I thy throte,\nAnd wish (so please my Soueraigne) ere I moue,\nWhat my tong speaks, my right drawn sword may proue\n  Mow. Let not my cold words heere accuse my zeale:\n'Tis not the triall of a Womans warre,\nThe bitter clamour of two eager tongues,\nCan arbitrate this cause betwixt vs twaine:\nThe blood is hot that must be cool'd for this.\nYet can I not of such tame patience boast,\nAs to be husht, and nought at all to say.\nFirst the faire reuerence of your Highnesse curbes mee,\nFrom giuing reines and spurres to my free speech,\nWhich else would post, vntill it had return'd\nThese tearmes of treason, doubly downe his throat.\nSetting aside his high bloods","question":"Actus Primus, Scaena Prima.\n\nEnter King Richard, Iohn of Gaunt, with other Nobles and\nAttendants.\n\n  King Richard. Old Iohn of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster,\nHast thou according to thy oath and band\nBrought hither Henry Herford thy bold son:\nHeere to make good y boistrous late appeale,\nWhich then our leysure would not let vs heare,\nAgainst the Duke of Norfolke, Thomas Mowbray?\n  Gaunt. I haue my Liege\n\n   King. Tell me moreouer, hast thou sounded him,\nIf he appeale the Duke on ancient malice,\nOr worthily as a good subiect should\nOn some knowne ground of treacherie in him\n\n   Gaunt. As neere as I could sift him on that argument,\nOn some apparant danger seene in him,\nAym'd at your Highnesse, no inueterate malice\n\n   Kin. Then call them to our presence face to face,\nAnd frowning brow to brow, our selues will heare\nTh' accuser, and the accused, freely speake;\nHigh stomack'd are they both, and full of ire,\nIn rage, deafe as the sea; hastie as fire.\nEnter Bullingbrooke and Mowbray.\n\n  Bul. Many yeares of happy dayes befall\nMy gracious Soueraigne, my most louing Liege\n\n   Mow. Each day still better others happinesse,\nVntill the heauens enuying earths good hap,\nAdde an immortall title to your Crowne\n\n   King."}
{"answer":"where other women dared\nnot tread. Shame, Despair, Solitude! These had been her\nteachers,--stern and wild ones,--and they had made her strong, but\ntaught her much amiss.\n\nThe minister, on the other hand, had never gone through an experience\ncalculated to lead him beyond the scope of generally received laws;\nalthough, in a single instance, he had so fearfully transgressed one\nof the most sacred of them. But this had been a sin of passion, not of\nprinciple, nor even purpose. Since that wretched epoch, he had\nwatched, with morbid zeal and minuteness, not his acts,--for those it\nwas easy to arrange,--but each breath of emotion, and his every\nthought. At the head of the social system, as the clergymen of that\nday stood, he was only the more trammelled by its regulations, its\nprinciples, and even its prejudices. As a priest, the framework of his\norder inevitably hemmed him in. As a man who had once sinned, but who\nkept his conscience all alive and painfully sensitive by the fretting\nof an unhealed wound, he might have been supposed safer within the\nline of virtue than if he had never sinned at all.\n\nThus, we seem to see that, as regarded Hester Prynne, the whole seven\nyears of outlaw and ignominy had been little other than a preparation\nfor this very hour. But Arthur Dimmesdale! Were such a man once more\nto fall, what plea could be urged in extenuation of his crime? None;\nunless it avail him somewhat, that he was broken down by long and\nexquisite suffering; that his mind was darkened and confused by the\nvery remorse which harrowed it;","question":"XVIII. A FLOOD OF SUNSHINE.\n\n\nArthur Dimmesdale gazed into Hester's face with a look in which hope\nand joy shone out, indeed, but with fear betwixt them, and a kind of\nhorror at her boldness, who had spoken what he vaguely hinted at, but\ndared not speak.\n\nBut Hester Prynne, with a mind of native courage and activity, and for\nso long a period not merely estranged, but outlawed, from society, had\nhabituated herself to such latitude of speculation as was altogether\nforeign to the clergyman. She had wandered, without rule or guidance,\nin a moral wilderness; as vast, as intricate and shadowy, as the\nuntamed forest, amid the gloom of which they were now holding a\ncolloquy that was to decide their fate. Her intellect and heart had\ntheir home, as it were, in desert places, where she roamed as freely\nas the wild Indian in his woods. For years past she had looked from\nthis estranged point of view at human institutions, and whatever\npriests or legislators had established; criticising all with hardly\nmore reverence than the Indian would feel for the clerical band, the\njudicial robe, the pillory, the gallows, the fireside, or the church.\nThe tendency of her fate and fortunes had been to set her free. The\nscarlet letter was her passport into regions"}
{"answer":"Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards\n\n   Prin. What? sigh for the tooth-ach\n\n   Leon. Where is but a humour or a worme\n\n   Bene. Well, euery one cannot master a griefe, but hee\nthat has it\n\n   Clau. Yet say I, he is in loue\n\n   Prin. There is no appearance of fancie in him, vnlesse\nit be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises, as to bee a\nDutchman to day, a Frenchman to morrow: vnlesse hee\nhaue a fancy to this foolery, as it appeares hee hath, hee\nis no foole for fancy, as you would haue it to appeare\nhe is\n\n   Clau. If he be not in loue with some woman, there\nis no beleeuing old signes, a brushes his hat a mornings,\nWhat should that bode?\n  Prin. Hath any man seene him at the Barbers?\n  Clau. No, but the Barbers man hath beene seen with\nhim, and the olde ornament of his cheeke hath alreadie\nstuft tennis balls\n\n   Leon. Indeed he lookes yonger than hee did, by the\nlosse of a beard\n\n   Prin. Nay a rubs himselfe with Ciuit, can you smell\nhim out by that?\n  Clau. That's as much as to say, the sweet youth's in\nloue\n\n   Prin. The greatest note of it is his melancholy\n\n   Clau. And when was he wont to wash his face?\n  Prin. Yea, or to paint himselfe? for the which I heare\nwhat they say of him\n\n  ","question":"Scene 2.\n\nEnter Prince, Claudio, Benedicke, and Leonato.\n\n  Prince. I doe but stay till your marriage be consummate,\nand then go I toward Arragon\n\n   Clau. Ile bring you thither my Lord, if you'l vouchsafe\nme\n\n   Prin. Nay, that would be as great a soyle in the new\nglosse of your marriage, as to shew a childe his new coat\nand forbid him to weare it, I will onely bee bold with\nBenedicke for his companie, for from the crowne of his\nhead, to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth, he hath twice\nor thrice cut Cupids bow-string, and the little hang-man\ndare not shoot at him, he hath a heart as sound as a bell,\nand his tongue is the clapper, for what his heart thinkes,\nhis tongue speakes\n\n   Bene. Gallants, I am not as I haue bin\n\n   Leo. So say I, methinkes you are sadder\n\n   Claud. I hope he be in loue\n\n   Prin. Hang him truant, there's no true drop of bloud\nin him to be truly toucht with loue, if he be sad, he wants\nmoney\n\n   Bene. I haue the tooth-ach\n\n   Prin. Draw it\n\n   Bene. Hang it\n\n  "}
{"answer":"   When she does praise me grieves me. I have done\n    As you have done- that's what I can; induc'd\n    As you have been- that's for my country.\n    He that has but effected his good will\n    Hath overta'en mine act.\n  COMINIUS. You shall not be\n    The grave of your deserving; Rome must know\n    The value of her own. 'Twere a concealment\n    Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement,\n    To hide your doings and to silence that\n    Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd,\n    Would seem but modest. Therefore, I beseech you,\n    In sign of what you are, not to reward\n    What you have done, before our army hear me.\n  MARCIUS. I have some wounds upon me, and they smart\n    To hear themselves rememb'red.\n  COMINIUS. Should they not,\n    Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude\n    And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses-\n    Whereof we have ta'en good, and good store- of all\n    The treasure in this field achiev'd and city,\n    We render you the tenth; to be ta'en forth\n    Before the common distribution at\n    Your only choice.\n  MARCIUS. I thank","question":"SCENE IX.\nThe Roman camp\n\nFlourish. Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Enter, at one door,\nCOMINIUS with the Romans; at another door, MARCIUS, with his arm\nin a scarf\n\n  COMINIUS. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work,\n    Thou't not believe thy deeds; but I'll report it\n    Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles;\n    Where great patricians shall attend, and shrug,\n    I' th' end admire; where ladies shall be frighted\n    And, gladly quak'd, hear more; where the dull tribunes,\n    That with the fusty plebeians hate thine honours,\n    Shall say against their hearts 'We thank the gods\n    Our Rome hath such a soldier.'\n    Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast,\n    Having fully din'd before.\n\n         Enter TITUS LARTIUS, with his power, from the pursuit\n\n  LARTIUS. O General,\n    Here is the steed, we the caparison.\n    Hadst thou beheld-\n  MARCIUS. Pray now, no more; my mother,\n    Who has a charter to extol her blood,\n"}
{"answer":"well-known foot.\n\n\"Why, what's up now, Tom?\" said his father. \"You're a bit earlier than\nusual.\"\n\n\"Oh, there was nothing more for me to do, so I came away. Well,\nmother!\"\n\nTom went up to his mother and kissed her, a sign of unusual good-humor\nwith him. Hardly a word or look had passed between him and Maggie in\nall the three weeks; but his usual incommunicativeness at home\nprevented this from being noticeable to their parents.\n\n\"Father,\" said Tom, when they had finished tea, \"do you know exactly\nhow much money there is in the tin box?\"\n\n\"Only a hundred and ninety-three pound,\" said Mr. Tulliver. \"You've\nbrought less o' late; but young fellows like to have their own way\nwith their money. Though I didn't do as I liked before _I_ was of\nage.\" He spoke with rather timid discontent.\n\n\"Are you quite sure that's the sum, father?\" said Tom. \"I wish you\nwould take the trouble to fetch the tin box down. I think you have\nperhaps made a mistake.\"\n\n\"How should I make a mistake?\" said his father, sharply. \"I've counted\nit often enough; but I can fetch it, if you won't believe me.\"\n\nIt was always an incident Mr. Tulliver liked, in his gloomy life, to\nfetch the tin box and count the money.\n\n\"Don't go out of the room, mother,\" said Tom, as he saw her moving\nwhen his father was gone upstairs.\n\n\"And isn't Maggie to go?\" said Mrs. Tulliver; \"because somebody must\ntake away the things.\"\n\n\"Just as she likes,\" said Tom indifferently.\n\nThat was a cutting word to Maggie. Her heart had leaped with the\nsudden conviction that Tom","question":"\nThe Hard-Won Triumph\n\n\nThree weeks later, when Dorlcote Mill was at its prettiest moment in\nall the year,--the great chestnuts in blossom, and the grass all deep\nand daisied,--Tom Tulliver came home to it earlier than usual in the\nevening, and as he passed over the bridge, he looked with the old\ndeep-rooted affection at the respectable red brick house, which always\nseemed cheerful and inviting outside, let the rooms be as bare and the\nhearts as sad as they might inside. There is a very pleasant light in\nTom's blue-gray eyes as he glances at the house-windows; that fold in\nhis brow never disappears, but it is not unbecoming; it seems to imply\na strength of will that may possibly be without harshness, when the\neyes and mouth have their gentlest expression. His firm step becomes\nquicker, and the corners of his mouth rebel against the compression\nwhich is meant to forbid a smile.\n\nThe eyes in the parlor were not turned toward the bridge just then,\nand the group there was sitting in unexpectant silence,--Mr. Tulliver\nin his arm-chair, tired with a long ride, and ruminating with a worn\nlook, fixed chiefly on Maggie, who was bending over her sewing while\nher mother was making the tea.\n\nThey all looked up with surprise when they heard the"}
{"answer":"along, with\nfeelings of perfect charity for all the world, and especial good-will\ntowards each other.\n\nOur morning meal was soon prepared. The islanders are somewhat\nabstemious at this repast; reserving the more powerful efforts of\ntheir appetite to a later period of the day. For my own part, with the\nassistance of my valet, who, as I have before stated, always officiated\nas spoon on these occasions, I ate sparingly from one of Tinor's\ntrenchers, of poee-poee; which was devoted exclusively for my own use,\nbeing mixed with the milky meat of ripe cocoanut. A section of a roasted\nbread-fruit, a small cake of 'Amar', or a mess of 'Cokoo,' two or three\nbananas, or a mammee-apple; an annuee, or some other agreeable and\nnutritious fruit served from day to day to diversify the meal, which was\nfinished by tossing off the liquid contents of a young cocoanut or two.\n\nWhile partaking of this simple repast, the inmates of Marheyo's house,\nafter the style of the ancient Romans, reclined in sociable groups upon\nthe divan of mats, and digestion was promoted by cheerful conversation.\n\nAfter the morning meal was concluded, pipes were lighted; and among them\nmy own especial pipe, a present from the noble Mehevi.\n\nThe islanders, who only smoke a whiff or two at a time, and at long\nintervals, and who keep their pipes going from hand to hand continually,\nregarded my systematic smoking of four or five pipefuls of tobacco in\nsuccession, as something quite wonderful. When two or three pipes had\ncirculated freely, the company gradually broke up. Marheyo went to the\nlittle hut he was forever building.","question":"NOTHING can be more uniform and undiversified than the life of the\nTypees; one tranquil day of ease and happiness follows another in quiet\nsuccession; and with these unsophisicated savages the history of a\nday is the history of a life. I will, therefore, as briefly as I can,\ndescribe one of our days in the valley.\n\nTo begin with the morning. We were not very early risers--the sun would\nbe shooting his golden spikes above the Happar mountain, ere I threw\naside my tappa robe, and girding my long tunic about my waist, sallied\nout with Fayaway and Kory-Kory, and the rest of the household, and bent\nmy steps towards the stream. Here we found congregated all those who\ndwelt in our section of the valley; and here we bathed with them. The\nfresh morning air and the cool flowing waters put both soul and body in\na glow, and after a half-hour employed in this recreation, we sauntered\nback to the house--Tinor and Marheyo gathering dry sticks by the way\nfor fire-wood; some of the young men laying the cocoanut trees under\ncontribution as they passed beneath them; while Kory-Kory played his\noutlandish pranks for my particular diversion, and Fayaway and I, not\narm in arm to be sure, but sometimes hand in hand, strolled"}
{"answer":"the various Institutions\nand Refuges of the Army in different cities of the land. It is a\nwonderful thing, as has happened to me again and again, to see some\nquiet, middle-aged lady, often so shy that it is difficult to extract\nfrom her the information required, ruling with the most perfect\nsuccess a number of young women, who, a few weeks or months before,\nwere the vilest of the vile, and what is stranger still, reforming as\nshe rules. These ladies exercise no severity; the punishment, which,\nperhaps necessarily, is a leading feature in some of our Government\nInstitutions, is unknown to their system. I am told that no one is\never struck, no one is imprisoned, no one is restricted in diet for\nany offence. As an Officer said to me:--\n\n'If we cannot manage a girl by love, we recognize that the case is\nbeyond us, and ask her to go away. This, however, very seldom\nhappens.'\n\nAs a matter of fact, that case which is beyond the regenerating powers\nof the Army must be very bad indeed, at any rate where young people\nare concerned. In the vast majority of instances a cure is effected,\nand apparently a permanent cure. In every one of these Homes there is\na room reserved for the accommodation of those who have passed through\nit and gone out into the world again, should they care to return there\nin their holidays or other intervals of leisure. That room is always\nin great demand, and I can imagine no more eloquent testimony to the\nmanner of the treatment of its occupants while they dwelt","question":"THE WOMEN'S SOCIAL WORK IN LONDON\n\n\n\nAt the commencement of my investigation of this branch of the\nSalvation Army activities in England, I discussed its general aspects\nwith Mrs. Bramwell Booth, who has it in her charge. She pointed out to\nme that this Women's Social Work is a much larger business than it was\nbelieved to be even by those who had some acquaintance with the\nSalvation Army, and that it deals with many matters of great\nimportance in their bearing on the complex problems of our\ncivilization.\n\nAmong them, to take some that she mentioned, which recur to my mind,\nare the questions of illegitimacy and prostitution, of maternity homes\nfor poor girls who have fallen into trouble, of women thieves, of what\nis known as the White Slave traffic, of female children who have been\nexposed to awful treatment, of women who are drunkards or drug-takers,\nof aged and destitute women, of intractable or vicious-minded girls,\nand, lastly, of the training of young persons to enable them to deal\nscientifically with all these evils, or under the name of Slum\nSisters, to wait upon the poor in their homes, and nurse them through\nthe trials of maternity.\n\nHow practical and efficient this training is, no one can know who has\nnot, like myself, visited and inquired into"}
{"answer":"comfort and respectability; so I\nmade arrangements for them with especial care. I arranged every thing in my\ngrandmother's house as neatly as possible. I put white quilts on the beds,\nand decorated some of the rooms with flowers. When all was arranged, I sat\ndown at the window to watch. Far as my eye could reach, it rested on a\nmotley crowd of soldiers. Drums and fifes were discoursing martial music.\nThe men were divided into companies of sixteen, each headed by a captain.\nOrders were given, and the wild scouts rushed in every direction, wherever\na colored face was to be found.\n\nIt was a grand opportunity for the low whites, who had no negroes of their\nown to scourge. They exulted in such a chance to exercise a little brief\nauthority, and show their subserviency to the slaveholders; not reflecting\nthat the power which trampled on the colored people also kept themselves in\npoverty, ignorance, and moral degradation. Those who never witnessed such\nscenes can hardly believe what I know was inflicted at this time on\ninnocent men, women, and children, against whom there was not the slightest\nground for suspicion. Colored people and slaves who lived in remote parts\nof the town suffered in an especial manner. In some cases the searchers\nscattered powder and shot among their clothes, and then sent other parties\nto find them, and bring them forward as proof that they were plotting\ninsurrection. Every where men, women, and children were whipped till the\nblood stood in puddles at their feet. Some received five hundred lashes;\nothers were tied hands and feet, and tortured","question":"\n\nNot far from this time Nat Turner's insurrection broke out; and the news\nthrew our town into great commotion. Strange that they should be alarmed,\nwhen their slaves were so \"contented and happy\"! But so it was.\n\nIt was always the custom to have a muster every year. On that occasion\nevery white man shouldered his musket. The citizens and the so-called\ncountry gentlemen wore military uniforms. The poor whites took their places\nin the ranks in every-day dress, some without shoes, some without hats.\nThis grand occasion had already passed; and when the slaves were told there\nwas to be another muster, they were surprised and rejoiced. Poor creatures!\nThey thought it was going to be a holiday. I was informed of the true state\nof affairs, and imparted it to the few I could trust. Most gladly would I\nhave proclaimed it to every slave; but I dared not. All could not be relied\non. Mighty is the power of the torturing lash.\n\nBy sunrise, people were pouring in from every quarter within twenty miles\nof the town. I knew the houses were to be searched; and I expected it would\nbe done by country bullies and the poor whites. I knew nothing annoyed them\nso much as to see colored people living in"}
{"answer":"                                    [Here they fight]\n  TALBOT. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail?\n    My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage.\n    And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder,\n    But I will chastise this high minded strumpet.\n                                              [They fight again]\n  PUCELLE. Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come.\n    I must go victual Orleans forthwith.\n             [A short alarum; then enter the town with soldiers]\n    O'ertake me if thou canst; I scorn thy strength.\n    Go, go, cheer up thy hungry starved men;\n    Help Salisbury to make his testament.\n    This day is ours, as many more shall be.                Exit\n  TALBOT. My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel;\n    I know not where I am","question":"SCENE 5.\n\n                          Before Orleans\n\n         Here an alarum again, and TALBOT pursueth the\n      DAUPHIN and driveth him. Then enter JOAN LA PUCELLE\n       driving Englishmen before her. Then enter TALBOT\n\n  TALBOT. Where is my strength, my valour, and my force?\n    Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them;\n    A woman clad in armour chaseth them.\n\n                          Enter LA PUCELLE\n\n    Here, here she comes. I'll have a bout with thee.\n    Devil or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee;\n    Blood will I draw on thee--thou art a witch\n    And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st.\n  PUCELLE. Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee.\n          "}
{"answer":"same time, seven mutineers--Job Anderson, the\nboatswain, at their head--appeared in full cry at the southwestern\ncorner.\n\nThey paused, as if taken aback, and before they recovered, not only the\nsquire and I, but Hunter and Joyce from the blockhouse, had time to\nfire.\n\nThe four shots came in rather a scattering volley, but they did the\nbusiness; one of the enemy actually fell, and the rest, without\nhesitation, turned and plunged into the trees.\n\nAfter reloading we walked down the outside of the palisade to see to the\nfallen enemy. He was stone dead--shot through the heart.\n\nWe began to rejoice over our good success, when just at that moment a\npistol cracked in the bush, a ball whistled close past my ear and poor\nTom Redruth stumbled and fell his length on the ground. Both the squire\nand I returned the shot, but as we had nothing to aim at, it is probable\nwe only wasted powder. Then we reloaded and turned our attention to poor\nTom.\n\nThe captain and Gray were already examining him, and I saw with half an\neye that all was over.\n\nI believe the readiness of our return volley had scattered the mutineers\nonce more, for we were suffered without further molestation to get the\npoor old gamekeeper hoisted over the stockade, and carried, groaning and\nbleeding, into the log-house.\n\nPoor old fellow, he had not uttered one word of surprise, complaint,\nfear, or even acquiescence, from the very beginning of our troubles till\nnow, when we had laid him down in the log-house to die! He had lain like\na Trojan behind his mattress in the gallery; he","question":"\nNARRATIVE CONTINUED BY THE DOCTOR--END OF THE FIRST DAY'S FIGHTING\n\n\nWe made our best speed across the strip of wood that now divided us from\nthe stockade, and at every step we took the voices of the buccaneers\nrang nearer. Soon we could hear their footfalls as they ran, and the\ncracking of the branches as they breasted across a bit of thicket.\n\nI began to see we should have a brush for it in earnest, and looked to\nmy priming.\n\n\"Captain,\" said I, \"Trelawney is the dead shot. Give him your gun; his\nown is useless.\"\n\nThey exchanged guns, and Trelawney, silent and cool, as he had been\nsince the beginning of the bustle, hung a moment on his heel to see that\nall was fit for service. At the same time, observing Gray to be unarmed,\nI handed him my cutlass. It did all our hearts good to see him spit in\nhis hand, knit his brows, and make the blade sing through the air. It\nwas plain from every line of his body that our new hand was worth his\nsalt.\n\nForty paces farther we came to the edge of the wood and saw the stockade\nin front of us. We struck the inclosure about the middle of the south\nside, and, almost at the"}
{"answer":"Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear;\n    Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury,\n    And he may well in fretting spend his gall\n    Nor men nor money hath he to make war.\n  CHARLES. Sound, sound alarum; we will rush on them.\n    Now for the honour of the forlorn French!\n    Him I forgive my death that killeth me,\n    When he sees me go back one foot or flee.             Exeunt\n\n       Here alarum. They are beaten back by the English, with\n         great loss. Re-enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER\n\n  CHARLES. Who ever saw the like? What men have I!\n    Dogs! cowards! dastards! I would ne'er have fled\n    But that they left me midst my enemies.\n  REIGNIER. Salisbury is a desperate homicide;\n    He fighteth as one weary of his life.\n    The other lords, like lions wanting food,\n    Do rush upon us as their hungry prey.\n  ALENCON. Froissart, a countryman of ours, records\n    England all Olivers and Rowlands bred\n    During the time Edward the Third did reign.\n    More truly now may this be verified;\n    For none but Samsons and Goliases\n  ","question":"SCENE 2.\n\n                  France. Before Orleans\n\n      Sound a flourish. Enter CHARLES THE DAUPHIN, ALENCON,\n           and REIGNIER, marching with drum and soldiers\n\n  CHARLES. Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens\n    So in the earth, to this day is not known.\n    Late did he shine upon the English side;\n    Now we are victors, upon us he smiles.\n    What towns of any moment but we have?\n    At pleasure here we lie near Orleans;\n    Otherwhiles the famish'd English, like pale ghosts,\n    Faintly besiege us one hour in a month.\n  ALENCON. They want their porridge and their fat bull\n    beeves.\n    Either they must be dieted like mules\n    And have their provender tied to their mouths,\n    Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice.\n  REIGNIER. Let's raise the siege. Why live we idly here?\n   "}
{"answer":"all her\nlook, thank the Lord's mercy that if they were ruined the pieces would\nstill serve. Flights of fancy gave place, in her mind, to a steady\nfireside glow, and I had already begun to perceive how, with the\ndevelopment of the conviction that--as time went on without a public\naccident--our young things could, after all, look out for themselves,\nshe addressed her greatest solicitude to the sad case presented by their\ninstructress. That, for myself, was a sound simplification: I could\nengage that, to the world, my face should tell no tales, but it would\nhave been, in the conditions, an immense added strain to find myself\nanxious about hers.\n\nAt the hour I now speak of she had joined me, under pressure, on the\nterrace, where, with the lapse of the season, the afternoon sun was now\nagreeable; and we sat there together while, before us, at a distance,\nbut within call if we wished, the children strolled to and fro in one\nof their most manageable moods. They moved slowly, in unison, below us,\nover the lawn, the boy, as they went, reading aloud from a storybook and\npassing his arm round his sister to keep her quite in touch. Mrs. Grose\nwatched them with positive placidity; then I caught the suppressed\nintellectual creak with which she conscientiously turned to take from me\na view of the back of the tapestry. I had made her a receptacle of\nlurid things, but there was an odd recognition of my superiority--my\naccomplishments and my function--in her patience under my pain. She\noffered her mind to my disclosures as, had I wished","question":"It was not till late next day that I spoke to Mrs. Grose; the rigor with\nwhich I kept my pupils in sight making it often difficult to meet\nher privately, and the more as we each felt the importance of not\nprovoking--on the part of the servants quite as much as on that of the\nchildren--any suspicion of a secret flurry or that of a discussion of\nmysteries. I drew a great security in this particular from her mere\nsmooth aspect. There was nothing in her fresh face to pass on to others\nmy horrible confidences. She believed me, I was sure, absolutely: if she\nhadn't I don't know what would have become of me, for I couldn't have\nborne the business alone. But she was a magnificent monument to the\nblessing of a want of imagination, and if she could see in our little\ncharges nothing but their beauty and amiability, their happiness and\ncleverness, she had no direct communication with the sources of my\ntrouble. If they had been at all visibly blighted or battered, she would\ndoubtless have grown, on tracing it back, haggard enough to match them;\nas matters stood, however, I could feel her, when she surveyed them,\nwith her large white arms folded and the habit of serenity in"}
{"answer":"came with remorse and with tears, with curses and\ntransports.  There were moments of such positive intoxication, of such\nhappiness, that there was not the faintest trace of irony within me, on\nmy honour.  I had faith, hope, love.  I believed blindly at such times\nthat by some miracle, by some external circumstance, all this would\nsuddenly open out, expand; that suddenly a vista of suitable\nactivity--beneficent, good, and, above all, READY MADE (what sort of\nactivity I had no idea, but the great thing was that it should be all\nready for me)--would rise up before me--and I should come out into the\nlight of day, almost riding a white horse and crowned with laurel.\nAnything but the foremost place I could not conceive for myself, and\nfor that very reason I quite contentedly occupied the lowest in\nreality.  Either to be a hero or to grovel in the mud--there was\nnothing between.  That was my ruin, for when I was in the mud I\ncomforted myself with the thought that at other times I was a hero, and\nthe hero was a cloak for the mud: for an ordinary man it was shameful\nto defile himself, but a hero was too lofty to be utterly defiled, and\nso he might defile himself.  It is worth noting that these attacks of\nthe \"sublime and the beautiful\" visited me even during the period of\ndissipation and just at the times when I was touching the bottom.  They\ncame in separate spurts, as though reminding me of themselves, but did\nnot banish the dissipation by","question":"\nBut the period of my dissipation would end and I always felt very sick\nafterwards.  It was followed by remorse--I tried to drive it away; I\nfelt too sick.  By degrees, however, I grew used to that too.  I grew\nused to everything, or rather I voluntarily resigned myself to enduring\nit.  But I had a means of escape that reconciled everything--that was\nto find refuge in \"the sublime and the beautiful,\" in dreams, of\ncourse.  I was a terrible dreamer, I would dream for three months on\nend, tucked away in my corner, and you may believe me that at those\nmoments I had no resemblance to the gentleman who, in the perturbation\nof his chicken heart, put a collar of German beaver on his great-coat.\nI suddenly became a hero.  I would not have admitted my six-foot\nlieutenant even if he had called on me.  I could not even picture him\nbefore me then.  What were my dreams and how I could satisfy myself\nwith them--it is hard to say now, but at the time I was satisfied with\nthem.  Though, indeed, even now, I am to some extent satisfied with\nthem.  Dreams were particularly sweet and vivid after a spell of\ndissipation; they"}
{"answer":"  2.Car. I haue a Gammon of Bacon, and two razes of\nGinger, to be deliuered as farre as Charing-crosse\n\n   1.Car. The Turkies in my Pannier are quite starued.\nWhat Ostler? A plague on thee, hast thou neuer an eye in\nthy head? Can'st not heare? And t'were not as good a\ndeed as drinke, to break the pate of thee, I am a very Villaine.\nCome and be hang'd, hast no faith in thee?\nEnter Gads-hill.\n\n  Gad. Good-morrow Carriers. What's a clocke?\n  Car. I thinke it be two a clocke\n\n   Gad. I prethee lend me thy Lanthorne to see my Gelding\nin the stable\n\n   1.Car. Nay soft I pray ye, I know a trick worth two\nof that\n\n   Gad. I prethee lend me thine\n\n   2.Car. I, when, canst tell? Lend mee thy Lanthorne\n(quoth-a) marry Ile see thee hang'd first\n\n   Gad. Sirra Carrier: What time do you mean to come\nto London?\n  2.Car. Time enough to goe to bed with a Candle, I\nwarrant thee. Come neighbour Mugges, wee'll call vp\nthe Gentlemen, they will along with company, for they\nhaue great charge.\n\nExeunt.\n\nEnter Chamberlaine.\n\n  Gad. What ho, Chamberlaine?\n  Cham. At hand quoth Pick-purse\n\n   Gad. That's euen as faire, as at hand quoth the Chamberlaine:\nFor thou variest no more from picking of Purses,\nthen giuing direction, doth from labouring. Thou\nlay'st the plot, how\n\n   Cham. Good morrow Master Gads-Hill, it holds currant\nthat I told you yesternight. There's a Franklin in the\nwilde of Kent,","question":"Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.\n\n\nEnter a Carrier with a Lanterne in his hand.\n\n  1.Car. Heigh-ho, an't be not foure by the day, Ile be\nhang'd. Charles waine is ouer the new Chimney, and yet\nour horse not packt. What Ostler?\n  Ost. Anon, anon\n\n   1.Car. I prethee Tom, beate Cuts Saddle, put a few\nFlockes in the point: the poore Iade is wrung in the withers,\nout of all cesse.\nEnter another Carrier.\n\n  2.Car. Pease and Beanes are as danke here as a Dog,\nand this is the next way to giue poore Iades the Bottes:\nThis house is turned vpside downe since Robin the Ostler\ndyed\n\n   1.Car. Poore fellow neuer ioy'd since the price of oats\nrose, it was the death of him\n\n   2.Car. I thinke this is the most villanous house in al\nLondon rode for Fleas: I am stung like a Tench\n\n   1.Car. Like a Tench? There is ne're a King in Christendome,\ncould be better bit, then I haue beene since the\nfirst Cocke\n\n   2.Car. Why, you will allow vs ne're a Iourden, and\nthen we leake in your Chimney: and your Chamber-lye\nbreeds Fleas like a Loach\n\n   1.Car. What Ostler, come away, and be hangd: come\naway\n\n"}
{"answer":"\"ready\nwit\"--but then the \"soft eyes\"--in fact it suited neither; it was\na jumble without taste or truth. Who could have seen through such\nthick-headed nonsense?\n\nCertainly she had often, especially of late, thought his manners to\nherself unnecessarily gallant; but it had passed as his way, as a mere\nerror of judgment, of knowledge, of taste, as one proof among others\nthat he had not always lived in the best society, that with all the\ngentleness of his address, true elegance was sometimes wanting; but,\ntill this very day, she had never, for an instant, suspected it to mean\nany thing but grateful respect to her as Harriet's friend.\n\nTo Mr. John Knightley was she indebted for her first idea on the\nsubject, for the first start of its possibility. There was no denying\nthat those brothers had penetration. She remembered what Mr. Knightley\nhad once said to her about Mr. Elton, the caution he had given,\nthe conviction he had professed that Mr. Elton would never marry\nindiscreetly; and blushed to think how much truer a knowledge of his\ncharacter had been there shewn than any she had reached herself. It\nwas dreadfully mortifying; but Mr. Elton was proving himself, in many\nrespects, the very reverse of what she had meant and believed him;\nproud, assuming, conceited; very full of his own claims, and little\nconcerned about the feelings of others.\n\nContrary to the usual course of things, Mr. Elton's wanting to pay his\naddresses to her had sunk him in her opinion. His professions and his\nproposals did him no service. She thought nothing of his attachment,\nand was insulted by his","question":"\n\nThe hair was curled, and the maid sent away, and Emma sat down to think\nand be miserable.--It was a wretched business indeed!--Such an overthrow\nof every thing she had been wishing for!--Such a development of every\nthing most unwelcome!--Such a blow for Harriet!--that was the worst\nof all. Every part of it brought pain and humiliation, of some sort or\nother; but, compared with the evil to Harriet, all was light; and\nshe would gladly have submitted to feel yet more mistaken--more in\nerror--more disgraced by mis-judgment, than she actually was, could the\neffects of her blunders have been confined to herself.\n\n\"If I had not persuaded Harriet into liking the man, I could have\nborne any thing. He might have doubled his presumption to me--but poor\nHarriet!\"\n\nHow she could have been so deceived!--He protested that he had never\nthought seriously of Harriet--never! She looked back as well as\nshe could; but it was all confusion. She had taken up the idea, she\nsupposed, and made every thing bend to it. His manners, however, must\nhave been unmarked, wavering, dubious, or she could not have been so\nmisled.\n\nThe picture!--How eager he had been about the picture!--and the\ncharade!--and an hundred other circumstances;--how clearly they had\nseemed to point at Harriet. To be sure, the charade, with its"}
{"answer":"those of the same old crowd round the custom-house\ncounter, and same old dishes on the boardinghouse table, with characters\nunlike those of the same old acquaintances they meet in the same old way\nevery day in the same old street. And as, in real life, the proprieties\nwill not allow people to act out themselves with that unreserve\npermitted to the stage; so, in books of fiction, they look not only for\nmore entertainment, but, at bottom, even for more reality, than real\nlife itself can show. Thus, though they want novelty, they want nature,\ntoo; but nature unfettered, exhilarated, in effect transformed. In this\nway of thinking, the people in a fiction, like the people in a play,\nmust dress as nobody exactly dresses, talk as nobody exactly talks, act\nas nobody exactly acts. It is with fiction as with religion: it should\npresent another world, and yet one to which we feel the tie.\n\nIf, then, something is to be pardoned to well-meant endeavor, surely a\nlittle is to be allowed to that writer who, in all his scenes, does but\nseek to minister to what, as he understands it, is the implied wish of\nthe more indulgent lovers of entertainment, before whom harlequin can\nnever appear in a coat too parti-colored, or cut capers too fantastic.\n\nOne word more. Though every one knows how bootless it is to be in all\ncases vindicating one's self, never mind how convinced one may be that\nhe is never in the wrong; yet, so precious to man is the approbation of\nhis kind, that to rest, though but under an","question":"CHAPTER XXXIII. WHICH MAY PASS FOR WHATEVER IT MAY PROVE TO BE WORTH.\n\n\n\nBut ere be given the rather grave story of Charlemont, a reply must in\ncivility be made to a certain voice which methinks I hear, that, in view\nof past chapters, and more particularly the last, where certain antics\nappear, exclaims: How unreal all this is! Who did ever dress or act like\nyour cosmopolitan? And who, it might be returned, did ever dress or act\nlike harlequin?\n\nStrange, that in a work of amusement, this severe fidelity to real life\nshould be exacted by any one, who, by taking up such a work,\nsufficiently shows that he is not unwilling to drop real life, and turn,\nfor a time, to something different. Yes, it is, indeed, strange that any\none should clamor for the thing he is weary of; that any one, who, for\nany cause, finds real life dull, should yet demand of him who is to\ndivert his attention from it, that he should be true to that dullness.\n\nThere is another class, and with this class we side, who sit down to a\nwork of amusement tolerantly as they sit at a play, and with much the\nsame expectations and feelings. They look that fancy shall evoke scenes\ndifferent from"}
{"answer":"Ulysses could have writ such letters!\n  But would have cast away her silken bobbins,\n  And fled to join him, mad for love as Helen!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  But. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  I read, read again--grew faint for love;\n  I was thine utterly.  Each separate page\n  Was like a fluttering flower-petal, loosed\n  From your own soul, and wafted thus to mine.\n  Imprinted in each burning word was love\n  Sincere, all-powerful. . .\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  A love sincere!\n  Can that be felt, Roxane!\n\nROXANE:\n  Ay, that it can!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  You come. . .?\n\nROXANE:\n  O, Christian, my true lord, I come--\n  (Were I to throw myself, here, at your knees,\n  You would raise me--but 'tis my soul I lay\n  At your feet--you can raise it nevermore!)\n  --I come to crave your pardon.  (Ay, 'tis time\n  To sue for pardon, now that death may come!)\n  For the insult done to you when, frivolous,\n  At first I loved you only for your face!\n\nCHRISTIAN (horror-stricken):\n  Roxane!\n\nROXANE:\n  And later, love--less frivolous--\n  Like a bird that spreads its wings, but can not fly--\n  Arrested by your beauty, by your soul\n  Drawn close--I loved for both at once!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  And now?\n\nROXANE:\n  Ah! you yourself have triumphed o'er yourself,\n  And now, I love you only for your soul!\n\nCHRISTIAN (stepping backward):\n  Roxane!\n\nROXANE:\n  Be happy.  To be loved for beauty--\n  A poor disguise that time so","question":"Roxane, Christian.  In the distance cadets coming and going.  Carbon and De\nGuiche give orders.\n\nROXANE (running up to Christian):\n  Ah, Christian, at last!. . .\n\nCHRISTIAN (taking her hands):\n  Now tell me why--\n  Why, by these fearful paths so perilous--\n  Across these ranks of ribald soldiery,\n  You have come?\n\nROXANE:\n  Love, your letters brought me here!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  What say you?\n\nROXANE:\n  'Tis your fault if I ran risks!\n  Your letters turned my head!  Ah! all this month,\n  How many!--and the last one ever bettered\n  The one that went before!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  What!--for a few\n  Inconsequent love-letters!\n\nROXANE:\n  Hold your peace!\n  Ah! you cannot conceive it!  Ever since\n  That night, when, in a voice all new to me,\n  Under my window you revealed your soul--\n  Ah! ever since I have adored you!  Now\n  Your letters all this whole month long!--meseemed\n  As if I heard that voice so tender, true,\n  Sheltering, close!  Thy fault, I say!  It drew me,\n  The voice o' th' night!  Oh! wise Penelope\n  Would ne'er have stayed to broider on her hearthstone,\n  If her"}
{"answer":"home,\ndear, and I'll find your bootjack.  I suppose that's what you are\nrummaging after among my things.  Men are so helpless, Mother,\" said\nAmy, with a matronly air, which delighted her husband.\n\n\"What are you going to do with yourselves after you get settled?\" asked\nJo, buttoning Amy's cloak as she used to button her pinafores.\n\n\"We have our plans.  We don't mean to say much about them yet, because\nwe are such very new brooms, but we don't intend to be idle.  I'm going\ninto business with a devotion that shall delight Grandfather, and prove\nto him that I'm not spoiled.  I need something of the sort to keep me\nsteady.  I'm tired of dawdling, and mean to work like a man.\"\n\n\"And Amy, what is she going to do?\" asked Mrs. March, well pleased at\nLaurie's decision and the energy with which he spoke.\n\n\"After doing the civil all round, and airing our best bonnet, we shall\nastonish you by the elegant hospitalities of our mansion, the brilliant\nsociety we shall draw about us, and the beneficial influence we shall\nexert over the world at large.  That's about it, isn't it, Madame\nRecamier?\" asked Laurie with a quizzical look at Amy.\n\n\"Time will show.  Come away, Impertinence, and don't shock my family by\ncalling me names before their faces,\" answered Amy, resolving that\nthere should be a home with a good wife in it before she set up a salon\nas a queen of society.\n\n\"How happy those children seem together!\" observed Mr. March, finding\nit difficult to become absorbed in his","question":"\"Please, Madam Mother, could you lend me my wife for half an hour?  The\nluggage has come, and I've been making hay of Amy's Paris finery,\ntrying to find some things I want,\" said Laurie, coming in the next day\nto find Mrs. Laurence sitting in her mother's lap, as if being made\n'the baby' again.\n\n\"Certainly.  Go, dear, I forgot that you have any home but this,\" and\nMrs. March pressed the white hand that wore the wedding ring, as if\nasking pardon for her maternal covetousness.\n\n\"I shouldn't have come over if I could have helped it, but I can't get\non without my little woman any more than a...\"\n\n\"Weathercock can without the wind,\" suggested Jo, as he paused for a\nsimile.  Jo had grown quite her own saucy self again since Teddy came\nhome.\n\n\"Exactly, for Amy keeps me pointing due west most of the time, with\nonly an occasional whiffle round to the south, and I haven't had an\neasterly spell since I was married.  Don't know anything about the\nnorth, but am altogether salubrious and balmy, hey, my lady?\"\n\n\"Lovely weather so far.  I don't know how long it will last, but I'm\nnot afraid of storms, for I'm learning how to sail my ship.  Come"}
{"answer":"so, or with much more contempt, mens eyes\nDid scowle on Richard: no man cride, God saue him:\nNo ioyfull tongue gaue him his welcome home,\nBut dust was throwne vpon his Sacred head,\nWhich with such gentle sorrow he shooke off,\nHis face still combating with teares and smiles\n(The badges of his greefe and patience)\nThat had not God (for some strong purpose) steel'd\nThe hearts of men, they must perforce haue melted,\nAnd Barbarisme it selfe haue pittied him.\nBut heauen hath a hand in these euents,\nTo whose high will we bound our calme contents.\nTo Bullingbrooke, are we sworne Subiects now,\nWhose State, and Honor, I for aye allow.\nEnter Aumerle\n\n   Dut. Heere comes my sonne Aumerle\n\n   Yor. Aumerle that was,\nBut that is lost, for being Richards Friend.\nAnd Madam, you must call him Rutland now:\nI am in Parliament pledge for his truth,\nAnd lasting fealtie to the new-made King\n\n   Dut. Welcome my sonne: who are the Violets now,\nThat strew the greene lap of the new-come Spring?\n  Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not,\nGod knowes, I had as liefe be none, as one\n\n   Yorke. Well, beare you well in this new-spring of time\nLeast you be cropt before you come to prime.\nWhat newes from Oxford? Hold those Iusts & Triumphs?\n  Aum. For ought I know my Lord, they do\n\n   Yorke. You will be there I know\n\n   Aum. If God preuent not, I purpose so\n\n   Yor. What Seale is that that hangs without thy","question":"Scoena Secunda.\n\nEnter Yorke, and his Duchesse.\n\n  Duch. My Lord, you told me you would tell the rest,\nWhen weeping made you breake the story off,\nOf our two Cousins comming into London\n\n   Yorke. Where did I leaue?\n  Duch. At that sad stoppe, my Lord,\nWhere rude mis-gouern'd hands, from Windowes tops,\nThrew dust and rubbish on King Richards head\n\n   Yorke. Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bullingbrooke,\nMounted vpon a hot and fierie Steed,\nWhich his aspiring Rider seem'd to know,\nWith slow, but stately pace, kept on his course:\nWhile all tongues cride, God saue thee Bullingbrooke.\nYou would haue thought the very windowes spake,\nSo many greedy lookes of yong and old,\nThrough Casements darted their desiring eyes\nVpon his visage: and that all the walles,\nWith painted Imagery had said at once,\nIesu preserue thee, welcom Bullingbrooke.\nWhil'st he, from one side to the other turning,\nBare-headed, lower then his proud Steeds necke,\nBespake them thus: I thanke you Countrimen:\nAnd thus still doing, thus he past along\n\n   Dutch. Alas poore Richard, where rides he the whilst?\n  Yorke. As in a Theater, the eyes of men\nAfter a well grac'd Actor leaues the Stage,\nAre idlely bent on him that enters next,\nThinking his prattle to be tedious:\nEuen"}
{"answer":"marry many.\nThe man y makes his Toe, what he his Hart shold make,\nShall of a Corne cry woe, and turne his sleepe to wake.\nFor there was neuer yet faire woman, but shee made\nmouthes in a glasse.\nEnter Kent\n\n   Lear. No, I will be the patterne of all patience,\nI will say nothing\n\n   Kent. Who's there?\n  Foole. Marry here's Grace, and a Codpiece, that's a\nWiseman, and a Foole\n\n   Kent. Alas Sir are you here? Things that loue night,\nLoue not such nights as these: The wrathfull Skies\nGallow the very wanderers of the darke\nAnd make them keepe their Caues: Since I was man,\nSuch sheets of Fire, such bursts of horrid Thunder,\nSuch groanes of roaring Winde, and Raine, I neuer\nRemember to haue heard. Mans Nature cannot carry\nTh' affliction, nor the feare\n\n   Lear. Let the great Goddes\nThat keepe this dreadfull pudder o're our heads,\nFinde out their enemies now. Tremble thou Wretch,\nThat hast within thee vndivulged Crimes\nVnwhipt of Iustice. Hide thee, thou Bloudy hand;\nThou Periur'd, and thou Simular of Vertue\nThat art Incestuous. Caytiffe, to peeces shake\nThat vnder couert, and conuenient seeming\nHa's practis'd on mans life. Close pent-vp guilts,\nRiue your concealing Continents, and cry\nThese dreadfull Summoners grace. I am a man,\nMore sinn'd against, then sinning\n\n   Kent. Alacke, bare-headed?\nGracious my Lord, hard by heere is a Houell,\nSome friendship will it lend you 'gainst the Tempest:\nRepose you there, while I to this hard house,\n(More harder then the stones whereof 'tis rais'd,\nWhich euen but now, demanding after you,\nDeny'd me to come","question":"Scena Secunda.\n\n\nStorme still. Enter Lear, and Foole.\n\n  Lear. Blow windes, & crack your cheeks; Rage, blow\nYou Cataracts, and Hyrricano's spout,\nTill you haue drench'd our Steeples, drown the Cockes.\nYou Sulph'rous and Thought-executing Fires,\nVaunt-curriors of Oake-cleauing Thunder-bolts,\nSindge my white head. And thou all-shaking Thunder,\nStrike flat the thicke Rotundity o'th' world,\nCracke Natures moulds, all germaines spill at once\nThat makes ingratefull Man\n\n   Foole. O Nunkle, Court holy-water in a dry house, is\nbetter then this Rain-water out o' doore. Good Nunkle,\nin, aske thy Daughters blessing, heere's a night pitties\nneither Wisemen, nor Fooles\n\n   Lear. Rumble thy belly full: spit Fire, spowt Raine:\nNor Raine, Winde, Thunder, Fire are my Daughters;\nI taxe not you, you Elements with vnkindnesse.\nI neuer gaue you Kingdome, call'd you Children;\nYou owe me no subscription. Then let fall\nYour horrible pleasure. Heere I stand your Slaue,\nA poore, infirme, weake, and dispis'd old man:\nBut yet I call you Seruile Ministers,\nThat will with two pernicious Daughters ioyne\nYour high-engender'd Battailes, 'gainst a head\nSo old, and white as this. O, ho! 'tis foule\n\n   Foole. He that has a house to put's head in, has a good\nHead-peece:\nThe Codpiece that will house, before the head has any;\nThe Head, and he shall Lowse: so Beggers"}
{"answer":"'tis so.\nHeere comes your Cosin.\nEnter Hotspurre.\n\n  Hot. My Vnkle is return'd,\nDeliuer vp my Lord of Westmerland.\nVnkle, what newes?\n  Wor. The King will bid you battell presently\n\n   Dow. Defie him by the Lord of Westmerland\n  Hot. Lord Dowglas: Go you and tell him so\n\n   Dow. Marry and shall, and verie willingly.\n\nExit Dowglas.\n\n  Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the King\n\n   Hot. Did you begge any? God forbid\n\n\n   Wor. I told him gently of our greeuances,\nOf his Oath-breaking: which he mended thus,\nBy now forswearing that he is forsworne,\nHe cals vs Rebels, Traitors, and will scourge\nWith haughty armes, this hatefull name in vs.\nEnter Dowglas.\n\n  Dow. Arme Gentlemen, to Armes, for I haue thrown\nA braue defiance in King Henries teeth:\nAnd Westmerland that was ingag'd did beare it,\nWhich cannot choose but bring him quickly on\n\n   Wor. The Prince of Wales stept forth before the king,\nAnd Nephew, challeng'd you to single fight\n\n   Hot. O, would the quarrell lay vpon our heads,\nAnd that no man might draw short breath to day,\nBut I and Harry Monmouth. Tell me, tell mee,\nHow shew'd his Talking? Seem'd it in contempt?\n  Ver. No, by my Soule: I neuer in my life\nDid heare a Challenge vrg'd more modestly,\nVnlesse a Brother should a Brother dare\nTo gentle exercise, and proofe of Armes.\nHe gaue you all the Duties of a Man,\nTrimm'd vp your praises with a Princely tongue,\nSpoke your deseruings like a Chronicle,\nMaking you euer better then","question":"Scena Secunda.\n\n\n\nEnter Worcester, and Sir Richard Vernon.\n\n  Wor. O no, my Nephew must not know, Sir Richard,\nThe liberall kinde offer of the King\n\n   Ver. 'Twere best he did\n\n   Wor. Then we are all vndone.\nIt is not possible, it cannot be,\nThe King would keepe his word in louing vs,\nHe will suspect vs still, and finde a time\nTo punish this offence in others faults:\nSupposition, all our liues, shall be stucke full of eyes;\nFor Treason is but trusted like the Foxe,\nWho ne're so tame, so cherisht, and lock'd vp,\nWill haue a wilde tricke of his Ancestors:\nLooke how he can, or sad or merrily,\nInterpretation will misquote our lookes,\nAnd we shall feede like Oxen at a stall,\nThe better cherisht, still the nearer death.\nMy Nephewes Trespasse may be well forgot,\nIt hath the excuse of youth, and heate of blood,\nAnd an adopted name of Priuiledge,\nA haire-brain'd Hotspurre, gouern'd by a Spleene:\nAll his offences liue vpon my head,\nAnd on his Fathers. We did traine him on,\nAnd his corruption being tane from vs,\nWe as the Spring of all, shall pay for all:\nTherefore good Cousin, let not Harry know\nIn any case, the offer of the King\n\n   Ver. Deliuer what you will, Ile say"}
{"answer":"and presently there was a most awe-inspiring racket in the\nwood.  The noise was unspeakable.  Having stirred this prodigious\nuproar, and, apparently, finding it too prodigious, the brigade, after\na little time, came marching airily out again with its fine formation\nin nowise disturbed.  There were no traces of speed in its movements.\nThe brigade was jaunty and seemed to point a proud thumb at the yelling\nwood.\n\nOn a slope to the left there was a long row of guns, gruff and\nmaddened, denouncing the enemy, who, down through the woods, were\nforming for another attack in the pitiless monotony of conflicts.  The\nround red discharges from the guns made a crimson flare and a high,\nthick smoke.  Occasional glimpses could be caught of groups of the\ntoiling artillerymen.  In the rear of this row of guns stood a house,\ncalm and white, amid bursting shells.  A congregation of horses, tied\nto a long railing, were tugging frenziedly at their bridles.  Men were\nrunning hither and thither.\n\nThe detached battle between the four regiments lasted for some time.\nThere chanced to be no interference, and they settled their dispute by\nthemselves.  They struck savagely and powerfully at each other for a\nperiod of minutes, and then the lighter-hued regiments faltered and\ndrew back, leaving the dark-blue lines shouting. The youth could see\nthe two flags shaking with laughter amid the smoke remnants.\n\nPresently there was a stillness, pregnant with meaning.  The blue lines\nshifted and changed a trifle and stared expectantly at the silent woods\nand fields before them.  The hush was","question":"\nWhen the woods again began to pour forth the dark-hued masses of the\nenemy the youth felt serene self-confidence.  He smiled briefly when he\nsaw men dodge and duck at the long screechings of shells that were\nthrown in giant handfuls over them.  He stood, erect and tranquil,\nwatching the attack begin against a part of the line that made a blue\ncurve along the side of an adjacent hill.  His vision being unmolested\nby smoke from the rifles of his companions, he had opportunities to see\nparts of the hard fight.  It was a relief to perceive at last from\nwhence came some of these noises which had been roared into his ears.\n\nOff a short way he saw two regiments fighting a little separate battle\nwith two other regiments.  It was in a cleared space, wearing a\nset-apart look.  They were blazing as if upon a wager, giving and\ntaking tremendous blows. The firings were incredibly fierce and rapid.\nThese intent regiments apparently were oblivious of all larger purposes\nof war, and were slugging each other as if at a matched game.\n\nIn another direction he saw a magnificent brigade going with the\nevident intention of driving the enemy from a wood.  They passed in out\nof sight"}
{"answer":"the\nTender Passion!\n\nROXANE'S VOICE:\n  I come!  I come!\n\n(A sound of stringed instruments approaching.)\n\nCYRANO'S VOICE (behind the scenes, singing):\n  La, la, la, la!\n\nTHE DUENNA (surprised):\n  They serenade us?\n\nCYRANO (followed by two pages with arch-lutes):\n  I tell you they are demi-semi-quavers, demi-semi-fool!\n\nFIRST PAGE (ironically):\n  You know then, Sir, to distinguish between semi-quavers and demi-semi-\nquavers?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Is not every disciple of Gassendi a musician?\n\nTHE PAGE (playing and singing):\n  La, la!\n\nCYRANO (snatching the lute from him, and going on with the phrase):\n  In proof of which, I can continue!  La, la, la, la!\n\nROXANE (appearing on the balcony):\n  What?  'Tis you?\n\nCYRANO (going on with the air, and singing to it):\n  'Tis I, who come to serenade your lilies, and pay my devoir to your ro-o-\noses!\n\nROXANE:\n  I am coming down!\n\n(She leaves the balcony.)\n\nTHE DUENNA (pointing to the pages):\n  How come these two virtuosi here?\n\nCYRANO:\n  'Tis for a wager I won of D'Assoucy.  We were disputing a nice point in\ngrammar; contradictions raged hotly--''Tis so!'  'Nay, 'tis so!' when suddenly\nhe shows me these two long-shanks, whom he takes about with him as an escort,\nand who are skillful in scratching lute-strings with their skinny claws!  'I\nwill wager you a day's music,' says he!--And lost it!  Thus, see you, till\nPhoebus' chariot starts once again, these lute-twangers are at my heels,\nseeing all I do, hearing all I say, and accompanying all with melody.  'Twas\npleasant at the first, but i' faith, I begin","question":"Ragueneau, the duenna.  Then Roxane, Cyrano, and two pages.\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  --And then, off she went, with a musketeer!  Deserted and ruined too, I\nwould make an end of all, and so hanged myself.  My last breath was drawn:--\nthen in comes Monsieur de Bergerac!  He cuts me down, and begs his cousin to\ntake me for her steward.\n\nTHE DUENNA:\n  Well, but how came it about that you were thus ruined?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Oh!  Lise loved the warriors, and I loved the poets!  What cakes there were\nthat Apollo chanced to leave were quickly snapped up by Mars.  Thus ruin was\nnot long a-coming.\n\nTHE DUENNA (rising, and calling up to the open window):\n  Roxane, are you ready?  They wait for us!\n\nROXANE'S VOICE (from the window):\n  I will but put me on a cloak!\n\nTHE DUENNA (to Ragueneau, showing him the door opposite):\n  They wait us there opposite, at Clomire's house.  She receives them all\nthere to-day--the precieuses, the poets; they read a discourse on the Tender\nPassion.\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  The Tender Passion?\n\nTHE DUENNA (in a mincing voice):\n  Ay, indeed!\n(Calling up to the window):\n  Roxane, an you come not down quickly, we shall miss the discourse on"}
{"answer":"chinks with perfect satisfaction with bread and\nbutter, or bread and milk, or bread and cheese. They named their queer\nhouse, \"Home for Tramps,\" and printed this title in fancy lettering\ninside the car.\n\nOne day Jess began to teach Benny a little arithmetic. He learned very\nreadily that two and one make three.\n\n\"I knew that before,\" he said cheerfully. But it was a different matter\nwhen Jess proposed to him that two minus one left one.\n\n\"No, it does not left _one_,\" said Benny indignantly. \"It left _two_.\"\n\n\"Why, Benny!\" cried Jess in astonishment. \"Supposing you had two apples\nand I took away one, wouldn't you have one left?\"\n\n\"You never would,\" objected Benny with confidence.\n\n\"No, but supposing Watch took one,\" suggested Jess.\n\n[Illustration: _One day the stranger was allowed to see Violet_]\n\n\"Watchie wouldn't take one, neither,\" said Benny. \"Would you, doggie?\"\n\nWatch opened one eye and wagged his tail. Jess looked at Violet in\ndespair. \"What shall I do with him?\" she asked.\n\nViolet took out her chalk and printed clearly on the outside of the\nfreight car the following example:\n\n    2 - 1 =\n\n\"Now, Benny, don't you see,\" she began, \"that if you have two things,\nand somebody takes away one, that you _must_ have one left?\"\n\n\"I'll show you myself,\" agreed Benny finally with resignation. \"Now see\nthe 2?\" He actually made a respectable figure 2 on the freight car.\n\"Now, here's a nice 1. Now, s'posen I take away the 1, don't you see the\n2's left right on the car?\" He covered the figure 1 with his chubby hand\nand looked about","question":"TROUBLE\n\n\nThe days went merrily by for the freight-car family. Hardly a day\npassed, however, without some exciting adventure. Mrs. McAllister,\nfinding out in some way that Violet was a clever seamstress, sent home\nfine linen handkerchiefs for her to hem. Each one had a tiny colored\nrose in the corner, and Violet was delighted with the dainty work. She\nsat sewing daily by the swimming pool while Benny sailed wonderful boats\nof chips, and waded around to his heart's content.\n\nThe freight-car pantry now held marvelous dishes rescued from the dump;\nsuch rarities as a regular bread knife, a blue and gold soap dish, and\nhalf of a real cut-glass bowl.\n\nHenry proudly deposited thirty-one dollars in the savings bank under the\nname of Henry James, and worked eagerly for his kind friend, who never\nasked him any more embarrassing questions.\n\nBenny actually learned to read fairly well. The girls occupied their\ntime making balsam pillows for the four beds, and trying to devise\nwonderful meals out of very little material. Violet kept a different\nbouquet daily in the little vase. She had a perfect genius for arranging\nthree purple irises to look like a picture, or a single wood lily with\nits leaves like a Japanese print. Each day the children enjoyed a cooked\ndinner, filling in the"}
{"answer":" Bast. I know no newes, my Lord\n\n   Glou. What Paper were you reading?\n  Bast. Nothing my Lord\n\n   Glou. No? what needed then that terrible dispatch of\nit into your Pocket? The quality of nothing, hath not\nsuch neede to hide it selfe. Let's see: come, if it bee nothing,\nI shall not neede Spectacles\n\n   Bast. I beseech you Sir, pardon mee; it is a Letter\nfrom my Brother, that I haue not all ore-read; and for so\nmuch as I haue perus'd, I finde it not fit for your ore-looking\n\n   Glou. Giue me the Letter, Sir\n\n   Bast. I shall offend, either to detaine, or giue it:\nThe Contents, as in part I vnderstand them,\nAre too blame\n\n   Glou. Let's see, let's see\n\n   Bast. I hope for my Brothers iustification, hee wrote\nthis but as an essay, or taste of my Vertue\n\n   Glou. reads. This policie, and reuerence of Age, makes the\nworld bitter to the best of our times: keepes our Fortunes from\nvs, till our oldnesse cannot rellish them. I begin to finde an idle\nand fond bondage, in the oppression of aged tyranny, who swayes\nnot as it hath power, but as it is suffer'd. Come to me, that of\nthis I may speake more. If our Father would sleepe till I wak'd\nhim, you should enioy halfe his Reuennew for euer, and liue the\nbeloued of your Brother. Edgar.\nHum? Conspiracy? Sleepe till I wake him, you should\nenioy halfe his Reuennew: my Sonne Edgar, had","question":"Scena Secunda.\n\n\nEnter Bastard.\n\n  Bast. Thou Nature art my Goddesse, to thy Law\nMy seruices are bound, wherefore should I\nStand in the plague of custome, and permit\nThe curiosity of Nations, to depriue me?\nFor that I am some twelue, or fourteene Moonshines\nLag of a Brother? Why Bastard? Wherefore base?\nWhen my Dimensions are as well compact,\nMy minde as generous, and my shape as true\nAs honest Madams issue? Why brand they vs\nWith Base? With basenes Bastardie? Base, Base?\nWho in the lustie stealth of Nature, take\nMore composition, and fierce qualitie,\nThen doth within a dull stale tyred bed\nGoe to th' creating a whole tribe of Fops\nGot 'tweene a sleepe, and wake? Well then,\nLegitimate Edgar, I must haue your land,\nOur Fathers loue, is to the Bastard Edmond,\nAs to th' legitimate: fine word: Legitimate.\nWell, my Legittimate, if this Letter speed,\nAnd my inuention thriue, Edmond the base\nShall to'th' Legitimate: I grow, I prosper:\nNow Gods, stand vp for Bastards.\nEnter Gloucester.\n\n  Glo. Kent banish'd thus? and France in choller parted?\nAnd the King gone to night? Prescrib'd his powre,\nConfin'd to exhibition? All this done\nVpon the gad? Edmond, how now? What newes?\n  Bast. So please your Lordship, none\n\n   Glou. Why so earnestly seeke you to put vp y Letter?\n"}
{"answer":"your leave. I cry you mercy. Give your worship good morrow.\n\nFALSTAFF.\nTake away these chalices. Go, brew me a pottle of sack finely.\n\nBARDOLPH.\nWith eggs, sir?\n\nFALSTAFF.\nSimple of itself; I'll no pullet-sperm in my brewage. \n\n[Exit BARDOLPH.]\n\nHow now!\n\nQUICKLY.\nMarry, sir, I come to your worship from Mistress Ford.\n\nFALSTAFF.\nMistress Ford! I have had ford enough; I was thrown into the ford;\nI have my belly full of ford.\n\nQUICKLY.\nAlas the day! good heart, that was not her fault: she does so take\non with her men; they mistook their erection.\n\nFALSTAFF.\nSo did I mine, to build upon a foolish woman's promise.\n\nQUICKLY.\nWell, she laments, sir, for it, that it would yearn your heart to\nsee it. Her husband goes this morning a-birding; she desires you\nonce more to come to her between eight and nine; I must carry her\nword quickly. She'll make you amends, I warrant you.\n\nFALSTAFF.\nWell, I will visit her. Tell her so; and bid her think what a man\nis; let her consider his frailty, and then judge of my merit.\n\nQUICKLY.\nI will tell her.\n\nFALSTAFF.\nDo so. Between nine and ten, sayest thou?\n\nQUICKLY.\nEight and nine, sir.\n\nFALSTAFF.\nWell, be gone; I will not miss her.\n\nQUICKLY.\nPeace be with you, sir.\n\n[Exit.]\n\nFALSTAFF.\nI marvel I hear not of Master Brook; he sent me word to stay within.\nI like his money well. O! here he comes.\n\n[Enter FORD disguised.]\n\nFORD.\nBless you, sir!\n\nFALSTAFF.\nNow, Master Brook, you come to know what hath passed between me\nand Ford's wife?\n\nFORD.\nThat, indeed, Sir John, is my business.\n\nFALSTAFF.\nMaster Brook, I will not lie to you: I was at her house the hour\nshe appointed me.\n\nFORD.\nAnd how sped you, sir?\n\nFALSTAFF.\nVery ill-favouredly,","question":"SCENE 5.\n\nA room in the Garter Inn.\n\n[Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH.]\n\nFALSTAFF.\nBardolph, I say,--\n\nBARDOLPH.\nHere, sir.\n\nFALSTAFF.\nGo fetch me a quart of sack; put a toast in 't.\n\n[Exit BARDOLPH.]\n\nHave I lived to be carried in a basket, and to be thrown in the\nThames like a barrow of butcher's offal? Well, if I be served such\nanother trick, I'll have my brains ta'en out and buttered, and give\nthem to a dog for a new year's gift. The rogues slighted me into\nthe river with as little remorse as they would have drowned a blind\nbitch's puppies, fifteen i' the litter; and you may know by my size\nthat I have a kind of alacrity in sinking; if the bottom were as\ndeep as hell I should down. I had been drowned but that the shore\nwas shelvy and shallow; a death that I abhor, for the water swells\na man; and what a thing should I have been when had been swelled!\nI should have been a mountain of mummy.\n\n[Re-enter BARDOLPH, with the sack.]\n\nBARDOLPH.\nHere's Mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with you.\n\nFALSTAFF.\nCome, let me pour in some sack to the Thames water; for my belly's\nas cold as if I had swallowed snowballs for pills to cool the reins.\nCall her in.\n\nBARDOLPH.\nCome in, woman.\n\n[Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY.]\n\nQUICKLY.\nBy"}
{"answer":"native\ndealer in old clothes, to whom he applied for an exchange.  The man\nliked the European costume, and ere long Passepartout issued from his\nshop accoutred in an old Japanese coat, and a sort of one-sided turban,\nfaded with long use.  A few small pieces of silver, moreover, jingled\nin his pocket.\n\n\"Good!\" thought he.  \"I will imagine I am at the Carnival!\"\n\nHis first care, after being thus \"Japanesed,\" was to enter a tea-house\nof modest appearance, and, upon half a bird and a little rice, to\nbreakfast like a man for whom dinner was as yet a problem to be solved.\n\n\"Now,\" thought he, when he had eaten heartily, \"I mustn't lose my head.\nI can't sell this costume again for one still more Japanese.  I must\nconsider how to leave this country of the Sun, of which I shall not\nretain the most delightful of memories, as quickly as possible.\"\n\nIt occurred to him to visit the steamers which were about to leave for\nAmerica.  He would offer himself as a cook or servant, in payment of\nhis passage and meals.  Once at San Francisco, he would find some means\nof going on.  The difficulty was, how to traverse the four thousand\nseven hundred miles of the Pacific which lay between Japan and the New\nWorld.\n\nPassepartout was not the man to let an idea go begging, and directed\nhis steps towards the docks.  But, as he approached them, his project,\nwhich at first had seemed so simple, began to grow more and more\nformidable to his mind.  What need","question":"\nThe next morning poor, jaded, famished Passepartout said to himself\nthat he must get something to eat at all hazards, and the sooner he did\nso the better.  He might, indeed, sell his watch; but he would have\nstarved first.  Now or never he must use the strong, if not melodious\nvoice which nature had bestowed upon him.  He knew several French and\nEnglish songs, and resolved to try them upon the Japanese, who must be\nlovers of music, since they were for ever pounding on their cymbals,\ntam-tams, and tambourines, and could not but appreciate European talent.\n\nIt was, perhaps, rather early in the morning to get up a concert, and\nthe audience prematurely aroused from their slumbers, might not\npossibly pay their entertainer with coin bearing the Mikado's features.\nPassepartout therefore decided to wait several hours; and, as he was\nsauntering along, it occurred to him that he would seem rather too well\ndressed for a wandering artist.  The idea struck him to change his\ngarments for clothes more in harmony with his project; by which he\nmight also get a little money to satisfy the immediate cravings of\nhunger.  The resolution taken, it remained to carry it out.\n\nIt was only after a long search that Passepartout discovered a"}
{"answer":"strange occupation, with their naked\ntattooed limbs, and shaven heads disposed in a circle, I was almost\ntempted to believe that I gazed upon a set of evil beings in the act of\nworking at a frightful incantation.\n\nWhat was the meaning or purpose of this custom, whether it was practiced\nmerely as a diversion, or whether it was a religious exercise, a sort of\nfamily prayers, I never could discover.\n\nThe sounds produced by the natives on these occasions were of a most\nsingular description; and had I not actually been present, I never would\nhave believed that such curious noises could have been produced by human\nbeings.\n\nTo savages generally is imputed a guttural articulation. This however,\nis not always the case, especially among the inhabitants of the\nPolynesian Archipelago. The labial melody with which the Typee girls\ncarry on an ordinary conversation, giving a musical prolongation to the\nfinal syllable of every sentence, and chirping out some of the words\nwith a liquid, bird-like accent, was singularly pleasing.\n\nThe men however, are not quite so harmonious in their utterance, and\nwhen excited upon any subject, would work themselves up into a sort of\nwordy paroxysm, during which all descriptions of rough-sided sounds\nwere projected from their mouths, with a force and rapidity which was\nabsolutely astonishing.\n\n      . . . . .  .  .  .\n\nAlthough these savages are remarkably fond of chanting, still they\nappear to have no idea whatever of singing, at least as the art is\npractised in other nations.\n\nI shall never forget the first time I happened to roar out","question":"SADLY discursive as I have already been, I must still further entreat\nthe reader's patience, as I am about to string together, without any\nattempt at order, a few odds and ends of things not hitherto mentioned,\nbut which are either curious in themselves or peculiar to the Typees.\n\nThere was one singular custom observed in old Marheyo's domestic\nestablishment, which often excited my surprise. Every night, before\nretiring, the inmates of the house gathered together on the mats, and\nso squatting upon their haunches, after the universal practice of\nthese islanders, would commence a low, dismal and monotonous chant,\naccompanying the voice with the instrumental melody produced by two\nsmall half-rotten sticks tapped slowly together, a pair of which\nwere held in the hands of each person present. Thus would they employ\nthemselves for an hour or two, sometimes longer. Lying in the gloom\nwhich wrapped the further end of the house, I could not avoid looking\nat them, although the spectacle suggested nothing but unpleasant\nreflection. The flickering rays of the 'armor' nut just served to reveal\ntheir savage lineaments, without dispelling the darkness that hovered\nabout them.\n\nSometimes when, after falling into a kind of doze, and awaking suddenly\nin the midst of these doleful chantings, my eye would fall upon the\nwild-looking group engaged in their"}
{"answer":"send each soul away,\n  Receive alone him,--whose great boldness you\n  Have deigned, I hope, to pardon, ere he asks,--\n  He who is ever your--et cetera.'\n(To the monk):\n  Father, this is the matter of the letter:--\n(All come near her, and she reads aloud):\n  'Lady,\n  The Cardinal's wish is law; albeit\n  It be to you unwelcome.  For this cause\n  I send these lines--to your fair ear addressed--\n  By a holy man, discreet, intelligent:\n  It is our will that you receive from him,\n  In your own house, the marriage\n(She turns the page):\n      benediction\n  Straightway, this night.  Unknown to all the world\n  Christian becomes your husband.  Him we send.\n  He is abhorrent to your choice.  Let be.\n  Resign yourself, and this obedience\n  Will be by Heaven well recompensed.  Receive,\n  Fair lady, all assurance of respect,\n  From him who ever was, and still remains,\n  Your humble and obliged--et cetera.'\n\nTHE FRIAR (with great delight):\n  O worthy lord!  I knew naught was to fear;\n  It could be but holy business!\n\nROXANE (to Christian, in a low voice):\n  Am I not apt at reading letters?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Hum!\n\nROXANE (aloud, with despair):\n  But this is horrible!\n\nTHE FRIAR (who has turned his lantern on Cyrano):\n  'Tis you?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  'Tis I!\n\nTHE FRIAR (turning the light on to him, and as if a doubt struck him on seeing\nhis beauty):\n","question":"Cyrano, Christian, Roxane, the friar, Ragueneau.\n\nTHE FRIAR:\n  'Tis here,--I'm sure of it--Madame Madeleine Robin.\n\nCYRANO:\n  Why, you said Ro-LIN.\n\nTHE FRIAR:\n  No, not I.\n  B,I,N,BIN!\n\nROXANE (appearing on the threshold, followed by Ragueneau, who carries a\nlantern, and Christian):\n  What is't?\n\nTHE FRIAR:\n  A letter.\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  What?\n\nTHE FRIAR (to Roxane):\n  Oh, it can boot but a holy business!\n  'Tis from a worthy lord. . .\n\nROXANE (to Christian):\n  De Guiche!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  He dares. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  Oh, he will not importune me forever!\n(Unsealing the letter):\n  I love you,--therefore--\n(She reads in a low voice by the aid of Ragueneau's lantern):\n  'Lady,\n  The drums beat;\n  My regiment buckles its harness on\n  And starts; but I,--they deem me gone before--\n  But I stay.  I have dared to disobey\n  Your mandate.  I am here in convent walls.\n  I come to you to-night.  By this poor monk--\n  A simple fool who knows not what he bears--\n  I send this missive to apprise your ear.\n  Your lips erewhile have smiled on me, too sweet:\n  I go not ere I've seen them once again!\n  I would be private;"}
{"answer":"remember them. I hope it may be taken into account one day,\nwhen all days are at an end for me! Don't be alarmed; I am not going to\npreach.\"\n\n\"I am not at all alarmed. Earnestness in you, is anything but alarming\nto me.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said Carton, with a careless wave of his hand, as if he waved that\naway. \"On the drunken occasion in question (one of a large number, as\nyou know), I was insufferable about liking you, and not liking you. I\nwish you would forget it.\"\n\n\"I forgot it long ago.\"\n\n\"Fashion of speech again! But, Mr. Darnay, oblivion is not so easy to\nme, as you represent it to be to you. I have by no means forgotten it,\nand a light answer does not help me to forget it.\"\n\n\"If it was a light answer,\" returned Darnay, \"I beg your forgiveness\nfor it. I had no other object than to turn a slight thing, which, to my\nsurprise, seems to trouble you too much, aside. I declare to you, on the\nfaith of a gentleman, that I have long dismissed it from my mind. Good\nHeaven, what was there to dismiss! Have I had nothing more important to\nremember, in the great service you rendered me that day?\"\n\n\"As to the great service,\" said Carton, \"I am bound to avow to you, when\nyou speak of it in that way, that it was mere professional claptrap, I\ndon't know that I cared what became of you, when I rendered it.--Mind! I\nsay when I rendered it; I am speaking of the past.\"\n\n\"You make light of","question":"XX. A Plea\n\n\nWhen the newly-married pair came home, the first person who appeared, to\noffer his congratulations, was Sydney Carton. They had not been at home\nmany hours, when he presented himself. He was not improved in habits, or\nin looks, or in manner; but there was a certain rugged air of fidelity\nabout him, which was new to the observation of Charles Darnay.\n\nHe watched his opportunity of taking Darnay aside into a window, and of\nspeaking to him when no one overheard.\n\n\"Mr. Darnay,\" said Carton, \"I wish we might be friends.\"\n\n\"We are already friends, I hope.\"\n\n\"You are good enough to say so, as a fashion of speech; but, I don't\nmean any fashion of speech. Indeed, when I say I wish we might be\nfriends, I scarcely mean quite that, either.\"\n\nCharles Darnay--as was natural--asked him, in all good-humour and\ngood-fellowship, what he did mean?\n\n\"Upon my life,\" said Carton, smiling, \"I find that easier to comprehend\nin my own mind, than to convey to yours. However, let me try. You\nremember a certain famous occasion when I was more drunk than--than\nusual?\"\n\n\"I remember a certain famous occasion when you forced me to confess that\nyou had been drinking.\"\n\n\"I remember it too. The curse of those occasions is heavy upon me, for I\nalways"}
{"answer":"not show\nhis face.\n\nHOST.\nThou art a Castalion King Urinal! Hector of Greece, my boy!\n\nCAIUS.\nI pray you, bear witness that me have stay six or seven, two, tree\nhours for him, and he is no come.\n\nSHALLOW.\nHe is the wiser man, Master doctor: he is a curer of souls, and you\na curer of bodies; if you should fight, you go against the hair of\nyour professions. Is it not true, Master Page?\n\nPAGE.\nMaster Shallow, you have yourself been a great fighter, though now\na man of peace.\n\nSHALLOW.\nBodykins, Master Page, though I now be old, and of the peace, if\nI see a sword out, my finger itches to make one. Though we are\njustices, and doctors, and churchmen, Master Page, we have some\nsalt of our youth in us; we are the sons of women, Master Page.\n\nPAGE.\n'Tis true, Master Shallow.\n\nSHALLOW.\nIt will be found so, Master Page. Master Doctor Caius, I come to\nfetch you home. I am sworn of the peace; you have showed yourself\na wise physician, and Sir Hugh hath shown himself a wise and\npatient churchman. You must go with me, Master Doctor.\n\nHOST.\nPardon, guest-justice.--A word, Monsieur Mockwater.\n\nCAIUS.\nMock-vater! Vat is dat?\n\nHOST.\nMockwater, in our English tongue, is valour, bully.\n\nCAIUS.\nBy gar, then I have as much mockvater as de Englishman.--Scurvy\njack-dog priest! By gar, me vill cut his ears.\n\nHOST.\nHe will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully.\n\nCAIUS.\nClapper-de-claw! Vat is dat?\n\nHOST.\nThat is, he will make thee amends.\n\nCAIUS.\nBy gar, me do look he shall clapper-de-claw me; for, by gar, me\nvill have it.\n\nHOST.\nAnd I will provoke him to't, or let him wag.\n\nCAIUS.\nMe tank you for dat.\n\nHOST.\nAnd, moreover, bully--but first: Master","question":"SCENE 3.\n\nA field near Windsor.\n\n[Enter CAIUS and RUGBY.]\n\nCAIUS.\nJack Rugby!\n\nRUGBY.\nSir?\n\nCAIUS.\nVat is de clock, Jack?\n\nRUGBY.\n'Tis past the hour, sir, that Sir Hugh promised to meet.\n\nCAIUS.\nBy gar, he has save his soul, dat he is no come; he has pray his\nPible vell dat he is no come: by gar, Jack Rugby, he is dead\nalready, if he be come.\n\nRUGBY.\nHe is wise, sir; he knew your worship would kill him if he came.\n\nCAIUS.\nBy gar, de herring is no dead so as I vill kill him. Take your\nrapier, Jack; I vill tell you how I vill kill him.\n\nRUGBY.\nAlas, sir, I cannot fence!\n\nCAIUS.\nVillany, take your rapier.\n\nRUGBY.\nForbear; here's company.\n\n[Enter HOST, SHALLOW, SLENDER, and PAGE.]\n\nHOST.\nBless thee, bully doctor!\n\nSHALLOW.\nSave you, Master Doctor Caius!\n\nPAGE.\nNow, good Master Doctor!\n\nSLENDER.\nGive you good morrow, sir.\n\nCAIUS.\nVat be all you, one, two, tree, four, come for?\n\nHOST.\nTo see thee fight, to see thee foin, to see thee traverse; to see\nthee here, to see thee there; to see thee pass thy punto, thy stock,\nthy reverse, thy distance, thy montant. Is he dead, my Ethiopian?\nIs he dead, my Francisco? Ha, bully! What says my Aesculapius?\nmy Galen? my heart of elder? Ha! is he dead, bully stale? Is he\ndead?\n\nCAIUS.\nBy gar, he is de coward Jack priest of de world; he is"}
{"answer":"summer\nmust be before her!\n\nShe was not to see Frank Churchill this morning. He had told her that he\ncould not allow himself the pleasure of stopping at Hartfield, as he was\nto be at home by the middle of the day. She did not regret it.\n\nHaving arranged all these matters, looked them through, and put them all\nto rights, she was just turning to the house with spirits freshened up\nfor the demands of the two little boys, as well as of their grandpapa,\nwhen the great iron sweep-gate opened, and two persons entered whom she\nhad never less expected to see together--Frank Churchill, with Harriet\nleaning on his arm--actually Harriet!--A moment sufficed to convince\nher that something extraordinary had happened. Harriet looked white\nand frightened, and he was trying to cheer her.--The iron gates and the\nfront-door were not twenty yards asunder;--they were all three soon in\nthe hall, and Harriet immediately sinking into a chair fainted away.\n\nA young lady who faints, must be recovered; questions must be answered,\nand surprizes be explained. Such events are very interesting, but the\nsuspense of them cannot last long. A few minutes made Emma acquainted\nwith the whole.\n\nMiss Smith, and Miss Bickerton, another parlour boarder at Mrs.\nGoddard's, who had been also at the ball, had walked out together, and\ntaken a road, the Richmond road, which, though apparently public enough\nfor safety, had led them into alarm.--About half a mile beyond Highbury,\nmaking a sudden turn, and deeply shaded by elms on each side, it became\nfor a considerable stretch very retired; and when the young ladies\nhad advanced some way","question":"\n\nThis little explanation with Mr. Knightley gave Emma considerable\npleasure. It was one of the agreeable recollections of the ball, which\nshe walked about the lawn the next morning to enjoy.--She was extremely\nglad that they had come to so good an understanding respecting the\nEltons, and that their opinions of both husband and wife were so much\nalike; and his praise of Harriet, his concession in her favour, was\npeculiarly gratifying. The impertinence of the Eltons, which for a few\nminutes had threatened to ruin the rest of her evening, had been the\noccasion of some of its highest satisfactions; and she looked forward\nto another happy result--the cure of Harriet's infatuation.--From\nHarriet's manner of speaking of the circumstance before they quitted the\nballroom, she had strong hopes. It seemed as if her eyes were suddenly\nopened, and she were enabled to see that Mr. Elton was not the superior\ncreature she had believed him. The fever was over, and Emma could\nharbour little fear of the pulse being quickened again by injurious\ncourtesy. She depended on the evil feelings of the Eltons for\nsupplying all the discipline of pointed neglect that could be farther\nrequisite.--Harriet rational, Frank Churchill not too much in love, and\nMr. Knightley not wanting to quarrel with her, how very happy a"}
{"answer":"it is but voluntary.\n\n[Enter the BASTARD.]\n\nBASTARD.\nAll Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds out\nBut Dover Castle: London hath receiv'd,\nLike a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers:\nYour nobles will not hear you, but are gone\nTo offer service to your enemy;\nAnd wild amazement hurries up and down\nThe little number of your doubtful friends.\n\nKING JOHN.\nWould not my lords return to me again\nAfter they heard young Arthur was alive?\n\nBASTARD.\nThey found him dead, and cast into the streets;\nAn empty casket, where the jewel of life\nBy some damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en away.\n\nKING JOHN.\nThat villain Hubert told me he did live.\n\nBASTARD.\nSo, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew.\nBut wherefore do you droop? why look you sad?\nBe great in act, as you have been in thought;\nLet not the world see fear and sad distrust\nGovern the motion of a kingly eye:\nBe stirring as the time; be fire with fire;\nThreaten the threatener, and outface the brow\nOf bragging horror: so shall inferior eyes,\nThat borrow their behaviours from the great,\nGrow great by your example, and put on\nThe dauntless spirit of resolution.\nAway, and glister like the god of war\nWhen he intendeth to become the field:\nShow boldness and aspiring confidence.\nWhat, shall they seek the lion in his den,\nAnd fright him there? and make him tremble there?\nO, let it not be said!--Forage, and run\nTo meet displeasure farther from the doors,\nAnd grapple with him ere he come so nigh.\n\nKING JOHN.\nThe legate of the pope hath been with me,\nAnd I have made a happy peace with him;\nAnd he hath promis'd to dismiss the","question":"ACT V. SCENE 1.\n\nNorthampton. A Room in the Palace.\n\n[Enter KING JOHN, PANDULPH with the crown, and Attendants.]\n\nKING JOHN.\nThus have I yielded up into your hand\nThe circle of my glory.\n\nPANDULPH.\n[Give KING JOHN the crown.]\nTake again\nFrom this my hand, as holding of the pope,\nYour sovereign greatness and authority.\n\nKING JOHN.\nNow keep your holy word: go meet the French;\nAnd from his holiness use all your power\nTo stop their marches 'fore we are inflam'd.\nOur discontented counties do revolt;\nOur people quarrel with obedience;\nSwearing allegiance and the love of soul\nTo stranger blood, to foreign royalty.\nThis inundation of mistemper'd humour\nRests by you only to be qualified.\nThen pause not; for the present time's so sick\nThat present medicine must be ministr'd\nOr overthrow incurable ensues.\n\nPANDULPH.\nIt was my breath that blew this tempest up,\nUpon your stubborn usage of the pope:\nBut since you are a gentle convertite,\nMy tongue shall hush again this storm of war\nAnd make fair weather in your blustering land.\nOn this Ascension-day, remember well,\nUpon your oath of service to the pope,\nGo I to make the French lay down their arms.\n\n[Exit.]\n\nKING JOHN.\nIs this Ascension-day? Did not the prophet\nSay that before Ascension-day at noon\nMy crown I should give off? Even so I have:\nI did suppose it should be on constraint;\nBut, heaven be thank'd,"}
{"answer":"could appear to strut even while sitting still and he showed that he\nwas a lion of lordly characteristics by the air with which he spat.\n\nWith Maggie gazing at him wonderingly, he took pride in commanding the\nwaiters who were, however, indifferent or deaf.\n\n\"Hi, you, git a russle on yehs!  What deh hell yehs lookin' at?  Two\nmore beehs, d'yeh hear?\"\n\nHe leaned back and critically regarded the person of a girl with a\nstraw-colored wig who upon the stage was flinging her heels in somewhat\nawkward imitation of a well-known danseuse.\n\nAt times Maggie told Pete long confidential tales of her former home\nlife, dwelling upon the escapades of the other members of the family\nand the difficulties she had to combat in order to obtain a degree of\ncomfort.  He responded in tones of philanthropy.  He pressed her arm\nwith an air of reassuring proprietorship.\n\n\"Dey was damn jays,\" he said, denouncing the mother and brother.\n\nThe sound of the music which, by the efforts of the frowsy-headed\nleader, drifted to her ears through the smoke-filled atmosphere, made\nthe girl dream.  She thought of her former Rum Alley environment and\nturned to regard Pete's strong protecting fists.  She thought of the\ncollar and cuff manufactory and the eternal moan of the proprietor:\n\"What een hell do you sink I pie fife dolla a week for?  Play?  No, py\ndamn.\"  She contemplated Pete's man-subduing eyes and noted that wealth\nand prosperity was indicated by his clothes.  She imagined a future,\nrose-tinted, because of its distance from all that she previously","question":"\nIn a hall of irregular shape sat Pete and Maggie drinking beer.  A\nsubmissive orchestra dictated to by a spectacled man with frowsy hair\nand a dress suit, industriously followed the bobs of his head and the\nwaves of his baton.  A ballad singer, in a dress of flaming scarlet,\nsang in the inevitable voice of brass.  When she vanished, men seated\nat the tables near the front applauded loudly, pounding the polished\nwood with their beer glasses.  She returned attired in less gown, and\nsang again.  She received another enthusiastic encore.  She reappeared\nin still less gown and danced.  The deafening rumble of glasses and\nclapping of hands that followed her exit indicated an overwhelming\ndesire to have her come on for the fourth time, but the curiosity of\nthe audience was not gratified.\n\nMaggie was pale.  From her eyes had been plucked all look of\nself-reliance.  She leaned with a dependent air toward her companion.\nShe was timid, as if fearing his anger or displeasure.  She seemed to\nbeseech tenderness of him.\n\nPete's air of distinguished valor had grown upon him until it\nthreatened stupendous dimensions.  He was infinitely gracious to the\ngirl.  It was apparent to her that his condescension was a marvel.\n\nHe"}
{"answer":"taken off.\n\nBut, there remained a broken country, bold and open, a little village\nat the bottom of the hill, a broad sweep and rise beyond it, a\nchurch-tower, a windmill, a forest for the chase, and a crag with a\nfortress on it used as a prison. Round upon all these darkening objects\nas the night drew on, the Marquis looked, with the air of one who was\ncoming near home.\n\nThe village had its one poor street, with its poor brewery, poor\ntannery, poor tavern, poor stable-yard for relays of post-horses, poor\nfountain, all usual poor appointments. It had its poor people too. All\nits people were poor, and many of them were sitting at their doors,\nshredding spare onions and the like for supper, while many were at the\nfountain, washing leaves, and grasses, and any such small yieldings of\nthe earth that could be eaten. Expressive signs of what made them poor,\nwere not wanting; the tax for the state, the tax for the church, the tax\nfor the lord, tax local and tax general, were to be paid here and to be\npaid there, according to solemn inscription in the little village, until\nthe wonder was, that there was any village left unswallowed.\n\nFew children were to be seen, and no dogs. As to the men and women,\ntheir choice on earth was stated in the prospect--Life on the lowest\nterms that could sustain it, down in the little village under the mill;\nor captivity and Death in the dominant prison on the crag.\n\nHeralded by a courier in advance, and by the cracking of his postilions'\nwhips,","question":"VIII. Monseigneur in the Country\n\n\nA beautiful landscape, with the corn bright in it, but not abundant.\nPatches of poor rye where corn should have been, patches of poor peas\nand beans, patches of most coarse vegetable substitutes for wheat. On\ninanimate nature, as on the men and women who cultivated it, a prevalent\ntendency towards an appearance of vegetating unwillingly--a dejected\ndisposition to give up, and wither away.\n\nMonsieur the Marquis in his travelling carriage (which might have been\nlighter), conducted by four post-horses and two postilions, fagged up\na steep hill. A blush on the countenance of Monsieur the Marquis was\nno impeachment of his high breeding; it was not from within; it was\noccasioned by an external circumstance beyond his control--the setting\nsun.\n\nThe sunset struck so brilliantly into the travelling carriage when it\ngained the hill-top, that its occupant was steeped in crimson. \"It will\ndie out,\" said Monsieur the Marquis, glancing at his hands, \"directly.\"\n\nIn effect, the sun was so low that it dipped at the moment. When the\nheavy drag had been adjusted to the wheel, and the carriage slid down\nhill, with a cinderous smell, in a cloud of dust, the red glow departed\nquickly; the sun and the Marquis going down together, there was no glow\nleft when the drag was"}
{"answer":"Requite your love!\n  MENENIUS. Peace, peace, be not so loud.\n  VOLUMNIA. If that I could for weeping, you should hear-\n    Nay, and you shall hear some.  [To BRUTUS] Will you be gone?\n  VIRGILIA.  [To SICINIUS]  You shall stay too. I would I had the\n      power\n    To say so to my husband.\n  SICINIUS. Are you mankind?\n  VOLUMNIA. Ay, fool; is that a shame? Note but this, fool:\n    Was not a man my father? Hadst thou foxship\n    To banish him that struck more blows for Rome\n    Than thou hast spoken words?\n  SICINIUS. O blessed heavens!\n  VOLUMNIA. More noble blows than ever thou wise words;\n    And for Rome's good. I'll tell thee what- yet go!\n    Nay, but thou shalt stay too. I would my son\n    Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him,\n    His good sword in his hand.\n  SICINIUS. What then?\n  VIRGILIA. What then!\n    He'd make an end of thy posterity.\n  VOLUMNIA. Bastards and all.\n    Good man, the wounds that he does bear for Rome!\n  MENENIUS. Come, come, peace.\n  SICINIUS. I would he had continued to his country\n    As he began, and not unknit himself\n    The noble knot he made.\n  BRUTUS. I","question":"SCENE II.\nRome. A street near the gate\n\nEnter the two Tribunes, SICINIUS and BRUTUS with the AEDILE\n\n  SICINIUS. Bid them all home; he's gone, and we'll no further.\n    The nobility are vex'd, whom we see have sided\n    In his behalf.\n  BRUTUS. Now we have shown our power,\n    Let us seem humbler after it is done\n    Than when it was a-doing.\n  SICINIUS. Bid them home.\n    Say their great enemy is gone, and they\n    Stand in their ancient strength.\n  BRUTUS. Dismiss them home.                         Exit AEDILE\n    Here comes his mother.\n\n                   Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and MENENIUS\n\n  SICINIUS. Let's not meet her.\n  BRUTUS. Why?\n  SICINIUS. They say she's mad.\n  BRUTUS. They have ta'en note of us; keep on your way.\n  VOLUMNIA. O, y'are well met; th' hoarded plague o' th' gods\n   "}
{"answer":"be the finest\nthings in Italy, but they do not please me at all. The colours are too\ndark, the figures are not sufficiently rounded, nor in good relief; the\ndraperies in no way resemble stuffs. In a word, whatever may be said, I\ndo not find there a true imitation of nature. I only care for a picture\nwhen I think I see nature itself; and there are none of this sort. I\nhave a great many pictures, but I prize them very little.\"\n\nWhile they were waiting for dinner Pococurante ordered a concert.\nCandide found the music delicious.\n\n\"This noise,\" said the Senator, \"may amuse one for half an hour; but if\nit were to last longer it would grow tiresome to everybody, though they\ndurst not own it. Music, to-day, is only the art of executing difficult\nthings, and that which is only difficult cannot please long. Perhaps I\nshould be fonder of the opera if they had not found the secret of making\nof it a monster which shocks me. Let who will go to see bad tragedies\nset to music, where the scenes are contrived for no other end than to\nintroduce two or three songs ridiculously out of place, to show off an\nactress's voice. Let who will, or who can, die away with pleasure at the\nsight of an eunuch quavering the _role_ of Caesar, or of Cato, and\nstrutting awkwardly upon the stage. For my part I have long since\nrenounced those paltry entertainments which constitute the glory of\nmodern Italy, and are purchased so dearly by sovereigns.\"\n\nCandide disputed the point a little,","question":"\nCandide and Martin went in a gondola on the Brenta, and arrived at the\npalace of the noble Signor Pococurante. The gardens, laid out with\ntaste, were adorned with fine marble statues. The palace was beautifully\nbuilt. The master of the house was a man of sixty, and very rich. He\nreceived the two travellers with polite indifference, which put Candide\na little out of countenance, but was not at all disagreeable to Martin.\n\nFirst, two pretty girls, very neatly dressed, served them with\nchocolate, which was frothed exceedingly well. Candide could not refrain\nfrom commending their beauty, grace, and address.\n\n\"They are good enough creatures,\" said the Senator. \"I make them lie\nwith me sometimes, for I am very tired of the ladies of the town, of\ntheir coquetries, of their jealousies, of their quarrels, of their\nhumours, of their pettinesses, of their prides, of their follies, and of\nthe sonnets which one must make, or have made, for them. But after all,\nthese two girls begin to weary me.\"\n\nAfter breakfast, Candide walking into a long gallery was surprised by\nthe beautiful pictures. He asked, by what master were the two first.\n\n\"They are by Raphael,\" said the Senator. \"I bought them at a great\nprice, out of vanity, some years ago. They are said to"}
{"answer":"observed with pleasure that Miss Brooke\nshowed an ardent submissive affection which promised to fulfil his most\nagreeable previsions of marriage.  It had once or twice crossed his\nmind that possibly there was some deficiency in Dorothea to account for\nthe moderation of his abandonment; but he was unable to discern the\ndeficiency, or to figure to himself a woman who would have pleased him\nbetter; so that there was clearly no reason to fall back upon but the\nexaggerations of human tradition.\n\n\"Could I not be preparing myself now to be more useful?\" said Dorothea\nto him, one morning, early in the time of courtship; \"could I not learn\nto read Latin and Greek aloud to you, as Milton's daughters did to\ntheir father, without understanding what they read?\"\n\n\"I fear that would be wearisome to you,\" said Mr. Casaubon, smiling;\n\"and, indeed, if I remember rightly, the young women you have mentioned\nregarded that exercise in unknown tongues as a ground for rebellion\nagainst the poet.\"\n\n\"Yes; but in the first place they were very naughty girls, else they\nwould have been proud to minister to such a father; and in the second\nplace they might have studied privately and taught themselves to\nunderstand what they read, and then it would have been interesting.  I\nhope you don't expect me to be naughty and stupid?\"\n\n\"I expect you to be all that an exquisite young lady can be in every\npossible relation of life.  Certainly it might be a great advantage if\nyou were able to copy the Greek character, and to that end it were well\nto begin","question":"\n    \"Piacer e popone\n     Vuol la sua stagione.\"\n            --Italian Proverb.\n\n\nMr. Casaubon, as might be expected, spent a great deal of his time at\nthe Grange in these weeks, and the hindrance which courtship occasioned\nto the progress of his great work--the Key to all\nMythologies--naturally made him look forward the more eagerly to the\nhappy termination of courtship.  But he had deliberately incurred the\nhindrance, having made up his mind that it was now time for him to\nadorn his life with the graces of female companionship, to irradiate\nthe gloom which fatigue was apt to hang over the intervals of studious\nlabor with the play of female fancy, and to secure in this, his\nculminating age, the solace of female tendance for his declining years.\nHence he determined to abandon himself to the stream of feeling, and\nperhaps was surprised to find what an exceedingly shallow rill it was.\nAs in droughty regions baptism by immersion could only be performed\nsymbolically, Mr. Casaubon found that sprinkling was the utmost\napproach to a plunge which his stream would afford him; and he\nconcluded that the poets had much exaggerated the force of masculine\npassion.  Nevertheless, he"}
{"answer":"Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire;\n    Who in a moment even with the earth\n    Shall lay your stately and air braving towers,\n    If you forsake the offer of their love.\n  GENERAL OF THE FRENCH. Thou ominous and fearful owl of\n    death,\n    Our nation's terror and their bloody scourge!\n    The period of thy tyranny approacheth.\n    On us thou canst not enter but by death;\n    For, I protest, we are well fortified,\n    And strong enough to issue out and fight.\n    If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed,\n    Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee.\n    On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd\n    To wall thee from the liberty of flight,\n    And no way canst thou turn thee for redress\n    But death doth front thee with apparent spoil\n    And pale destruction meets thee in the face.\n    Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament\n    To rive their dangerous artillery\n    Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot.\n    Lo, there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man,\n    Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit!\n    This is the latest glory of thy praise\n    That I, thy enemy,","question":"SCENE 2.\n\n                        France. Before Bordeaux\n\n                   Enter TALBOT, with trump and drum\n\n  TALBOT. Go to the gates of Bordeaux, trumpeter;\n    Summon their general unto the wall.\n\n             Trumpet sounds a parley. Enter, aloft, the\n                 GENERAL OF THE FRENCH, and others\n\n    English John Talbot, Captains, calls you forth,\n    Servant in arms to Harry King of England;\n    And thus he would open your city gates,\n    Be humble to us, call my sovereign yours\n    And do him homage as obedient subjects,\n    And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power;\n    But if you frown upon this proffer'd peace,\n    You tempt the fury of my three attendants,\n   "}
{"answer":"find our account in one world we shall\nin another. It is a great pleasure to see and do new things.\"\n\n\"You have before been in Paraguay, then?\" said Candide.\n\n\"Ay, sure,\" answered Cacambo, \"I was servant in the College of the\nAssumption, and am acquainted with the government of the good Fathers as\nwell as I am with the streets of Cadiz. It is an admirable government.\nThe kingdom is upwards of three hundred leagues in diameter, and divided\ninto thirty provinces; there the Fathers possess all, and the people\nnothing; it is a masterpiece of reason and justice. For my part I see\nnothing so divine as the Fathers who here make war upon the kings of\nSpain and Portugal, and in Europe confess those kings; who here kill\nSpaniards, and in Madrid send them to heaven; this delights me, let us\npush forward. You are going to be the happiest of mortals. What pleasure\nwill it be to those Fathers to hear that a captain who knows the\nBulgarian exercise has come to them!\"\n\nAs soon as they reached the first barrier, Cacambo told the advanced\nguard that a captain wanted to speak with my lord the Commandant. Notice\nwas given to the main guard, and immediately a Paraguayan officer ran\nand laid himself at the feet of the Commandant, to impart this news to\nhim. Candide and Cacambo were disarmed, and their two Andalusian horses\nseized. The strangers were introduced between two files of musketeers;\nthe Commandant was at the further end, with the three-cornered cap on\nhis head, his gown tucked up, a sword by his side,","question":"\nCandide had brought such a valet with him from Cadiz, as one often meets\nwith on the coasts of Spain and in the American colonies. He was a\nquarter Spaniard, born of a mongrel in Tucuman; he had been singing-boy,\nsacristan, sailor, monk, pedlar, soldier, and lackey. His name was\nCacambo, and he loved his master, because his master was a very good\nman. He quickly saddled the two Andalusian horses.\n\n\"Come, master, let us follow the old woman's advice; let us start, and\nrun without looking behind us.\"\n\nCandide shed tears.\n\n\"Oh! my dear Cunegonde! must I leave you just at a time when the\nGovernor was going to sanction our nuptials? Cunegonde, brought to such\na distance what will become of you?\"\n\n\"She will do as well as she can,\" said Cacambo; \"the women are never at\na loss, God provides for them, let us run.\"\n\n\"Whither art thou carrying me? Where shall we go? What shall we do\nwithout Cunegonde?\" said Candide.\n\n\"By St. James of Compostella,\" said Cacambo, \"you were going to fight\nagainst the Jesuits; let us go to fight for them; I know the road well,\nI'll conduct you to their kingdom, where they will be charmed to have a\ncaptain that understands the Bulgarian exercise. You'll make a\nprodigious fortune; if we cannot"}
{"answer":"whose name was Betty, playing about quite happily with the\nothers, I spoke to her, and afterwards asked for the particulars of\nher story. They were brief. It appears that this poor little thing had\nactually seen her father murder her mother. I am glad to be able to\nadd that to all appearance she has recovered from the shock of this\nawful experience.\n\nIndeed, all these little girls, notwithstanding their hideous pasts,\nseemed, so far as I could judge, to be extremely happy at their\nchildish games in the garden. Except that some were of stunted growth,\nI noted nothing abnormal about any of them. I was told, however, by\nthe Officer in charge, that occasionally, when they grow older,\npropensities originally induced in them through no fault of their own\nwill assert themselves.\n\nTo lessen this danger, as in the case of the women inebriates, all\nthese children are brought up as vegetarians. Before me, as I write,\nis the bill of fare for the week, which I tore off a notice board in\nthe house. The breakfast on three days, to take examples, consists of\nporridge, with boiling milk and sugar, cocoa, brown and white bread\nand butter. On the other mornings either stewed figs, prunes, or\nmarmalade are added. A sample dinner consists of lentil savoury, baked\npotatoes, brown gravy and bread; boiled rice with milk and sugar. For\ntea, bananas, apples, oranges, nuts, jam, brown and white bread and\nbutter and cocoa are supplied, but tea itself as a beverage is only\ngiven on Sundays. A footnote to the bill of fare states that all\nchildren over twelve years","question":"'THE NEST', CLAPTON\n\nWhen I began to write this book, I determined to set down all things\nexactly as I saw or heard them. But, although somewhat hardened in\nsuch matters by long experience of a very ugly world, I find that\nthere are limits to what can be told of such a place as 'The Nest' in\npages which are meant for perusal by the general public. The house\nitself is charming, with a good garden adorned by beautiful trees. It\nhas every arrangement and comfort possible for the welfare of its\nchild inmates, including an open-air bedroom, cleverly contrived from\nan old greenhouse for the use of those among them whose lungs are\nweakly.\n\nBut these inmates, these sixty-two children whose ages varied from\nabout four to about sixteen! What can I say of their histories? Only\nin general language, that more than one half of them have been subject\nto outrages too terrible to repeat, often enough at the hands of their\nown fathers! If the reader wishes to learn more, he can apply\nconfidentially to Commissioner Cox, or to Mrs. Bramwell Booth.\n\n[Illustration: SOME OF THE CHILDREN AT 'THE NEST'.]\n\nHere, however, is a case that I can mention, as although it is\ndreadful enough, it belongs to a different class. Seeing a child of\nten,"}
{"answer":"charge joyfully acceded.\n\nMonks, still bearing that assumed name, retired with his portion to a\ndistant part of the New World; where, having quickly squandered it, he\nonce more fell into his old courses, and, after undergoing a long\nconfinement for some fresh act of fraud and knavery, at length sunk\nunder an attack of his old disorder, and died in prison.  As far from\nhome, died the chief remaining members of his friend Fagin's gang.\n\nMr. Brownlow adopted Oliver as his son.  Removing with him and the old\nhousekeeper to within a mile of the parsonage-house, where his dear\nfriends resided, he gratified the only remaining wish of Oliver's warm\nand earnest heart, and thus linked together a little society, whose\ncondition approached as nearly to one of perfect happiness as can ever\nbe known in this changing world.\n\nSoon after the marriage of the young people, the worthy doctor returned\nto Chertsey, where, bereft of the presence of his old friends, he would\nhave been discontented if his temperament had admitted of such a\nfeeling; and would have turned quite peevish if he had known how.  For\ntwo or three months, he contented himself with hinting that he feared\nthe air began to disagree with him; then, finding that the place really\nno longer was, to him, what it had been, he settled his business on his\nassistant, took a bachelor's cottage outside the village of which his\nyoung friend was pastor, and instantaneously recovered.  Here he took\nto gardening, planting, fishing, carpentering, and various other\npursuits of a similar kind:  all undertaken with his characteristic\nimpetuosity.","question":"\nThe fortunes of those who have figured in this tale are nearly closed.\nThe little that remains to their historian to relate, is told in few\nand simple words.\n\nBefore three months had passed, Rose Fleming and Harry Maylie were\nmarried in the village church which was henceforth to be the scene of\nthe young clergyman's labours; on the same day they entered into\npossession of their new and happy home.\n\nMrs. Maylie took up her abode with her son and daughter-in-law, to\nenjoy, during the tranquil remainder of her days, the greatest felicity\nthat age and worth can know--the contemplation of the happiness of\nthose on whom the warmest affections and tenderest cares of a\nwell-spent life, have been unceasingly bestowed.\n\nIt appeared, on full and careful investigation, that if the wreck of\nproperty remaining in the custody of Monks (which had never prospered\neither in his hands or in those of his mother) were equally divided\nbetween himself and Oliver, it would yield, to each, little more than\nthree thousand pounds.  By the provisions of his father's will, Oliver\nwould have been entitled to the whole; but Mr. Brownlow, unwilling to\ndeprive the elder son of the opportunity of retrieving his former vices\nand pursuing an honest career, proposed this mode of distribution, to\nwhich his young"}
{"answer":"whose name was Betty, playing about quite happily with the\nothers, I spoke to her, and afterwards asked for the particulars of\nher story. They were brief. It appears that this poor little thing had\nactually seen her father murder her mother. I am glad to be able to\nadd that to all appearance she has recovered from the shock of this\nawful experience.\n\nIndeed, all these little girls, notwithstanding their hideous pasts,\nseemed, so far as I could judge, to be extremely happy at their\nchildish games in the garden. Except that some were of stunted growth,\nI noted nothing abnormal about any of them. I was told, however, by\nthe Officer in charge, that occasionally, when they grow older,\npropensities originally induced in them through no fault of their own\nwill assert themselves.\n\nTo lessen this danger, as in the case of the women inebriates, all\nthese children are brought up as vegetarians. Before me, as I write,\nis the bill of fare for the week, which I tore off a notice board in\nthe house. The breakfast on three days, to take examples, consists of\nporridge, with boiling milk and sugar, cocoa, brown and white bread\nand butter. On the other mornings either stewed figs, prunes, or\nmarmalade are added. A sample dinner consists of lentil savoury, baked\npotatoes, brown gravy and bread; boiled rice with milk and sugar. For\ntea, bananas, apples, oranges, nuts, jam, brown and white bread and\nbutter and cocoa are supplied, but tea itself as a beverage is only\ngiven on Sundays. A footnote to the bill of fare states that all\nchildren over twelve years","question":"'THE NEST', CLAPTON\n\nWhen I began to write this book, I determined to set down all things\nexactly as I saw or heard them. But, although somewhat hardened in\nsuch matters by long experience of a very ugly world, I find that\nthere are limits to what can be told of such a place as 'The Nest' in\npages which are meant for perusal by the general public. The house\nitself is charming, with a good garden adorned by beautiful trees. It\nhas every arrangement and comfort possible for the welfare of its\nchild inmates, including an open-air bedroom, cleverly contrived from\nan old greenhouse for the use of those among them whose lungs are\nweakly.\n\nBut these inmates, these sixty-two children whose ages varied from\nabout four to about sixteen! What can I say of their histories? Only\nin general language, that more than one half of them have been subject\nto outrages too terrible to repeat, often enough at the hands of their\nown fathers! If the reader wishes to learn more, he can apply\nconfidentially to Commissioner Cox, or to Mrs. Bramwell Booth.\n\n[Illustration: SOME OF THE CHILDREN AT 'THE NEST'.]\n\nHere, however, is a case that I can mention, as although it is\ndreadful enough, it belongs to a different class. Seeing a child of\nten,"}
{"answer":"marry many.\nThe man y makes his Toe, what he his Hart shold make,\nShall of a Corne cry woe, and turne his sleepe to wake.\nFor there was neuer yet faire woman, but shee made\nmouthes in a glasse.\nEnter Kent\n\n   Lear. No, I will be the patterne of all patience,\nI will say nothing\n\n   Kent. Who's there?\n  Foole. Marry here's Grace, and a Codpiece, that's a\nWiseman, and a Foole\n\n   Kent. Alas Sir are you here? Things that loue night,\nLoue not such nights as these: The wrathfull Skies\nGallow the very wanderers of the darke\nAnd make them keepe their Caues: Since I was man,\nSuch sheets of Fire, such bursts of horrid Thunder,\nSuch groanes of roaring Winde, and Raine, I neuer\nRemember to haue heard. Mans Nature cannot carry\nTh' affliction, nor the feare\n\n   Lear. Let the great Goddes\nThat keepe this dreadfull pudder o're our heads,\nFinde out their enemies now. Tremble thou Wretch,\nThat hast within thee vndivulged Crimes\nVnwhipt of Iustice. Hide thee, thou Bloudy hand;\nThou Periur'd, and thou Simular of Vertue\nThat art Incestuous. Caytiffe, to peeces shake\nThat vnder couert, and conuenient seeming\nHa's practis'd on mans life. Close pent-vp guilts,\nRiue your concealing Continents, and cry\nThese dreadfull Summoners grace. I am a man,\nMore sinn'd against, then sinning\n\n   Kent. Alacke, bare-headed?\nGracious my Lord, hard by heere is a Houell,\nSome friendship will it lend you 'gainst the Tempest:\nRepose you there, while I to this hard house,\n(More harder then the stones whereof 'tis rais'd,\nWhich euen but now, demanding after you,\nDeny'd me to come","question":"Scena Secunda.\n\n\nStorme still. Enter Lear, and Foole.\n\n  Lear. Blow windes, & crack your cheeks; Rage, blow\nYou Cataracts, and Hyrricano's spout,\nTill you haue drench'd our Steeples, drown the Cockes.\nYou Sulph'rous and Thought-executing Fires,\nVaunt-curriors of Oake-cleauing Thunder-bolts,\nSindge my white head. And thou all-shaking Thunder,\nStrike flat the thicke Rotundity o'th' world,\nCracke Natures moulds, all germaines spill at once\nThat makes ingratefull Man\n\n   Foole. O Nunkle, Court holy-water in a dry house, is\nbetter then this Rain-water out o' doore. Good Nunkle,\nin, aske thy Daughters blessing, heere's a night pitties\nneither Wisemen, nor Fooles\n\n   Lear. Rumble thy belly full: spit Fire, spowt Raine:\nNor Raine, Winde, Thunder, Fire are my Daughters;\nI taxe not you, you Elements with vnkindnesse.\nI neuer gaue you Kingdome, call'd you Children;\nYou owe me no subscription. Then let fall\nYour horrible pleasure. Heere I stand your Slaue,\nA poore, infirme, weake, and dispis'd old man:\nBut yet I call you Seruile Ministers,\nThat will with two pernicious Daughters ioyne\nYour high-engender'd Battailes, 'gainst a head\nSo old, and white as this. O, ho! 'tis foule\n\n   Foole. He that has a house to put's head in, has a good\nHead-peece:\nThe Codpiece that will house, before the head has any;\nThe Head, and he shall Lowse: so Beggers"}
{"answer":"sailors from a\nwar-ship, their faces pictures of sturdy health, spent the earlier\nhours of the evening at the small round tables.  Very infrequent tipsy\nmen, swollen with the value of their opinions, engaged their companions\nin earnest and confidential conversation.  In the balcony, and here and\nthere below, shone the impassive faces of women.  The nationalities of\nthe Bowery beamed upon the stage from all directions.\n\nPete aggressively walked up a side aisle and took seats with Maggie at\na table beneath the balcony.\n\n\"Two beehs!\"\n\nLeaning back he regarded with eyes of superiority the scene before\nthem.  This attitude affected Maggie strongly.  A man who could regard\nsuch a sight with indifference must be accustomed to very great things.\n\nIt was obvious that Pete had been to this place many times before, and\nwas very familiar with it.  A knowledge of this fact made Maggie feel\nlittle and new.\n\nHe was extremely gracious and attentive.  He displayed the\nconsideration of a cultured gentleman who knew what was due.\n\n\"Say, what deh hell?  Bring deh lady a big glass!  What deh hell use is\ndat pony?\"\n\n\"Don't be fresh, now,\" said the waiter, with some warmth, as he\ndeparted.\n\n\"Ah, git off deh eart',\" said Pete, after the other's retreating form.\n\nMaggie perceived that Pete brought forth all his elegance and all his\nknowledge of high-class customs for her benefit.  Her heart warmed as\nshe reflected upon his condescension.\n\nThe orchestra of yellow silk women and bald-headed men gave vent to a\nfew bars of anticipatory music and a girl, in a pink dress with short\nskirts,","question":"\nAn orchestra of yellow silk women and bald-headed men on an elevated\nstage near the centre of a great green-hued hall, played a popular\nwaltz.  The place was crowded with people grouped about little tables.\nA battalion of waiters slid among the throng, carrying trays of beer\nglasses and making change from the inexhaustible vaults of their\ntrousers pockets.  Little boys, in the costumes of French chefs,\nparaded up and down the irregular aisles vending fancy cakes.  There\nwas a low rumble of conversation and a subdued clinking of glasses.\nClouds of tobacco smoke rolled and wavered high in air about the dull\ngilt of the chandeliers.\n\nThe vast crowd had an air throughout of having just quitted labor.  Men\nwith calloused hands and attired in garments that showed the wear of an\nendless trudge for a living, smoked their pipes contentedly and spent\nfive, ten, or perhaps fifteen cents for beer.  There was a mere\nsprinkling of kid-gloved men who smoked cigars purchased elsewhere.\nThe great body of the crowd was composed of people who showed that all\nday they strove with their hands.  Quiet Germans, with maybe their\nwives and two or three children, sat listening to the music, with the\nexpressions of happy cows.  An occasional party of"}
{"answer":"were not refined enough to make any parading stipulation; but\nthe decent appearance of consent must be yielded, and that once\nobtained--and their own hearts made them trust that it could not be\nvery long denied--their willing approbation was instantly to follow. His\nconsent was all that they wished for. They were no more inclined than\nentitled to demand his money. Of a very considerable fortune, his son\nwas, by marriage settlements, eventually secure; his present income was\nan income of independence and comfort, and under every pecuniary view,\nit was a match beyond the claims of their daughter.\n\nThe young people could not be surprised at a decision like this. They\nfelt and they deplored--but they could not resent it; and they parted,\nendeavouring to hope that such a change in the general, as each believed\nalmost impossible, might speedily take place, to unite them again in\nthe fullness of privileged affection. Henry returned to what was now\nhis only home, to watch over his young plantations, and extend his\nimprovements for her sake, to whose share in them he looked anxiously\nforward; and Catherine remained at Fullerton to cry. Whether the\ntorments of absence were softened by a clandestine correspondence, let\nus not inquire. Mr. and Mrs. Morland never did--they had been too kind\nto exact any promise; and whenever Catherine received a letter, as, at\nthat time, happened pretty often, they always looked another way.\n\nThe anxiety, which in this state of their attachment must be the portion\nof Henry and Catherine, and of all who loved either, as to its final\nevent, can hardly extend, I fear, to the","question":"\n\nMr. and Mrs. Morland's surprise on being applied to by Mr. Tilney for\ntheir consent to his marrying their daughter was, for a few minutes,\nconsiderable, it having never entered their heads to suspect an\nattachment on either side; but as nothing, after all, could be more\nnatural than Catherine's being beloved, they soon learnt to consider it\nwith only the happy agitation of gratified pride, and, as far as they\nalone were concerned, had not a single objection to start. His pleasing\nmanners and good sense were self-evident recommendations; and having\nnever heard evil of him, it was not their way to suppose any evil could\nbe told. Goodwill supplying the place of experience, his character\nneeded no attestation. \"Catherine would make a sad, heedless young\nhousekeeper to be sure,\" was her mother's foreboding remark; but quick\nwas the consolation of there being nothing like practice.\n\nThere was but one obstacle, in short, to be mentioned; but till that one\nwas removed, it must be impossible for them to sanction the engagement.\nTheir tempers were mild, but their principles were steady, and while\nhis parent so expressly forbade the connection, they could not allow\nthemselves to encourage it. That the general should come forward to\nsolicit the alliance, or that he should even very heartily approve it,\nthey"}
{"answer":"I replied that I had not done my work.\n\"You have had time enough to do it,\" said he. \"Take care how you answer\nme!\"\n\nI shut all the windows, locked all the doors, and went up to the third\nstory, to wait till midnight. How long those hours seemed, and how\nfervently I prayed that God would not forsake me in this hour of utmost\nneed! I was about to risk every thing on the throw of a die; and if I\nfailed, O what would become of me and my poor children? They would be made\nto suffer for my fault.\n\nAt half past twelve I stole softly down stairs. I stopped on the second\nfloor, thinking I heard a noise. I felt my way down into the parlor, and\nlooked out of the window. The night was so intensely dark that I could see\nnothing. I raised the window very softly and jumped out. Large drops of\nrain were falling, and the darkness bewildered me. I dropped on my knees,\nand breathed a short prayer to God for guidance and protection. I groped my\nway to the road, and rushed towards the town with almost lightning speed. I\narrived at my grandmother's house, but dared not see her. She would say,\n\"Linda, you are killing me;\" and I knew that would unnerve me. I tapped\nsoftly at the window of a room, occupied by a woman, who had lived in the\nhouse several years. I knew she was a faithful friend, and could be trusted\nwith my secret. I tapped several times before she heard me. At","question":"\n\nMr. Flint was hard pushed for house servants, and rather than lose me he\nhad restrained his malice. I did my work faithfully, though not, of course,\nwith a willing mind. They were evidently afraid I should leave them. Mr.\nFlint wished that I should sleep in the great house instead of the\nservants' quarters. His wife agreed to the proposition, but said I mustn't\nbring my bed into the house, because it would scatter feathers on her\ncarpet. I knew when I went there that they would never think of such a\nthing as furnishing a bed of any kind for me and my little ones. I\ntherefore carried my own bed, and now I was forbidden to use it. I did as I\nwas ordered. But now that I was certain my children were to be put in their\npower, in order to give them a stronger hold on me, I resolved to leave\nthem that night. I remembered the grief this step would bring upon my dear\nold grandmother, and nothing less than the freedom of my children would\nhave induced me to disregard her advice. I went about my evening work with\ntrembling steps. Mr. Flint twice called from his chamber door to inquire\nwhy the house was not locked up."}
{"answer":"thee, to give thy rages balm,\n    To wipe out our ingratitude with loves\n    Above their quantity.\n  SECOND SENATOR. So did we woo\n    Transformed Timon to our city's love\n    By humble message and by promis'd means.\n    We were not all unkind, nor all deserve\n    The common stroke of war.\n  FIRST SENATOR. These walls of ours\n    Were not erected by their hands from whom\n    You have receiv'd your griefs; nor are they such\n    That these great tow'rs, trophies, and schools, should fall\n    For private faults in them.\n  SECOND SENATOR. Nor are they living\n    Who were the motives that you first went out;\n    Shame, that they wanted cunning, in excess\n    Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord,\n    Into our city with thy banners spread.\n    By decimation and a tithed death-\n    If thy revenges hunger for that food\n    Which nature loathes- take thou the destin'd tenth,\n    And by the hazard of the spotted die\n    Let die the spotted.\n  FIRST SENATOR. All have not offended;\n    For those that were, it is not square to take,\n    On those that are, revenge: crimes, like lands,\n    Are not","question":"Before the walls of Athens\n\nTrumpets sound. Enter ALCIBIADES with his powers before Athens\n\n  ALCIBIADES. Sound to this coward and lascivious town\n    Our terrible approach.\n\n       Sound a parley. The SENATORS appear upon the walls\n\n    Till now you have gone on and fill'd the time\n    With all licentious measure, making your wills\n    The scope of justice; till now, myself, and such\n    As slept within the shadow of your power,\n    Have wander'd with our travers'd arms, and breath'd\n    Our sufferance vainly. Now the time is flush,\n    When crouching marrow, in the bearer strong,\n    Cries of itself 'No more!' Now breathless wrong\n    Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease,\n    And pursy insolence shall break his wind\n    With fear and horrid flight.\n  FIRST SENATOR. Noble and young,\n    When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit,\n    Ere thou hadst power or we had cause of fear,\n    We sent to"}
{"answer":"were so stamped upon\nhim that if he had suddenly struck for freedom I should have had nothing\nto say. I was by the strangest of chances wondering how I should meet\nhim when the revolution unmistakably occurred. I call it a revolution\nbecause I now see how, with the word he spoke, the curtain rose on the\nlast act of my dreadful drama, and the catastrophe was precipitated.\n\"Look here, my dear, you know,\" he charmingly said, \"when in the world,\nplease, am I going back to school?\"\n\nTranscribed here the speech sounds harmless enough, particularly\nas uttered in the sweet, high, casual pipe with which, at all\ninterlocutors, but above all at his eternal governess, he threw off\nintonations as if he were tossing roses. There was something in\nthem that always made one \"catch,\" and I caught, at any rate, now so\neffectually that I stopped as short as if one of the trees of the\npark had fallen across the road. There was something new, on the spot,\nbetween us, and he was perfectly aware that I recognized it, though,\nto enable me to do so, he had no need to look a whit less candid and\ncharming than usual. I could feel in him how he already, from my at\nfirst finding nothing to reply, perceived the advantage he had gained. I\nwas so slow to find anything that he had plenty of time, after a minute,\nto continue with his suggestive but inconclusive smile: \"You know, my\ndear, that for a fellow to be with a lady ALWAYS--!\" His \"my dear\" was\nconstantly on his lips","question":"Walking to church a certain Sunday morning, I had little Miles at my\nside and his sister, in advance of us and at Mrs. Grose's, well in\nsight. It was a crisp, clear day, the first of its order for some time;\nthe night had brought a touch of frost, and the autumn air, bright\nand sharp, made the church bells almost gay. It was an odd accident of\nthought that I should have happened at such a moment to be particularly\nand very gratefully struck with the obedience of my little charges. Why\ndid they never resent my inexorable, my perpetual society? Something or\nother had brought nearer home to me that I had all but pinned the boy to\nmy shawl and that, in the way our companions were marshaled before me,\nI might have appeared to provide against some danger of rebellion. I\nwas like a gaoler with an eye to possible surprises and escapes. But all\nthis belonged--I mean their magnificent little surrender--just to the\nspecial array of the facts that were most abysmal. Turned out for Sunday\nby his uncle's tailor, who had had a free hand and a notion of\npretty waistcoats and of his grand little air, Miles's whole title to\nindependence, the rights of his sex and situation,"}
{"answer":"Warriour\n\n   Prin. O this Boy, lends mettall to vs all.\nEnter.\n\nEnter Dowglas.\n\n  Dow. Another King? They grow like Hydra's heads:\nI am the Dowglas, fatall to all those\nThat weare those colours on them. What art thou\nThat counterfeit'st the person of a King?\n  King. The King himselfe: who Dowglas grieues at hart\nSo many of his shadowes thou hast met,\nAnd not the very King. I haue two Boyes\nSeeke Percy and thy selfe about the Field:\nBut seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily,\nI will assay thee: so defend thy selfe\n\n   Dow. I feare thou art another counterfeit:\nAnd yet infaith thou bear'st thee like a King:\nBut mine I am sure thou art, whoere thou be,\nAnd thus I win thee.\n\nThey fight, the K[ing]. being in danger, Enter Prince.\n\n  Prin. Hold vp thy head vile Scot, or thou art like\nNeuer to hold it vp againe: the Spirits\nOf valiant Sherly, Stafford, Blunt, are in my Armes;\nit is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee,\nWho neuer promiseth, but he meanes to pay.\n\nThey Fight, Dowglas flyeth.\n\nCheerely My Lord: how fare's your Grace?\nSir Nicolas Gawsey hath for succour sent,\nAnd so hath Clifton: Ile to Clifton straight\n\n   King. Stay, and breath awhile.\nThou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion,\nAnd shew'd thou mak'st some tender of my life\nIn this faire rescue thou hast brought to mee\n\n   Prin. O heauen, they did me too much iniury,\nThat euer said I hearkned to your death.\nIf it were so, I might haue let alone\nThe insulting hand of Dowglas ouer","question":"Scena Tertia.\n\n\nAlarum, excursions, enter the King, the Prince, Lord Iohn of\nLancaster,\nand Earle of Westmerland.\n\n  King. I prethee Harry withdraw thy selfe, thou bleedest\ntoo much: Lord Iohn of Lancaster, go you with him\n\n   P.Ioh. Not I, My Lord, vnlesse I did bleed too\n\n   Prin. I beseech your Maiesty make vp,\nLeast your retirement do amaze your friends\n\n   King. I will do so:\nMy Lord of Westmerland leade him to his Tent\n\n   West. Come my Lord, Ile leade you to your Tent\n\n   Prin. Lead me my Lord? I do not need your helpe;\nAnd heauen forbid a shallow scratch should driue\nThe Prince of Wales from such a field as this,\nWhere stain'd Nobility lyes troden on,\nAnd Rebels Armes triumph in massacres\n\n   Ioh. We breath too long: Come cosin Westmerland,\nOur duty this way lies, for heauens sake come\n\n   Prin. By heauen thou hast deceiu'd me Lancaster,\nI did not thinke thee Lord of such a spirit:\nBefore, I lou'd thee as a Brother, Iohn;\nBut now, I do respect thee as my Soule\n\n   King. I saw him hold Lord Percy at the point,\nWith lustier maintenance then I did looke for\nOf such an vngrowne"}
{"answer":"wariest men are apt to be\ndulled by routine, and on worried mornings will sometimes go through\ntheir business with the zest of the daily bell-ringer.  Mr. Wrench was\na small, neat, bilious man, with a well-dressed wig: he had a laborious\npractice, an irascible temper, a lymphatic wife and seven children; and\nhe was already rather late before setting out on a four-miles drive to\nmeet Dr. Minchin on the other side of Tipton, the decease of Hicks, a\nrural practitioner, having increased Middlemarch practice in that\ndirection.  Great statesmen err, and why not small medical men?  Mr.\nWrench did not neglect sending the usual white parcels, which this time\nhad black and drastic contents.  Their effect was not alleviating to\npoor Fred, who, however, unwilling as he said to believe that he was\n\"in for an illness,\" rose at his usual easy hour the next morning and\nwent down-stairs meaning to breakfast, but succeeded in nothing but in\nsitting and shivering by the fire.  Mr. Wrench was again sent for, but\nwas gone on his rounds, and Mrs. Vincy seeing her darling's changed\nlooks and general misery, began to cry and said she would send for Dr.\nSprague.\n\n\"Oh, nonsense, mother!  It's nothing,\" said Fred, putting out his hot\ndry hand to her, \"I shall soon be all right.  I must have taken cold in\nthat nasty damp ride.\"\n\n\"Mamma!\" said Rosamond, who was seated near the window (the dining-room\nwindows looked on that highly respectable street called Lowick Gate),\n\"there is Mr. Lydgate, stopping to speak to some one.  If I were","question":"\n    \"He beats me and I rail at him: O worthy satisfaction!\n    would it were otherwise--that I could beat him while\n    he railed at me.--\"\n                                    --Troilus and Cressida.\n\n\nBut Fred did not go to Stone Court the next day, for reasons that were\nquite peremptory.  From those visits to unsanitary Houndsley streets in\nsearch of Diamond, he had brought back not only a bad bargain in\nhorse-flesh, but the further misfortune of some ailment which for a day\nor two had deemed mere depression and headache, but which got so much\nworse when he returned from his visit to Stone Court that, going into\nthe dining-room, he threw himself on the sofa, and in answer to his\nmother's anxious question, said, \"I feel very ill: I think you must\nsend for Wrench.\"\n\nWrench came, but did not apprehend anything serious, spoke of a \"slight\nderangement,\" and did not speak of coming again on the morrow.  He had\na due value for the Vincys' house, but the"}
{"answer":"the knees?\n  And, acrobat-like, teach my back to bend?--\n  No, grammercy!  Or,--double-faced and sly--\n  Run with the hare, while hunting with the hounds;\n  And, oily-tongued, to win the oil of praise,\n  Flatter the great man to his very nose?\n  No, grammercy!  Steal soft from lap to lap,\n  --A little great man in a circle small,\n  Or navigate, with madrigals for sails,\n  Blown gently windward by old ladies' sighs?\n  No, grammercy!  Bribe kindly editors\n  To spread abroad my verses?  Grammercy!\n  Or try to be elected as the pope\n  Of tavern-councils held by imbeciles?\n  No, grammercy!  Toil to gain reputation\n  By one small sonnet, 'stead of making many?\n  No, grammercy!  Or flatter sorry bunglers?\n  Be terrorized by every prating paper?\n  Say ceaselessly, 'Oh, had I but the chance\n  Of a fair notice in the \"Mercury\"!'\n  Grammercy, no!  Grow pale, fear, calculate?\n  Prefer to make a visit to a rhyme?\n  Seek introductions, draw petitions up?\n  No, grammercy! and no! and no again!  But--sing?\n  Dream, laugh, go lightly, solitary, free,\n  With eyes that look straight forward--fearless voice!\n  To cock your beaver just the way you choose,--\n  For 'yes' or 'no' show fight, or turn a rhyme!\n  --To work without one thought of gain or fame,\n  To realize that journey to the moon!\n  Never to pen a","question":"Cyrano, Le Bret, the cadets, who are eating and drinking at the tables right\nand left.\n\nCYRANO (bowing mockingly to those who go out without daring to salute him):\n  Gentlemen. . .Gentlemen. . .\n\nLE BRET (coming back, despairingly):\n  Here's a fine coil!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Oh! scold away!\n\nLE BRET:\n  At least, you will agree\n  That to annihilate each chance of Fate\n  Exaggerates. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Yes!--I exaggerate!\n\nLE BRET (triumphantly):\n  Ah!\n\nCYRANO:\n  But for principle--example too,--\n  I think 'tis well thus to exaggerate.\n\nLE BRET:\n  Oh! lay aside that pride of musketeer,\n  Fortune and glory wait you!. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Ay, and then?. . .\n  Seek a protector, choose a patron out,\n  And like the crawling ivy round a tree\n  That licks the bark to gain the trunk's support,\n  Climb high by creeping ruse instead of force?\n  No, grammercy!  What!  I, like all the rest\n  Dedicate verse to bankers?--play buffoon\n  In cringing hope to see, at last, a smile\n  Not disapproving, on a patron's lips?\n  Grammercy, no!  What! learn to swallow toads?\n  --With frame aweary climbing stairs?--a skin\n  Grown grimed and horny,--here, about"}
{"answer":"'tis so.\nHeere comes your Cosin.\nEnter Hotspurre.\n\n  Hot. My Vnkle is return'd,\nDeliuer vp my Lord of Westmerland.\nVnkle, what newes?\n  Wor. The King will bid you battell presently\n\n   Dow. Defie him by the Lord of Westmerland\n  Hot. Lord Dowglas: Go you and tell him so\n\n   Dow. Marry and shall, and verie willingly.\n\nExit Dowglas.\n\n  Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the King\n\n   Hot. Did you begge any? God forbid\n\n\n   Wor. I told him gently of our greeuances,\nOf his Oath-breaking: which he mended thus,\nBy now forswearing that he is forsworne,\nHe cals vs Rebels, Traitors, and will scourge\nWith haughty armes, this hatefull name in vs.\nEnter Dowglas.\n\n  Dow. Arme Gentlemen, to Armes, for I haue thrown\nA braue defiance in King Henries teeth:\nAnd Westmerland that was ingag'd did beare it,\nWhich cannot choose but bring him quickly on\n\n   Wor. The Prince of Wales stept forth before the king,\nAnd Nephew, challeng'd you to single fight\n\n   Hot. O, would the quarrell lay vpon our heads,\nAnd that no man might draw short breath to day,\nBut I and Harry Monmouth. Tell me, tell mee,\nHow shew'd his Talking? Seem'd it in contempt?\n  Ver. No, by my Soule: I neuer in my life\nDid heare a Challenge vrg'd more modestly,\nVnlesse a Brother should a Brother dare\nTo gentle exercise, and proofe of Armes.\nHe gaue you all the Duties of a Man,\nTrimm'd vp your praises with a Princely tongue,\nSpoke your deseruings like a Chronicle,\nMaking you euer better then","question":"Scena Secunda.\n\n\n\nEnter Worcester, and Sir Richard Vernon.\n\n  Wor. O no, my Nephew must not know, Sir Richard,\nThe liberall kinde offer of the King\n\n   Ver. 'Twere best he did\n\n   Wor. Then we are all vndone.\nIt is not possible, it cannot be,\nThe King would keepe his word in louing vs,\nHe will suspect vs still, and finde a time\nTo punish this offence in others faults:\nSupposition, all our liues, shall be stucke full of eyes;\nFor Treason is but trusted like the Foxe,\nWho ne're so tame, so cherisht, and lock'd vp,\nWill haue a wilde tricke of his Ancestors:\nLooke how he can, or sad or merrily,\nInterpretation will misquote our lookes,\nAnd we shall feede like Oxen at a stall,\nThe better cherisht, still the nearer death.\nMy Nephewes Trespasse may be well forgot,\nIt hath the excuse of youth, and heate of blood,\nAnd an adopted name of Priuiledge,\nA haire-brain'd Hotspurre, gouern'd by a Spleene:\nAll his offences liue vpon my head,\nAnd on his Fathers. We did traine him on,\nAnd his corruption being tane from vs,\nWe as the Spring of all, shall pay for all:\nTherefore good Cousin, let not Harry know\nIn any case, the offer of the King\n\n   Ver. Deliuer what you will, Ile say"}
{"answer":"but one person at first.' Then you said, if I did not\ndream it all, 'Promise me, then, that you will not tell him.' Your\nfather seemed to hesitate about promising, but you insisted, and your\nmother interposing, he finally promised, and when I opened my eyes I\nsaw only him.\"\n\nI had been quite serious when I said that I was not sure that I had\nnot dreamed the conversation I fancied I had overheard, so\nincomprehensible was it that these people should know anything of me,\na contemporary of their great-grandparents, which I did not know\nmyself. But when I saw the effect of my words upon Edith, I knew that\nit was no dream, but another mystery, and a more puzzling one than any\nI had before encountered. For from the moment that the drift of my\nquestion became apparent, she showed indications of the most acute\nembarrassment. Her eyes, always so frank and direct in expression, had\ndropped in a panic before mine, while her face crimsoned from neck to\nforehead.\n\n\"Pardon me,\" I said, as soon as I had recovered from bewilderment at\nthe extraordinary effect of my words. \"It seems, then, that I was not\ndreaming. There is some secret, something about me, which you are\nwithholding from me. Really, doesn't it seem a little hard that a\nperson in my position should not be given all the information possible\nconcerning himself?\"\n\n\"It does not concern you--that is, not directly. It is not about\nyou--exactly,\" she replied, scarcely audibly.\n\n\"But it concerns me in some way,\" I persisted. \"It must be something\nthat would interest me.\"\n\n\"I don't know even","question":"\n\nThat evening, as I sat with Edith in the music room, listening to some\npieces in the programme of that day which had attracted my notice, I\ntook advantage of an interval in the music to say, \"I have a question\nto ask you which I fear is rather indiscreet.\"\n\n\"I am quite sure it is not that,\" she replied, encouragingly.\n\n\"I am in the position of an eavesdropper,\" I continued, \"who, having\noverheard a little of a matter not intended for him, though seeming to\nconcern him, has the impudence to come to the speaker for the rest.\"\n\n\"An eavesdropper!\" she repeated, looking puzzled.\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"but an excusable one, as I think you will admit.\"\n\n\"This is very mysterious,\" she replied.\n\n\"Yes,\" said I, \"so mysterious that often I have doubted whether I\nreally overheard at all what I am going to ask you about, or only\ndreamed it. I want you to tell me. The matter is this: When I was\ncoming out of that sleep of a century, the first impression of which I\nwas conscious was of voices talking around me, voices that afterwards\nI recognized as your father's, your mother's, and your own. First, I\nremember your father's voice saying, 'He is going to open his eyes. He\nhad better see"}
{"answer":"of the family have had any feeling of resentment towards\n   you, they feel it no longer. We all sympathize with you in your\n   unfortunate condition, and are ready to do all in our power to\n   make you contented and happy. It is difficult for you to return\n   home as a free person. If you were purchased by your grandmother,\n   it is doubtful whether you would be permitted to remain, although\n   it would be lawful for you to do so. If a servant should be\n   allowed to purchase herself, after absenting herself so long from\n   her owners, and return free, it would have an injurious effect.\n   From your letter, I think your situation must be hard and\n   uncomfortable. Come home. You have it in your power to be\n   reinstated in our affections. We would receive you with open arms\n   and tears of joy. You need not apprehend any unkind treatment, as\n   we have not put ourselves to any trouble or expense to get you.\n   Had we done so, perhaps we should feel otherwise. You know my\n   sister was always attached to you, and that you were never\n   treated as a slave. You were never put to hard work, nor exposed\n   to field labor. On the contrary, you were taken into the house,\n   and treated as","question":"\n\nMy young mistress, Miss Emily Flint, did not return any answer to my letter\nrequesting her to consent to my being sold. But after a while, I received a\nreply, which purported to be written by her younger brother. In order\nrightly to enjoy the contents of this letter, the reader must bear in mind\nthat the Flint family supposed I had been at the north many years. They had\nno idea that I knew of the doctor's three excursions to New York in search\nof me; that I had heard his voice, when he came to borrow five hundred\ndollars for that purpose; and that I had seen him pass on his way to the\nsteamboat. Neither were they aware that all the particulars of aunt Nancy's\ndeath and burial were conveyed to me at the time they occurred. I have kept\nthe letter, of which I herewith subjoin a copy:--\n\n   Your letter to sister was received a few days ago. I gather from\n   it that you are desirous of returning to your native place, among\n   your friends and relatives. We were all gratified with the\n   contents of your letter; and let me assure you that if any\n   members"}
{"answer":"tell Priam so, or Hecuba?\n    Let him that will a screech-owl aye be call'd\n    Go in to Troy, and say there 'Hector's dead.'\n    There is a word will Priam turn to stone;\n    Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives,\n    Cold statues of the youth; and, in a word,\n    Scare Troy out of itself. But, march away;\n    Hector is dead; there is no more to say.\n    Stay yet. You vile abominable tents,\n    Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains,\n    Let Titan rise as early as he dare,\n    I'll through and through you. And, thou great-siz'd coward,\n    No space of earth shall sunder our two hates;\n    I'll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still,\n    That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy's thoughts.\n    Strike a free march to Troy. With comfort go;\n    Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe.\n\n                        Enter PANDARUS\n\n  PANDARUS. But hear you, hear you!\n  TROILUS. Hence, broker-lackey. Ignominy and shame\n    Pursue thy life and live aye with thy name!\n             ","question":"ACT V. SCENE 10.\nAnother part of the plain\n\nEnter AENEAS, PARIS, ANTENOR, and DEIPHOBUS\n\n  AENEAS. Stand, ho! yet are we masters of the field.\n    Never go home; here starve we out the night.\n\n                         Enter TROILUS\n\n  TROILUS. Hector is slain.\n  ALL. Hector! The gods forbid!\n  TROILUS. He's dead, and at the murderer's horse's tail,\n    In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful field.\n    Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed.\n    Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy.\n    I say at once let your brief plagues be mercy,\n    And linger not our sure destructions on.\n  AENEAS. My lord, you do discomfort all the host.\n  TROILUS. You understand me not that tell me so.\n    I do not speak of flight, of fear of death,\n    But dare all imminence that gods and men\n    Address their dangers in. Hector is gone.\n    Who shall"}
{"answer":"these Rogues, I\nam the veriest Varlet that euer chewed with a Tooth.\nEight yards of vneuen ground, is threescore & ten miles\nafoot with me: and the stony-hearted Villaines knowe it\nwell enough. A plague vpon't, when Theeues cannot be\ntrue one to another.\n\nThey Whistle.\n\nWhew: a plague light vpon you all. Giue my Horse you\nRogues: giue me my Horse, and be hang'd\n\n   Prin. Peace ye fat guttes, lye downe, lay thine eare\nclose to the ground, and list if thou can heare the tread of\nTrauellers\n\n   Fal. Haue you any Leauers to lift me vp again being\ndowne? Ile not beare mine owne flesh so far afoot again,\nfor all the coine in thy Fathers Exchequer. What a plague\nmeane ye to colt me thus?\n  Prin. Thou ly'st, thou art not colted, thou art vncolted\n\n   Fal. I prethee good Prince Hal, help me to my horse,\ngood Kings sonne\n\n   Prin. Out you Rogue, shall I be your Ostler?\n  Fal. Go hang thy selfe in thine owne heire-apparant-Garters:\nIf I be tane, Ile peach for this: and I haue not\nBallads made on all, and sung to filthy tunes, let a Cup of\nSacke be my poyson: when a iest is so forward, & a foote\ntoo, I hate it.\nEnter Gads-hill.\n\n  Gad. Stand\n\n   Fal. So I do against my will\n\n   Poin. O 'tis our Setter, I know his voyce:\nBardolfe, what newes?\n  Bar. Case ye, case ye; on with your Vizards, there's\nmony of the Kings comming downe the hill, 'tis","question":"Scaena Secunda.\n\n\n\nEnter Prince, Poynes, and Peto.\n\n  Poines. Come shelter, shelter, I haue remoued Falstafs\nHorse, and he frets like a gum'd Veluet\n\n   Prin. Stand close.\nEnter Falstaffe.\n\n  Fal. Poines, Poines, and be hang'd Poines\n\n   Prin. Peace ye fat-kidney'd Rascall, what a brawling\ndost thou keepe\n\n   Fal. What Poines. Hal?\n  Prin. He is walk'd vp to the top of the hill, Ile go seek\nhim\n\n   Fal. I am accurst to rob in that Theefe company: that\nRascall hath remoued my Horse, and tied him I know not\nwhere. If I trauell but foure foot by the squire further a\nfoote, I shall breake my winde. Well, I doubt not but\nto dye a faire death for all this, if I scape hanging for killing\nthat Rogue, I haue forsworne his company hourely\nany time this two and twenty yeare, & yet I am bewitcht\nwith the Rogues company. If the Rascall haue not giuen\nme medicines to make me loue him, Ile be hang'd; it could\nnot be else: I haue drunke Medicines. Poines, Hal, a\nPlague vpon you both. Bardolph, Peto: Ile starue ere I\nrob a foote further. And 'twere not as good a deede as to\ndrinke, to turne True-man, and to leaue"}
{"answer":"           Aye, sir.\n\n                He goeth in at one door and comes out at another.\n\n  HIERO.                                        Oh, forbear,\n    For other talk for us far fitter were!\n    But, if you be importunate to know\n    The way to him and where to find him out,\n    Then list to me, and I'll resolve your doubt:\n    There is a path upon your left hand side\n    That leadeth from a guilty conscience\n    Unto a forest of distrust and fear,--\n    A darksome place and dangerous to pass,--\n    There shall you meet with melancholy thoughts\n    Whose baleful humours if you but behold,\n    It will conduct you to despair and death:\n    Whose rocky cliffs when you have once beheld,\n    Within a hugy dale of lasting night,\n    That, kindled with worlds of iniquities,\n    Doth cast up filthy and detested fumes,--\n    Not far from thence where murderers have","question":"                [A street.]\n\n                Enter two PORTINGALES, and HIERONIMO\n                meets them.\n\n  I PORT.  By your leave, sir.\n\n  HIERO.  Good leave have you; nay, I pray you go,\n    For I'll leave you, if you can leave me so.\n\n  II PORT.  Pray you, which is the next way to my lord\n    the duke's?\n\n  HIERO.  The next way from me.\n\n  I PORT.                       To the house, we mean.\n\n  HIERO. O hard by; 'tis yon house that you see.\n\n  II PORT.  You could not tell us if his son were there?\n\n  HIERO.  Who?  my lord Lorenzo?\n\n  I PORT.                   "}
{"answer":"magnificent sum of 4s. a week, if she 'lives in' (about\nthe pay of a country kitchen maid); out of which she is expected to\ndefray the cost of her uniform and other clothes, postage stamps, etc.\nUltimately, after many years of service, it may rise to as much as\n10s. in the case of senior Officers, or, if the Officer finds her own\nboard and lodging, to a limit of L1 a week.\n\nOf these ladies who are trained in the Home few leave the Army. Should\nthey do so, however, I am informed that they can generally obtain from\nother Organizations double or treble the pay which the Army is able to\nafford.\n\nThis Training Institution is a building admirably suited to the\npurpose to which it is put. Originally it was a ladies' school, which\nwas purchased by the Salvation Army. The dining-room of the Cadets was\nvery well arranged and charmingly decorated with flowers, as was that\nof the Officers beyond. There was also a Cadets' retiring-room, where\nI saw some of them reading or otherwise amusing themselves on their\nSaturday half-holiday. The Army would be glad to find and train more\nof these self-sacrificing workers; but the conditions of the pay which\nthey can offer and the arduous nature of the lifelong service\ninvolved, are such that those of a satisfactory class are not too\nreadily forthcoming.\n\nAttached to this Training Institution is a Home for girls of doubtful\nor bad antecedents, which I also visited. This Rescue Home is linked\nup with the Training School, so that the Cadets may have the\nopportunity of acquiring a practical knowledge","question":"THE TRAINING INSTITUTE FOR WOMEN SOCIAL WORKERS, CLAPTON\n\nColonel Lambert, the lady-Officer in charge of this Institution,\ninformed me that it can accommodate sixty young women. At the time of\nmy visit forty-seven pupils were being prepared for service in the\nWomen's Department of what is called 'Salvation Army Warfare.' These\nCadets come from all sources and in various ways. Most of them have\nfirst been members of the Army and made application to be trained,\nfeeling themselves attracted to this particular branch of its work.\n\nThe basis of their instruction is religious and theological. It\nincludes the study of the Bible, of the doctrine and discipline of the\nSalvation Army and the rules and regulations governing the labours of\nits Social Officers. In addition, these Cadets attend practical\nclasses where they learn needlework, the scientific cutting out of\ngarments, knitting, laundry work, first medical aid, nursing, and so\nforth. The course at this Institution takes ten months to complete,\nafter which those Cadets who have passed the examinations are\nappointed to various centres of the Army's Social activities.\n\nWhen these young women have passed out and enter on active Social work\nthey are allowed their board and lodging and a small salary to pay for\ntheir clothing. This salary at the commencement of a worker's career\namounts to the"}
{"answer":"Why, this boy will carry a\nletter twenty mile as easy as a cannon will shoot point-blank\ntwelve score. He pieces out his wife's inclination; he gives\nher folly motion and advantage; and now she's going to my wife,\nand Falstaff's boy with her. A man may hear this shower sing in\nthe wind: and Falstaff's boy with her! Good plots! They are laid;\nand our revolted wives share damnation together. Well; I will take\nhim, then torture my wife, pluck the borrowed veil of modesty from\nthe so seeming Mistress Page, divulge Page himself for a secure\nand wilful Actaeon; and to these violent proceedings all my\nneighbours shall cry aim. [Clock strikes] The clock gives me my\ncue, and my assurance bids me search; there I shall find Falstaff.\nI shall be rather praised for this than mocked; for it is as\npositive as the earth is firm that Falstaff is there. I will go.\n\n[Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, SLENDER, HOST, SIR HUGH EVANS,\nCAIUS, and RUGBY.]\n\nSHALLOW, PAGE, &c. \nWell met, Master Ford.\n\nFORD.\nTrust me, a good knot; I have good cheer at home, and I pray you\nall go with me.\n\nSHALLOW.\nI must excuse myself, Master Ford.\n\nSLENDER.\nAnd so must I, sir; we have appointed to dine with Mistress Anne,\nand I would not break with her for more money than I'll speak of.\n\nSHALLOW.\nWe have lingered about a match between Anne Page and my cousin\nSlender, and this day we shall have our answer.\n\nSLENDER.\nI hope I have your good will, father Page.\n\nPAGE.\nYou have, Master Slender; I stand wholly for you. But my wife,\nMaster doctor, is for you altogether.\n\nCAIUS.\nAy, be-gar;","question":"SCENE 2.\n\nA street in Windsor.\n\n[Enter MISTRESS PAGE and ROBIN.]\n\nMRS. PAGE.\nNay, keep your way, little gallant: you were wont to be a follower,\nbut now you are a leader. Whether had you rather lead mine eyes,\nor eye your master's heels?\n\nROBIN.\nI had rather, forsooth, go before you like a man than follow him\nlike a dwarf.\n\nMRS. PAGE.\nO! you are a flattering boy: now I see you'll be a courtier.\n\n[Enter FORD.]\n\nFORD.\nWell met, Mistress Page. Whither go you?\n\nMRS. PAGE.\nTruly, sir, to see your wife. Is she at home?\n\nFORD.\nAy; and as idle as she may hang together, for want of company.\nI think, if your husbands were dead, you two would marry.\n\nMRS. PAGE.\nBe sure of that--two other husbands.\n\nFORD.\nWhere had you this pretty weathercock?\n\nMRS. PAGE.\nI cannot tell what the dickens his name is my husband had him of.\nWhat do you call your knight's name, sirrah?\n\nROBIN.\nSir John Falstaff.\n\nFORD.\nSir John Falstaff!\n\nMRS. PAGE.\nHe, he; I can never hit on's name. There is such a league between\nmy good man and he! Is your wife at home indeed?\n\nFORD.\nIndeed she is.\n\nMRS. PAGE.\nBy your leave, sir: I am sick till I see her.\n\n[Exeunt MRS. PAGE and ROBIN.]\n\nFORD.\nHas Page any brains? Hath he any eyes? Hath he any thinking? Sure,\nthey sleep; he hath no use of them."}
{"answer":"distance.  A few idle flags were perched on the dirt hills.\nBehind them were rows of dark bodies with a few heads sticking\ncuriously over the top.\n\nAlways the noise of skirmishers came from the woods on the front and\nleft, and the din on the right had grown to frightful proportions. The\nguns were roaring without an instant's pause for breath.  It seemed\nthat the cannon had come from all parts and were engaged in a\nstupendous wrangle.  It became impossible to make a sentence heard.\n\nThe youth wished to launch a joke--a quotation from newspapers.  He\ndesired to say, \"All quiet on the Rappahannock,\" but the guns refused\nto permit even a comment upon their uproar. He never successfully\nconcluded the sentence. But at last the guns stopped, and among the men\nin the rifle pits rumors again flew, like birds, but they were now for\nthe most part black creatures who flapped their wings drearily near to\nthe ground and refused to rise on any wings of hope.  The men's faces\ngrew doleful from the interpreting of omens.  Tales of hesitation and\nuncertainty on the part of those high in place and responsibility came\nto their ears.  Stories of disaster were borne into their minds with\nmany proofs.  This din of musketry on the right, growing like a\nreleased genie of sound, expressed and emphasized the army's plight.\n\nThe men were disheartened and began to mutter.  They made gestures\nexpressive of the sentence: \"Ah, what more can we do?\"  And it could\nalways be seen that they were bewildered","question":"\nA sputtering of musketry was always to be heard.  Later, the cannon had\nentered the dispute.  In the fog-filled air their voices made a\nthudding sound.  The reverberations were continued.  This part of the\nworld led a strange, battleful existence.\n\nThe youth's regiment was marched to relieve a command that had lain\nlong in some damp trenches.  The men took positions behind a curving\nline of rifle pits that had been turned up, like a large furrow, along\nthe line of woods.  Before them was a level stretch, peopled with\nshort, deformed stumps.  From the woods beyond came the dull popping of\nthe skirmishers and pickets, firing in the fog.  From the right came\nthe noise of a terrific fracas.\n\nThe men cuddled behind the small embankment and sat in easy attitudes\nawaiting their turn.  Many had their backs to the firing.  The youth's\nfriend lay down, buried his face in his arms, and almost instantly, it\nseemed, he was in a deep sleep.\n\nThe youth leaned his breast against the brown dirt and peered over at\nthe woods and up and down the line.  Curtains of trees interfered with\nhis ways of vision.  He could see the low line of trenches but for a\nshort"}
{"answer":"the\nTender Passion!\n\nROXANE'S VOICE:\n  I come!  I come!\n\n(A sound of stringed instruments approaching.)\n\nCYRANO'S VOICE (behind the scenes, singing):\n  La, la, la, la!\n\nTHE DUENNA (surprised):\n  They serenade us?\n\nCYRANO (followed by two pages with arch-lutes):\n  I tell you they are demi-semi-quavers, demi-semi-fool!\n\nFIRST PAGE (ironically):\n  You know then, Sir, to distinguish between semi-quavers and demi-semi-\nquavers?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Is not every disciple of Gassendi a musician?\n\nTHE PAGE (playing and singing):\n  La, la!\n\nCYRANO (snatching the lute from him, and going on with the phrase):\n  In proof of which, I can continue!  La, la, la, la!\n\nROXANE (appearing on the balcony):\n  What?  'Tis you?\n\nCYRANO (going on with the air, and singing to it):\n  'Tis I, who come to serenade your lilies, and pay my devoir to your ro-o-\noses!\n\nROXANE:\n  I am coming down!\n\n(She leaves the balcony.)\n\nTHE DUENNA (pointing to the pages):\n  How come these two virtuosi here?\n\nCYRANO:\n  'Tis for a wager I won of D'Assoucy.  We were disputing a nice point in\ngrammar; contradictions raged hotly--''Tis so!'  'Nay, 'tis so!' when suddenly\nhe shows me these two long-shanks, whom he takes about with him as an escort,\nand who are skillful in scratching lute-strings with their skinny claws!  'I\nwill wager you a day's music,' says he!--And lost it!  Thus, see you, till\nPhoebus' chariot starts once again, these lute-twangers are at my heels,\nseeing all I do, hearing all I say, and accompanying all with melody.  'Twas\npleasant at the first, but i' faith, I begin","question":"Ragueneau, the duenna.  Then Roxane, Cyrano, and two pages.\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  --And then, off she went, with a musketeer!  Deserted and ruined too, I\nwould make an end of all, and so hanged myself.  My last breath was drawn:--\nthen in comes Monsieur de Bergerac!  He cuts me down, and begs his cousin to\ntake me for her steward.\n\nTHE DUENNA:\n  Well, but how came it about that you were thus ruined?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Oh!  Lise loved the warriors, and I loved the poets!  What cakes there were\nthat Apollo chanced to leave were quickly snapped up by Mars.  Thus ruin was\nnot long a-coming.\n\nTHE DUENNA (rising, and calling up to the open window):\n  Roxane, are you ready?  They wait for us!\n\nROXANE'S VOICE (from the window):\n  I will but put me on a cloak!\n\nTHE DUENNA (to Ragueneau, showing him the door opposite):\n  They wait us there opposite, at Clomire's house.  She receives them all\nthere to-day--the precieuses, the poets; they read a discourse on the Tender\nPassion.\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  The Tender Passion?\n\nTHE DUENNA (in a mincing voice):\n  Ay, indeed!\n(Calling up to the window):\n  Roxane, an you come not down quickly, we shall miss the discourse on"}
{"answer":"way because she had no time to be explicit,--\"and I want you\nshould come out of your room now, and try to be of some help and\ncomfort to him when he comes home to-night.  I guess Irene wouldn't\nmope round much, if she was here,\" she could not help adding.\n\nThe girl lifted herself on her elbow.  \"What's that you say about\nfather?\" she demanded eagerly.  \"Is he in trouble? Is he going to lose\nhis money? Shall we have to stay in this house?\"\n\n\"We may be very GLAD to stay in this house,\" said Mrs. Lapham, half\nangry with herself for having given cause for the girl's conjectures,\nand half with the habit of prosperity in her child, which could\nconceive no better of what adversity was.  \"And I want you should get\nup and show that you've got some feeling for somebody in the world\nbesides yourself.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'll get UP!\" said the girl promptly, almost cheerfully.\n\n\"I don't say it's as bad now as it looked a little while ago,\" said her\nmother, conscientiously hedging a little from the statement which she\nhad based rather upon her feelings than her facts.  \"Your father thinks\nhe'll pull through all right, and I don't know but what he will.  But I\nwant you should see if you can't do something to cheer him up and keep\nhim from getting so perfectly down-hearted as he seems to get, under\nthe load he's got to carry.  And stop thinking about yourself a while,\nand behave yourself like a sensible girl.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said the","question":"\n\nTHE morning postman brought Mrs. Lapham a letter from Irene, which was\nchiefly significant because it made no reference whatever to the writer\nor her state of mind.  It gave the news of her uncle's family; it told\nof their kindness to her; her cousin Will was going to take her and his\nsisters ice-boating on the river, when it froze.\n\nBy the time this letter came, Lapham had gone to his business, and the\nmother carried it to Penelope to talk over.  \"What do you make out of\nit?\" she asked; and without waiting to be answered she said, \"I don't\nknow as I believe in cousins marrying, a great deal; but if Irene and\nWill were to fix it up between 'em----\" She looked vaguely at Penelope.\n\n\"It wouldn't make any difference as far as I was concerned,\" replied\nthe girl listlessly.\n\nMrs. Lapham lost her patience.\n\n\"Well, then, I'll tell you what, Penelope!\" she exclaimed.  \"Perhaps\nit'll make a difference to you if you know that your father's in REAL\ntrouble.  He's harassed to death, and he was awake half the night,\ntalking about it.  That abominable Rogers has got a lot of money away\nfrom him; and he's lost by others that he's helped,\"--Mrs. Lapham put\nit in this"}
{"answer":" At point to sink for food. But what is this?\n    Here is a path to't; 'tis some savage hold.\n    I were best not call; I dare not call. Yet famine,\n    Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant.\n    Plenty and peace breeds cowards; hardness ever\n    Of hardiness is mother. Ho! who's here?\n    If anything that's civil, speak; if savage,\n    Take or lend. Ho! No answer? Then I'll enter.\n    Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy\n    But fear the sword, like me, he'll scarcely look on't.\n    Such a foe, good heavens!                 Exit into the cave\n\n            Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS\n\n  BELARIUS. You, Polydore, have prov'd best woodman and\n    Are master of the feast. Cadwal and I\n    Will play the cook and servant; 'tis our match.\n    The sweat of industry would dry and die\n    But for the end it works to. Come, our stomachs\n    Will make what's homely savoury; weariness\n    Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth\n    Finds the down pillow hard. Now, peace be here,\n    Poor","question":"SCENE VI.\nWales. Before the cave of BELARIUS\n\nEnter IMOGEN alone, in boy's clothes\n\n  IMOGEN. I see a man's life is a tedious one.\n    I have tir'd myself, and for two nights together\n    Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick\n    But that my resolution helps me. Milford,\n    When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee,\n    Thou wast within a ken. O Jove! I think\n    Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean,\n    Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told me\n    I could not miss my way. Will poor folks lie,\n    That have afflictions on them, knowing 'tis\n    A punishment or trial? Yes; no wonder,\n    When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness\n    Is sorer than to lie for need; and falsehood\n    Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord!\n    Thou art one o' th' false ones. Now I think on thee\n    My hunger's gone; but even before, I was\n  "}
{"answer":"We thanke you both, yet one but flatters vs,\nAs well appeareth by the cause you come,\nNamely, to appeale each other of high treason.\nCoosin of Hereford, what dost thou obiect\nAgainst the Duke of Norfolke, Thomas Mowbray?\n  Bul. First, heauen be the record to my speech,\nIn the deuotion of a subiects loue,\nTendering the precious safetie of my Prince,\nAnd free from other misbegotten hate,\nCome I appealant to this Princely presence.\nNow Thomas Mowbray do I turne to thee,\nAnd marke my greeting well: for what I speake,\nMy body shall make good vpon this earth,\nOr my diuine soule answer it in heauen.\nThou art a Traitor, and a Miscreant;\nToo good to be so, and too bad to liue,\nSince the more faire and christall is the skie,\nThe vglier seeme the cloudes that in it flye:\nOnce more, the more to aggrauate the note,\nWith a foule Traitors name stuffe I thy throte,\nAnd wish (so please my Soueraigne) ere I moue,\nWhat my tong speaks, my right drawn sword may proue\n  Mow. Let not my cold words heere accuse my zeale:\n'Tis not the triall of a Womans warre,\nThe bitter clamour of two eager tongues,\nCan arbitrate this cause betwixt vs twaine:\nThe blood is hot that must be cool'd for this.\nYet can I not of such tame patience boast,\nAs to be husht, and nought at all to say.\nFirst the faire reuerence of your Highnesse curbes mee,\nFrom giuing reines and spurres to my free speech,\nWhich else would post, vntill it had return'd\nThese tearmes of treason, doubly downe his throat.\nSetting aside his high bloods","question":"Actus Primus, Scaena Prima.\n\nEnter King Richard, Iohn of Gaunt, with other Nobles and\nAttendants.\n\n  King Richard. Old Iohn of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster,\nHast thou according to thy oath and band\nBrought hither Henry Herford thy bold son:\nHeere to make good y boistrous late appeale,\nWhich then our leysure would not let vs heare,\nAgainst the Duke of Norfolke, Thomas Mowbray?\n  Gaunt. I haue my Liege\n\n   King. Tell me moreouer, hast thou sounded him,\nIf he appeale the Duke on ancient malice,\nOr worthily as a good subiect should\nOn some knowne ground of treacherie in him\n\n   Gaunt. As neere as I could sift him on that argument,\nOn some apparant danger seene in him,\nAym'd at your Highnesse, no inueterate malice\n\n   Kin. Then call them to our presence face to face,\nAnd frowning brow to brow, our selues will heare\nTh' accuser, and the accused, freely speake;\nHigh stomack'd are they both, and full of ire,\nIn rage, deafe as the sea; hastie as fire.\nEnter Bullingbrooke and Mowbray.\n\n  Bul. Many yeares of happy dayes befall\nMy gracious Soueraigne, my most louing Liege\n\n   Mow. Each day still better others happinesse,\nVntill the heauens enuying earths good hap,\nAdde an immortall title to your Crowne\n\n   King."}
{"answer":"she is daughter and half heir\n    Unto our brother here, Don Ciprian,\n    And shall enjoy the moiety of his land,\n    I'll grace her marriage with an uncle's gift,\n    And this is it:  in case the match go forward,\n    The tribute which you pay shall be releas'd;\n    And, if by Balthazar she have a son,\n    He shall enjoy the kingdom after us.\n\n  AMBASS.  I'll make the motion to my sovereign liege,\n    And work it if my counsel may prevail.\n\n  KING.  Do so, my lord; and, if he give consent,\n    I hope his presence here will honour us\n    In celebration of the nuptial day,--\n    And let himself determine of the time.\n\n  AMBASS.  Wilt please your Grace command me ought beside?\n\n  KING.  Commend me to the king; and so, farewell!\n    But where's Prince Balthazar, to take his leave?\n\n  AMBASS.  That is perform'd already, my good lord.\n\n  KING.  Amongst the rest of what you have in charge,\n    The prince's ransom must not be forgot:\n    That's none of mine, but his that took him prisoner,--\n    And well his forwardness deserves reward:\n    It was Horatio, our knight-marshall's son.\n\n  AMBASS.  Between us there's a","question":"                [The Spanish court.]\n\n                Enter the KING OF SPAIN, PORTINGAL\n                AMBASSADOR, DON CIPRIAN, &c.\n\n  KING.  Brother of Castille, to the prince's love\n    What says your daughter Bel-imperia?\n\n  CIP.  Although she coy it, as becomes her kind,\n    And yet dissemble that she loves the prince,\n    I doubt not, aye, but she will stoop in time;\n    And, were she froward,--which she will not be,--\n    Yet herein shall she follow my advice,\n    Which is to love him or forgo my love.\n\n  KING.  Then, lord ambassador of Portingal,\n    Advise thy king to make this marriage up\n    For strengthening of our late-confirmed league;\n    I know no better means to make us friends.\n    Her dowry shall be large and liberal;\n    Besides that"}
{"answer":". .\n\nTHE CADET:\n  Gascon cannons never recoil!\n\nDE GUICHE (taking him by the arm and shaking him):\n  You are tipsy!--but what with?\n\nTHE CADET (grandiloquently):\n  --With the smell of powder!\n\nDE GUICHE (shrugging his shoulders and pushing him away, then going quickly to\nRoxane):\n  Briefly, Madame, what decision do you deign to take?\n\nROXANE:\n  I stay here.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  You must fly!\n\nROXANE:\n  No! I will stay.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Since things are thus, give me a musket, one of you!\n\nCARBON:\n  Wherefore?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Because I too--mean to remain.\n\nCYRANO:\n  At last!  This is true valor, Sir!\n\nFIRST CADET:\n  Then you are Gascon after all, spite of your lace collar?\n\nROXANE:\n  What is all this?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  I leave no woman in peril.\n\nSECOND CADET (to the first):\n  Hark you!  Think you not we might give him something to eat?\n\n(All the viands reappear as if by magic.)\n\nDE GUICHE (whose eyes sparkle):\n  Victuals!\n\nTHE THIRD CADET:\n  Yes, you'll see them coming from under every coat!\n\nDE GUICHE (controlling himself, haughtily):\n  Do you think I will eat your leavings?\n\nCYRANO (saluting him):\n  You make progress.\n\nDE GUICHE (proudly, with a light touch of accent on the word 'breaking'):\n  I will fight without br-r-eaking my fast!\n\nFIRST CADET (with wild delight):\n  Br-r-r-eaking!  He has got the accent!\n\nDE GUICHE (laughing):\n  I?\n\nTHE CADET:\n  'Tis a Gascon!\n\n(All begin to dance.)\n\nCARBON DE CASTEL-JALOUX (who had disappeared behind the rampart, reappearing\non the ridge):\n  I have drawn my pikemen up in line.","question":"The same.  De Guiche.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  It smells good here.\n\nA CADET (humming):\n  Lo!  Lo-lo!\n\nDE GUICHE (looking at him):\n  What is the matter?--You are very red.\n\nTHE CADET:\n  The matter?--Nothing!--'Tis my blood--boiling at the thought of the coming\nbattle!\n\nANOTHER:\n  Poum, poum--poum. . .\n\nDE GUICHE (turning round):\n  What's that?\n\nTHE CADET (slightly drunk):\n  Nothing!. . .'Tis a song!--a little. . .\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  You are merry, my friend!\n\nTHE CADET:\n  The approach of danger is intoxicating!\n\nDE GUICHE (calling Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, to give him an order):\n  Captain!  I. . .\n(He stops short on seeing him):\n  Plague take me! but you look bravely, too!\n\nCARBON (crimson in the face, hiding a bottle behind his back, with an evasive\nmovement):\n  Oh!. . .\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  I have one cannon left, and have had it carried there--\n(he points behind the scenes):\n  --in that corner. . .Your men can use it in case of need.\n\nA CADET (reeling slightly):\n  Charming attention!\n\nANOTHER (with a gracious smile):\n  Kind solicitude!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  How? they are all gone crazy?\n(Drily):\n As you are not used to cannon, beware of the recoil.\n\nFIRST CADET:\n  Pooh!\n\nDE GUICHE (furious, going up to him):\n  But."}
{"answer":"for her, and trying to make\nher help or advise him in his work, till Jane Fairfax was quite ready\nto sit down to the pianoforte again. That she was not immediately ready,\nEmma did suspect to arise from the state of her nerves; she had not yet\npossessed the instrument long enough to touch it without emotion; she\nmust reason herself into the power of performance; and Emma could not\nbut pity such feelings, whatever their origin, and could not but resolve\nnever to expose them to her neighbour again.\n\nAt last Jane began, and though the first bars were feebly given, the\npowers of the instrument were gradually done full justice to. Mrs.\nWeston had been delighted before, and was delighted again; Emma\njoined her in all her praise; and the pianoforte, with every proper\ndiscrimination, was pronounced to be altogether of the highest promise.\n\n\"Whoever Colonel Campbell might employ,\" said Frank Churchill, with a\nsmile at Emma, \"the person has not chosen ill. I heard a good deal of\nColonel Campbell's taste at Weymouth; and the softness of the upper\nnotes I am sure is exactly what he and _all_ _that_ _party_ would\nparticularly prize. I dare say, Miss Fairfax, that he either gave his\nfriend very minute directions, or wrote to Broadwood himself. Do not you\nthink so?\"\n\nJane did not look round. She was not obliged to hear. Mrs. Weston had\nbeen speaking to her at the same moment.\n\n\"It is not fair,\" said Emma, in a whisper; \"mine was a random guess. Do\nnot distress her.\"\n\nHe shook his head with a smile, and looked as if he","question":"\n\nThe appearance of the little sitting-room as they entered, was\ntranquillity itself; Mrs. Bates, deprived of her usual employment,\nslumbering on one side of the fire, Frank Churchill, at a table near\nher, most deedily occupied about her spectacles, and Jane Fairfax,\nstanding with her back to them, intent on her pianoforte.\n\nBusy as he was, however, the young man was yet able to shew a most happy\ncountenance on seeing Emma again.\n\n\"This is a pleasure,\" said he, in rather a low voice, \"coming at least\nten minutes earlier than I had calculated. You find me trying to be\nuseful; tell me if you think I shall succeed.\"\n\n\"What!\" said Mrs. Weston, \"have not you finished it yet? you would not\nearn a very good livelihood as a working silversmith at this rate.\"\n\n\"I have not been working uninterruptedly,\" he replied, \"I have been\nassisting Miss Fairfax in trying to make her instrument stand steadily,\nit was not quite firm; an unevenness in the floor, I believe. You see\nwe have been wedging one leg with paper. This was very kind of you to be\npersuaded to come. I was almost afraid you would be hurrying home.\"\n\nHe contrived that she should be seated by him; and was sufficiently\nemployed in looking out the best baked apple"}
{"answer":"contrary, it might be the means of\nexciting his ill will. I followed his sister up stairs. He met me in a very\nfriendly manner, congratulated me on my escape from slavery, and hoped I\nhad a good place, where I felt happy.\n\nI continued to visit Ellen as often as I could. She, good thoughtful child,\nnever forgot my hazardous situation, but always kept a vigilant lookout for\nmy safety. She never made any complaint about her own inconveniences and\ntroubles; but a mother's observing eye easily perceived that she was not\nhappy. On the occasion of one of my visits I found her unusually serious.\nWhen I asked her what was the matter, she said nothing was the matter. But\nI insisted upon knowing what made her look so very grave. Finally, I\nascertained that she felt troubled about the dissipation that was\ncontinually going on in the house. She was sent to the store very often for\nrum and brandy, and she felt ashamed to ask for it so often; and Mr. Hobbs\nand Mr. Thorne drank a great deal, and their hands trembled so that they\nhad to call her to pour out the liquor for them. \"But for all that,\" said\nshe, \"Mr. Hobbs is good to me, and I can't help liking him. I feel sorry\nfor him.\" I tried to comfort her, by telling her that I had laid up a\nhundred dollars, and that before long I hoped to be able to give her and\nBenjamin a home, and send them to school. She was always desirous not to\nadd to my","question":"\n\nAfter we returned to New York, I took the earliest opportunity to go and\nsee Ellen. I asked to have her called down stairs; for I supposed Mrs.\nHobbs's southern brother might still be there, and I was desirous to avoid\nseeing him, if possible. But Mrs. Hobbs came to the kitchen, and insisted\non my going up stairs. \"My brother wants to see you,\" said she, \"and he is\nsorry you seem to shun him. He knows you are living in New York. He told me\nto say to you that he owes thanks to good old aunt Martha for too many\nlittle acts of kindness for him to be base enough to betray her\ngrandchild.\"\n\nThis Mr. Thorne had become poor and reckless long before he left the south,\nand such persons had much rather go to one of the faithful old slaves to\nborrow a dollar, or get a good dinner, than to go to one whom they consider\nan equal. It was such acts of kindness as these for which he professed to\nfeel grateful to my grandmother. I wished he had kept at a distance, but as\nhe was here, and knew where I was, I concluded there was nothing to be\ngained by trying to avoid him; on the"}
{"answer":"do a curt'sie to our wrath, which men\nMay blame, but not comptroll.\nEnter Gloucester, and Seruants.\n\nWho's there? the Traitor?\n  Reg. Ingratefull Fox, 'tis he\n\n   Corn. Binde fast his corky armes\n\n   Glou. What meanes your Graces?\nGood my Friends consider you are my Ghests:\nDo me no foule play, Friends\n\n   Corn. Binde him I say\n\n   Reg. Hard, hard: O filthy Traitor\n\n   Glou. Vnmercifull Lady, as you are, I'me none\n\n   Corn. To this Chaire binde him,\nVillaine, thou shalt finde\n\n   Glou. By the kinde Gods, 'tis most ignobly done\nTo plucke me by the Beard\n\n   Reg. So white, and such a Traitor?\n  Glou. Naughty Ladie,\nThese haires which thou dost rauish from my chin\nWill quicken and accuse thee. I am your Host,\nWith Robbers hands, my hospitable fauours\nYou should not ruffle thus. What will you do?\n  Corn. Come Sir.\nWhat Letters had you late from France?\n  Reg. Be simple answer'd, for we know the truth\n\n   Corn. And what confederacie haue you with the Traitors,\nlate footed in the Kingdome?\n  Reg. To whose hands\nYou haue sent the Lunaticke King: Speake\n\n   Glou. I haue a Letter guessingly set downe\nWhich came from one that's of a newtrall heart,\nAnd not from one oppos'd\n\n   Corn. Cunning\n\n   Reg. And false\n\n   Corn. Where hast thou sent the King?\n  Glou. To Douer\n\n   Reg. Wherefore to Douer?\nWas't thou not charg'd at perill\n\n   Corn. Wherefore","question":"Scena Septima.\n\n\nEnter Cornwall, Regan, Gonerill, Bastard, and Seruants.\n\n  Corn. Poste speedily to my Lord your husband, shew\nhim this Letter, the Army of France is landed: seeke out\nthe Traitor Glouster\n\n   Reg. Hang him instantly\n\n   Gon. Plucke out his eyes\n\n   Corn. Leaue him to my displeasure. Edmond, keepe\nyou our Sister company: the reuenges wee are bound to\ntake vppon your Traitorous Father, are not fit for your\nbeholding. Aduice the Duke where you are going, to a\nmost festinate preparation: we are bound to the like. Our\nPostes shall be swift, and intelligent betwixt vs. Farewell\ndeere Sister, farewell my Lord of Glouster.\nEnter Steward.\n\nHow now? Where's the King?\n  Stew. My Lord of Glouster hath conuey'd him hence\nSome fiue or six and thirty of his Knights\nHot Questrists after him, met him at gate,\nWho, with some other of the Lords, dependants,\nAre gone with him toward Douer; where they boast\nTo haue well armed Friends\n\n   Corn. Get horses for your Mistris\n\n   Gon. Farewell sweet Lord, and Sister.\n\nExit\n\n  Corn. Edmund farewell: go seek the Traitor Gloster,\nPinnion him like a Theefe, bring him before vs:\nThough well we may not passe vpon his life\nWithout the forme of Iustice: yet our power\nShall"}
{"answer":"And to your Royall Grace, & the good Queen,\n      My Noble Partners, and my selfe thus pray\n      All comfort, ioy in this most gracious Lady,\n      Heauen euer laid vp to make Parents happy,\n      May hourely fall vpon ye\n\n      Kin. Thanke you good Lord Archbishop:\n      What is her Name?\n      Cran. Elizabeth\n\n      Kin. Stand vp Lord,\n      With this Kisse, take my Blessing: God protect thee,\n      Into whose hand, I giue thy Life\n\n      Cran. Amen\n\n      Kin. My Noble Gossips, y'haue beene too Prodigall;\n      I thanke ye heartily: So shall this Lady,\n      When she ha's so much English\n\n      Cran. Let me speake Sir,\n      For Heauen now bids me; and the words I vtter,\n      Let none thinke Flattery; for they'l finde 'em Truth.\n      This Royall Infant, Heauen still moue about her;\n      Though in her Cradle; yet now promises\n      Vpon this Land a thousand thousand Blessings,\n      Which Time shall bring to","question":"Enter Trumpets sounding: Then two Aldermen, L[ord]. Maior,\n      Garter,\n      Cranmer, Duke of Norfolke with his Marshals Staffe, Duke of\n      Suffolke, two\n      Noblemen, bearing great standing Bowles for the Christening\n      Guifts: Then\n      foure Noblemen bearing a Canopy, vnder which the Dutchesse of\n      Norfolke,\n      Godmother, bearing the Childe richly habited in a Mantle, &c.\n      Traine borne\n      by a Lady: Then followes the Marchionesse Dorset, the other\n      Godmother, and\n      Ladies. The Troope passe once about the Stage, and Garter\n      speakes.\n\n      Gart. Heauen\n      From thy endlesse goodnesse, send prosperous life,\n      Long, and euer happie, to the high and Mighty\n      Princesse of England Elizabeth.\n\n      Flourish. Enter King and Guard.\n\n      Cran."}
{"answer":"the circumstances his mother's daughter and his sister could have\nbeen so wicked.\n\nHis mother took a drink from a squdgy bottle that sat on the table.\nShe continued her lament.\n\n\"She had a bad heart, dat girl did, Jimmie.  She was wicked teh deh\nheart an' we never knowed it.\"\n\nJimmie nodded, admitting the fact.\n\n\"We lived in deh same house wid her an' I brought her up an' we never\nknowed how bad she was.\"\n\nJimmie nodded again.\n\n\"Wid a home like dis an' a mudder like me, she went teh deh bad,\" cried\nthe mother, raising her eyes.\n\nOne day, Jimmie came home, sat down in a chair and began to wriggle\nabout with a new and strange nervousness.  At last he spoke\nshamefacedly.\n\n\"Well, look-a-here, dis t'ing queers us!  See?  We're queered!  An'\nmaybe it 'ud be better if I--well, I t'ink I kin look 'er up an'--maybe\nit 'ud be better if I fetched her home an'--\"\n\nThe mother started from her chair and broke forth into a storm of\npassionate anger.\n\n\"What!  Let 'er come an' sleep under deh same roof wid her mudder agin!\nOh, yes, I will, won't I?  Sure?  Shame on yehs, Jimmie Johnson, for\nsayin' such a t'ing teh yer own mudder--teh yer own mudder!  Little did\nI t'ink when yehs was a babby playin' about me feet dat ye'd grow up\nteh say sech a t'ing teh yer mudder--yer own mudder.  I never taut--\"\n\nSobs choked her and interrupted her reproaches.\n\n\"Dere ain't nottin' teh raise sech hell about,\" said Jimmie.  \"I on'y\nsays it","question":"\nJimmie did not return home for a number of days after the fight with\nPete in the saloon.  When he did, he approached with extreme caution.\n\nHe found his mother raving.  Maggie had not returned home.  The parent\ncontinually wondered how her daughter could come to such a pass.  She\nhad never considered Maggie as a pearl dropped unstained into Rum Alley\nfrom Heaven, but she could not conceive how it was possible for her\ndaughter to fall so low as to bring disgrace upon her family.  She was\nterrific in denunciation of the girl's wickedness.\n\nThe fact that the neighbors talked of it, maddened her.  When women\ncame in, and in the course of their conversation casually asked,\n\"Where's Maggie dese days?\" the mother shook her fuzzy head at them and\nappalled them with curses.  Cunning hints inviting confidence she\nrebuffed with violence.\n\n\"An' wid all deh bringin' up she had, how could she?\" moaningly she\nasked of her son.  \"Wid all deh talkin' wid her I did an' deh t'ings I\ntol' her to remember?  When a girl is bringed up deh way I bringed up\nMaggie, how kin she go teh deh devil?\"\n\nJimmie was transfixed by these questions.  He could not conceive how\nunder"}
{"answer":"plank, he\ncrossed it, and fell unconscious on the deck, just as the Carnatic was\nmoving off.  Several sailors, who were evidently accustomed to this\nsort of scene, carried the poor Frenchman down into the second cabin,\nand Passepartout did not wake until they were one hundred and fifty\nmiles away from China.  Thus he found himself the next morning on the\ndeck of the Carnatic, and eagerly inhaling the exhilarating sea-breeze.\nThe pure air sobered him.  He began to collect his sense, which he\nfound a difficult task; but at last he recalled the events of the\nevening before, Fix's revelation, and the opium-house.\n\n\"It is evident,\" said he to himself, \"that I have been abominably\ndrunk!  What will Mr. Fogg say?  At least I have not missed the\nsteamer, which is the most important thing.\"\n\nThen, as Fix occurred to him: \"As for that rascal, I hope we are well\nrid of him, and that he has not dared, as he proposed, to follow us on\nboard the Carnatic.  A detective on the track of Mr. Fogg, accused of\nrobbing the Bank of England!  Pshaw!  Mr. Fogg is no more a robber than\nI am a murderer.\"\n\nShould he divulge Fix's real errand to his master?  Would it do to tell\nthe part the detective was playing?  Would it not be better to wait\nuntil Mr. Fogg reached London again, and then impart to him that an\nagent of the metropolitan police had been following him round the\nworld, and have a good laugh over it?  No doubt; at","question":"\nThe Carnatic, setting sail from Hong Kong at half-past six on the 7th\nof November, directed her course at full steam towards Japan.  She\ncarried a large cargo and a well-filled cabin of passengers.  Two\nstate-rooms in the rear were, however, unoccupied--those which had been\nengaged by Phileas Fogg.\n\nThe next day a passenger with a half-stupefied eye, staggering gait,\nand disordered hair, was seen to emerge from the second cabin, and to\ntotter to a seat on deck.\n\nIt was Passepartout; and what had happened to him was as follows:\nShortly after Fix left the opium den, two waiters had lifted the\nunconscious Passepartout, and had carried him to the bed reserved for\nthe smokers.  Three hours later, pursued even in his dreams by a fixed\nidea, the poor fellow awoke, and struggled against the stupefying\ninfluence of the narcotic.  The thought of a duty unfulfilled shook off\nhis torpor, and he hurried from the abode of drunkenness.  Staggering\nand holding himself up by keeping against the walls, falling down and\ncreeping up again, and irresistibly impelled by a kind of instinct, he\nkept crying out, \"The Carnatic! the Carnatic!\"\n\nThe steamer lay puffing alongside the quay, on the point of starting.\nPassepartout had but few steps to go; and, rushing upon the"}
{"answer":"would be the only aid that he could\nbequeath to guide her.  He said to me, a few days afterwards, \"I wish my\nnephew would write, Ellen, or call.  Tell me, sincerely, what you think\nof him: is he changed for the better, or is there a prospect of\nimprovement, as he grows a man?\"\n\n'\"He's very delicate, sir,\" I replied; \"and scarcely likely to reach\nmanhood: but this I can say, he does not resemble his father; and if Miss\nCatherine had the misfortune to marry him, he would not be beyond her\ncontrol: unless she were extremely and foolishly indulgent.  However,\nmaster, you'll have plenty of time to get acquainted with him and see\nwhether he would suit her: it wants four years and more to his being of\nage.\"'\n\nEdgar sighed; and, walking to the window, looked out towards Gimmerton\nKirk. It was a misty afternoon, but the February sun shone dimly, and we\ncould just distinguish the two fir-trees in the yard, and the\nsparely-scattered gravestones.\n\n'I've prayed often,' he half soliloquised, 'for the approach of what is\ncoming; and now I begin to shrink, and fear it.  I thought the memory of\nthe hour I came down that glen a bridegroom would be less sweet than the\nanticipation that I was soon, in a few months, or, possibly, weeks, to be\ncarried up, and laid in its lonely hollow!  Ellen, I've been very happy\nwith my little Cathy: through winter nights and summer days she was a\nliving hope at my side.  But I've been as happy musing by myself among\nthose","question":"\n\n'These things happened last winter, sir,' said Mrs. Dean; 'hardly more\nthan a year ago.  Last winter, I did not think, at another twelve months'\nend, I should be amusing a stranger to the family with relating them!\nYet, who knows how long you'll be a stranger?  You're too young to rest\nalways contented, living by yourself; and I some way fancy no one could\nsee Catherine Linton and not love her.  You smile; but why do you look so\nlively and interested when I talk about her? and why have you asked me to\nhang her picture over your fireplace? and why--?'\n\n'Stop, my good friend!' I cried.  'It may be very possible that _I_\nshould love her; but would she love me?  I doubt it too much to venture\nmy tranquillity by running into temptation: and then my home is not here.\nI'm of the busy world, and to its arms I must return.  Go on.  Was\nCatherine obedient to her father's commands?'\n\n'She was,' continued the housekeeper.  'Her affection for him was still\nthe chief sentiment in her heart; and he spoke without anger: he spoke in\nthe deep tenderness of one about to leave his treasure amid perils and\nfoes, where his remembered words"}
{"answer":"she MUST share! \"Just what you saw from the\ndining room a minute ago was the effect of that. What _I_ saw--just\nbefore--was much worse.\"\n\nHer hand tightened. \"What was it?\"\n\n\"An extraordinary man. Looking in.\"\n\n\"What extraordinary man?\"\n\n\"I haven't the least idea.\"\n\nMrs. Grose gazed round us in vain. \"Then where is he gone?\"\n\n\"I know still less.\"\n\n\"Have you seen him before?\"\n\n\"Yes--once. On the old tower.\"\n\nShe could only look at me harder. \"Do you mean he's a stranger?\"\n\n\"Oh, very much!\"\n\n\"Yet you didn't tell me?\"\n\n\"No--for reasons. But now that you've guessed--\"\n\nMrs. Grose's round eyes encountered this charge. \"Ah, I haven't\nguessed!\" she said very simply. \"How can I if YOU don't imagine?\"\n\n\"I don't in the very least.\"\n\n\"You've seen him nowhere but on the tower?\"\n\n\"And on this spot just now.\"\n\nMrs. Grose looked round again. \"What was he doing on the tower?\"\n\n\"Only standing there and looking down at me.\"\n\nShe thought a minute. \"Was he a gentleman?\"\n\nI found I had no need to think. \"No.\" She gazed in deeper wonder. \"No.\"\n\n\"Then nobody about the place? Nobody from the village?\"\n\n\"Nobody--nobody. I didn't tell you, but I made sure.\"\n\nShe breathed a vague relief: this was, oddly, so much to the good. It\nonly went indeed a little way. \"But if he isn't a gentleman--\"\n\n\"What IS he? He's a horror.\"\n\n\"A horror?\"\n\n\"He's--God help me if I know WHAT he is!\"\n\nMrs. Grose looked round once more; she fixed her eyes on the duskier\ndistance, then, pulling herself together, turned to me with abrupt\ninconsequence. \"It's time we should be at church.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm not fit for church!\"\n\n\"Won't it do you","question":"Oh, she let me know as soon as, round the corner of the house, she\nloomed again into view. \"What in the name of goodness is the matter--?\"\nShe was now flushed and out of breath.\n\nI said nothing till she came quite near. \"With me?\" I must have made a\nwonderful face. \"Do I show it?\"\n\n\"You're as white as a sheet. You look awful.\"\n\nI considered; I could meet on this, without scruple, any innocence. My\nneed to respect the bloom of Mrs. Grose's had dropped, without a rustle,\nfrom my shoulders, and if I wavered for the instant it was not with what\nI kept back. I put out my hand to her and she took it; I held her hard\na little, liking to feel her close to me. There was a kind of support in\nthe shy heave of her surprise. \"You came for me for church, of course,\nbut I can't go.\"\n\n\"Has anything happened?\"\n\n\"Yes. You must know now. Did I look very queer?\"\n\n\"Through this window? Dreadful!\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"I've been frightened.\" Mrs. Grose's eyes expressed\nplainly that SHE had no wish to be, yet also that she knew too well her\nplace not to be ready to share with me any marked inconvenience. Oh,\nit was quite settled that"}
{"answer":"  Iohn. I had rather be a canker in a hedge, then a rose\nin his grace, and it better fits my bloud to be disdain'd of\nall, then to fashion a carriage to rob loue from any: in this\n(though I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man)\nit must not be denied but I am a plaine dealing villaine, I\nam trusted with a mussell, and enfranchisde with a clog,\ntherefore I haue decreed, not to sing in my cage: if I had\nmy mouth, I would bite: if I had my liberty, I would do\nmy liking: in the meane time, let me be that I am, and\nseeke not to alter me\n\n   Con. Can you make no vse of your discontent?\n  Iohn. I will make all vse of it, for I vse it onely.\nWho comes here? what newes Borachio?\n\nEnter Borachio.\n\n  Bor. I came yonder from a great supper, the Prince\nyour brother is royally entertained by Leonato, and I can\ngiue you intelligence of an intended marriage\n\n   Iohn. Will it serue for any Modell to build mischiefe\non? What is hee for a foole that betrothes himselfe to\nvnquietnesse?\n  Bor. Mary it is your brothers right hand\n\n   Iohn. Who, the most exquisite Claudio?\n  Bor. Euen he\n\n   Iohn. A proper squier, and who, and who, which way\nlookes he?\n  Bor. Mary on Hero, the daughter and Heire of Leonato\n\n   Iohn. A very forward March-chicke, how came you\nto this:\n  Bor. Being entertain'd for","question":"Scene 3.\n\n  Con. What the good yeere my Lord, why are you\nthus out of measure sad?\n  Ioh. There is no measure in the occasion that breeds,\ntherefore the sadnesse is without limit\n\n   Con. You should heare reason\n\n   Iohn. And when I haue heard it, what blessing bringeth\nit?\n  Con. If not a present remedy, yet a patient sufferance\n\n   Ioh. I wonder that thou (being as thou saist thou art,\nborne vnder Saturne) goest about to apply a morall medicine,\nto a mortifying mischiefe: I cannot hide what I\nam: I must bee sad when I haue cause, and smile at no\nmans iests, eat when I haue stomacke, and wait for no\nmans leisure: sleepe when I am drowsie, and tend on no\nmans businesse, laugh when I am merry, and claw no man\nin his humor\n\n   Con. Yea, but you must not make the ful show of this,\ntill you may doe it without controllment, you haue of\nlate stood out against your brother, and hee hath tane\nyou newly into his grace, where it is impossible you\nshould take root, but by the faire weather that you make\nyour selfe, it is needful that you frame the season for your\nowne haruest\n\n"}
{"answer":"of my wheels on the gravel and the clustered\ntreetops over which the rooks circled and cawed in the golden sky. The\nscene had a greatness that made it a different affair from my own scant\nhome, and there immediately appeared at the door, with a little girl in\nher hand, a civil person who dropped me as decent a curtsy as if I had\nbeen the mistress or a distinguished visitor. I had received in Harley\nStreet a narrower notion of the place, and that, as I recalled it, made\nme think the proprietor still more of a gentleman, suggested that what I\nwas to enjoy might be something beyond his promise.\n\nI had no drop again till the next day, for I was carried triumphantly\nthrough the following hours by my introduction to the younger of my\npupils. The little girl who accompanied Mrs. Grose appeared to me on the\nspot a creature so charming as to make it a great fortune to have to\ndo with her. She was the most beautiful child I had ever seen, and I\nafterward wondered that my employer had not told me more of her. I slept\nlittle that night--I was too much excited; and this astonished me, too,\nI recollect, remained with me, adding to my sense of the liberality with\nwhich I was treated. The large, impressive room, one of the best in\nthe house, the great state bed, as I almost felt it, the full, figured\ndraperies, the long glasses in which, for the first time, I could see\nmyself from head to foot, all struck me--like the","question":"I remember the whole beginning as a succession of flights and drops, a\nlittle seesaw of the right throbs and the wrong. After rising, in town,\nto meet his appeal, I had at all events a couple of very bad days--found\nmyself doubtful again, felt indeed sure I had made a mistake. In this\nstate of mind I spent the long hours of bumping, swinging coach that\ncarried me to the stopping place at which I was to be met by a vehicle\nfrom the house. This convenience, I was told, had been ordered, and\nI found, toward the close of the June afternoon, a commodious fly in\nwaiting for me. Driving at that hour, on a lovely day, through a country\nto which the summer sweetness seemed to offer me a friendly welcome, my\nfortitude mounted afresh and, as we turned into the avenue, encountered\na reprieve that was probably but a proof of the point to which it had\nsunk. I suppose I had expected, or had dreaded, something so melancholy\nthat what greeted me was a good surprise. I remember as a most pleasant\nimpression the broad, clear front, its open windows and fresh curtains\nand the pair of maids looking out; I remember the lawn and the bright\nflowers and the crunch"}
{"answer":"heaps of cinders dumped here and there in an\noutside city lot; imagine some of them magnified into mountains, and\nthe vacant lot the sea; and you will have a fit idea of the general\naspect of the Encantadas, or Enchanted Isles. A group rather of extinct\nvolcanoes than of isles; looking much as the world at large might, after\na penal conflagration.\n\nIt is to be doubted whether any spot of earth can, in desolateness,\nfurnish a parallel to this group. Abandoned cemeteries of long ago, old\ncities by piecemeal tumbling to their ruin, these are melancholy enough;\nbut, like all else which has but once been associated with humanity,\nthey still awaken in us some thoughts of sympathy, however sad. Hence,\neven the Dead Sea, along with whatever other emotions it may at times\ninspire, does not fail to touch in the pilgrim some of his less\nunpleasurable feelings.\n\nAnd as for solitariness; the great forests of the north, the expanses of\nunnavigated waters, the Greenland ice-fields, are the profoundest of\nsolitudes to a human observer; still the magic of their changeable tides\nand seasons mitigates their terror; because, though unvisited by men,\nthose forests are visited by the May; the remotest seas reflect familiar\nstars even as Lake Erie does; and in the clear air of a fine Polar day,\nthe irradiated, azure ice shows beautifully as malachite.\n\nBut the special curse, as one may call it, of the Encantadas, that which\nexalts them in desolation above Idumea and the Pole, is, that to them\nchange never comes; neither the change of seasons nor of sorrows. Cut by\nthe Equator, they","question":"THE ENCANTADAS; OR, ENCHANTED ISLES. SKETCH FIRST.\n\nTHE ISLES AT LARGE.\n\n  --\"That may not be, said then the ferryman,\n  Least we unweeting hap to be fordonne;\n  For those same islands seeming now and than,\n  Are not firme land, nor any certein wonne,\n  But stragling plots which to and fro do ronne\n  In the wide waters; therefore are they hight\n  The Wandering Islands; therefore do them shonne;\n  For they have oft drawne many a wandring wight\n  Into most deadly daunger and distressed plight;\n  For whosoever once hath fastened\n  His foot thereon may never it secure\n  But wandreth evermore uncertein and unsure.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"Darke, dolefull, dreary, like a greedy grave,\n  That still for carrion carcasses doth crave;\n  On top whereof ay dwelt the ghastly owl,\n  Shrieking his balefull note, which ever drave\n  Far from that haunt all other cheerful fowl,\n  And all about it wandring ghosts did wayle and howl.\"\n\n\nTake five-and-twenty"}
{"answer":"as to the suspicious friends who kept a dragon watch\nover her--their opinions seemed less and less important with time and\nchange of air.\n\nAnd there had come a reason quite irrespective of Dorothea, which\nseemed to make a journey to Middlemarch a sort of philanthropic duty.\nWill had given a disinterested attention to an intended settlement on a\nnew plan in the Far West, and the need for funds in order to carry out\na good design had set him on debating with himself whether it would not\nbe a laudable use to make of his claim on Bulstrode, to urge the\napplication of that money which had been offered to himself as a means\nof carrying out a scheme likely to be largely beneficial.  The question\nseemed a very dubious one to Will, and his repugnance to again entering\ninto any relation with the banker might have made him dismiss it\nquickly, if there had not arisen in his imagination the probability\nthat his judgment might be more safely determined by a visit to\nMiddlemarch.\n\nThat was the object which Will stated to himself as a reason for coming\ndown.  He had meant to confide in Lydgate, and discuss the money\nquestion with him, and he had meant to amuse himself for the few\nevenings of his stay by having a great deal of music and badinage with\nfair Rosamond, without neglecting his friends at Lowick Parsonage:--if\nthe Parsonage was close to the Manor, that was no fault of his.  He had\nneglected the Farebrothers before his departure, from a proud\nresistance to the possible accusation of indirectly","question":"\n    \"My grief lies onward and my joy behind.\"\n                                  --SHAKESPEARE: Sonnets.\n\n\nExiles notoriously feed much on hopes, and are unlikely to stay in\nbanishment unless they are obliged.  When Will Ladislaw exiled himself\nfrom Middlemarch he had placed no stronger obstacle to his return than\nhis own resolve, which was by no means an iron barrier, but simply a\nstate of mind liable to melt into a minuet with other states of mind,\nand to find itself bowing, smiling, and giving place with polite\nfacility.  As the months went on, it had seemed more and more difficult\nto him to say why he should not run down to Middlemarch--merely for the\nsake of hearing something about Dorothea; and if on such a flying visit\nhe should chance by some strange coincidence to meet with her, there\nwas no reason for him to be ashamed of having taken an innocent journey\nwhich he had beforehand supposed that he should not take.  Since he was\nhopelessly divided from her, he might surely venture into her\nneighborhood; and"}
{"answer":"a slight nervous shock--the effect of some agitation.  She\nhas been overwrought lately.  The truth is, Ladislaw, I am an unlucky\ndevil.  We have gone through several rounds of purgatory since you\nleft, and I have lately got on to a worse ledge of it than ever.  I\nsuppose you are only just come down--you look rather battered--you\nhave not been long enough in the town to hear anything?\"\n\n\"I travelled all night and got to the White Hart at eight o'clock this\nmorning. I have been shutting myself up and resting,\" said Will,\nfeeling himself a sneak, but seeing no alternative to this evasion.\n\nAnd then he heard Lydgate's account of the troubles which Rosamond had\nalready depicted to him in her way.  She had not mentioned the fact of\nWill's name being connected with the public story--this detail not\nimmediately affecting her--and he now heard it for the first time.\n\n\"I thought it better to tell you that your name is mixed up with the\ndisclosures,\" said Lydgate, who could understand better than most men\nhow Ladislaw might be stung by the revelation.  \"You will be sure to\nhear it as soon as you turn out into the town.  I suppose it is true\nthat Raffles spoke to you.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Will, sardonically.  \"I shall be fortunate if gossip does\nnot make me the most disreputable person in the whole affair.  I should\nthink the latest version must be, that I plotted with Raffles to murder\nBulstrode, and ran away from Middlemarch for the purpose.\"\n\nHe was thinking \"Here is a","question":"\n    \"Now, I saw in my dream, that just as they had ended their\n    talk, they drew nigh to a very miry slough, that was in the\n    midst of the plain; and they, being heedless, did both fall\n    suddenly into the bog. The name of the slough was\n    Despond.\"--BUNYAN.\n\n\nWhen Rosamond was quiet, and Lydgate had left her, hoping that she\nmight soon sleep under the effect of an anodyne, he went into the\ndrawing-room to fetch a book which he had left there, meaning to spend\nthe evening in his work-room, and he saw on the table Dorothea's letter\naddressed to him.  He had not ventured to ask Rosamond if Mrs. Casaubon\nhad called, but the reading of this letter assured him of the fact, for\nDorothea mentioned that it was to be carried by herself.\n\nWhen Will Ladislaw came in a little later Lydgate met him with a\nsurprise which made it clear that he had not been told of the earlier\nvisit, and Will could not say, \"Did not Mrs. Lydgate tell you that I\ncame this morning?\"\n\n\"Poor Rosamond is ill,\" Lydgate added immediately on his greeting.\n\n\"Not seriously, I hope,\" said Will.\n\n\"No--only"}
{"answer":"forth:\nAnd at the time of my departure thence,\nHe was much fear'd by his Physician\n\n   Wor. I would the state of time had first beene whole,\nEre he by sicknesse had beene visited:\nHis health was neuer better worth then now\n\n   Hotsp. Sicke now? droope now? this sicknes doth infect\nThe very Life-blood of our Enterprise,\n'Tis catching hither, euen to our Campe.\nHe writes me here, that inward sicknesse,\nAnd that his friends by deputation\nCould not so soone be drawne: nor did he thinke it meet,\nTo lay so dangerous and deare a trust\nOn any Soule remou'd, but on his owne.\nYet doth he giue vs bold aduertisement,\nThat with our small coniunction we should on,\nTo see how Fortune is dispos'd to vs:\nFor, as he writes, there is no quailing now,\nBecause the King is certainely possest\nOf all our purposes. What say you to it?\n  Wor. Your Fathers sicknesse is a mayme to vs\n\n   Hotsp. A perillous Gash, a very Limme lopt off:\nAnd yet, in faith, it is not his present want\nSeemes more then we shall finde it.\nWere it good, to set the exact wealth of all our states\nAll at one Cast? To set so rich a mayne\nOn the nice hazard of one doubtfull houre,\nIt were not good: for therein should we reade\nThe very Bottome, and the Soule of Hope,\nThe very List, the very vtmost Bound\nOf all our fortunes\n\n   Dowg. Faith, and so wee should,\nWhere now remaines a sweet reuersion.\nWe may boldly spend, vpon the hope\nOf what is to come in:\nA","question":"Actus Quartus. Scoena Prima.\n\n\nEnter Harrie Hotspurre, Worcester, and Dowglas.\n\n  Hot. Well said, my Noble Scot, if speaking truth\nIn this fine Age, were not thought flatterie,\nSuch attribution should the Dowglas haue,\nAs not a Souldiour of this seasons stampe,\nShould go so generall currant through the world.\nBy heauen I cannot flatter: I defie\nThe Tongues of Soothers. But a Brauer place\nIn my hearts loue, hath no man then your Selfe.\nNay, taske me to my word: approue me Lord\n\n   Dow. Thou art the King of Honor:\nNo man so potent breathes vpon the ground,\nBut I will Beard him.\nEnter a Messenger.\n\n  Hot. Do so, and 'tis well. What letters hast there?\nI can but thanke you\n\n   Mess. These Letters come from your Father\n\n   Hot. Letters from him?\nWhy comes he not himselfe?\n  Mes. He cannot come, my Lord,\nHe is greeuous sicke\n\n   Hot. How? haz he the leysure to be sicke now,\nIn such a iustling time? Who leades his power?\nVnder whose Gouernment come they along?\n  Mess. His Letters beares his minde, not I his minde\n\n   Wor. I prethee tell me, doth he keepe his Bed?\n  Mess. He did, my Lord, foure dayes ere I set"}
{"answer":"your pleasure?\n  SENATOR. Get on your cloak and haste you to Lord Timon;\n    Importune him for my moneys; be not ceas'd\n    With slight denial, nor then silenc'd when\n    'Commend me to your master' and the cap\n    Plays in the right hand, thus; but tell him\n    My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn\n    Out of mine own; his days and times are past,\n    And my reliances on his fracted dates\n    Have smit my credit. I love and honour him,\n    But must not break my back to heal his finger.\n    Immediate are my needs, and my relief\n    Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words,\n    But find supply immediate. Get you gone;\n    Put on a most importunate aspect,\n    A visage of demand; for I do fear,\n    When every feather sticks in his own wing,\n    Lord Timon will be left a naked gull,\n    Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone.\n  CAPHIS. I go, sir.\n  SENATOR. Take the bonds along with you,\n    And have the dates in compt.\n  CAPHIS. I will, sir.\n  SENATOR. Go.               ","question":"A SENATOR'S house\n\nEnter A SENATOR, with papers in his hand\n\n  SENATOR. And late, five thousand. To Varro and to Isidore\n    He owes nine thousand; besides my former sum,\n    Which makes it five and twenty. Still in motion\n    Of raging waste? It cannot hold; it will not.\n    If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog\n    And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold.\n    If I would sell my horse and buy twenty moe\n    Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon,\n    Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me straight,\n    And able horses. No porter at his gate,\n    But rather one that smiles and still invites\n    All that pass by. It cannot hold; no reason\n    Can sound his state in safety. Caphis, ho!\n    Caphis, I say!\n\n                         Enter CAPHIS\n\n  CAPHIS. Here, sir; what is"}
{"answer":"   Would make a volume of enticing lines,\n    Able to ravish any dull conceit;\n    And, which is more, she is not so divine,\n    So full-replete with choice of all delights,\n    But with as humble lowliness of mind\n    She is content to be at your command\n    Command, I mean, of virtuous intents,\n    To love and honour Henry as her lord.\n  KING HENRY. And otherwise will Henry ne'er presume.\n    Therefore, my Lord Protector, give consent\n    That Margaret may be England's royal Queen.\n  GLOUCESTER. So should I give consent to flatter sin.\n    You know, my lord, your Highness is betroth'd\n    Unto another lady of esteem.\n    How shall we then dispense with that contract,\n    And not deface your honour with reproach?\n  SUFFOLK. As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths;\n    Or one that at a triumph, having vow'd\n    To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists\n    By reason of his adversary's odds:\n    A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds,\n    And therefore may be broke without offence.\n  GLOUCESTER. Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more than\n    that?\n    Her father is no better than an earl,\n    Although in","question":"SCENE 5.\n\n                         London. The palace\n\n            Enter SUFFOLK, in conference with the KING,\n                     GLOUCESTER and EXETER\n\n  KING HENRY. Your wondrous rare description, noble Earl,\n    Of beauteous Margaret hath astonish'd me.\n    Her virtues, graced with external gifts,\n    Do breed love's settled passions in my heart;\n    And like as rigour of tempestuous gusts\n    Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide,\n    So am I driven by breath of her renown\n    Either to suffer shipwreck or arrive\n    Where I may have fruition of her love.\n  SUFFOLK. Tush, my good lord! This superficial tale\n    Is but a preface of her worthy praise.\n    The chief perfections of that lovely dame,\n    Had I sufficient skill to utter them,\n"}
{"answer":"that behalf,\nBold of your worthiness, we single you\nAs our best-moving fair solicitor.\nTell him the daughter of the King of France,\nOn serious business, craving quick dispatch,\nImportunes personal conference with his Grace.\nHaste, signify so much; while we attend,\nLike humble-visag'd suitors, his high will.\n\nBOYET.\nProud of employment, willingly I go.\n\nPRINCESS.\nAll pride is willing pride, and yours is so.\n\n[Exit BOYET.]\n\nWho are the votaries, my loving lords,\nThat are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke?\n\nFIRST LORD.\nLord Longaville is one.\n\nPRINCESS.\nKnow you the man?\n\nMARIA.\nI know him, madam: at a marriage feast,\nBetween Lord Perigort and the beauteous heir\nOf Jaques Falconbridge, solemnized\nIn Normandy, saw I this Longaville.\nA man of sovereign parts, he is esteem'd,\nWell fitted in arts, glorious in arms:\nNothing becomes him ill that he would well.\nThe only soil of his fair virtue's gloss,--\nIf virtue's gloss will stain with any soil,--\nIs a sharp wit match'd with too blunt a will;\nWhose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills\nIt should none spare that come within his power.\n\nPRINCESS.\nSome merry mocking lord, belike; is't so?\n\nMARIA.\nThey say so most that most his humours know.\n\nPRINCESS.\nSuch short-liv'd wits do wither as they grow.\nWho are the rest?\n\nKATHARINE.\nThe young Dumain, a well-accomplish'd youth,\nOf all that virtue love for virtue lov'd;\nMost power to do most harm, least knowing ill,\nFor he hath wit to make an ill shape good,\nAnd shape to win grace though he had no wit.\nI saw him at the Duke Alencon's once;\nAnd much too little of that good I saw\nIs my report to his great worthiness.\n\nROSALINE.\nAnother of these students at that time\nWas there with him, if I have","question":"ACT II. SCENE I.\n\nThe King of Navarre's park. A pavilion and tents at a\ndistance.\n\n[Enter the PRINCESS OF FRANCE, ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET,\nLORDS, and other Attendants.]\n\nBOYET.\nNow, madam, summon up your dearest spirits:\nConsider who the king your father sends,\nTo whom he sends, and what's his embassy:\nYourself, held precious in the world's esteem,\nTo parley with the sole inheritor\nOf all perfections that a man may owe,\nMatchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight\nThan Aquitaine, a dowry for a queen.\nBe now as prodigal of all dear grace\nAs Nature was in making graces dear\nWhen she did starve the general world beside,\nAnd prodigally gave them all to you.\n\nPRINCESS.\nGood Lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean,\nNeeds not the painted flourish of your praise:\nBeauty is bought by judgment of the eye,\nNot utt'red by base sale of chapmen's tongues.\nI am less proud to hear you tell my worth\nThan you much willing to be counted wise\nIn spending your wit in the praise of mine.\nBut now to task the tasker: good Boyet,\nYou are not ignorant, all-telling fame\nDoth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow,\nTill painful study shall outwear three years,\nNo woman may approach his silent court:\nTherefore to's seemeth it a needful course,\nBefore we enter his forbidden gates,\nTo know his pleasure; and in"}
{"answer":"lady was in the lovely bloom and spring-time of womanhood;\nat that age, when, if ever angels be for God's good purposes enthroned\nin mortal forms, they may be, without impiety, supposed to abide in\nsuch as hers.\n\nShe was not past seventeen.  Cast in so slight and exquisite a mould;\nso mild and gentle; so pure and beautiful; that earth seemed not her\nelement, nor its rough creatures her fit companions.  The very\nintelligence that shone in her deep blue eye, and was stamped upon her\nnoble head, seemed scarcely of her age, or of the world; and yet the\nchanging expression of sweetness and good humour, the thousand lights\nthat played about the face, and left no shadow there; above all, the\nsmile, the cheerful, happy smile, were made for Home, and fireside\npeace and happiness.\n\nShe was busily engaged in the little offices of the table. Chancing to\nraise her eyes as the elder lady was regarding her, she playfully put\nback her hair, which was simply braided on her forehead; and threw into\nher beaming look, such an expression of affection and artless\nloveliness, that blessed spirits might have smiled to look upon her.\n\n'And Brittles has been gone upwards of an hour, has he?' asked the old\nlady, after a pause.\n\n'An hour and twelve minutes, ma'am,' replied Mr. Giles, referring to a\nsilver watch, which he drew forth by a black ribbon.\n\n'He is always slow,' remarked the old lady.\n\n'Brittles always was a slow boy, ma'am,' replied the attendant. And\nseeing, by the bye, that Brittles had been a slow boy for upwards of\nthirty years,","question":"\nIn a handsome room:  though its furniture had rather the air of\nold-fashioned comfort, than of modern elegance:  there sat two ladies\nat a well-spread breakfast-table.  Mr. Giles, dressed with scrupulous\ncare in a full suit of black, was in attendance upon them.  He had\ntaken his station some half-way between the side-board and the\nbreakfast-table; and, with his body drawn up to its full height, his\nhead thrown back, and inclined the merest trifle on one side, his left\nleg advanced, and his right hand thrust into his waist-coat, while his\nleft hung down by his side, grasping a waiter, looked like one who\nlaboured under a very agreeable sense of his own merits and importance.\n\nOf the two ladies, one was well advanced in years; but the high-backed\noaken chair in which she sat, was not more upright than she.  Dressed\nwith the utmost nicety and precision, in a quaint mixture of by-gone\ncostume, with some slight concessions to the prevailing taste, which\nrather served to point the old style pleasantly than to impair its\neffect, she sat, in a stately manner, with her hands folded on the\ntable before her.  Her eyes (and age had dimmed but little of their\nbrightness) were attentively upon her young companion.\n\nThe younger"}
{"answer":"their capacities and\nstrength. The results of this movement, carried out upon a great\nscale, can be seen in the remoter parts of Ireland, which, as the\nvisitor will observe, appear to be largely populated by very young\nchildren and by persons getting on in years. Whether or no this is a\nsatisfactory state of affairs is not for me to say, although the\nmatter, too large to discuss here, is one upon which I may have my own\nopinion.\n\nColonel Lamb, the head of the Salvation Army Emigration Department,\ninformed me that during the past seven years the Army has emigrated\nabout 50,000 souls, of whom 10,000 were assisted out of its funds, the\nrest paying their own way or being paid for from one source or\nanother. From 8,000 to 10,000 people have been sent during the present\nyear, 1910, most of them to Canada, which is the Mecca of the\nSalvation Army Emigration policy. So carefully have all these people\nbeen selected, that not 1 per cent have ever been returned to this\ncountry by the Canadian Authorities as undesirable. The truth is that\nthose Authorities have the greatest confidence in the discretion of\nthe Army, and in its ability to handle this matter to the advantage of\nall concerned.\n\nThat this is true I know from personal experience, since when, some\nyears ago, I was a Commissioner from the British Government and had\nauthority to formulate a scheme of Colonial land-settlement, the Prime\nMinister of Canada, Sir Wilfrid Laurier, told me so himself in the\nplainest language. Indeed, he did more, formally offering a huge block\nof territory to be selected","question":"THE EMIGRATION DEPARTMENT\n\n\n\nSome years ago I was present one night in the Board-room at Euston\nStation and addressed a shipload of emigrants who were departing to\nCanada under the auspices of the Salvation Army. I forget their exact\nnumber, but I think it was not less than 500. What I do not forget,\nhowever, is the sorrow that I felt at seeing so many men in the prime\nof life leaving the shores of their country for ever, especially as\nmost of them were not married. This meant, amongst other things, that\nan equal number of women who remained behind were deprived of the\npossibility of obtaining a husband in a country in which the females\nalready outnumber the males by more than a million. I said as much in\nthe little speech I made on this occasion, and I think that some one\nanswered me with the pertinent remark that if there was no work at\nhome, it must be sought abroad.\n\n[Illustration: INMATES OF A MEN'S INDUSTRIAL HOME.]\n\nThere lies the whole problem in a nutshell--men must live. As for the\naged and the incompetent and the sick and the unattached women, these\nare left behind for the community to support, while young and active\nmen of energy move off to endow new lands with"}
{"answer":"an Aunt Bessie, take but a tenth of the time\nwhich, in a Gopher Prairie, it is but decent to devote to them.\n\nNot to have to apologize for her thoughts to the Jolly Seventeen, not to\nhave to report to Kennicott at the end of the day all that she had done\nor might do, was a relief which made up for the office weariness. She\nfelt that she was no longer one-half of a marriage but the whole of a\nhuman being.\n\n\nII\n\n\nWashington gave her all the graciousness in which she had had faith:\nwhite columns seen across leafy parks, spacious avenues, twisty alleys.\nDaily she passed a dark square house with a hint of magnolias and a\ncourtyard behind it, and a tall curtained second-story window through\nwhich a woman was always peering. The woman was mystery, romance, a\nstory which told itself differently every day; now she was a murderess,\nnow the neglected wife of an ambassador. It was mystery which Carol had\nmost lacked in Gopher Prairie, where every house was open to view, where\nevery person was but too easy to meet, where there were no secret gates\nopening upon moors over which one might walk by moss-deadened paths to\nstrange high adventures in an ancient garden.\n\nAs she flitted up Sixteenth Street after a Kreisler recital, given late\nin the afternoon for the government clerks, as the lamps kindled in\nspheres of soft fire, as the breeze flowed into the street, fresh\nas prairie winds and kindlier, as she glanced up the elm alley of\nMassachusetts Avenue, as she was rested by the integrity of","question":"CHAPTER XXXVII\n\n\nI\n\nSHE found employment in the Bureau of War Risk Insurance. Though the\narmistice with Germany was signed a few weeks after her coming to\nWashington, the work of the bureau continued. She filed correspondence\nall day; then she dictated answers to letters of inquiry. It was an\nendurance of monotonous details, yet she asserted that she had found\n\"real work.\"\n\nDisillusions she did have. She discovered that in the afternoon, office\nroutine stretches to the grave. She discovered that an office is as full\nof cliques and scandals as a Gopher Prairie. She discovered that most\nof the women in the government bureaus lived unhealthfully, dining\non snatches in their crammed apartments. But she also discovered that\nbusiness women may have friendships and enmities as frankly as men and\nmay revel in a bliss which no housewife attains--a free Sunday. It did\nnot appear that the Great World needed her inspiration, but she felt\nthat her letters, her contact with the anxieties of men and women all\nover the country, were a part of vast affairs, not confined to Main\nStreet and a kitchen but linked with Paris, Bangkok, Madrid.\n\nShe perceived that she could do office work without losing any of the\nputative feminine virtue of domesticity; that cooking and cleaning, when\ndivested of the fussing of"}
{"answer":"canst thou? A red murrain\n    o' thy jade's tricks!\n  AJAX. Toadstool, learn me the proclamation.\n  THERSITES. Dost thou think I have no sense, thou strikest me thus?\n  AJAX. The proclamation!\n  THERSITES. Thou art proclaim'd, a fool, I think.\n  AJAX. Do not, porpentine, do not; my fingers itch.\n  THERSITES. I would thou didst itch from head to foot and I had the\n    scratching of thee; I would make thee the loathsomest scab in\n    Greece. When thou art forth in the incursions, thou strikest as\n    slow as another.\n  AJAX. I say, the proclamation.\n  THERSITES. Thou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles; and\n    thou art as full of envy at his greatness as Cerberus is at\n    Proserpina's beauty-ay, that thou bark'st at him.\n  AJAX. Mistress Thersites!\n  THERSITES. Thou shouldst strike him.\n  AJAX. Cobloaf!\n  THERSITES. He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a\n    sailor breaks a biscuit.\n  AJAX. You whoreson cur!                          [Strikes him]\n  THERSITES. Do, do.\n  AJAX. Thou stool for a witch!\n  THERSITES. Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! Thou hast no more\n    brain than I have in mine elbows; an assinico may tutor thee.","question":"ACT II. SCENE 1.\nThe Grecian camp\n\nEnter Ajax and THERSITES\n\n  AJAX. Thersites!\n  THERSITES. Agamemnon-how if he had boils full, an over, generally?\n  AJAX. Thersites!\n  THERSITES. And those boils did run-say so. Did not the general run\n    then? Were not that a botchy core?\n  AJAX. Dog!\n  THERSITES. Then there would come some matter from him;\n    I see none now.\n  AJAX. Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear? Feel, then.\n                                                  [Strikes him.]\n  THERSITES. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted\n    lord!\n  AJAX. Speak, then, thou whinid'st leaven, speak. I will beat thee\n    into handsomeness.\n  THERSITES. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness; but I\n    think thy horse will sooner con an oration than thou learn a\n    prayer without book. Thou canst strike,"}
{"answer":" I am not jealous of your love for him;\n  Display it freely; give him your estate,\n  And if that's not enough, add all of mine;\n  I willingly agree, and give it up,\n  If only you'll not give him me, your daughter;\n  Oh, rather let a convent's rigid rule\n  Wear out the wretched days that Heaven allots me.\n\n  ORGON\n  These girls are ninnies!--always turning nuns\n  When fathers thwart their silly love-affairs.\n  Get on your feet! The more you hate to have him,\n  The more 'twill help you earn your soul's salvation.\n  So, mortify your senses by this marriage,\n  And don't vex me about it any more.\n\n  DORINE\n  But what ... ?\n\n  ORGON\n  You hold your tongue, before your betters.\n  Don't dare to say a single word, I tell you.\n\n  CLEANTE\n  If you will let me answer, and advise ...\n\n  ORGON\n  Brother, I value your advice most highly;\n  'Tis well thought out; no better can be had;\n  But you'll allow me--not to follow it.\n\n  ELMIRE (to her husband)\n  I can't find words to cope with such a case;\n  Your blindness makes me quite astounded at you.\n  You are bewitched with him, to disbelieve\n  The things we tell you happened here to-day.\n\n  ORGON\n  I am your humble servant, and can see\n  Things, when they're plain as noses on folks' faces,\n","question":"SCENE III\n\n  ORGON, ELMIRE, MARIANE, CLEANTE, DORINE\n\n\n  ORGON\n  So ho! I'm glad to find you all together.\n\n  (To Mariane)\n  Here is the contract that shall make you happy,\n  My dear. You know already what it means.\n\n  MARIANE (on her knees before Orgon)\n  Father, I beg you, in the name of Heaven\n  That knows my grief, and by whate'er can move you,\n  Relax a little your paternal rights,\n  And free my love from this obedience!\n  Oh, do not make me, by your harsh command,\n  Complain to Heaven you ever were my father;\n  Do not make wretched this poor life you gave me.\n  If, crossing that fond hope which I had formed,\n  You'll not permit me to belong to one\n  Whom I have dared to love, at least, I beg you\n  Upon my knees, oh, save me from the torment\n  Of being possessed by one whom I abhor!\n  And do not drive me to some desperate act\n  By exercising all your rights upon me.\n\n  ORGON (a little touched)\n  Come, come, my heart, be firm! no human weakness!\n\n  MARIANE\n"}
{"answer":"Candide were borne thither upon a plank.\n\nAs soon as they recovered themselves a little they walked toward Lisbon.\nThey had some money left, with which they hoped to save themselves from\nstarving, after they had escaped drowning. Scarcely had they reached the\ncity, lamenting the death of their benefactor, when they felt the earth\ntremble under their feet. The sea swelled and foamed in the harbour, and\nbeat to pieces the vessels riding at anchor. Whirlwinds of fire and\nashes covered the streets and public places; houses fell, roofs were\nflung upon the pavements, and the pavements were scattered. Thirty\nthousand inhabitants of all ages and sexes were crushed under the\nruins.[4] The sailor, whistling and swearing, said there was booty to be\ngained here.\n\n\"What can be the _sufficient reason_ of this phenomenon?\" said Pangloss.\n\n\"This is the Last Day!\" cried Candide.\n\nThe sailor ran among the ruins, facing death to find money; finding it,\nhe took it, got drunk, and having slept himself sober, purchased the\nfavours of the first good-natured wench whom he met on the ruins of the\ndestroyed houses, and in the midst of the dying and the dead. Pangloss\npulled him by the sleeve.\n\n\"My friend,\" said he, \"this is not right. You sin against the _universal\nreason_; you choose your time badly.\"\n\n\"S'blood and fury!\" answered the other; \"I am a sailor and born at\nBatavia. Four times have I trampled upon the crucifix in four voyages to\nJapan[5]; a fig for thy universal reason.\"\n\nSome falling stones had wounded Candide. He lay stretched in the street\ncovered with rubbish.\n\n\"Alas!\" said he to Pangloss, \"get me a","question":"\n\nHalf dead of that inconceivable anguish which the rolling of a ship\nproduces, one-half of the passengers were not even sensible of the\ndanger. The other half shrieked and prayed. The sheets were rent, the\nmasts broken, the vessel gaped. Work who would, no one heard, no one\ncommanded. The Anabaptist being upon deck bore a hand; when a brutish\nsailor struck him roughly and laid him sprawling; but with the violence\nof the blow he himself tumbled head foremost overboard, and stuck upon a\npiece of the broken mast. Honest James ran to his assistance, hauled him\nup, and from the effort he made was precipitated into the sea in sight\nof the sailor, who left him to perish, without deigning to look at him.\nCandide drew near and saw his benefactor, who rose above the water one\nmoment and was then swallowed up for ever. He was just going to jump\nafter him, but was prevented by the philosopher Pangloss, who\ndemonstrated to him that the Bay of Lisbon had been made on purpose for\nthe Anabaptist to be drowned. While he was proving this _a priori_, the\nship foundered; all perished except Pangloss, Candide, and that brutal\nsailor who had drowned the good Anabaptist. The villain swam safely to\nthe shore, while Pangloss and"}
{"answer":"pleasant'st angling is to see the fish\nCut with her golden ores the siluer streame,\nAnd greedily deuoure the treacherous baite:\nSo angle we for Beatrice, who euen now,\nIs couched in the wood-bine couerture,\nFeare you not my part of the Dialogue\n\n   Her. Then go we neare her that her eare loose nothing,\nOf the false sweete baite that we lay for it:\nNo truely Vrsula, she is too disdainfull,\nI know her spirits are as coy and wilde,\nAs Haggerds of the rocke\n\n   Vrsula. But are you sure,\nThat Benedicke loues Beatrice so intirely?\n  Her. So saies the Prince, and my new trothed Lord\n\n   Vrs. And did they bid you tell her of it, Madam?\n  Her. They did intreate me to acquaint her of it,\nBut I perswaded them, if they lou'd Benedicke,\nTo wish him wrastle with affection,\nAnd neuer to let Beatrice know of it\n\n   Vrsula. Why did you so, doth not the Gentleman\nDeserue as full as fortunate a bed,\nAs euer Beatrice shall couch vpon?\n  Hero. O God of loue! I know he doth deserue,\nAs much as may be yeelded to a man:\nBut Nature neuer fram'd a womans heart,\nOf prowder stuffe then that of Beatrice:\nDisdaine and Scorne ride sparkling in her eyes,\nMis-prizing what they looke on, and her wit\nValues it selfe so highly, that to her\nAll matter else seemes weake: she cannot loue,\nNor take no shape nor proiect of affection,\nShee is so selfe indeared\n\n   Vrsula. Sure I thinke so,\nAnd therefore certainely it were not good\nShe knew","question":"Actus Tertius. Scene 1.\n\nEnter Hero and two Gentlemen, Margaret, and Vrsula.\n\n  Hero. Good Margaret runne thee to the parlour,\nThere shalt thou finde my Cosin Beatrice,\nProposing with the Prince and Claudio,\nWhisper her eare, and tell her I and Vrsula,\nWalke in the Orchard, and our whole discourse\nIs all of her, say that thou ouer-heardst vs,\nAnd bid her steale into the pleached bower,\nWhere hony-suckles ripened by the sunne,\nForbid the sunne to enter: like fauourites,\nMade proud by Princes, that aduance their pride,\nAgainst that power that bred it, there will she hide her,\nTo listen our purpose, this is thy office,\nBeare thee well in it, and leaue vs alone\n\n   Marg. Ile make her come I warrant you presently\n\n   Hero. Now Vrsula, when Beatrice doth come,\nAs we do trace this alley vp and downe,\nOur talke must onely be of Benedicke,\nWhen I doe name him, let it be thy part,\nTo praise him more then euer man did merit,\nMy talke to thee must be how Benedicke\nIs sicke in loue with Beatrice; of this matter,\nIs little Cupids crafty arrow made,\nThat onely wounds by heare-say: now begin,\nEnter Beatrice.\n\nFor looke where Beatrice like a Lapwing runs\nClose by the ground, to heare our conference\n\n   Vrs. The"}
{"answer":"indeed I would go any distance round\nto avoid him--but I do not envy his wife in the least; I neither admire\nher nor envy her, as I have done: she is very charming, I dare say, and\nall that, but I think her very ill-tempered and disagreeable--I shall\nnever forget her look the other night!--However, I assure you, Miss\nWoodhouse, I wish her no evil.--No, let them be ever so happy together,\nit will not give me another moment's pang: and to convince you that I\nhave been speaking truth, I am now going to destroy--what I ought to\nhave destroyed long ago--what I ought never to have kept--I know that\nvery well (blushing as she spoke).--However, now I will destroy it\nall--and it is my particular wish to do it in your presence, that you\nmay see how rational I am grown. Cannot you guess what this parcel\nholds?\" said she, with a conscious look.\n\n\"Not the least in the world.--Did he ever give you any thing?\"\n\n\"No--I cannot call them gifts; but they are things that I have valued\nvery much.\"\n\nShe held the parcel towards her, and Emma read the words _Most_\n_precious_ _treasures_ on the top. Her curiosity was greatly excited.\nHarriet unfolded the parcel, and she looked on with impatience. Within\nabundance of silver paper was a pretty little Tunbridge-ware box,\nwhich Harriet opened: it was well lined with the softest cotton; but,\nexcepting the cotton, Emma saw only a small piece of court-plaister.\n\n\"Now,\" said Harriet, \"you _must_ recollect.\"\n\n\"No, indeed I do not.\"\n\n\"Dear me! I should not have thought it possible you could forget what\npassed","question":"\n\nA very few days had passed after this adventure, when Harriet came one\nmorning to Emma with a small parcel in her hand, and after sitting down\nand hesitating, thus began:\n\n\"Miss Woodhouse--if you are at leisure--I have something that I should\nlike to tell you--a sort of confession to make--and then, you know, it\nwill be over.\"\n\nEmma was a good deal surprized; but begged her to speak. There was a\nseriousness in Harriet's manner which prepared her, quite as much as her\nwords, for something more than ordinary.\n\n\"It is my duty, and I am sure it is my wish,\" she continued, \"to have\nno reserves with you on this subject. As I am happily quite an altered\ncreature in _one_ _respect_, it is very fit that you should have\nthe satisfaction of knowing it. I do not want to say more than is\nnecessary--I am too much ashamed of having given way as I have done, and\nI dare say you understand me.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Emma, \"I hope I do.\"\n\n\"How I could so long a time be fancying myself!...\" cried Harriet,\nwarmly. \"It seems like madness! I can see nothing at all extraordinary\nin him now.--I do not care whether I meet him or not--except that of the\ntwo I had rather not see him--and"}
{"answer":"   When she does praise me grieves me. I have done\n    As you have done- that's what I can; induc'd\n    As you have been- that's for my country.\n    He that has but effected his good will\n    Hath overta'en mine act.\n  COMINIUS. You shall not be\n    The grave of your deserving; Rome must know\n    The value of her own. 'Twere a concealment\n    Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement,\n    To hide your doings and to silence that\n    Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd,\n    Would seem but modest. Therefore, I beseech you,\n    In sign of what you are, not to reward\n    What you have done, before our army hear me.\n  MARCIUS. I have some wounds upon me, and they smart\n    To hear themselves rememb'red.\n  COMINIUS. Should they not,\n    Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude\n    And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses-\n    Whereof we have ta'en good, and good store- of all\n    The treasure in this field achiev'd and city,\n    We render you the tenth; to be ta'en forth\n    Before the common distribution at\n    Your only choice.\n  MARCIUS. I thank","question":"SCENE IX.\nThe Roman camp\n\nFlourish. Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Enter, at one door,\nCOMINIUS with the Romans; at another door, MARCIUS, with his arm\nin a scarf\n\n  COMINIUS. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work,\n    Thou't not believe thy deeds; but I'll report it\n    Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles;\n    Where great patricians shall attend, and shrug,\n    I' th' end admire; where ladies shall be frighted\n    And, gladly quak'd, hear more; where the dull tribunes,\n    That with the fusty plebeians hate thine honours,\n    Shall say against their hearts 'We thank the gods\n    Our Rome hath such a soldier.'\n    Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast,\n    Having fully din'd before.\n\n         Enter TITUS LARTIUS, with his power, from the pursuit\n\n  LARTIUS. O General,\n    Here is the steed, we the caparison.\n    Hadst thou beheld-\n  MARCIUS. Pray now, no more; my mother,\n    Who has a charter to extol her blood,\n"}
{"answer":"   Here therefore will I stay and take my stand.\n\n                Enter the WATCH.\n\n  I WATCH.  I wonder much to what intent it is\n    That we are thus expressly charg'd to watch.\n\n  II WATCH.  This by commandment in the king's own\n    name.\n\n  III WATCH.  But we were never wont to watch and ward\n    So near the duke his brother's house before.\n\n  II WATCH.  Content yourself, stand close, there's somewhat\n    in't.\n\n                Enter SERBERINE.\n\n  SER. [aside]  Here, Serberine, attend and stay thy pace;\n    For here did Don Lorenzo's page appoint\n    That thou by his command shouldst meet with him.\n    How fit a place, if one were so dispos'd,\n    Methinks this corner is to close with one.\n\n  PED. [aside]  Here comes the bird that I must seize upon;\n    Now, Pedringano, or never play the man!\n\n  SER.  [aside]  I wonder that his lordship stays so long,\n    Or wherefore should he send for me so late.\n\n  PED.  For this, Serberine; and thou shalt ha't!\n\n             ","question":"                [San Luigi's Park.]\n\n                Enter PEDRINGANO with a pistol.\n\n  PED.  Now, Pedringano, bid thy pistol hold;\n    And hold on, Fortune!  Once more favour me!\n    Give but success to mine attempting spirit,\n    And let me shift for taking of mine aim.\n    Here is the gold!  This is the gold propos'd!\n    It is no dream that I adventure for,\n    But Pedringano is posses'd thereof.\n    And he that would not strain his conscience\n    For him that thus his liberal purse hath stretch'd,\n    Unworthy such a favour, may he fail,\n    And, wishing, want, when such as I prevail!\n    As for the fear of apprehension,\n    I know, if need should be, my noble lord\n    Will stand between me and ensuing harms.\n    Besides, this place is free from all suspect.\n"}
{"answer":"men come on from them to the Salvation Army.\n\nThe hard fact is that there are more idle hands than there is work for\nthem to do, even where honest and capable folk are concerned. Thus, in\nthe majority of instances, the Army is obliged to rely upon its own\nInstitutions and the Hadleigh Land Colony to provide some sort of job\nfor out-of-works. Of course, of such jobs there are not enough to go\nround, so many poor folk must be sent empty away or supported by\ncharity.\n\nI suggested that it might be worth while to establish a school of\nchauffeurs, and the Officers present said that they would consider the\nmatter. Unfortunately, however, such an experiment must be costly at\nthe present price of motor-vehicles.\n\nI annex the Labour Bureau Statistics for May, 1910:--\n\n     LONDON\n\n          Applicants for temporary employment  479\n          Sent to temporary employment         183\n          Applicants for Elevators             864\n          Sent to Elevators                    260\n          Sent to Shelters              ","question":"THE CENTRAL LABOUR BUREAU\n\n\n\nThis Bureau is established in the Social Headquarters at Whitechapel,\na large building acquired as long ago as 1878. Here is to be seen the\nroom in which General Booth used to hold some of his first prayer\nmeetings, and a little chamber where he took counsel with those\nOfficers who were the fathers of the Army. Also there is a place where\nhe could sit unseen and listen to the preaching of his subordinates,\nso that he might judge of their ability.\n\nThe large hall is now part of yet another Shelter, which contains 232\nbeds and bunks. I inspected this place, but as it differs in no\nimportant detail from others, I will not describe it.\n\nThe Officer who is in charge of the Labour Bureau informed me that\nhundreds of men apply there for work every week, of whom a great many\nare sent into the various Elevators and Shelters. The Army finds it\nextremely difficult to procure outside employment for these men, for\nthe simple reason that there is very little available. Moreover, now\nthat the Government Labour Bureaux are open, this trouble is not\nlessened. Of these Bureaux, the Manager said that they are most\nuseful, but fail to find employment for many who apply to them.\nIndeed, numbers of"}
{"answer":"I will not\ntake a hen-house for a mansion.  The palace of crystal may be an idle\ndream, it may be that it is inconsistent with the laws of nature and\nthat I have invented it only through my own stupidity, through the\nold-fashioned irrational habits of my generation.  But what does it\nmatter to me that it is inconsistent?  That makes no difference since\nit exists in my desires, or rather exists as long as my desires exist.\nPerhaps you are laughing again? Laugh away; I will put up with any\nmockery rather than pretend that I am satisfied when I am hungry.  I\nknow, anyway, that I will not be put off with a compromise, with a\nrecurring zero, simply because it is consistent with the laws of nature\nand actually exists.  I will not accept as the crown of my desires a\nblock of buildings with tenements for the poor on a lease of a thousand\nyears, and perhaps with a sign-board of a dentist hanging out. Destroy\nmy desires, eradicate my ideals, show me something better, and I will\nfollow you.  You will say, perhaps, that it is not worth your trouble;\nbut in that case I can give you the same answer.  We are discussing\nthings seriously; but if you won't deign to give me your attention, I\nwill drop your acquaintance.  I can retreat into my underground hole.\n\nBut while I am alive and have desires I would rather my hand were\nwithered off than bring one brick to such a building!  Don't remind me\nthat","question":"\nYou believe in a palace of crystal that can never be destroyed--a\npalace at which one will not be able to put out one's tongue or make a\nlong nose on the sly.  And perhaps that is just why I am afraid of this\nedifice, that it is of crystal and can never be destroyed and that one\ncannot put one's tongue out at it even on the sly.\n\nYou see, if it were not a palace, but a hen-house, I might creep into\nit to avoid getting wet, and yet I would not call the hen-house a\npalace out of gratitude to it for keeping me dry.  You laugh and say\nthat in such circumstances a hen-house is as good as a mansion.  Yes, I\nanswer, if one had to live simply to keep out of the rain.\n\nBut what is to be done if I have taken it into my head that that is not\nthe only object in life, and that if one must live one had better live\nin a mansion?  That is my choice, my desire.  You will only eradicate\nit when you have changed my preference.  Well, do change it, allure me\nwith something else, give me another ideal.  But meanwhile"}
{"answer":"fixed: but _his_\nwas the hush of exhausted anguish, and _hers_ of perfect peace.  Her brow\nsmooth, her lids closed, her lips wearing the expression of a smile; no\nangel in heaven could be more beautiful than she appeared.  And I partook\nof the infinite calm in which she lay: my mind was never in a holier\nframe than while I gazed on that untroubled image of Divine rest.  I\ninstinctively echoed the words she had uttered a few hours before:\n'Incomparably beyond and above us all!  Whether still on earth or now in\nheaven, her spirit is at home with God!'\n\nI don't know if it be a peculiarity in me, but I am seldom otherwise than\nhappy while watching in the chamber of death, should no frenzied or\ndespairing mourner share the duty with me.  I see a repose that neither\nearth nor hell can break, and I feel an assurance of the endless and\nshadowless hereafter--the Eternity they have entered--where life is\nboundless in its duration, and love in its sympathy, and joy in its\nfulness.  I noticed on that occasion how much selfishness there is even\nin a love like Mr. Linton's, when he so regretted Catherine's blessed\nrelease!  To be sure, one might have doubted, after the wayward and\nimpatient existence she had led, whether she merited a haven of peace at\nlast.  One might doubt in seasons of cold reflection; but not then, in\nthe presence of her corpse.  It asserted its own tranquillity, which\nseemed a pledge of equal quiet to its former inhabitant.\n\nDo you","question":"\n\nAbout twelve o'clock that night was born the Catherine you saw at\nWuthering Heights: a puny, seven-months' child; and two hours after the\nmother died, having never recovered sufficient consciousness to miss\nHeathcliff, or know Edgar.  The latter's distraction at his bereavement\nis a subject too painful to be dwelt on; its after-effects showed how\ndeep the sorrow sunk.  A great addition, in my eyes, was his being left\nwithout an heir.  I bemoaned that, as I gazed on the feeble orphan; and I\nmentally abused old Linton for (what was only natural partiality) the\nsecuring his estate to his own daughter, instead of his son's.  An\nunwelcomed infant it was, poor thing!  It might have wailed out of life,\nand nobody cared a morsel, during those first hours of existence.  We\nredeemed the neglect afterwards; but its beginning was as friendless as\nits end is likely to be.\n\nNext morning--bright and cheerful out of doors--stole softened in through\nthe blinds of the silent room, and suffused the couch and its occupant\nwith a mellow, tender glow.  Edgar Linton had his head laid on the\npillow, and his eyes shut.  His young and fair features were almost as\ndeathlike as those of the form beside him, and almost as"}
{"answer":"had\ncollected from the pavements, carefully grading the results in\ndifferent heaps, according to the class of the tobacco (how strong it\nmust be!) either for his own consumption or for sale to other\nunfortunates. In another place, men were eating the 1d. or 1\/2d.\nsuppers that they had purchased.\n\nEarly as it was, however, the great dormitories were crowded with\nhundreds of the lodgers, either in bed or in process of getting there.\nI noticed that they all undressed themselves, wrapping up their rags\nin bundles, and, for the most part slept quite naked. Many of them\nstruck me as very fine fellows physically, and the reflection crossed\nmy mind, seeing them thus _in puris naturalibus_, that there was\nlittle indeed to distinguish them from a crowd of males of the upper\nclass engaged, let us say, in bathing. It is the clothes that make the\ndifference to the eye.\n\nIn this Shelter I was told, by the way, that there exists a code of\nrough honour among these people, who very rarely attempt to steal\nanything from each other. Having so little property, they sternly\nrespect its rights. I should add that the charge made for\naccommodation and food is 3d. per night for sleeping, and 1d. or 1\/2d.\nper portion of food.\n\nThe sight of this Institution crowded with human derelicts struck me\nas most sad, more so indeed than many others that I have seen, though,\nperhaps, this may have been because I was myself tired out with a long\nday of inspection.\n\nThe Staff-Captain in charge here told me his history, which is so\ntypical and interesting that I will repeat","question":"THE GREAT PETER STREET SHELTER\n\n\n\nWESTMINSTER\n\nThis fine building is the most up-to-date Men's Shelter that the\nSalvation Army possesses in London. It was once the billiard works of\nMessrs. Burroughes and Watts, and is situated in Westminster, quite\nnear to the Houses of Parliament. I visited it about eight o'clock in\nthe evening, and at its entrance was confronted with the word 'Full,'\ninscribed in chalk upon its portals, at which poor tramps, deprived of\ntheir hope of a night's lodging, were staring disconsolately. It\nreminded me of a playhouse upon a first-night of importance, but,\nalas! the actors here play in a tragedy more dreadful in its\ncumulative effect than any that was ever put upon the stage.\n\nThis Shelter is wonderfully equipped and organized. It contains\nsitting or resting-rooms, smoking-rooms, huge dormitories capable of\naccommodating about 600 sleepers; bathrooms, lavatories, extensive\nhot-water and warming apparatus, great kitchens, and butteries, and so\nforth. In the sitting and smoking-rooms, numbers of derelict men were\nseated. Some did nothing except stare before them vacantly. Some\nevidently were suffering from the effects of drink or fatigue; some\nwere reading newspapers which they had picked up in the course of\ntheir day's tramp. One, I remember, was engaged in sorting out and\ncrumpling up a number of cigar and cigarette ends which he"}
{"answer":"giving counsel.\n\nAt this moment, the following is what passed in the soul of Candide, and\nhow he reasoned:\n\nIf this holy man call in assistance, he will surely have me burnt; and\nCunegonde will perhaps be served in the same manner; he was the cause of\nmy being cruelly whipped; he is my rival; and, as I have now begun to\nkill, I will kill away, for there is no time to hesitate. This reasoning\nwas clear and instantaneous; so that without giving time to the\nInquisitor to recover from his surprise, he pierced him through and\nthrough, and cast him beside the Jew.\n\n\"Yet again!\" said Cunegonde, \"now there is no mercy for us, we are\nexcommunicated, our last hour has come. How could you do it? you,\nnaturally so gentle, to slay a Jew and a prelate in two minutes!\"\n\n\"My beautiful young lady,\" responded Candide, \"when one is a lover,\njealous and whipped by the Inquisition, one stops at nothing.\"\n\nThe old woman then put in her word, saying:\n\n\"There are three Andalusian horses in the stable with bridles and\nsaddles, let the brave Candide get them ready; madame has money, jewels;\nlet us therefore mount quickly on horseback, though I can sit only on\none buttock; let us set out for Cadiz, it is the finest weather in the\nworld, and there is great pleasure in travelling in the cool of the\nnight.\"\n\nImmediately Candide saddled the three horses, and Cunegonde, the old\nwoman and he, travelled thirty miles at a stretch. While they were\njourneying, the Holy Brotherhood entered the house; my lord the\nInquisitor was interred in a","question":"\nThis Issachar was the most choleric Hebrew that had ever been seen in\nIsrael since the Captivity in Babylon.\n\n\"What!\" said he, \"thou bitch of a Galilean, was not the Inquisitor\nenough for thee? Must this rascal also share with me?\"\n\nIn saying this he drew a long poniard which he always carried about him;\nand not imagining that his adversary had any arms he threw himself upon\nCandide: but our honest Westphalian had received a handsome sword from\nthe old woman along with the suit of clothes. He drew his rapier,\ndespite his gentleness, and laid the Israelite stone dead upon the\ncushions at Cunegonde's feet.\n\n\"Holy Virgin!\" cried she, \"what will become of us? A man killed in my\napartment! If the officers of justice come, we are lost!\"\n\n\"Had not Pangloss been hanged,\" said Candide, \"he would give us good\ncounsel in this emergency, for he was a profound philosopher. Failing\nhim let us consult the old woman.\"\n\nShe was very prudent and commenced to give her opinion when suddenly\nanother little door opened. It was an hour after midnight, it was the\nbeginning of Sunday. This day belonged to my lord the Inquisitor. He\nentered, and saw the whipped Candide, sword in hand, a dead man upon the\nfloor, Cunegonde aghast, and the old woman"}
{"answer":"(shaking his hands):\n  Vivat!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Baron!\n\nTHIRD CADET:\n  Come!\n  I must embrace you!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Baron!\n\nSEVERAL GASCONS:\n  We'll embrace\n  Him, all in turn!\n\nCYRANO (not knowing whom to reply to):\n  Baron!. . .Baron!. . .I beg. . .\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Are you all Barons, Sirs?\n\nTHE CADETS:\n  Ay, every one!\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Is it true?. . .\n\nFIRST CADET:\n  Ay--why, you could build a tower\n  With nothing but our coronets, my friend!\n\nLE BRET (entering, and running up to Cyrano):\n  They're looking for you!  Here's a crazy mob\n  Led by the men who followed you last night. . .\n\nCYRANO (alarmed):\n  What!  Have you told them where to find me?\n\nLE BRET (rubbing his hands):\n  Yes!\n\nA BURGHER (entering, followed by a group of men):\n  Sir, all the Marais is a-coming here!\n\n(Outside the street has filled with people.  Chaises a porteurs and carriages\nhave drawn up.)\n\nLE BRET (in a low voice, smiling, to Cyrano):\n  And Roxane?\n\nCYRANO (quickly):\n  Hush!\n\nTHE CROWD (calling outside):\n  Cyrano!. . .\n\n(A crowd rush into the shop, pushing one another.  Acclamations.)\n\nRAGUENEAU (standing on a table):\n  Lo! my shop\n  Invaded!  They break all!  Magnificent!\n\nPEOPLE (crowding round Cyrano):\n  My friend!. . .my friend. . .\n\nCyrano:\n  Meseems that yesterday\n  I had not all these friends!\n\nLE BRET (delighted):\n  Success!\n\nA YOUNG MARQUIS (hurrying up with his hands held out):\n  My friend,\n  Didst thou but know. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Thou!. . .Marry!. . .thou!. .","question":"Cyrano, Ragueneau, poets, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, the cadets, a crowd, then\nDe Guiche.\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Can we come in?\n\nCYRANO (without stirring):\n  Yes. . .\n\n(Ragueneau signs to his friends, and they come in.  At the same time, by door\nat back, enters Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, in Captain's uniform.  He makes\ngestures of surprise on seeing Cyrano.)\n\nCARBON:\n  Here he is!\n\nCYRANO (raising his head):\n  Captain!. . .\n\nCARBON (delightedly):\n  Our hero!  We heard all!  Thirty or more\n  Of my cadets are there!. . .\n\nCYRANO (shrinking back):\n  But. . .\n\nCARBON (trying to draw him away):\n  Come with me!\n  They will not rest until they see you!\n\nCYRANO:\n  No!\n\nCARBON:\n  They're drinking opposite, at The Bear's Head.\n\nCYRANO:\n  I. . .\n\nCARBON (going to the door and calling across the street in a voice of\nthunder):\n  He won't come!  The hero's in the sulks!\n\nA VOICE (outside):\n  Ah!  Sandious!\n\n(Tumult outside.  Noise of boots and swords is heard approaching.)\n\nCARBON (rubbing his hands):\n  They are running 'cross the street!\n\nCADETS (entering):\n  Mille dious!  Capdedious!  Pocapdedious!\n\nRAGUENEAU (drawing back startled):\n  Gentlemen, are you all from Gascony?\n\nTHE CADETS:\n  All!\n\nA CADET (to Cyrano):\n  Bravo!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Baron!\n\nANOTHER"}
{"answer":"  2.Car. I haue a Gammon of Bacon, and two razes of\nGinger, to be deliuered as farre as Charing-crosse\n\n   1.Car. The Turkies in my Pannier are quite starued.\nWhat Ostler? A plague on thee, hast thou neuer an eye in\nthy head? Can'st not heare? And t'were not as good a\ndeed as drinke, to break the pate of thee, I am a very Villaine.\nCome and be hang'd, hast no faith in thee?\nEnter Gads-hill.\n\n  Gad. Good-morrow Carriers. What's a clocke?\n  Car. I thinke it be two a clocke\n\n   Gad. I prethee lend me thy Lanthorne to see my Gelding\nin the stable\n\n   1.Car. Nay soft I pray ye, I know a trick worth two\nof that\n\n   Gad. I prethee lend me thine\n\n   2.Car. I, when, canst tell? Lend mee thy Lanthorne\n(quoth-a) marry Ile see thee hang'd first\n\n   Gad. Sirra Carrier: What time do you mean to come\nto London?\n  2.Car. Time enough to goe to bed with a Candle, I\nwarrant thee. Come neighbour Mugges, wee'll call vp\nthe Gentlemen, they will along with company, for they\nhaue great charge.\n\nExeunt.\n\nEnter Chamberlaine.\n\n  Gad. What ho, Chamberlaine?\n  Cham. At hand quoth Pick-purse\n\n   Gad. That's euen as faire, as at hand quoth the Chamberlaine:\nFor thou variest no more from picking of Purses,\nthen giuing direction, doth from labouring. Thou\nlay'st the plot, how\n\n   Cham. Good morrow Master Gads-Hill, it holds currant\nthat I told you yesternight. There's a Franklin in the\nwilde of Kent,","question":"Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.\n\n\nEnter a Carrier with a Lanterne in his hand.\n\n  1.Car. Heigh-ho, an't be not foure by the day, Ile be\nhang'd. Charles waine is ouer the new Chimney, and yet\nour horse not packt. What Ostler?\n  Ost. Anon, anon\n\n   1.Car. I prethee Tom, beate Cuts Saddle, put a few\nFlockes in the point: the poore Iade is wrung in the withers,\nout of all cesse.\nEnter another Carrier.\n\n  2.Car. Pease and Beanes are as danke here as a Dog,\nand this is the next way to giue poore Iades the Bottes:\nThis house is turned vpside downe since Robin the Ostler\ndyed\n\n   1.Car. Poore fellow neuer ioy'd since the price of oats\nrose, it was the death of him\n\n   2.Car. I thinke this is the most villanous house in al\nLondon rode for Fleas: I am stung like a Tench\n\n   1.Car. Like a Tench? There is ne're a King in Christendome,\ncould be better bit, then I haue beene since the\nfirst Cocke\n\n   2.Car. Why, you will allow vs ne're a Iourden, and\nthen we leake in your Chimney: and your Chamber-lye\nbreeds Fleas like a Loach\n\n   1.Car. What Ostler, come away, and be hangd: come\naway\n\n"}
{"answer":"marry many.\nThe man y makes his Toe, what he his Hart shold make,\nShall of a Corne cry woe, and turne his sleepe to wake.\nFor there was neuer yet faire woman, but shee made\nmouthes in a glasse.\nEnter Kent\n\n   Lear. No, I will be the patterne of all patience,\nI will say nothing\n\n   Kent. Who's there?\n  Foole. Marry here's Grace, and a Codpiece, that's a\nWiseman, and a Foole\n\n   Kent. Alas Sir are you here? Things that loue night,\nLoue not such nights as these: The wrathfull Skies\nGallow the very wanderers of the darke\nAnd make them keepe their Caues: Since I was man,\nSuch sheets of Fire, such bursts of horrid Thunder,\nSuch groanes of roaring Winde, and Raine, I neuer\nRemember to haue heard. Mans Nature cannot carry\nTh' affliction, nor the feare\n\n   Lear. Let the great Goddes\nThat keepe this dreadfull pudder o're our heads,\nFinde out their enemies now. Tremble thou Wretch,\nThat hast within thee vndivulged Crimes\nVnwhipt of Iustice. Hide thee, thou Bloudy hand;\nThou Periur'd, and thou Simular of Vertue\nThat art Incestuous. Caytiffe, to peeces shake\nThat vnder couert, and conuenient seeming\nHa's practis'd on mans life. Close pent-vp guilts,\nRiue your concealing Continents, and cry\nThese dreadfull Summoners grace. I am a man,\nMore sinn'd against, then sinning\n\n   Kent. Alacke, bare-headed?\nGracious my Lord, hard by heere is a Houell,\nSome friendship will it lend you 'gainst the Tempest:\nRepose you there, while I to this hard house,\n(More harder then the stones whereof 'tis rais'd,\nWhich euen but now, demanding after you,\nDeny'd me to come","question":"Scena Secunda.\n\n\nStorme still. Enter Lear, and Foole.\n\n  Lear. Blow windes, & crack your cheeks; Rage, blow\nYou Cataracts, and Hyrricano's spout,\nTill you haue drench'd our Steeples, drown the Cockes.\nYou Sulph'rous and Thought-executing Fires,\nVaunt-curriors of Oake-cleauing Thunder-bolts,\nSindge my white head. And thou all-shaking Thunder,\nStrike flat the thicke Rotundity o'th' world,\nCracke Natures moulds, all germaines spill at once\nThat makes ingratefull Man\n\n   Foole. O Nunkle, Court holy-water in a dry house, is\nbetter then this Rain-water out o' doore. Good Nunkle,\nin, aske thy Daughters blessing, heere's a night pitties\nneither Wisemen, nor Fooles\n\n   Lear. Rumble thy belly full: spit Fire, spowt Raine:\nNor Raine, Winde, Thunder, Fire are my Daughters;\nI taxe not you, you Elements with vnkindnesse.\nI neuer gaue you Kingdome, call'd you Children;\nYou owe me no subscription. Then let fall\nYour horrible pleasure. Heere I stand your Slaue,\nA poore, infirme, weake, and dispis'd old man:\nBut yet I call you Seruile Ministers,\nThat will with two pernicious Daughters ioyne\nYour high-engender'd Battailes, 'gainst a head\nSo old, and white as this. O, ho! 'tis foule\n\n   Foole. He that has a house to put's head in, has a good\nHead-peece:\nThe Codpiece that will house, before the head has any;\nThe Head, and he shall Lowse: so Beggers"}
{"answer":" Hannises' batt'ry was 'long here 'bout a minute ago.\"\n\n\"That young Hasbrouck, he makes a good off'cer.  He ain't afraid 'a\nnothin'.\"\n\n\"I met one of th' 148th Maine boys an' he ses his brigade fit th' hull\nrebel army fer four hours over on th' turnpike road an' killed about\nfive thousand of 'em.  He ses one more sech fight as that an' th' war\n'll be over.\"\n\n\"Bill wasn't scared either.  No, sir!  It wasn't that.  Bill ain't\na-gittin' scared easy.  He was jest mad, that's what he was.  When that\nfeller trod on his hand, he up an' sed that he was willin' t' give his\nhand t' his country, but he be dumbed if he was goin' t' have every\ndumb bushwhacker in th' kentry walkin' 'round on it.  Se he went t' th'\nhospital disregardless of th' fight.  Three fingers was crunched.  Th'\ndern doctor wanted t' amputate 'm, an' Bill, he raised a heluva row, I\nhear.  He's a funny feller.\"\n\nThe din in front swelled to a tremendous chorus.  The youth and his\nfellows were frozen to silence.  They could see a flag that tossed in\nthe smoke angrily.  Near it were the blurred and agitated forms of\ntroops.  There came a turbulent stream of men across the fields.  A\nbattery changing position at a frantic gallop scattered the stragglers\nright and left.\n\nA shell screaming like a storm banshee went over the huddled heads of\nthe reserves.  It landed in the grove, and exploding redly flung","question":"\nThe brigade was halted in the fringe of a grove.  The men crouched\namong the trees and pointed their restless guns out at the fields. They\ntried to look beyond the smoke.\n\nOut of this haze they could see running men. Some shouted information\nand gestured as they hurried.\n\nThe men of the new regiment watched and listened eagerly, while their\ntongues ran on in gossip of the battle.  They mouthed rumors that had\nflown like birds out of the unknown.\n\n\"They say Perry has been driven in with big loss.\"\n\n\"Yes, Carrott went t' th' hospital.  He said he was sick.  That smart\nlieutenant is commanding 'G' Company.  Th' boys say they won't be under\nCarrott no more if they all have t' desert. They allus knew he was a--\"\n\n\"Hannises' batt'ry is took.\"\n\n\"It ain't either.  I saw Hannises' batt'ry off on th' left not more'n\nfifteen minutes ago.\"\n\n\"Well--\"\n\n\"Th' general, he ses he is goin' t' take th' hull cammand of th' 304th\nwhen we go inteh action, an' then he ses we'll do sech fightin' as\nnever another one reg'ment done.\"\n\n\"They say we're catchin' it over on th' left. They say th' enemy driv'\nour line inteh a devil of a swamp an' took Hannises' batt'ry.\"\n\n\"No sech thing."}
{"answer":"least to Mrs. Grose.\n\n\"What does it mean? The child's dismissed his school.\"\n\nShe gave me a look that I remarked at the moment; then, visibly, with a\nquick blankness, seemed to try to take it back. \"But aren't they all--?\"\n\n\"Sent home--yes. But only for the holidays. Miles may never go back at\nall.\"\n\nConsciously, under my attention, she reddened. \"They won't take him?\"\n\n\"They absolutely decline.\"\n\nAt this she raised her eyes, which she had turned from me; I saw them\nfill with good tears. \"What has he done?\"\n\nI hesitated; then I judged best simply to hand her my letter--which,\nhowever, had the effect of making her, without taking it, simply put her\nhands behind her. She shook her head sadly. \"Such things are not for me,\nmiss.\"\n\nMy counselor couldn't read! I winced at my mistake, which I attenuated\nas I could, and opened my letter again to repeat it to her; then,\nfaltering in the act and folding it up once more, I put it back in my\npocket. \"Is he really BAD?\"\n\nThe tears were still in her eyes. \"Do the gentlemen say so?\"\n\n\"They go into no particulars. They simply express their regret that it\nshould be impossible to keep him. That can have only one meaning.\"\nMrs. Grose listened with dumb emotion; she forbore to ask me what\nthis meaning might be; so that, presently, to put the thing with some\ncoherence and with the mere aid of her presence to my own mind, I went\non: \"That he's an injury to the others.\"\n\nAt this, with one of the quick turns of simple folk, she suddenly","question":"This came home to me when, two days later, I drove over with Flora to\nmeet, as Mrs. Grose said, the little gentleman; and all the more for\nan incident that, presenting itself the second evening, had deeply\ndisconcerted me. The first day had been, on the whole, as I have\nexpressed, reassuring; but I was to see it wind up in keen apprehension.\nThe postbag, that evening--it came late--contained a letter for me,\nwhich, however, in the hand of my employer, I found to be composed but\nof a few words enclosing another, addressed to himself, with a seal\nstill unbroken. \"This, I recognize, is from the headmaster, and the\nheadmaster's an awful bore. Read him, please; deal with him; but mind\nyou don't report. Not a word. I'm off!\" I broke the seal with a great\neffort--so great a one that I was a long time coming to it; took the\nunopened missive at last up to my room and only attacked it just before\ngoing to bed. I had better have let it wait till morning, for it gave me\na second sleepless night. With no counsel to take, the next day, I\nwas full of distress; and it finally got so the better of me that I\ndetermined to open myself at"}
{"answer":"lie, that is, all this penitence,\nthis emotion, these vows of reform.  You will ask why did I worry\nmyself with such antics: answer, because it was very dull to sit with\none's hands folded, and so one began cutting capers.  That is really\nit.  Observe yourselves more carefully, gentlemen, then you will\nunderstand that it is so. I invented adventures for myself and made up\na life, so as at least to live in some way.  How many times it has\nhappened to me--well, for instance, to take offence simply on purpose,\nfor nothing; and one knows oneself, of course, that one is offended at\nnothing; that one is putting it on, but yet one brings oneself at last\nto the point of being really offended. All my life I have had an\nimpulse to play such pranks, so that in the end I could not control it\nin myself.  Another time, twice, in fact, I tried hard to be in love.\nI suffered, too, gentlemen, I assure you.  In the depth of my heart\nthere was no faith in my suffering, only a faint stir of mockery, but\nyet I did suffer, and in the real, orthodox way; I was jealous, beside\nmyself ... and it was all from ENNUI, gentlemen, all from ENNUI;\ninertia overcame me.  You know the direct, legitimate fruit of\nconsciousness is inertia, that is, conscious\nsitting-with-the-hands-folded.  I have referred to this already.  I\nrepeat, I repeat with emphasis: all \"direct\" persons and men of action\nare active just because they are stupid and limited. ","question":"\nCome, can a man who attempts to find enjoyment in the very feeling of\nhis own degradation possibly have a spark of respect for himself?  I am\nnot saying this now from any mawkish kind of remorse.  And, indeed, I\ncould never endure saying, \"Forgive me, Papa, I won't do it again,\" not\nbecause I am incapable of saying that--on the contrary, perhaps just\nbecause I have been too capable of it, and in what a way, too.  As\nthough of design I used to get into trouble in cases when I was not to\nblame in any way.  That was the nastiest part of it.  At the same time\nI was genuinely touched and penitent, I used to shed tears and, of\ncourse, deceived myself, though I was not acting in the least and there\nwas a sick feeling in my heart at the time....  For that one could not\nblame even the laws of nature, though the laws of nature have\ncontinually all my life offended me more than anything.  It is\nloathsome to remember it all, but it was loathsome even then.  Of\ncourse, a minute or so later I would realise wrathfully that it was all\na lie, a revolting lie, an affected"}
{"answer":"without breaking?\n    where he answers again\n         Because thou canst not ease thy smart\n         By friendship nor by speaking.\n    There was never a truer rhyme. Let us cast away nothing, for we\n    may live to have need of such a verse. We see it, we see it. How\n    now, lambs!\n  TROILUS. Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd a purity\n    That the bless'd gods, as angry with my fancy,\n    More bright in zeal than the devotion which\n    Cold lips blow to their deities, take thee from me.\n  CRESSIDA. Have the gods envy?\n  PANDARUS. Ay, ay, ay; 'tis too plain a case.\n  CRESSIDA. And is it true that I must go from Troy?\n  TROILUS. A hateful truth.\n  CRESSIDA. What, and from Troilus too?\n  TROILUS. From Troy and Troilus.\n  CRESSIDA. Is't possible?\n  TROILUS. And suddenly; where injury of chance\n    Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by\n    All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips\n    Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents\n    Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows\n    Even in the birth of our own labouring breath.\n    We two, that with so many thousand sighs\n    Did buy each other,","question":"ACT IV. SCENE 4.\nTroy. PANDARUS' house\n\nEnter PANDARUS and CRESSIDA\n\n  PANDARUS. Be moderate, be moderate.\n  CRESSIDA. Why tell you me of moderation?\n    The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste,\n    And violenteth in a sense as strong\n    As that which causeth it. How can I moderate it?\n    If I could temporize with my affections\n    Or brew it to a weak and colder palate,\n    The like allayment could I give my grief.\n    My love admits no qualifying dross;\n    No more my grief, in such a precious loss.\n\n                    Enter TROILUS\n\n  PANDARUS. Here, here, here he comes. Ah, sweet ducks!\n  CRESSIDA. O Troilus! Troilus! [Embracing him]\n  PANDARUS. What a pair of spectacles is here! Let me embrace too. 'O\n    heart,' as the goodly saying is,\n           O heart, heavy heart,\n           Why sigh'st thou"}
{"answer":"with the same\ndisregard to common forms of politeness as before; never returning my\nbow and good-morning by the slightest acknowledgment.\n\n'She does not seem so amiable,' I thought, 'as Mrs. Dean would persuade\nme to believe.  She's a beauty, it is true; but not an angel.'\n\nEarnshaw surlily bid her remove her things to the kitchen.  'Remove them\nyourself,' she said, pushing them from her as soon as she had done; and\nretiring to a stool by the window, where she began to carve figures of\nbirds and beasts out of the turnip-parings in her lap.  I approached her,\npretending to desire a view of the garden; and, as I fancied, adroitly\ndropped Mrs. Dean's note on to her knee, unnoticed by Hareton--but she\nasked aloud, 'What is that?'  And chucked it off.\n\n'A letter from your old acquaintance, the housekeeper at the Grange,' I\nanswered; annoyed at her exposing my kind deed, and fearful lest it\nshould be imagined a missive of my own.  She would gladly have gathered\nit up at this information, but Hareton beat her; he seized and put it in\nhis waistcoat, saying Mr. Heathcliff should look at it first.  Thereat,\nCatherine silently turned her face from us, and, very stealthily, drew\nout her pocket-handkerchief and applied it to her eyes; and her cousin,\nafter struggling awhile to keep down his softer feelings, pulled out the\nletter and flung it on the floor beside her, as ungraciously as he could.\nCatherine caught and perused it eagerly; then she put a few questions to\nme concerning the inmates, rational and irrational,","question":"\n\nYesterday was bright, calm, and frosty.  I went to the Heights as I\nproposed: my housekeeper entreated me to bear a little note from her to\nher young lady, and I did not refuse, for the worthy woman was not\nconscious of anything odd in her request.  The front door stood open, but\nthe jealous gate was fastened, as at my last visit; I knocked and invoked\nEarnshaw from among the garden-beds; he unchained it, and I entered.  The\nfellow is as handsome a rustic as need be seen.  I took particular notice\nof him this time; but then he does his best apparently to make the least\nof his advantages.\n\nI asked if Mr. Heathcliff were at home?  He answered, No; but he would be\nin at dinner-time.  It was eleven o'clock, and I announced my intention\nof going in and waiting for him; at which he immediately flung down his\ntools and accompanied me, in the office of watchdog, not as a substitute\nfor the host.\n\nWe entered together; Catherine was there, making herself useful in\npreparing some vegetables for the approaching meal; she looked more\nsulky and less spirited than when I had seen her first. She hardly\nraised her eyes to notice me, and continued her employment"}
{"answer":"accounted ill.\nThus will I save my credit in the shoot:\nNot wounding, pity would not let me do't;\nIf wounding, then it was to show my skill,\nThat more for praise than purpose meant to kill.\nAnd out of question so it is sometimes,\nGlory grows guilty of detested crimes,\nWhen, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part,\nWe bend to that the working of the heart;\nAs I for praise alone now seek to spill\nThe poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill.\n\nBOYET.\nDo not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty\nOnly for praise' sake, when they strive to be\nLords o'er their lords?\n\nPRINCESS.\nOnly for praise; and praise we may afford\nTo any lady that subdues a lord.\n\n[Enter COSTARD.]\n\nBOYET.\nHere comes a member of the commonwealth.\n\nCOSTARD.\nGod dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the head lady?\n\nPRINCESS.\nThou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads.\n\nCOSTARD.\nWhich is the greatest lady, the highest?\n\nPRINCESS.\nThe thickest and the tallest.\n\nCOSTARD.\nThe thickest and the tallest! It is so; truth is truth.\nAn your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit,\nOne o' these maids' girdles for your waist should be fit.\nAre not you the chief woman? You are the thickest here.\n\nPRINCESS.\nWhat's your will, sir? What's your will?\n\nCOSTARD.\nI have a letter from Monsieur Berowne to one Lady Rosaline.\n\nPRINCESS.\nO! thy letter, thy letter; he's a good friend of mine.\nStand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve;\nBreak up this capon.\n\nBOYET.\nI am bound to serve.\nThis letter is mistook; it importeth none here.\nIt is writ to Jaquenetta.\n\nPRINCESS.\nWe will read it, I swear.\nBreak the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.\n\nBOYET.\n","question":"ACT IV. SCENE I.\n\nThe King of Navarre's park.\n\n[Enter the PRINCESS, ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET, LORDS,\nATTENDANTS, and a FORESTER.\n\nPRINCESS.\nWas that the King that spurr'd his horse so hard\nAgainst the steep uprising of the hill?\n\nBOYET.\nI know not; but I think it was not he.\n\nPRINCESS.\nWhoe'er a' was, a' show'd a mounting mind.\nWell, lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch;\nOn Saturday we will return to France.\nThen, forester, my friend, where is the bush\nThat we must stand and play the murderer in?\n\nFORESTER.\nHereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice;\nA stand where you may make the fairest shoot.\n\nPRINCESS.\nI thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot,\nAnd thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoot.\n\nFORESTER.\nPardon me, madam, for I meant not so.\n\nPRINCESS.\nWhat, what? First praise me, and again say no?\nO short-liv'd pride! Not fair? Alack for woe!\n\nFORESTER.\nYes, madam, fair.\n\nPRINCESS.\nNay, never paint me now;\nWhere fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.\nHere, good my glass [Gives money]:--take this for telling true:\n\nFair payment for foul words is more than due.\n\nFORESTER.\nNothing but fair is that which you inherit.\n\nPRINCESS.\nSee, see! my beauty will be sav'd by merit.\nO heresy in fair, fit for these days!\nA giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.\nBut come, the bow: now mercy goes to kill,\nAnd shooting well is then"}
{"answer":"the left shoulder he carried a crutch, which he managed with\nwonderful dexterity, hopping about upon it like a bird. He was very tall\nand strong, with a face as big as a ham--plain and pale, but\nintelligent and smiling. Indeed, he seemed in the most cheerful spirits,\nwhistling as he moved about among the tables, with a merry word or a\nslap on the shoulder for the more favored of his guests.\n\nNow, to tell you the truth, from the very first mention of Long John in\nSquire Trelawney's letter, I had taken a fear in my mind that he might\nprove to be the very one-legged sailor whom I had watched for so long at\nthe old \"Benbow.\" But one look at the man before me was enough. I had\nseen the captain, and Black Dog, and the blind man Pew, and I thought I\nknew what a buccaneer was like--a very different creature, according to\nme, from this clean and pleasant-tempered landlord.\n\nI plucked up courage at once, crossed the threshold, and walked right up\nto the man where he stood, propped on his crutch, talking to a customer.\n\n\"Mr. Silver, sir?\" I asked, holding out the note.\n\n\"Yes, my lad,\" said he; \"such is my name, to be sure. And who may you\nbe?\" And when he saw the squire's letter he seemed to me to give\nsomething almost like a start.\n\n\"Oh!\" said he, quite aloud, and offering his hand, \"I see. You are our\nnew cabin-boy; pleased I am to see you.\"\n\nAnd he took my hand in his large firm grasp.\n\nJust then one of","question":"\nAT THE SIGN OF THE \"SPY-GLASS\"\n\n\nWhen I had done breakfasting, the squire gave me a note addressed to\nJohn Silver, at the sign of the \"Spy-glass,\" and told me I should easily\nfind the place by following the line of the docks, and keeping a bright\nlookout for a little tavern with a large brass telescope for a sign. I\nset off, overjoyed at this opportunity to see some more of the ships and\nseamen, and picked my way among a great crowd of people and carts and\nbales, for the dock was now at its busiest, until I found the tavern in\nquestion.\n\nIt was a bright enough little place of entertainment. The sign was newly\npainted; the windows had neat red curtains; the floor was cleanly\nsanded. There was a street on each side, and an open door on both, which\nmade the large, low room pretty clear to see in, in spite of clouds of\ntobacco smoke.\n\nThe customers were mostly seafaring men, and they talked so loudly that\nI hung at the door, almost afraid to enter.\n\nAs I was waiting, a man came out of a side room, and at a glance I was\nsure he must be Long John. His left leg was cut off close by the hip,\nand under"}
{"answer":"delighted to find a town boy who could milk a\ncow. He was particularly affable to grandmother, and whenever they met he\nwould begin at once to talk about \"the good old times\" and simple living.\nI detested his pink, bald head, and his yellow whiskers, always soft and\nglistening. It was said he brushed them every night, as a woman does her\nhair. His white teeth looked factory-made. His skin was red and rough, as\nif from perpetual sunburn; he often went away to hot springs to take mud\nbaths. He was notoriously dissolute with women. Two Swedish girls who had\nlived in his house were the worse for the experience. One of them he had\ntaken to Omaha and established in the business for which he had fitted\nher. He still visited her.\n\nCutter lived in a state of perpetual warfare with his wife, and yet,\napparently, they never thought of separating. They dwelt in a fussy,\nscroll-work house, painted white and buried in thick evergreens, with a\nfussy white fence and barn. Cutter thought he knew a great deal about\nhorses, and usually had a colt which he was training for the track. On\nSunday mornings one could see him out at the fair grounds, speeding around\nthe race-course in his trotting-buggy, wearing yellow gloves and a\nblack-and-white-check traveling cap, his whiskers blowing back in the\nbreeze. If there were any boys about, Cutter would offer one of them a\nquarter to hold the stop-watch, and then drive off, saying he had no\nchange and would \"fix it up next time.\" No one could cut his lawn or","question":"\n\nWICK CUTTER was the money-lender who had fleeced poor Russian Peter. When\na farmer once got into the habit of going to Cutter, it was like gambling\nor the lottery; in an hour of discouragement he went back.\n\nCutter's first name was Wycliffe, and he liked to talk about his pious\nbringing-up. He contributed regularly to the Protestant churches, \"for\nsentiment's sake,\" as he said with a flourish of the hand. He came from a\ntown in Iowa where there were a great many Swedes, and could speak a\nlittle Swedish, which gave him a great advantage with the early\nScandinavian settlers.\n\nIn every frontier settlement there are men who have come there to escape\nrestraint. Cutter was one of the \"fast set\" of Black Hawk business men. He\nwas an inveterate gambler, though a poor loser. When we saw a light\nburning in his office late at night, we knew that a game of poker was\ngoing on. Cutter boasted that he never drank anything stronger than\nsherry, and he said he got his start in life by saving the money that\nother young men spent for cigars. He was full of moral maxims for boys.\nWhen he came to our house on business, he quoted \"Poor Richard's Almanack\"\nto me, and told me he was"}
{"answer":"with the same\ndisregard to common forms of politeness as before; never returning my\nbow and good-morning by the slightest acknowledgment.\n\n'She does not seem so amiable,' I thought, 'as Mrs. Dean would persuade\nme to believe.  She's a beauty, it is true; but not an angel.'\n\nEarnshaw surlily bid her remove her things to the kitchen.  'Remove them\nyourself,' she said, pushing them from her as soon as she had done; and\nretiring to a stool by the window, where she began to carve figures of\nbirds and beasts out of the turnip-parings in her lap.  I approached her,\npretending to desire a view of the garden; and, as I fancied, adroitly\ndropped Mrs. Dean's note on to her knee, unnoticed by Hareton--but she\nasked aloud, 'What is that?'  And chucked it off.\n\n'A letter from your old acquaintance, the housekeeper at the Grange,' I\nanswered; annoyed at her exposing my kind deed, and fearful lest it\nshould be imagined a missive of my own.  She would gladly have gathered\nit up at this information, but Hareton beat her; he seized and put it in\nhis waistcoat, saying Mr. Heathcliff should look at it first.  Thereat,\nCatherine silently turned her face from us, and, very stealthily, drew\nout her pocket-handkerchief and applied it to her eyes; and her cousin,\nafter struggling awhile to keep down his softer feelings, pulled out the\nletter and flung it on the floor beside her, as ungraciously as he could.\nCatherine caught and perused it eagerly; then she put a few questions to\nme concerning the inmates, rational and irrational,","question":"\n\nYesterday was bright, calm, and frosty.  I went to the Heights as I\nproposed: my housekeeper entreated me to bear a little note from her to\nher young lady, and I did not refuse, for the worthy woman was not\nconscious of anything odd in her request.  The front door stood open, but\nthe jealous gate was fastened, as at my last visit; I knocked and invoked\nEarnshaw from among the garden-beds; he unchained it, and I entered.  The\nfellow is as handsome a rustic as need be seen.  I took particular notice\nof him this time; but then he does his best apparently to make the least\nof his advantages.\n\nI asked if Mr. Heathcliff were at home?  He answered, No; but he would be\nin at dinner-time.  It was eleven o'clock, and I announced my intention\nof going in and waiting for him; at which he immediately flung down his\ntools and accompanied me, in the office of watchdog, not as a substitute\nfor the host.\n\nWe entered together; Catherine was there, making herself useful in\npreparing some vegetables for the approaching meal; she looked more\nsulky and less spirited than when I had seen her first. She hardly\nraised her eyes to notice me, and continued her employment"}
{"answer":"upon him.\n\nTheir housekeeping was of a very frugal kind: not only because that was\nthe safest way of life, involving the least offence to the people, but\nbecause they were not rich, and Charles, throughout his imprisonment,\nhad had to pay heavily for his bad food, and for his guard, and towards\nthe living of the poorer prisoners. Partly on this account, and\npartly to avoid a domestic spy, they kept no servant; the citizen and\ncitizeness who acted as porters at the courtyard gate, rendered them\noccasional service; and Jerry (almost wholly transferred to them by\nMr. Lorry) had become their daily retainer, and had his bed there every\nnight.\n\nIt was an ordinance of the Republic One and Indivisible of Liberty,\nEquality, Fraternity, or Death, that on the door or doorpost of every\nhouse, the name of every inmate must be legibly inscribed in letters\nof a certain size, at a certain convenient height from the ground. Mr.\nJerry Cruncher's name, therefore, duly embellished the doorpost down\nbelow; and, as the afternoon shadows deepened, the owner of that name\nhimself appeared, from overlooking a painter whom Doctor Manette had\nemployed to add to the list the name of Charles Evremonde, called\nDarnay.\n\nIn the universal fear and distrust that darkened the time, all the usual\nharmless ways of life were changed. In the Doctor's little household, as\nin very many others, the articles of daily consumption that were wanted\nwere purchased every evening, in small quantities and at various small\nshops. To avoid attracting notice, and to give as little occasion as\npossible for talk and envy, was the general desire.\n\nFor some","question":"VII. A Knock at the Door\n\n\n\"I have saved him.\" It was not another of the dreams in which he had\noften come back; he was really here. And yet his wife trembled, and a\nvague but heavy fear was upon her.\n\nAll the air round was so thick and dark, the people were so passionately\nrevengeful and fitful, the innocent were so constantly put to death on\nvague suspicion and black malice, it was so impossible to forget that\nmany as blameless as her husband and as dear to others as he was to\nher, every day shared the fate from which he had been clutched, that her\nheart could not be as lightened of its load as she felt it ought to be.\nThe shadows of the wintry afternoon were beginning to fall, and even now\nthe dreadful carts were rolling through the streets. Her mind pursued\nthem, looking for him among the Condemned; and then she clung closer to\nhis real presence and trembled more.\n\nHer father, cheering her, showed a compassionate superiority to this\nwoman's weakness, which was wonderful to see. No garret, no shoemaking,\nno One Hundred and Five, North Tower, now! He had accomplished the task\nhe had set himself, his promise was redeemed, he had saved Charles. Let\nthem all lean"}
{"answer":"abandoned to temptation!\n  Marry my daughter, eh?--and want my wife, too?\n  I doubted long enough if this was earnest,\n  Expecting all the time the tone would change;\n  But now the proof's been carried far enough;\n  I'm satisfied, and ask no more, for my part.\n\n  ELMIRE (to Tartuffe)\n  'Twas quite against my character to play\n  This part; but I was forced to treat you so.\n\n  TARTUFFE\n  What? You believe ... ?\n\n  ORGON\n  Come, now, no protestations.\n  Get out from here, and make no fuss about it.\n\n  TARTUFFE\n  But my intent ...\n\n  ORGON\n  That talk is out of season.\n  You leave my house this instant.\n\n  TARTUFFE\n  You're the one\n  To leave it, you who play the master here!\n  This house belongs to me, I'll have you know,\n  And show you plainly it's no use to turn\n  To these low tricks, to pick a quarrel with me,\n  And that you can't insult me at your pleasure,\n  For I have wherewith to confound your lies,\n  Avenge offended Heaven, and compel\n  Those to repent who talk to me of leaving.\n\n\n\n\nSCENE VIII\n\n  ELMIRE, ORGON\n\n\n  ELMIRE\n  What sort of speech is this? What can it mean?\n\n  ORGON\n  My faith, I'm dazed. This is no laughing matter.\n\n  ELMIRE\n  What?\n\n  ORGON\n  From his words I see my great mistake;\n  The deed","question":"SCENE VI\n\n  ORGON, ELMIRE\n\n\n  ORGON (crawling out from under the table)\n  That is, I own, a man ... abominable!\n  I can't get over it; the whole thing floors me.\n\n  ELMIRE\n  What? You come out so soon? You cannot mean it!\n  Get back under the table; 'tis not time yet;\n  Wait till the end, to see, and make quite certain,\n  And don't believe a thing on mere conjecture.\n\n  ORGON\n  Nothing more wicked e'er came out of Hell.\n\n  ELMIRE\n  Dear me! Don't go and credit things too lightly.\n  No, let yourself be thoroughly convinced;\n  Don't yield too soon, for fear you'll be mistaken.\n\n  (As Tartuffe enters, she makes her husband stand behind her.)\n\n\n\n\nSCENE VII\n\n  TARTUFFE, ELMIRE, ORGON\n\n\n  TARTUFFE (not seeing Orgon)\n  All things conspire toward my satisfaction,\n  Madam, I've searched the whole apartment through.\n  There's no one here; and now my ravished soul ...\n\n  ORGON (stopping him)\n  Softly! You are too eager in your amours;\n  You needn't be so passionate. Ah ha!\n  My holy man! You want to put it on me!\n  How is your soul"}
{"answer":"not the truth in saying that!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Did you see my nose quiver when I spoke?  'Faith, it must have been a\nmonstrous lie that should move it!\n(Changing his tone):\n  I wait some one here.  Leave us alone, and disturb us for naught an it were\nnot for crack of doom!\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  But 'tis impossible; my poets are coming. . .\n\nLISE (ironically):\n  Oh, ay, for their first meal o' the day!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Prythee, take them aside when I shall make you sign to do so. . .What's\no'clock?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Ten minutes after six.\n\nCYRANO (nervously seating himself at Ragueneau's table, and drawing some paper\ntoward him):\n  A pen!. . .\n\nRAGUENEAU (giving him the one from behind his ear):\n  Here--a swan's quill.\n\nA MUSKETEER (with fierce mustache, enters, and in a stentorian voice):\n  Good-day!\n\n(Lise goes up to him quickly.)\n\nCYRANO (turning round):\n  Who's that?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  'Tis a friend of my wife--a terrible warrior--at least so says he himself.\n\nCYRANO (taking up the pen, and motioning Ragueneau away):\n  Hush!\n(To himself):\n  I will write, fold it, give it her, and fly!\n(Throws down the pen):\n  Coward!. . .But strike me dead if I dare to speak to her,. . .ay, even one\nsingle word!\n(To Ragueneau):\n  What time is it?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  A quarter after six!. . .\n\nCYRANO (striking his breast):\n  Ay--a single word of all those here! here!  But writing, 'tis easier done. .\n.\n(He takes up the pen):\n  Go to, I will write it, that love-letter!  Oh! ","question":"Ragueneau, Lise, Cyrano, then the musketeer.\n\nCYRANO:\n  What's o'clock?\n\nRAGUENEAU (bowing low):\n  Six o'clock.\n\nCYRANO (with emotion):\n  In one hour's time!\n\n(He paces up and down the shop.)\n\nRAGUENEAU (following him):\n  Bravo!  I saw. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Well, what saw you, then?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Your combat!. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Which?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  That in the Burgundy Hotel, 'faith!\n\nCYRANO (contemptuously):\n  Ah!. . .the duel!\n\nRAGUENEAU (admiringly):\n  Ay! the duel in verse!. . .\n\nLISE:\n  He can talk of naught else!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Well!  Good! let be!\n\nRAGUENEAU (making passes with a spit that he catches up):\n  'At the envoi's end, I touch!. . .At the envoi's end, I touch!'. . .'Tis\nfine, fine!\n(With increasing enthusiasm):\n  'At the envoi's end--'\n\nCYRANO:\n  What hour is it now, Ragueneau?\n\nRAGUENEAU (stopping short in the act of thrusting to look at the clock):\n  Five minutes after six!. . .'I touch!'\n(He straightens himself):\n  . . .Oh! to write a ballade!\n\nLISE (to Cyrano, who, as he passes by the counter, has absently shaken hands\nwith her):\n  What's wrong with your hand?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Naught; a slight cut.\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Have you been in some danger?\n\nCYRANO:\n  None in the world.\n\nLISE (shaking her finger at him):\n  Methinks you speak"}
{"answer":"home,\ndear, and I'll find your bootjack.  I suppose that's what you are\nrummaging after among my things.  Men are so helpless, Mother,\" said\nAmy, with a matronly air, which delighted her husband.\n\n\"What are you going to do with yourselves after you get settled?\" asked\nJo, buttoning Amy's cloak as she used to button her pinafores.\n\n\"We have our plans.  We don't mean to say much about them yet, because\nwe are such very new brooms, but we don't intend to be idle.  I'm going\ninto business with a devotion that shall delight Grandfather, and prove\nto him that I'm not spoiled.  I need something of the sort to keep me\nsteady.  I'm tired of dawdling, and mean to work like a man.\"\n\n\"And Amy, what is she going to do?\" asked Mrs. March, well pleased at\nLaurie's decision and the energy with which he spoke.\n\n\"After doing the civil all round, and airing our best bonnet, we shall\nastonish you by the elegant hospitalities of our mansion, the brilliant\nsociety we shall draw about us, and the beneficial influence we shall\nexert over the world at large.  That's about it, isn't it, Madame\nRecamier?\" asked Laurie with a quizzical look at Amy.\n\n\"Time will show.  Come away, Impertinence, and don't shock my family by\ncalling me names before their faces,\" answered Amy, resolving that\nthere should be a home with a good wife in it before she set up a salon\nas a queen of society.\n\n\"How happy those children seem together!\" observed Mr. March, finding\nit difficult to become absorbed in his","question":"\"Please, Madam Mother, could you lend me my wife for half an hour?  The\nluggage has come, and I've been making hay of Amy's Paris finery,\ntrying to find some things I want,\" said Laurie, coming in the next day\nto find Mrs. Laurence sitting in her mother's lap, as if being made\n'the baby' again.\n\n\"Certainly.  Go, dear, I forgot that you have any home but this,\" and\nMrs. March pressed the white hand that wore the wedding ring, as if\nasking pardon for her maternal covetousness.\n\n\"I shouldn't have come over if I could have helped it, but I can't get\non without my little woman any more than a...\"\n\n\"Weathercock can without the wind,\" suggested Jo, as he paused for a\nsimile.  Jo had grown quite her own saucy self again since Teddy came\nhome.\n\n\"Exactly, for Amy keeps me pointing due west most of the time, with\nonly an occasional whiffle round to the south, and I haven't had an\neasterly spell since I was married.  Don't know anything about the\nnorth, but am altogether salubrious and balmy, hey, my lady?\"\n\n\"Lovely weather so far.  I don't know how long it will last, but I'm\nnot afraid of storms, for I'm learning how to sail my ship.  Come"}
{"answer":"Oh, well, a creditor can always wait!\n  I shall not let you go ere twilight falls.\n\nCYRANO:\n  Haply, perforce, I quit you ere it falls!\n\n(He shuts his eyes, and is silent for a moment.  Sister Martha crosses the\npark from the chapel to the flight of steps.  Roxane, seeing her, signs to her\nto approach.)\n\nROXANE (to Cyrano):\n  How now?  You have not teased the Sister?\n\nCYRANO (hastily opening his eyes):\n  True!\n(In a comically loud voice):\n  Sister! come here!\n(The sister glides up to him):\n  Ha! ha!  What?  Those bright eyes\n  Bent ever on the ground?\n\nSISTER MARTHA (who makes a movement of astonishment on seeing his face):\n  Oh!\n\nCYRANO (in a whisper, pointing to Roxane):\n  Hush! 'tis naught!--\n(Loudly, in a blustering voice):\n  I broke fast yesterday!\n\nSISTER MARTHA (aside):\n  I know, I know!\n  That's how he is so pale!  Come presently\n  To the refectory, I'll make you drink\n  A famous bowl of soup. . .You'll come?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Ay, ay!\n\nSISTER MARTHA:\n  There, see!  You are more reasonable to-day!\n\nROXANE (who hears them whispering):\n  The Sister would convert you?\n\nSISTER MARTHA:\n  Nay, not I!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Hold! but it's true!  You preach to me no more,\n  You, once so glib with holy words!  I am\n  Astonished!. . .\n(With burlesque fury):\n  Stay, I will surprise you too!\n  Hark!  I permit you. . .\n(He pretends to be seeking for something to tease her with,","question":"Roxane, Cyrano and, for a moment, Sister Martha.\n\nROXANE (without turning round):\n  What was I saying?. . .\n(She embroiders.  Cyrano, very pale, his hat pulled down over his eyes,\nappears.  The sister who had announced him retires.  He descends the steps\nslowly, with a visible difficulty in holding himself upright, bearing heavily\non his cane.  Roxane still works at her tapestry):\n  Time has dimmed the tints. . .\n  How harmonize them now?\n(To Cyrano, with playful reproach):\n  For the first time\n  Late!--For the first time, all these fourteen years!\n\nCYRANO (who has succeeded in reaching the chair, and has seated himself--in a\nlively voice, which is in great contrast with his pale face):\n  Ay!  It is villainous!  I raged--was stayed. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  By?. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  By a bold, unwelcome visitor.\n\nROXANE (absently, working):\n  Some creditor?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Ay, cousin,--the last creditor\n  Who has a debt to claim from me.\n\nROXANE:\n  And you\n  Have paid it?\n\nCYRANO:\n  No, not yet!  I put it off;\n  --Said, 'Cry you mercy; this is Saturday,\n  When I have get a standing rendezvous\n  That naught defers.  Call in an hour's time!'\n\nROXANE (carelessly):\n "}
{"answer":"you all.\n    But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth?\n\n     Enter a GOTH, leading AARON with his CHILD in his arms\n\n  SECOND GOTH. Renowned Lucius, from our troops I stray'd\n    To gaze upon a ruinous monastery;\n    And as I earnestly did fix mine eye\n    Upon the wasted building, suddenly\n    I heard a child cry underneath a wall.\n    I made unto the noise, when soon I heard\n    The crying babe controll'd with this discourse:\n    'Peace, tawny slave, half me and half thy dam!\n    Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art,\n    Had nature lent thee but thy mother's look,\n    Villain, thou mightst have been an emperor;\n    But where the bull and cow are both milk-white,\n    They never do beget a coal-black calf.\n    Peace, villain, peace!'- even thus he rates the babe-\n    'For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth,\n    Who, when he knows thou art the Empress' babe,\n    Will hold thee dearly for thy mother's sake.'\n    With this, my weapon drawn, I rush'd upon him,\n    Surpris'd him suddenly, and brought him hither\n    To use as you think needful of the man.\n  LUCIUS.","question":"ACT V. SCENE I.\nPlains near Rome\n\nEnter LUCIUS with an army of GOTHS with drums and colours\n\n  LUCIUS. Approved warriors and my faithful friends,\n    I have received letters from great Rome\n    Which signifies what hate they bear their Emperor\n    And how desirous of our sight they are.\n    Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness,\n    Imperious and impatient of your wrongs;\n    And wherein Rome hath done you any scath,\n    Let him make treble satisfaction.\n  FIRST GOTH. Brave slip, sprung from the great Andronicus,\n    Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort,\n    Whose high exploits and honourable deeds\n    Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt,\n    Be bold in us: we'll follow where thou lead'st,\n    Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day,\n    Led by their master to the flow'red fields,\n    And be aveng'd on cursed Tamora.\n  ALL THE GOTHS. And as he saith, so say we all with him.\n  LUCIUS. I humbly thank him, and I thank"}
{"answer":"not the truth in saying that!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Did you see my nose quiver when I spoke?  'Faith, it must have been a\nmonstrous lie that should move it!\n(Changing his tone):\n  I wait some one here.  Leave us alone, and disturb us for naught an it were\nnot for crack of doom!\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  But 'tis impossible; my poets are coming. . .\n\nLISE (ironically):\n  Oh, ay, for their first meal o' the day!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Prythee, take them aside when I shall make you sign to do so. . .What's\no'clock?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Ten minutes after six.\n\nCYRANO (nervously seating himself at Ragueneau's table, and drawing some paper\ntoward him):\n  A pen!. . .\n\nRAGUENEAU (giving him the one from behind his ear):\n  Here--a swan's quill.\n\nA MUSKETEER (with fierce mustache, enters, and in a stentorian voice):\n  Good-day!\n\n(Lise goes up to him quickly.)\n\nCYRANO (turning round):\n  Who's that?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  'Tis a friend of my wife--a terrible warrior--at least so says he himself.\n\nCYRANO (taking up the pen, and motioning Ragueneau away):\n  Hush!\n(To himself):\n  I will write, fold it, give it her, and fly!\n(Throws down the pen):\n  Coward!. . .But strike me dead if I dare to speak to her,. . .ay, even one\nsingle word!\n(To Ragueneau):\n  What time is it?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  A quarter after six!. . .\n\nCYRANO (striking his breast):\n  Ay--a single word of all those here! here!  But writing, 'tis easier done. .\n.\n(He takes up the pen):\n  Go to, I will write it, that love-letter!  Oh! ","question":"Ragueneau, Lise, Cyrano, then the musketeer.\n\nCYRANO:\n  What's o'clock?\n\nRAGUENEAU (bowing low):\n  Six o'clock.\n\nCYRANO (with emotion):\n  In one hour's time!\n\n(He paces up and down the shop.)\n\nRAGUENEAU (following him):\n  Bravo!  I saw. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Well, what saw you, then?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Your combat!. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Which?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  That in the Burgundy Hotel, 'faith!\n\nCYRANO (contemptuously):\n  Ah!. . .the duel!\n\nRAGUENEAU (admiringly):\n  Ay! the duel in verse!. . .\n\nLISE:\n  He can talk of naught else!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Well!  Good! let be!\n\nRAGUENEAU (making passes with a spit that he catches up):\n  'At the envoi's end, I touch!. . .At the envoi's end, I touch!'. . .'Tis\nfine, fine!\n(With increasing enthusiasm):\n  'At the envoi's end--'\n\nCYRANO:\n  What hour is it now, Ragueneau?\n\nRAGUENEAU (stopping short in the act of thrusting to look at the clock):\n  Five minutes after six!. . .'I touch!'\n(He straightens himself):\n  . . .Oh! to write a ballade!\n\nLISE (to Cyrano, who, as he passes by the counter, has absently shaken hands\nwith her):\n  What's wrong with your hand?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Naught; a slight cut.\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Have you been in some danger?\n\nCYRANO:\n  None in the world.\n\nLISE (shaking her finger at him):\n  Methinks you speak"}
{"answer":"sensible\nin the duller parts:\nAnd such barren plants are set before us that we thankful should\nbe,\nWhich we of taste and feeling are, for those parts that do\nfructify in us more than he;\nFor as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, or a fool,\nSo, were there a patch set on learning, to see him in a school.\nBut, omne bene, say I; being of an old Father's mind:\nMany can brook the weather that love not the wind.\n\nDULL.\nYou two are book-men: can you tell me by your wit,\nWhat was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not five weeks old\nas yet?\n\nHOLOFERNES.\nDictynna, goodman Dull; Dictynna, goodman Dull.\n\nDULL.\nWhat is Dictynna?\n\nNATHANIEL.\nA title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon.\n\nHOLOFERNES.\nThe moon was a month old when Adam was no more,\nAnd raught not to five weeks when he came to five-score.\nThe allusion holds in the exchange.\n\nDULL.\n'Tis true, indeed; the collusion holds in the exchange.\n\nHOLOFERNES.\nGod comfort thy capacity! I say, the allusion holds in\nthe exchange.\n\nDULL.\nAnd I say the pollusion holds in the exchange, for the moon is\nnever but a month old; and I say beside that 'twas a pricket\nthat the Princess killed.\n\nHOLOFERNES.\nSir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal epitaph on the death\nof the deer? And, to humour the ignorant, I have call'd the deer\nthe Princess killed, a pricket.\n\nNATHANIEL.\nPerge, good Master Holofernes, perge; so it shall please\nyou to abrogate scurrility.\n\nHOLOFERNES.\nI will something affect the letter; for it argues facility.\nThe preyful Princess pierc'd and prick'd a pretty pleasing\npricket;\n  Some say a sore; but not a sore till now made","question":"SCENE II.\n\nThe same.\n\nEnter HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, and DULL.\n\nNATHANIEL.\nVery reverent sport, truly; and done in the testimony of\na good conscience.\n\nHOLOFERNES.\nThe deer was, as you know, sanguis, in blood; ripe as\nthe pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of caelo,\nthe sky, the welkin, the heaven; and anon falleth like a crab on\nthe face of terra, the soil, the land, the earth.\n\nNATHANIEL.\nTruly, Master Holofernes, the epithets are sweetly\nvaried, like a scholar at the least: but, sir, I assure ye it was\na buck of the first head.\n\nHOLOFERNES.\nSir Nathaniel, haud credo.\n\nDULL.\nTwas not a haud credo; 'twas a pricket.\n\nHOLOFERNES.\nMost barbarous intimation! yet a kind of insinuation,\nas it were, in via, in way, of explication; facere, as it were,\nreplication, or rather, ostentare, to show, as it were, his\ninclination,--after his undressed, unpolished, uneducated,\nunpruned, untrained, or rather, unlettered, or ratherest,\nunconfirmed fashion,--to insert again my haud credo for a deer.\n\nDULL.\nI sthe deer was not a haud credo; 'twas a pricket.\n\nHOLOFERNES.\nTwice sod simplicity, bis coctus!\nO! thou monster Ignorance, how deformed dost thou look!\n\nNATHANIEL.\nSir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred of a book;\nhe hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink: his\nintellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only"}
{"answer":"'Twas one man, say they all, ay, swear to it, one man who, single-handed,\nput the whole band to the rout!\n\nSECOND POET:\n  'Twas a strange sight!--pikes and cudgels strewed thick upon the ground.\n\nCYRANO (writing):\n  . . .'Thine eyes'. . .\n\nTHIRD POET:\n  And they were picking up hats all the way to the Quai d'Orfevres!\n\nFIRST POET:\n  Sapristi! but he must have been a ferocious. . .\n\nCYRANO (same play):\n  . . .'Thy lips'. . .\n\nFIRST POET:\n  'Twas a parlous fearsome giant that was the author of such exploits!\n\nCYRANO (same play):\n  . . .'And when I see thee come, I faint for fear.'\n\nSECOND POET (filching a cake):\n  What hast rhymed of late, Ragueneau?\n\nCYRANO (same play):\n  . . .'Who worships thee'. . .\n(He stops, just as he is about to sign, and gets up, slipping the letter into\nhis doublet):\n  No need I sign, since I give it her myself.\n\nRAGUENEAU (to second poet):\n  I have put a recipe into verse.\n\nTHIRD POET (seating himself by a plate of cream-puffs):\n  Go to!  Let us hear these verses!\n\nFOURTH POET (looking at a cake which he has taken):\n  Its cap is all a' one side!\n\n(He makes one bite of the top.)\n\nFIRST POET:\n  See how this gingerbread woos the famished rhymer with its almond eyes, and\nits eyebrows of angelica!\n\n(He takes it.)\n\nSECOND POET:\n  We listen.\n\nTHIRD POET (squeezing a cream-puff gently):\n  How it laughs!  Till its very cream runs over!\n\nSECOND POET (biting a bit off","question":"Ragueneau, Lise, the musketeer.  Cyrano at the little table writing.  The\npoets, dressed in black, their stockings ungartered, and covered with mud.\n\nLISE (entering, to Ragueneau):\n  Here they come, your mud-bespattered friends!\n\nFIRST POET (entering, to Ragueneau):\n  Brother in art!. . .\n\nSECOND POET (to Ragueneau, shaking his hands):\n  Dear brother!\n\nTHIRD POET:\n  High soaring eagle among pastry-cooks!\n(He sniffs):\n  Marry! it smells good here in your eyrie!\n\nFOURTH POET:\n  'Tis at Phoebus' own rays that thy roasts turn!\n\nFIFTH POET:\n  Apollo among master-cooks--\n\nRAGUENEAU (whom they surround and embrace):\n  Ah! how quick a man feels at his ease with them!. . .\n\nFIRST POET:\n  We were stayed by the mob; they are crowded all round the Porte de Nesle!. .\n.\n\nSECOND POET:\n  Eight bleeding brigand carcasses strew the pavements there--all slit open\nwith sword-gashes!\n\nCYRANO (raising his head a minute):\n  Eight?. . .hold, methought seven.\n\n(He goes on writing.)\n\nRAGUENEAU (to Cyrano):\n  Know you who might be the hero of the fray?\n\nCYRANO (carelessly):\n  Not I.\n\nLISE (to the musketeer):\n  And you?  Know you?\n\nTHE MUSKETEER (twirling his mustache):\n  Maybe!\n\nCYRANO (writing a little way off:--he is heard murmuring a word from time to\ntime):\n  'I love thee!'\n\nFIRST POET:\n "}
{"answer":"for everything sublime and beautiful.\nHow do you like that?  I have long had visions of it.  That \"sublime\nand beautiful\" weighs heavily on my mind at forty But that is at forty;\nthen--oh, then it would have been different!  I should have found for\nmyself a form of activity in keeping with it, to be precise, drinking\nto the health of everything \"sublime and beautiful.\"  I should have\nsnatched at every opportunity to drop a tear into my glass and then to\ndrain it to all that is \"sublime and beautiful.\"  I should then have\nturned everything into the sublime and the beautiful; in the nastiest,\nunquestionable trash, I should have sought out the sublime and the\nbeautiful.  I should have exuded tears like a wet sponge.  An artist,\nfor instance, paints a picture worthy of Gay.  At once I drink to the\nhealth of the artist who painted the picture worthy of Gay, because I\nlove all that is \"sublime and beautiful.\"  An author has written AS YOU\nWILL: at once I drink to the health of \"anyone you will\" because I love\nall that is \"sublime and beautiful.\"\n\nI should claim respect for doing so.  I should persecute anyone who\nwould not show me respect.  I should live at ease, I should die with\ndignity, why, it is charming, perfectly charming!  And what a good\nround belly I should have grown, what a treble chin I should have\nestablished, what a ruby nose I should have coloured for myself, so\nthat everyone would have said, looking","question":"\nOh, if I had done nothing simply from laziness!  Heavens, how I should\nhave respected myself, then.  I should have respected myself because I\nshould at least have been capable of being lazy; there would at least\nhave been one quality, as it were, positive in me, in which I could\nhave believed myself.  Question:  What is he?  Answer:  A sluggard; how\nvery pleasant it would have been to hear that of oneself!  It would\nmean that I was positively defined, it would mean that there was\nsomething to say about me. \"Sluggard\"--why, it is a calling and\nvocation, it is a career.  Do not jest, it is so.  I should then be a\nmember of the best club by right, and should find my occupation in\ncontinually respecting myself.  I knew a gentleman who prided himself\nall his life on being a connoisseur of Lafitte.  He considered this as\nhis positive virtue, and never doubted himself.  He died, not simply\nwith a tranquil, but with a triumphant conscience, and he was quite\nright, too.  Then I should have chosen a career for myself, I should\nhave been a sluggard and a glutton, not a simple one, but, for\ninstance, one with sympathies"}
{"answer":"a man of science, like Barbicane himself, of a fiery, daring,\nand violent disposition; a pure Yankee.  His name was Captain\nNicholl; he lived at Philadelphia.\n\nMost people are aware of the curious struggle which arose during\nthe Federal war between the guns and armor of iron-plated ships.\nThe result was the entire reconstruction of the navy of both the\ncontinents; as the one grew heavier, the other became thicker\nin proportion.  The Merrimac, the Monitor, the Tennessee, the\nWeehawken discharged enormous projectiles themselves, after\nhaving been armor-clad against the projectiles of others.  In fact\nthey did to others that which they would not they should do to them--\nthat grand principle of immortality upon which rests the whole art\nof war.\n\nNow if Barbicane was a great founder of shot, Nicholl was a\ngreat forger of plates; the one cast night and day at Baltimore,\nthe other forged day and night at Philadelphia.  As soon as ever\nBarbicane invented a new shot, Nicholl invented a new plate;\neach followed a current of ideas essentially opposed to the other.\nHappily for these citizens, so useful to their country, a distance\nof from fifty to sixty miles separated them from one another, and\nthey had never yet met.  Which of these two inventors had the\nadvantage over the other it was difficult to decide from the\nresults obtained.  By last accounts, however, it would seem that\nthe armor-plate would in the end have to give way to the shot;\nnevertheless, there were competent judges who had their doubts\non the point.\n\nAt the last experiment the cylindro-conical projectiles of\nBarbicane stuck like","question":"\n\nThe American public took a lively interest in the smallest\ndetails of the enterprise of the Gun Club.  It followed day by\nday the discussion of the committee.  The most simple\npreparations for the great experiment, the questions of figures\nwhich it involved, the mechanical difficulties to be resolved--\nin one word, the entire plan of work-- roused the popular\nexcitement to the highest pitch.\n\nThe purely scientific attraction was suddenly intensified by the\nfollowing incident:\n\nWe have seen what legions of admirers and friends Barbicane's\nproject had rallied round its author.  There was, however,\none single individual alone in all the States of the Union who\nprotested against the attempt of the Gun Club.  He attacked it\nfuriously on every opportunity, and human nature is such that\nBarbicane felt more keenly the opposition of that one man than\nhe did the applause of all the others.  He was well aware of the\nmotive of this antipathy, the origin of this solitary enmity,\nthe cause of its personality and old standing, and in what\nrivalry of self-love it had its rise.\n\nThis persevering enemy the president of the Gun Club had never seen.\nFortunate that it was so, for a meeting between the two men would\ncertainly have been attended with serious consequences.  This rival\nwas"}
{"answer":"I\nwas a spiteful official.  I was rude and took pleasure in being so.  I\ndid not take bribes, you see, so I was bound to find a recompense in\nthat, at least.  (A poor jest, but I will not scratch it out.  I wrote\nit thinking it would sound very witty; but now that I have seen myself\nthat I only wanted to show off in a despicable way, I will not scratch\nit out on purpose!)\n\nWhen petitioners used to come for information to the table at which I\nsat, I used to grind my teeth at them, and felt intense enjoyment when\nI succeeded in making anybody unhappy.  I almost did succeed.  For the\nmost part they were all timid people--of course, they were petitioners.\nBut of the uppish ones there was one officer in particular I could not\nendure.  He simply would not be humble, and clanked his sword in a\ndisgusting way.  I carried on a feud with him for eighteen months over\nthat sword.  At last I got the better of him.  He left off clanking it.\nThat happened in my youth, though.\n\nBut do you know, gentlemen, what was the chief point about my spite?\nWhy, the whole point, the real sting of it lay in the fact that\ncontinually, even in the moment of the acutest spleen, I was inwardly\nconscious with shame that I was not only not a spiteful but not even an\nembittered man, that I was simply scaring sparrows at random and\namusing myself by it.  I might","question":"\nI am a sick man....  I am a spiteful man.  I am an unattractive man.  I\nbelieve my liver is diseased.  However, I know nothing at all about my\ndisease, and do not know for certain what ails me.  I don't consult a\ndoctor for it, and never have, though I have a respect for medicine and\ndoctors. Besides, I am extremely superstitious, sufficiently so to\nrespect medicine, anyway (I am well-educated enough not to be\nsuperstitious, but I am superstitious).  No, I refuse to consult a\ndoctor from spite.  That you probably will not understand.  Well, I\nunderstand it, though.  Of course, I can't explain who it is precisely\nthat I am mortifying in this case by my spite: I am perfectly well\naware that I cannot \"pay out\" the doctors by not consulting them; I\nknow better than anyone that by all this I am only injuring myself and\nno one else.  But still, if I don't consult a doctor it is from spite.\nMy liver is bad, well--let it get worse!\n\nI have been going on like that for a long time--twenty years.  Now I am\nforty.  I used to be in the government service, but am no longer. "}
{"answer":"off alone in case I should be\naffected as on the former occasion. Receiving permission to assist her\nin making up the breakfast bouquet, I followed her into the room from\nwhich she had emerged.\n\n\"Are you sure,\" she asked, \"that you are quite done with those\nterrible sensations you had that morning?\"\n\n\"I can't say that I do not have times of feeling decidedly queer,\" I\nreplied, \"moments when my personal identity seems an open question. It\nwould be too much to expect after my experience that I should not have\nsuch sensations occasionally, but as for being carried entirely off my\nfeet, as I was on the point of being that morning, I think the danger\nis past.\"\n\n\"I shall never forget how you looked that morning,\" she said.\n\n\"If you had merely saved my life,\" I continued, \"I might, perhaps,\nfind words to express my gratitude, but it was my reason you saved,\nand there are no words that would not belittle my debt to you.\" I\nspoke with emotion, and her eyes grew suddenly moist.\n\n\"It is too much to believe all this,\" she said, \"but it is very\ndelightful to hear you say it. What I did was very little. I was very\nmuch distressed for you, I know. Father never thinks anything ought to\nastonish us when it can be explained scientifically, as I suppose this\nlong sleep of yours can be, but even to fancy myself in your place\nmakes my head swim. I know that I could not have borne it at all.\"\n\n\"That would depend,\" I replied, \"on whether an angel came to support\nyou","question":"\n\nNext morning I rose somewhat before the breakfast hour. As I descended\nthe stairs, Edith stepped into the hall from the room which had been\nthe scene of the morning interview between us described some chapters\nback.\n\n\"Ah!\" she exclaimed, with a charmingly arch expression, \"you thought\nto slip out unbeknown for another of those solitary morning rambles\nwhich have such nice effects on you. But you see I am up too early for\nyou this time. You are fairly caught.\"\n\n\"You discredit the efficacy of your own cure,\" I said, \"by supposing\nthat such a ramble would now be attended with bad consequences.\"\n\n\"I am very glad to hear that,\" she said. \"I was in here arranging some\nflowers for the breakfast table when I heard you come down, and\nfancied I detected something surreptitious in your step on the\nstairs.\"\n\n\"You did me injustice,\" I replied. \"I had no idea of going out at\nall.\"\n\nDespite her effort to convey an impression that my interception was\npurely accidental, I had at the time a dim suspicion of what I\nafterwards learned to be the fact, namely, that this sweet creature,\nin pursuance of her self-assumed guardianship over me, had risen for\nthe last two or three mornings at an unheard-of hour, to insure\nagainst the possibility of my wandering"}
{"answer":"them of a general\nAdministration, either of the whole Dominion, or of a part thereof.\nOf the whole, as to a Protector, or Regent, may bee committed by\nthe Predecessor of an Infant King, during his minority, the whole\nAdministration of his Kingdome. In which case, every Subject is so far\nobliged to obedience, as the Ordinances he shall make, and the commands\nhe shall give be in the Kings name, and not inconsistent with his\nSoveraigne Power. Of a Part, or Province; as when either a Monarch, or\na Soveraign Assembly, shall give the generall charge thereof to a\nGovernour, Lieutenant, Praefect, or Vice-Roy: And in this case also,\nevery one of that Province, is obliged to all he shall doe in the name\nof the Soveraign, and that not incompatible with the Soveraigns Right.\nFor such Protectors, Vice-Roys, and Governours, have no other right, but\nwhat depends on the Soveraigns Will; and no Commission that can be given\nthem, can be interpreted for a Declaration of the will to transferre the\nSoveraignty, without expresse and perspicuous words to that purpose. And\nthis kind of Publique Ministers resembleth the Nerves, and Tendons that\nmove the severall limbs of a body naturall.\n\n\n\n\nFor Speciall Administration, As For Oeconomy\n\nOthers have speciall Administration; that is to say, charges of some\nspeciall businesse, either at home, or abroad: As at home, First, for\nthe Oeconomy of a Common-wealth, They that have Authority concerning the\nTreasure, as Tributes, Impositions, Rents, Fines, or whatsoever publique\nrevenue, to collect, receive, issue, or take the Accounts thereof,\nare Publique Ministers: Ministers, because they serve the Person\nRepresentative, and can doe nothing","question":"CHAPTER XXIII. OF THE PUBLIQUE MINISTERS OF SOVERAIGN POWER\n\n\n\nIn the last Chapter I have spoken of the Similar parts of a\nCommon-wealth; In this I shall speak of the parts Organicall, which are\nPublique Ministers.\n\n\n\n\nPublique Minister Who\n\nA PUBLIQUE MINISTER, is he, that by the Soveraign, (whether a Monarch,\nor an Assembly,) is employed in any affaires, with Authority to\nrepresent in that employment, the Person of the Common-wealth. And\nwhereas every man, or assembly that hath Soveraignty, representeth\ntwo Persons, or (as the more common phrase is) has two Capacities, one\nNaturall, and another Politique, (as a Monarch, hath the person not\nonely of the Common-wealth, but also of a man; and a Soveraign Assembly\nhath the Person not onely of the Common-wealth, but also of the\nAssembly); they that be servants to them in their naturall Capacity,\nare not Publique Ministers; but those onely that serve them in the\nAdministration of the Publique businesse. And therefore neither Ushers,\nnor Sergeants, nor other Officers that waite on the Assembly, for\nno other purpose, but for the commodity of the men assembled, in an\nAristocracy, or Democracy; nor Stewards, Chamberlains, Cofferers, or any\nother Officers of the houshold of a Monarch, are Publique Ministers in a\nMonarchy.\n\n\n\n\nMinisters For The Generall Administration\n\nOf Publique Ministers, some have charge committed to"}
{"answer":"with light at my master's expense!\n\nA GUARDSMAN (to a shop-girl who advances):\n  'Twas prettily done to come before the lights were lit!\n\n(He takes her round the waist.)\n\nONE OF THE FENCERS (receiving a thrust):\n  A hit!\n\nONE OF THE CARD-PLAYERS:\n  Clubs!\n\nTHE GUARDSMAN (following the girl):\n  A kiss!\n\nTHE SHOP-GIRL (struggling to free herself):\n  They're looking!\n\nTHE GUARDSMAN (drawing her to a dark corner):\n  No fear!  No one can see!\n\nA MAN (sitting on the ground with others, who have brought their provisions):\n  By coming early, one can eat in comfort.\n\nA BURGHER (conducting his son):\n  Let us sit here, son.\n\nA CARD-PLAYER:\n  Triple ace!\n\nA MAN (taking a bottle from under his cloak,\nand also seating himself on the floor):\n  A tippler may well quaff his Burgundy\n(he drinks):\n  in the Burgundy Hotel!\n\nTHE BURGHER (to his son):\n  'Faith!  A man might think he had fallen in a bad house here!\n(He points with his cane to the drunkard):\n  What with topers!\n(One of the fencers in breaking off, jostles him):\n  brawlers!\n(He stumbles into the midst of the card-players):\n  gamblers!\n\nTHE GUARDSMAN (behind him, still teasing the shop-girl):\n  Come, one kiss!\n\nTHE BURGHER (hurriedly pulling his son away):\n  By all the holies!  And this, my boy, is the theater where they played\nRotrou erewhile.\n\nTHE YOUNG MAN:\n  Ay, and Corneille!\n\nA TROOP OF PAGES (hand-in-hand, enter dancing the farandole, and singing):\n  Tra' a la, la, la, la, la, la, la, lere. . .\n\nTHE DOORKEEPER (sternly, to","question":"The public, arriving by degrees.  Troopers, burghers, lackeys, pages, a\npickpocket, the doorkeeper, etc., followed by the marquises.  Cuigy,\nBrissaille, the buffet-girl, the violinists, etc.\n\n(A confusion of loud voices is heard outside the door.  A trooper enters\nhastily.)\n\nTHE DOORKEEPER (following him):\n  Hollo!  You there!  Your money!\n\nTHE TROOPER:\n  I enter gratis.\n\nTHE DOORKEEPER:\n  Why?\n\nTHE TROOPER:\n  Why?  I am of the King's Household Cavalry, 'faith!\n\nTHE DOORKEEPER (to another trooper who enters):\n  And you?\n\nSECOND TROOPER:\n  I pay nothing.\n\nTHE DOORKEEPER:\n  How so?\n\nSECOND TROOPER:\n  I am a musketeer.\n\nFIRST TROOPER (to the second):\n  The play will not begin till two.  The pit is empty.  Come, a bout with the\nfoils to pass the time.\n\n(They fence with the foils they have brought.)\n\nA LACKEY (entering):\n  Pst. . .Flanquin. . .!\n\nANOTHER (already there):\n  Champagne?. . .\n\nTHE FIRST (showing him cards and dice which he takes from his doublet):\n  See, here be cards and dice.\n(He seats himself on the floor):\n  Let's play.\n\nTHE SECOND (doing the same):\n  Good; I am with you, villain!\n\nFIRST LACKEY (taking from his pocket a candle-end, which he lights, and sticks\non the floor):\n  I made free to provide myself"}
{"answer":"us!--But we all like him well!--\n  --We make him pasties of angelica!\n\nSISTER MARTHA:\n  But, he is not a faithful Catholic!\n\nSISTER CLAIRE:\n  We will convert him!\n\nTHE SISTERS:\n  Yes!  Yes!\n\nMOTHER MARGUERITE:\n  I forbid,\n  My daughters, you attempt that subject.  Nay,\n  Weary him not--he might less oft come here!\n\nSISTER MARTHA:\n  But. . .God. . .\n\nMOTHER MARGUERITE:\n  Nay, never fear!  God knows him well!\n\nSISTER MARTHA:\n  But--every Saturday, when he arrives,\n  He tells me, 'Sister, I eat meat on Friday!'\n\nMOTHER MARGUERITE:\n  Ah! says he so?  Well, the last time he came\n  Food had not passed his lips for two whole days!\n\nSISTER MARTHA:\n  Mother!\n\nMOTHER MARGUERITE:\n  He's poor.\n\nSISTER MARTHA:\n  Who told you so, dear Mother?\n\nMOTHER MARGUERITE:\n  Monsieur Le Bret.\n\nSISTER MARTHA:\n  None help him?\n\nMOTHER MARGUERITE:\n  He permits not.\n(In an alley at the back Roxane appears, dressed in black, with a widow's coif\nand veil.  De Guiche, imposing-looking and visibly aged, walks by her side.\nThey saunter slowly.  Mother Marguerite rises):\n  'Tis time we go in; Madame Madeleine\n  Walks in the garden with a visitor.\n\nSISTER MARTHA (to Sister Claire, in a low voice):\n  The Marshal of Grammont?\n\nSISTER CLAIRE (looking at him):\n  'Tis he, I think.\n\nSISTER MARTHA:\n  'Tis many months now since he came to see her.\n\nTHE SISTERS:\n  He is so busy!--The Court,--the camp!. . .\n\nSISTER CLAIRE:\n  The world!\n\n(They go out.  De Guiche and Roxane come forward in silence,","question":"Mother Marguerite, Sister Martha, Sister Claire, other sisters.\n\nSISTER MARTHA (to Mother Marguerite):\n  Sister Claire glanced in the mirror, once--nay, twice, to see if her coif\nsuited.\n\nMOTHER MARGUERITE (to Sister Claire):\n  'Tis not well.\n\nSISTER CLAIRE:\n  But I saw Sister Martha take a plum\n  Out of the tart.\n\nMOTHER MARGUERITE (to Sister Martha):\n  That was ill done, my sister.\n\nSISTER CLAIRE:\n  A little glance!\n\nSISTER MARTHA:\n  And such a little plum!\n\nMOTHER MARGUERITE:\n  I shall tell this to Monsieur Cyrano.\n\nSISTER CLAIRE:\n  Nay, prithee do not!--he will mock!\n\nSISTER MARTHA:\n  He'll say we nuns are vain!\n\nSISTER CLAIRE:\n  And greedy!\n\nMOTHER MARGUERITE (smiling):\n  Ay, and kind!\n\nSISTER CLAIRE:\n  Is it not true, pray, Mother Marguerite,\n  That he has come, each week, on Saturday\n  For ten years, to the convent?\n\nMOTHER MARGUERITE:\n  Ay! and more!\n  Ever since--fourteen years ago--the day\n  His cousin brought here, 'midst our woolen coifs,\n  The worldly mourning of her widow's veil,\n  Like a blackbird's wing among the convent doves!\n\nSISTER MARTHA:\n  He only has the skill to turn her mind\n  From grief--unsoftened yet by Time--unhealed!\n\nALL THE SISTERS:\n  He is so droll!--It's cheerful when he comes!--\n  He teases"}
{"answer":" My gentle sister will I now enlarge.\n\n  BAL.  And time, Lorenzo; for my lord the duke,\n    You heard, enquired for her yester-night.\n\n  LOR.  Why!  and, my lord, I hope you heard me say\n    Sufficient reason why she kept away;\n    But that's all one.  My lord, you love her?\n\n  BAL.                          Aye.\n\n  LOR.  Then in your love beware; deal cunningly;\n    Salve all suspicions; only soothe me up,\n    And, if she hap to stand on terms with us,\n    As for her sweet-heart, and concealment so,\n    Jest with her gently; under feigned jest\n    Are things conceal'd that else would breed unrest.\n    But here she comes.\n\n                Enter BEL-IMPERIA.\n\n  LOR.  Now, sister.\n\n  BEL.                          Sister?  No!\n    Thou art no brother, but an enemy,\n    Else wouldst thou not have us'd thy sister so:\n    First, to affright me with thy weapons drawn,\n  ","question":"                [A room in the DUKE's castle.]\n\n                Enter LORENZO, BALTHAZAR and the PAGE.\n\n  LOR.  Boy, talk no further; thus far things go well.\n    Thou art assur'd that thou sawest him dead?\n\n  PAGE.  Or else, my lord, I live not.\n\n  LOR.                  That's enough.\n    As for this resolution at his end,\n    Leave that to him with whom he sojourns now.\n    Here, take my ring, and give it Christophel,\n    And bid him let my sister be enlarg'd,\n    And bring her hither straight.\n\n                Exit PAGE.\n\n    This that I did was for a policy,\n    To smooth and keep the murder secret,\n    Which as a nine days wonder being o'er-blown,\n  "}
{"answer":"the average sum\nreceived is 10_s_. a week, in return for which they are furnished with\nmedical attendance, food, nursing, and all other things needful to\ntheir state.\n\nI went over the Hospital, and saw these unfortunate mothers lying in\nbed, each of them with her infant in a cot beside her. Although their\nimmediate trial was over, these poor girls looked very sad.\n\n'They know that their lives are spoiled,' said the lady in charge.\n\nMost of them were quite young, some being only fifteen, and the\nmajority under twenty. This, it was explained to me, is generally due\nto the ignorance of the facts of life in which girls are kept by their\nparents or others responsible for their training. Last year there was\na mother aged thirteen in this Hospital.\n\nOne girl, who seemed particularly sad, had twins lying beside her.\nHoping to cheer her up, I remarked that they were beautiful babies,\nwhereon she hid her face beneath the bedclothes.\n\n'Don't talk about them,' said the Officer, drawing me away, 'that\nchild nearly cried her eyes out when she was told that there were two.\nYou see, it is hard enough for these poor mothers to keep one, but\nwhen it comes to two--!'\n\nI asked whether the majority of these unfortunate young women really\ntried to support their children. The answer was that most of them try\nvery hard indeed, and will use all their money for this purpose, even\nstinting themselves of absolute necessaries. Few of them go wrong\nagain after their first slip, as they have learned their lesson.\nMoreover, during their stay in hospital and afterwards, the","question":"THE MATERNITY HOSPITAL IVY HOUSE, HACKNEY\n\nThis Hospital is one for the accommodation of young mothers on the\noccasion of the birth of their illegitimate children. It is a humble\nbuilding, containing twenty-five beds, although I think a few more can\nbe arranged. That it serves its purpose well, until the large\nMaternity Hospital of which I have already spoken can be built, is\nshown by the fact that 286 babies (of whom only twenty-five were not\nillegitimate) were born here in 1900 without the loss of a single\nmother. Thirty babies died, however, which the lady-Officer in charge\nthought rather a high proportion, but one accounted for by the fact\nthat during this particular year a large number of the births were\npremature. In 1908, 270 children were born, of whom twelve died, six\nof these being premature.\n\nThe cases are drawn from London and other towns where the Salvation\nArmy is at work. Generally they, or their relatives and friends, or\nperhaps the father of the child, apply to the Army to help them in\ntheir trouble, thereby, no doubt, preventing many child-murders and\nsome suicides. The charge made by the Institution for these lying-in\ncases is in proportion to the ability of the patient to pay. Many\ncontribute nothing at all. From those who do pay,"}
{"answer":" My gentle sister will I now enlarge.\n\n  BAL.  And time, Lorenzo; for my lord the duke,\n    You heard, enquired for her yester-night.\n\n  LOR.  Why!  and, my lord, I hope you heard me say\n    Sufficient reason why she kept away;\n    But that's all one.  My lord, you love her?\n\n  BAL.                          Aye.\n\n  LOR.  Then in your love beware; deal cunningly;\n    Salve all suspicions; only soothe me up,\n    And, if she hap to stand on terms with us,\n    As for her sweet-heart, and concealment so,\n    Jest with her gently; under feigned jest\n    Are things conceal'd that else would breed unrest.\n    But here she comes.\n\n                Enter BEL-IMPERIA.\n\n  LOR.  Now, sister.\n\n  BEL.                          Sister?  No!\n    Thou art no brother, but an enemy,\n    Else wouldst thou not have us'd thy sister so:\n    First, to affright me with thy weapons drawn,\n  ","question":"                [A room in the DUKE's castle.]\n\n                Enter LORENZO, BALTHAZAR and the PAGE.\n\n  LOR.  Boy, talk no further; thus far things go well.\n    Thou art assur'd that thou sawest him dead?\n\n  PAGE.  Or else, my lord, I live not.\n\n  LOR.                  That's enough.\n    As for this resolution at his end,\n    Leave that to him with whom he sojourns now.\n    Here, take my ring, and give it Christophel,\n    And bid him let my sister be enlarg'd,\n    And bring her hither straight.\n\n                Exit PAGE.\n\n    This that I did was for a policy,\n    To smooth and keep the murder secret,\n    Which as a nine days wonder being o'er-blown,\n  "}
{"answer":"think, be loved more tenderly;\n  At table he must have the seat of honour,\n  While with delight our master sees him eat\n  As much as six men could; we must give up\n  The choicest tidbits to him; if he belches,\n  ('tis a servant speaking) [2]\n  Master exclaims: \"God bless you!\"--Oh, he dotes\n  Upon him! he's his universe, his hero;\n  He's lost in constant admiration, quotes him\n  On all occasions, takes his trifling acts\n  For wonders, and his words for oracles.\n  The fellow knows his dupe, and makes the most on't,\n  He fools him with a hundred masks of virtue,\n  Gets money from him all the time by canting,\n  And takes upon himself to carp at us.\n  Even his silly coxcomb of a lackey\n  Makes it his business to instruct us too;\n  He comes with rolling eyes to preach at us,\n  And throws away our ribbons, rouge, and patches.\n  The wretch, the other day, tore up a kerchief\n  That he had found, pressed in the _Golden Legend_,\n  Calling it a horrid crime for us to mingle\n  The devil's finery with holy things.\n\n  [Footnote 1: Referring to the rebellion called La Fronde, during the\n  minority of Louis XIV.]\n\n  [Footnote 2: Moliere's note, inserted in the text of all the old\n  editions. It is a curious illustration of the desire for uniformity\n  and dignity of style","question":"SCENE II\n\n  CLEANTE, DORINE\n\n\n  CLEANTE\n  I won't escort her down,\n  For fear she might fall foul of me again;\n  The good old lady ...\n\n  DORINE\n  Bless us! What a pity\n  She shouldn't hear the way you speak of her!\n  She'd surely tell you you're too \"good\" by half,\n  And that she's not so \"old\" as all that, neither!\n\n  CLEANTE\n  How she got angry with us all for nothing!\n  And how she seems possessed with her Tartuffe!\n\n  DORINE\n  Her case is nothing, though, beside her son's!\n  To see him, you would say he's ten times worse!\n  His conduct in our late unpleasantness [1]\n  Had won him much esteem, and proved his courage\n  In service of his king; but now he's like\n  A man besotted, since he's been so taken\n  With this Tartuffe. He calls him brother, loves him\n  A hundred times as much as mother, son,\n  Daughter, and wife. He tells him all his secrets\n  And lets him guide his acts, and rule his conscience.\n  He fondles and embraces him; a sweetheart\n  Could not, I"}
{"answer":"Count of Bucquoi;\n  Assembling my own men, I fell on his,\n  And charged three separate times!\n\nCYRANO (without lifting his eyes from his book):\n  And your white scarf?\n\nDE GUICHE (surprised and gratified):\n  You know that detail?. . .Troth!  It happened thus:\n  While caracoling to recall the troops\n  For the third charge, a band of fugitives\n  Bore me with them, close by the hostile ranks:\n  I was in peril--capture, sudden death!--\n  When I thought of the good expedient\n  To loosen and let fall the scarf which told\n  My military rank; thus I contrived\n  --Without attention waked--to leave the foes,\n  And suddenly returning, reinforced\n  With my own men, to scatter them!  And now,\n  --What say you, Sir?\n\n(The cadets pretend not to be listening, but the cards and the dice-boxes\nremain suspended in their hands, the smoke of their pipes in their cheeks.\nThey wait.)\n\nCYRANO:\n  I say, that Henri Quatre\n  Had not, by any dangerous odds, been forced\n  To strip himself of his white helmet plume.\n\n(Silent delight.  The cards fall, the dice rattle.  The smoke is puffed.)\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  The ruse succeeded, though!\n\n(Same suspension of play, etc.)\n\nCYRANO:\n  Oh, may be!  But\n  One does not lightly abdicate the honor\n  To serve as target to the enemy\n(Cards, dice, fall again, and the cadets smoke with evident delight):\n  Had I been present when your scarf fell low,\n  --Our courage, Sir, is","question":"The same.  De Guiche.\n\nDE GUICHE (to Carbon):\n  Good-day!\n(They examine each other.  Aside, with satisfaction):\n  He's green.\n\nCARBON (aside):\n  He has nothing left but eyes.\n\nDE GUICHE (looking at the cadets):\n  Here are the rebels!  Ay, Sirs, on all sides\n  I hear that in your ranks you scoff at me;\n  That the Cadets, these loutish, mountain-bred,\n  Poor country squires, and barons of Perigord,\n  Scarce find for me--their Colonel--a disdain\n  Sufficient! call me plotter, wily courtier!\n  It does not please their mightiness to see\n  A point-lace collar on my steel cuirass,--\n  And they enrage, because a man, in sooth,\n  May be no ragged-robin, yet a Gascon!\n(Silence.  All smoke and play):\n  Shall I command your Captain punish you?\n  No.\n\nCARBON:\n  I am free, moreover,--will not punish--\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Ah!\n\nCARBON:\n  I have paid my company--'tis mine.\n  I bow but to headquarters.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  So?--in faith!\n  That will suffice.\n(Addressing himself to the cadets):\n  I can despise your taunts\n  'Tis well known how I bear me in the war;\n  At Bapaume, yesterday, they saw the rage\n  With which I beat back the"}
{"answer":" But slain you on the spot with my own hand.\n\n  (To Tartuffe)\n  Brother, compose yourself, and don't be angry.\n\n  TARTUFFE\n  Nay, brother, let us end these painful quarrels.\n  I see what troublous times I bring upon you,\n  And think 'tis needful that I leave this house.\n\n  ORGON\n  What! You can't mean it?\n\n  TARTUFFE\n  Yes, they hate me here,\n  And try, I find, to make you doubt my faith.\n\n  ORGON\n  What of it? Do you find I listen to them?\n\n  TARTUFFE\n  No doubt they won't stop there. These same reports\n  You now reject, may some day win a hearing.\n\n  ORGON\n  No, brother, never.\n\n  TARTUFFE\n  Ah! my friend, a woman\n  May easily mislead her husband's mind.\n\n  ORGON\n  No, no.\n\n  TARTUFFE\n  So let me quickly go away\n  And thus remove all cause for such attacks.\n\n  ORGON\n  No, you shall stay; my life depends upon it.\n\n  TARTUFFE\n  Then I must mortify myself. And yet,\n  If you should wish ...\n\n  ORGON\n  No, never!\n\n  TARTUFFE\n  Very well, then;\n  No more of that. But I shall rule my conduct\n  To fit the case. Honour is delicate,\n  And friendship binds me to forestall suspicion,\n  Prevent all scandal, and avoid your wife.\n\n  ORGON\n  No, you shall haunt her, just to spite them all.\n  'Tis my delight","question":"SCENE VII    ORGON, TARTUFFE\n\n\n  ORGON\n  What! So insult a saintly man of God!\n\n  TARTUFFE\n  Heaven, forgive him all the pain he gives me! [4]\n\n  [Footnote 4: Some modern editions have adopted the reading, preserved\n  by tradition as that of the earliest stage version: Heaven, forgive\n  him even as I forgive him! Voltaire gives still another reading:\n  Heaven, forgive me even as I forgive him! Whichever was the original\n  version, it appears in none of the early editions, and Moliere\n  probably felt forced to change it on account of its too close\n  resemblance to the Biblical phrase.]\n\n  (To Orgon)\n  Could you but know with what distress I see\n  Them try to vilify me to my brother!\n\n  ORGON\n  Ah!\n\n  TARTUFFE\n  The mere thought of such ingratitude\n  Makes my soul suffer torture, bitterly ...\n  My horror at it ... Ah! my heart's so full\n  I cannot speak ... I think I'll die of it.\n\n  ORGON (in tears, running to the door through which he drove away his\n  son)\n  Scoundrel! I wish I'd never let you go,\n"}
{"answer":"this plan held, out I disclosed it in\na few brief words to the stranger, and asked him how it could be best\naccomplished. My heart sunk within me, when in his broken English he\nanswered me that it could never be effected. 'Kanaka no let you go\nnowhere,' he said; 'you taboo. Why you no like to stay? Plenty moee-moee\n(sleep)--plenty ki-ki (eat)--plenty wahenee (young girls)--Oh, very good\nplace Typee! Suppose you no like this bay, why you come? You no hear\nabout Typee? All white men afraid Typee, so no white men come.'\n\nThese words distressed me beyond belief; and when I had again related to\nhim the circumstances under which I had descended into the valley, and\nsought to enlist his sympathies in my behalf by appealing to the bodily\nmisery I had endure, he listened with impatience, and cut me short by\nexclaiming passionately, 'Me no hear you talk any more; by by Kanaka\nget mad, kill you and me too. No you see he no want you to speak at\nall?--you see--ah! by by you no mind--you get well, he kill you, eat\nyou, hang you head up there, like Happar Kanaka.--Now you listen--but no\ntalk any more. By by I go;--you see way I go--Ah! then some night Kanaka\nall moee-moee (sleep)--you run away, you come Pueearka. I speak Pueearka\nKanaka--he no harm you--ah! then I take you my canoe Nukuheva--and you\nrun away ship no more.' With these words, enforced by a vehemence of\ngesture I cannot describe, Marnoo started from my side, and immediately\nengaged in conversation with some of the chiefs who","question":"'MARNOO, Marnoo pemi!' Such were the welcome sounds which fell upon my\near some ten days after the events related in the preceding chapter.\nOnce more the approach of the stranger was heralded, and the\nintelligence operated upon me like magic. Again I should be able to\nconverse with him in my own language; and I resolve at all hazards to\nconcert with him some scheme, however desperate, to rescue me from a\ncondition that had now become insupportable.\n\nAs he drew near, I remembered with many misgivings the inauspicious\ntermination of our former interview, and when he entered the house, I\nwatched with intense anxiety the reception he met with from its inmates.\nTo my joy, his appearance was hailed with the liveliest pleasure; and\naccosting me kindly, he seated himself by my side, and entered into\nconversation with the natives around him. It soon appeared however,\nthat on this occasion he had not any intelligence of importance to\ncommunicate. I inquired of him from whence he had just come? He replied\nfrom Pueearka, his native valley, and that he intended to return to it\nthe same day.\n\nAt once it struck me that, could I but reach that valley under his\nprotection, I might easily from thence reach Nukuheva by water; and\nanimated by the prospect which"}
{"answer":"off a short\ndistance, calling out over their shoulders to her.  She stood tottering\non the curb-stone and thundered at them.\n\n\"Yeh devil's kids,\" she howled, shaking red fists.  The little boys\nwhooped in glee.  As she started up the street they fell in behind and\nmarched uproariously.  Occasionally she wheeled about and made charges\non them.  They ran nimbly out of reach and taunted her.\n\nIn the frame of a gruesome doorway she stood for a moment cursing them.\nHer hair straggled, giving her crimson features a look of insanity.\nHer great fists quivered as she shook them madly in the air.\n\nThe urchins made terrific noises until she turned and disappeared.\nThen they filed quietly in the way they had come.\n\nThe woman floundered about in the lower hall of the tenement house and\nfinally stumbled up the stairs.  On an upper hall a door was opened and\na collection of heads peered curiously out, watching her.  With a\nwrathful snort the woman confronted the door, but it was slammed\nhastily in her face and the key was turned.\n\nShe stood for a few minutes, delivering a frenzied challenge at the\npanels.\n\n\"Come out in deh hall, Mary Murphy, damn yeh, if yehs want a row.  Come\nahn, yeh overgrown terrier, come ahn.\"\n\nShe began to kick the door with her great feet.  She shrilly defied the\nuniverse to appear and do battle.  Her cursing trebles brought heads\nfrom all doors save the one she threatened.  Her eyes glared in every\ndirection.  The air was full of her tossing fists.\n\n\"Come","question":"\nA group of urchins were intent upon the side door of a saloon.\nExpectancy gleamed from their eyes.  They were twisting their fingers\nin excitement.\n\n\"Here she comes,\" yelled one of them suddenly.\n\nThe group of urchins burst instantly asunder and its individual\nfragments were spread in a wide, respectable half circle about the\npoint of interest.  The saloon door opened with a crash, and the figure\nof a woman appeared upon the threshold.  Her grey hair fell in knotted\nmasses about her shoulders.  Her face was crimsoned and wet with\nperspiration.  Her eyes had a rolling glare.\n\n\"Not a damn cent more of me money will yehs ever get, not a damn cent.\nI spent me money here fer t'ree years an' now yehs tells me yeh'll sell\nme no more stuff!  T'hell wid yeh, Johnnie Murckre!  'Disturbance'?\nDisturbance be damned!  T'hell wid yeh, Johnnie--\"\n\nThe door received a kick of exasperation from within and the woman\nlurched heavily out on the sidewalk.\n\nThe gamins in the half-circle became violently agitated.  They began to\ndance about and hoot and yell and jeer.  Wide dirty grins spread over\neach face.\n\nThe woman made a furious dash at a particularly outrageous cluster of\nlittle boys.  They laughed delightedly and scampered"}
{"answer":"these Rogues, I\nam the veriest Varlet that euer chewed with a Tooth.\nEight yards of vneuen ground, is threescore & ten miles\nafoot with me: and the stony-hearted Villaines knowe it\nwell enough. A plague vpon't, when Theeues cannot be\ntrue one to another.\n\nThey Whistle.\n\nWhew: a plague light vpon you all. Giue my Horse you\nRogues: giue me my Horse, and be hang'd\n\n   Prin. Peace ye fat guttes, lye downe, lay thine eare\nclose to the ground, and list if thou can heare the tread of\nTrauellers\n\n   Fal. Haue you any Leauers to lift me vp again being\ndowne? Ile not beare mine owne flesh so far afoot again,\nfor all the coine in thy Fathers Exchequer. What a plague\nmeane ye to colt me thus?\n  Prin. Thou ly'st, thou art not colted, thou art vncolted\n\n   Fal. I prethee good Prince Hal, help me to my horse,\ngood Kings sonne\n\n   Prin. Out you Rogue, shall I be your Ostler?\n  Fal. Go hang thy selfe in thine owne heire-apparant-Garters:\nIf I be tane, Ile peach for this: and I haue not\nBallads made on all, and sung to filthy tunes, let a Cup of\nSacke be my poyson: when a iest is so forward, & a foote\ntoo, I hate it.\nEnter Gads-hill.\n\n  Gad. Stand\n\n   Fal. So I do against my will\n\n   Poin. O 'tis our Setter, I know his voyce:\nBardolfe, what newes?\n  Bar. Case ye, case ye; on with your Vizards, there's\nmony of the Kings comming downe the hill, 'tis","question":"Scaena Secunda.\n\n\n\nEnter Prince, Poynes, and Peto.\n\n  Poines. Come shelter, shelter, I haue remoued Falstafs\nHorse, and he frets like a gum'd Veluet\n\n   Prin. Stand close.\nEnter Falstaffe.\n\n  Fal. Poines, Poines, and be hang'd Poines\n\n   Prin. Peace ye fat-kidney'd Rascall, what a brawling\ndost thou keepe\n\n   Fal. What Poines. Hal?\n  Prin. He is walk'd vp to the top of the hill, Ile go seek\nhim\n\n   Fal. I am accurst to rob in that Theefe company: that\nRascall hath remoued my Horse, and tied him I know not\nwhere. If I trauell but foure foot by the squire further a\nfoote, I shall breake my winde. Well, I doubt not but\nto dye a faire death for all this, if I scape hanging for killing\nthat Rogue, I haue forsworne his company hourely\nany time this two and twenty yeare, & yet I am bewitcht\nwith the Rogues company. If the Rascall haue not giuen\nme medicines to make me loue him, Ile be hang'd; it could\nnot be else: I haue drunke Medicines. Poines, Hal, a\nPlague vpon you both. Bardolph, Peto: Ile starue ere I\nrob a foote further. And 'twere not as good a deede as to\ndrinke, to turne True-man, and to leaue"}
{"answer":" At half-past six, the time of appointment with the\nbutcher, the water boiled, and Jude's wife came downstairs.\n\n\"Is Challow come?\" she asked.\n\n\"No.\"\n\nThey waited, and it grew lighter, with the dreary light of a snowy\ndawn.  She went out, gazed along the road, and returning said, \"He's\nnot coming.  Drunk last night, I expect.  The snow is not enough to\nhinder him, surely!\"\n\n\"Then we must put it off.  It is only the water boiled for nothing.\nThe snow may be deep in the valley.\"\n\n\"Can't be put off.  There's no more victuals for the pig.  He ate the\nlast mixing o' barleymeal yesterday morning.\"\n\n\"Yesterday morning?  What has he lived on since?\"\n\n\"Nothing.\"\n\n\"What--he has been starving?\"\n\n\"Yes.  We always do it the last day or two, to save bother with the\ninnerds.  What ignorance, not to know that!\"\n\n\"That accounts for his crying so.  Poor creature!\"\n\n\"Well--you must do the sticking--there's no help for it.  I'll show\nyou how.  Or I'll do it myself--I think I could.  Though as it is\nsuch a big pig I had rather Challow had done it.  However, his basket\no' knives and things have been already sent on here, and we can use\n'em.\"\n\n\"Of course you shan't do it,\" said Jude.  \"I'll do it, since it must\nbe done.\"\n\nHe went out to the sty, shovelled away the snow for the space of a\ncouple of yards or more, and placed the stool in front, with the\nknives and ropes at hand.  A robin peered down at the preparations\nfrom","question":"\n\nThe time arrived for killing the pig which Jude and his wife had\nfattened in their sty during the autumn months, and the butchering\nwas timed to take place as soon as it was light in the morning, so\nthat Jude might get to Alfredston without losing more than a quarter\nof a day.\n\nThe night had seemed strangely silent.  Jude looked out of the window\nlong before dawn, and perceived that the ground was covered with\nsnow--snow rather deep for the season, it seemed, a few flakes still\nfalling.\n\n\"I'm afraid the pig-killer won't be able to come,\" he said to\nArabella.\n\n\"Oh, he'll come.  You must get up and make the water hot, if you want\nChallow to scald him.  Though I like singeing best.\"\n\n\"I'll get up,\" said Jude.  \"I like the way of my own county.\"\n\nHe went downstairs, lit the fire under the copper, and began feeding\nit with bean-stalks, all the time without a candle, the blaze\nflinging a cheerful shine into the room; though for him the sense of\ncheerfulness was lessened by thoughts on the reason of that blaze--to\nheat water to scald the bristles from the body of an animal that as\nyet lived, and whose voice could be continually heard from a corner\nof the garden."}
{"answer":". .\n\nTHE CADET:\n  Gascon cannons never recoil!\n\nDE GUICHE (taking him by the arm and shaking him):\n  You are tipsy!--but what with?\n\nTHE CADET (grandiloquently):\n  --With the smell of powder!\n\nDE GUICHE (shrugging his shoulders and pushing him away, then going quickly to\nRoxane):\n  Briefly, Madame, what decision do you deign to take?\n\nROXANE:\n  I stay here.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  You must fly!\n\nROXANE:\n  No! I will stay.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Since things are thus, give me a musket, one of you!\n\nCARBON:\n  Wherefore?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Because I too--mean to remain.\n\nCYRANO:\n  At last!  This is true valor, Sir!\n\nFIRST CADET:\n  Then you are Gascon after all, spite of your lace collar?\n\nROXANE:\n  What is all this?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  I leave no woman in peril.\n\nSECOND CADET (to the first):\n  Hark you!  Think you not we might give him something to eat?\n\n(All the viands reappear as if by magic.)\n\nDE GUICHE (whose eyes sparkle):\n  Victuals!\n\nTHE THIRD CADET:\n  Yes, you'll see them coming from under every coat!\n\nDE GUICHE (controlling himself, haughtily):\n  Do you think I will eat your leavings?\n\nCYRANO (saluting him):\n  You make progress.\n\nDE GUICHE (proudly, with a light touch of accent on the word 'breaking'):\n  I will fight without br-r-eaking my fast!\n\nFIRST CADET (with wild delight):\n  Br-r-r-eaking!  He has got the accent!\n\nDE GUICHE (laughing):\n  I?\n\nTHE CADET:\n  'Tis a Gascon!\n\n(All begin to dance.)\n\nCARBON DE CASTEL-JALOUX (who had disappeared behind the rampart, reappearing\non the ridge):\n  I have drawn my pikemen up in line.","question":"The same.  De Guiche.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  It smells good here.\n\nA CADET (humming):\n  Lo!  Lo-lo!\n\nDE GUICHE (looking at him):\n  What is the matter?--You are very red.\n\nTHE CADET:\n  The matter?--Nothing!--'Tis my blood--boiling at the thought of the coming\nbattle!\n\nANOTHER:\n  Poum, poum--poum. . .\n\nDE GUICHE (turning round):\n  What's that?\n\nTHE CADET (slightly drunk):\n  Nothing!. . .'Tis a song!--a little. . .\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  You are merry, my friend!\n\nTHE CADET:\n  The approach of danger is intoxicating!\n\nDE GUICHE (calling Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, to give him an order):\n  Captain!  I. . .\n(He stops short on seeing him):\n  Plague take me! but you look bravely, too!\n\nCARBON (crimson in the face, hiding a bottle behind his back, with an evasive\nmovement):\n  Oh!. . .\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  I have one cannon left, and have had it carried there--\n(he points behind the scenes):\n  --in that corner. . .Your men can use it in case of need.\n\nA CADET (reeling slightly):\n  Charming attention!\n\nANOTHER (with a gracious smile):\n  Kind solicitude!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  How? they are all gone crazy?\n(Drily):\n As you are not used to cannon, beware of the recoil.\n\nFIRST CADET:\n  Pooh!\n\nDE GUICHE (furious, going up to him):\n  But."}
{"answer":"fame unparallel'd haply amplified;\n    For I have ever verified my friends-\n    Of whom he's chief- with all the size that verity\n    Would without lapsing suffer. Nay, sometimes,\n    Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground,\n    I have tumbled past the throw, and in his praise\n    Have almost stamp'd the leasing; therefore, fellow,\n    I must have leave to pass.\n  FIRST WATCH. Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in his\nbehalf\n    as you have uttered words in your own, you should not pass\nhere;\n    no, though it were as virtuous to lie as to live chastely.\n    Therefore go back.\n  MENENIUS. Prithee, fellow, remember my name is Menenius, always\n    factionary on the party of your general.\n  SECOND WATCH. Howsoever you have been his liar, as you say you\n    have, I am one that, telling true under him, must say you\ncannot\n    pass. Therefore go back.\n  MENENIUS. Has he din'd, canst thou tell? For I would not speak\nwith\n    him till after dinner.\n  FIRST WATCH. You are a Roman, are you?\n  MENENIUS. I am as thy general is.\n  FIRST WATCH. Then you should hate Rome, as he does. Can you,\nwhen\n    you have push'd out your gates the very defender of them, and\nin\n ","question":"SCENE II.\nThe Volscian camp before Rome\n\nEnter MENENIUS to the WATCH on guard\n\n  FIRST WATCH. Stay. Whence are you?\n  SECOND WATCH. Stand, and go back.\n  MENENIUS. You guard like men, 'tis well; but, by your leave,\n    I am an officer of state and come\n    To speak with Coriolanus.\n  FIRST WATCH. From whence?\n  MENENIUS. From Rome.\n  FIRST WATCH. You may not pass; you must return. Our general\n    Will no more hear from thence.\n  SECOND WATCH. You'll see your Rome embrac'd with fire before\n    You'll speak with Coriolanus.\n  MENENIUS. Good my friends,\n    If you have heard your general talk of Rome\n    And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks\n    My name hath touch'd your ears: it is Menenius.\n  FIRST WATCH. Be it so; go back. The virtue of your name\n    Is not here passable.\n  MENENIUS. I tell thee, fellow,\n    Thy general is my lover. I have been\n    The book of his good acts whence men have read\n    His"}
{"answer":"Ulysses could have writ such letters!\n  But would have cast away her silken bobbins,\n  And fled to join him, mad for love as Helen!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  But. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  I read, read again--grew faint for love;\n  I was thine utterly.  Each separate page\n  Was like a fluttering flower-petal, loosed\n  From your own soul, and wafted thus to mine.\n  Imprinted in each burning word was love\n  Sincere, all-powerful. . .\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  A love sincere!\n  Can that be felt, Roxane!\n\nROXANE:\n  Ay, that it can!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  You come. . .?\n\nROXANE:\n  O, Christian, my true lord, I come--\n  (Were I to throw myself, here, at your knees,\n  You would raise me--but 'tis my soul I lay\n  At your feet--you can raise it nevermore!)\n  --I come to crave your pardon.  (Ay, 'tis time\n  To sue for pardon, now that death may come!)\n  For the insult done to you when, frivolous,\n  At first I loved you only for your face!\n\nCHRISTIAN (horror-stricken):\n  Roxane!\n\nROXANE:\n  And later, love--less frivolous--\n  Like a bird that spreads its wings, but can not fly--\n  Arrested by your beauty, by your soul\n  Drawn close--I loved for both at once!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  And now?\n\nROXANE:\n  Ah! you yourself have triumphed o'er yourself,\n  And now, I love you only for your soul!\n\nCHRISTIAN (stepping backward):\n  Roxane!\n\nROXANE:\n  Be happy.  To be loved for beauty--\n  A poor disguise that time so","question":"Roxane, Christian.  In the distance cadets coming and going.  Carbon and De\nGuiche give orders.\n\nROXANE (running up to Christian):\n  Ah, Christian, at last!. . .\n\nCHRISTIAN (taking her hands):\n  Now tell me why--\n  Why, by these fearful paths so perilous--\n  Across these ranks of ribald soldiery,\n  You have come?\n\nROXANE:\n  Love, your letters brought me here!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  What say you?\n\nROXANE:\n  'Tis your fault if I ran risks!\n  Your letters turned my head!  Ah! all this month,\n  How many!--and the last one ever bettered\n  The one that went before!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  What!--for a few\n  Inconsequent love-letters!\n\nROXANE:\n  Hold your peace!\n  Ah! you cannot conceive it!  Ever since\n  That night, when, in a voice all new to me,\n  Under my window you revealed your soul--\n  Ah! ever since I have adored you!  Now\n  Your letters all this whole month long!--meseemed\n  As if I heard that voice so tender, true,\n  Sheltering, close!  Thy fault, I say!  It drew me,\n  The voice o' th' night!  Oh! wise Penelope\n  Would ne'er have stayed to broider on her hearthstone,\n  If her"}
{"answer":"Warriour\n\n   Prin. O this Boy, lends mettall to vs all.\nEnter.\n\nEnter Dowglas.\n\n  Dow. Another King? They grow like Hydra's heads:\nI am the Dowglas, fatall to all those\nThat weare those colours on them. What art thou\nThat counterfeit'st the person of a King?\n  King. The King himselfe: who Dowglas grieues at hart\nSo many of his shadowes thou hast met,\nAnd not the very King. I haue two Boyes\nSeeke Percy and thy selfe about the Field:\nBut seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily,\nI will assay thee: so defend thy selfe\n\n   Dow. I feare thou art another counterfeit:\nAnd yet infaith thou bear'st thee like a King:\nBut mine I am sure thou art, whoere thou be,\nAnd thus I win thee.\n\nThey fight, the K[ing]. being in danger, Enter Prince.\n\n  Prin. Hold vp thy head vile Scot, or thou art like\nNeuer to hold it vp againe: the Spirits\nOf valiant Sherly, Stafford, Blunt, are in my Armes;\nit is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee,\nWho neuer promiseth, but he meanes to pay.\n\nThey Fight, Dowglas flyeth.\n\nCheerely My Lord: how fare's your Grace?\nSir Nicolas Gawsey hath for succour sent,\nAnd so hath Clifton: Ile to Clifton straight\n\n   King. Stay, and breath awhile.\nThou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion,\nAnd shew'd thou mak'st some tender of my life\nIn this faire rescue thou hast brought to mee\n\n   Prin. O heauen, they did me too much iniury,\nThat euer said I hearkned to your death.\nIf it were so, I might haue let alone\nThe insulting hand of Dowglas ouer","question":"Scena Tertia.\n\n\nAlarum, excursions, enter the King, the Prince, Lord Iohn of\nLancaster,\nand Earle of Westmerland.\n\n  King. I prethee Harry withdraw thy selfe, thou bleedest\ntoo much: Lord Iohn of Lancaster, go you with him\n\n   P.Ioh. Not I, My Lord, vnlesse I did bleed too\n\n   Prin. I beseech your Maiesty make vp,\nLeast your retirement do amaze your friends\n\n   King. I will do so:\nMy Lord of Westmerland leade him to his Tent\n\n   West. Come my Lord, Ile leade you to your Tent\n\n   Prin. Lead me my Lord? I do not need your helpe;\nAnd heauen forbid a shallow scratch should driue\nThe Prince of Wales from such a field as this,\nWhere stain'd Nobility lyes troden on,\nAnd Rebels Armes triumph in massacres\n\n   Ioh. We breath too long: Come cosin Westmerland,\nOur duty this way lies, for heauens sake come\n\n   Prin. By heauen thou hast deceiu'd me Lancaster,\nI did not thinke thee Lord of such a spirit:\nBefore, I lou'd thee as a Brother, Iohn;\nBut now, I do respect thee as my Soule\n\n   King. I saw him hold Lord Percy at the point,\nWith lustier maintenance then I did looke for\nOf such an vngrowne"}
{"answer":"Now am I at the lowest!\n    Qui jacet in terra non habet unde cadat.\n    In me consumpsit vires fortuna nocendo,\n    Nil superest ut jam possit obesse magis.\n    Yes, Fortune may bereave me of my crown--\n    Here, take it now; let Fortune do her worst,\n    She shall not rob me of this sable weed.\n    O, no, she envies none but pleasant things.\n    Such is the folly of despiteful chance,\n    Fortune is blind and sees not my deserts,\n    So is she deaf and hears not my laments;\n    And, could she hear, yet is she willful mad,\n    And therefore will not pity my distress.\n    Suppose that she could pity me, what then?\n    What help can be expected at her hands\n    Whose foot is standing on a rolling stone\n    And mind more mutable then fickle winds?\n    Why wail I, then, where's hope of no redress?\n    O, yes, complaining makes my grief seem less.\n    My late ambition hath distain'd my faith,\n    My breach of faith occasion'd bloody wars,\n    Those bloody wars have spent my treasury,\n    And with my treasury my people's blood,\n    And with the blood","question":"\n\n                [Portugal:  the VICEROY'S palace.]\n\n                Enter VICEROY, ALEXANDRO, VILLUPPO.\n\n  VICE.  Is our ambassador dispatch'd for Spain?\n\n  ALEX.  Two days, my liege, are past since his depart.\n\n  VICE.  And tribute payment gone along with him?\n\n  ALEX.  Aye, my good lord.\n\n  VICE.  Then rest we here a-while in our unrest;\n    And feed our sorrows with inward sighs,\n    For deepest cares break never into tears.\n    But wherefore sit I in a regal throne?\n    This better fits a wretch's endless moan.\n    Yet this is higher then my fortunes reach,\n    And therefore better than my state deserves.\n\n                  Falls to the ground.\n\n    Aye, aye, this earth, image of melancholy,\n    Seeks him whom fates adjudge to misery!\n    Here let me lie! "}
{"answer":"with you for the walk,\" I said. \"I had then to come back to\nmeet a friend.\"\n\nShe showed her surprise. \"A friend--YOU?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I have a couple!\" I laughed. \"But did the children give you a\nreason?\"\n\n\"For not alluding to your leaving us? Yes; they said you would like it\nbetter. Do you like it better?\"\n\nMy face had made her rueful. \"No, I like it worse!\" But after an instant\nI added: \"Did they say why I should like it better?\"\n\n\"No; Master Miles only said, 'We must do nothing but what she likes!'\"\n\n\"I wish indeed he would. And what did Flora say?\"\n\n\"Miss Flora was too sweet. She said, 'Oh, of course, of course!'--and I\nsaid the same.\"\n\nI thought a moment. \"You were too sweet, too--I can hear you all. But\nnonetheless, between Miles and me, it's now all out.\"\n\n\"All out?\" My companion stared. \"But what, miss?\"\n\n\"Everything. It doesn't matter. I've made up my mind. I came home, my\ndear,\" I went on, \"for a talk with Miss Jessel.\"\n\nI had by this time formed the habit of having Mrs. Grose literally well\nin hand in advance of my sounding that note; so that even now, as\nshe bravely blinked under the signal of my word, I could keep her\ncomparatively firm. \"A talk! Do you mean she spoke?\"\n\n\"It came to that. I found her, on my return, in the schoolroom.\"\n\n\"And what did she say?\" I can hear the good woman still, and the candor\nof her stupefaction.\n\n\"That she suffers the torments--!\"\n\nIt was this, of a truth, that made her, as she filled","question":"I had so perfectly expected that the return of my pupils would be marked\nby a demonstration that I was freshly upset at having to take into\naccount that they were dumb about my absence. Instead of gaily\ndenouncing and caressing me, they made no allusion to my having failed\nthem, and I was left, for the time, on perceiving that she too said\nnothing, to study Mrs. Grose's odd face. I did this to such purpose that\nI made sure they had in some way bribed her to silence; a silence that,\nhowever, I would engage to break down on the first private opportunity.\nThis opportunity came before tea: I secured five minutes with her in the\nhousekeeper's room, where, in the twilight, amid a smell of lately baked\nbread, but with the place all swept and garnished, I found her sitting\nin pained placidity before the fire. So I see her still, so I see her\nbest: facing the flame from her straight chair in the dusky, shining\nroom, a large clean image of the \"put away\"--of drawers closed and\nlocked and rest without a remedy.\n\n\"Oh, yes, they asked me to say nothing; and to please them--so long as\nthey were there--of course I promised. But what had happened to you?\"\n\n\"I only went"}
{"answer":"that would be construed into a\npunishable offence; and I was well aware that in court his word would not\nbe taken against any white man's. The search for me was renewed. Something\nhad excited suspicions that I was in the vicinity. They searched the house\nI was in. I heard their steps and their voices. At night, when all were\nasleep, Betty came to release me from my place of confinement. The fright I\nhad undergone, the constrained posture, and the dampness of the ground,\nmade me ill for several days. My uncle was soon after taken out of prison;\nbut the movements of all my relatives, and of all our friends, were very\nclosely watched.\n\nWe all saw that I could not remain where I was much longer. I had already\nstaid longer than was intended, and I knew my presence must be a source of\nperpetual anxiety to my kind benefactress. During this time, my friends had\nlaid many plans for my escape, but the extreme vigilance of my persecutors\nmade it impossible to carry them into effect.\n\nOne morning I was much startled by hearing somebody trying to get into my\nroom. Several keys were tried, but none fitted. I instantly conjectured it\nwas one of the housemaids; and I concluded she must either have heard some\nnoise in the room, or have noticed the entrance of Betty. When my friend\ncame, at her usual time, I told her what had happened. \"I knows who it\nwas,\" said she. \"Tend upon it, 'twas dat Jenny. Dat nigger allers got de\ndebble in her.\" I suggested that she","question":"\n\nThe doctor, more exasperated than ever, again tried to revenge himself on\nmy relatives. He arrested uncle Phillip on the charge of having aided my\nflight. He was carried before a court, and swore truly that he knew nothing\nof my intention to escape, and that he had not seen me since I left my\nmaster's plantation. The doctor then demanded that he should give bail for\nfive hundred dollars that he would have nothing to do with me. Several\ngentlemen offered to be security for him; but Mr. Sands told him he had\nbetter go back to jail, and he would see that he came out without giving\nbail.\n\nThe news of his arrest was carried to my grandmother, who conveyed it to\nBetty. In the kindness of her heart, she again stowed me away under the\nfloor; and as she walked back and forth, in the performance of her culinary\nduties, she talked apparently to herself, but with the intention that I\nshould hear what was going on. I hoped that my uncle's imprisonment would\nlast but few days; still I was anxious. I thought it likely Dr. Flint would\ndo his utmost to taunt and insult him, and I was afraid my uncle might lose\ncontrol of himself, and retort in some way"}
{"answer":"inquiries the name of the house of Shaws. It was a\nword that seemed to surprise those of whom I sought my way. At first I\nthought the plainness of my appearance, in my country habit, and that\nall dusty from the road, consorted ill with the greatness of the place\nto which I was bound. But after two, or maybe three, had given me the\nsame look and the same answer, I began to take it in my head there was\nsomething strange about the Shaws itself.\n\nThe better to set this fear at rest, I changed the form of my inquiries;\nand spying an honest fellow coming along a lane on the shaft of his\ncart, I asked him if he had ever heard tell of a house they called the\nhouse of Shaws.\n\nHe stopped his cart and looked at me, like the others.\n\n\"Ay\" said he. \"What for?\"\n\n\"It's a great house?\" I asked.\n\n\"Doubtless,\" says he. \"The house is a big, muckle house.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said I, \"but the folk that are in it?\"\n\n\"Folk?\" cried he. \"Are ye daft? There's nae folk there--to call folk.\"\n\n\"What?\" say I; \"not Mr. Ebenezer?\"\n\n\"Ou, ay\" says the man; \"there's the laird, to be sure, if it's him\nyou're wanting. What'll like be your business, mannie?\"\n\n\"I was led to think that I would get a situation,\" I said, looking as\nmodest as I could.\n\n\"What?\" cries the carter, in so sharp a note that his very horse\nstarted; and then, \"Well, mannie,\" he added, \"it's nane of my affairs;\nbut ye seem a decent-spoken lad; and if ye'll take a word","question":"On the forenoon of the second day, coming to the top of a hill, I saw\nall the country fall away before me down to the sea; and in the midst\nof this descent, on a long ridge, the city of Edinburgh smoking like\na kiln. There was a flag upon the castle, and ships moving or lying\nanchored in the firth; both of which, for as far away as they were, I\ncould distinguish clearly; and both brought my country heart into my\nmouth.\n\nPresently after, I came by a house where a shepherd lived, and got a\nrough direction for the neighbourhood of Cramond; and so, from one to\nanother, worked my way to the westward of the capital by Colinton, till\nI came out upon the Glasgow road. And there, to my great pleasure and\nwonder, I beheld a regiment marching to the fifes, every foot in time;\nan old red-faced general on a grey horse at the one end, and at the\nother the company of Grenadiers, with their Pope's-hats. The pride of\nlife seemed to mount into my brain at the sight of the red coats and the\nhearing of that merry music.\n\nA little farther on, and I was told I was in Cramond parish, and began\nto substitute in my"}
{"answer":"As much as one sound Cudgell of foure foote,\n    (You see the poore remainder) could distribute,\n    I made no spare Sir\n\n    Port. You did nothing Sir\n\n    Man. I am not Sampson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colebrand,\n    To mow 'em downe before me: but if I spar'd any\n    That had a head to hit, either young or old,\n    He or shee, Cuckold or Cuckold-maker:\n    Let me ne're hope to see a Chine againe,\n    And that I would not for a Cow, God saue her\n\n    Within. Do you heare M[aster]. Porter?\n    Port. I shall be with you presently, good M[aster]. Puppy,\n    Keepe the dore close Sirha\n\n    Man. What would you haue me doe?\n    Por. What should you doe,\n    But knock 'em downe by th' dozens? Is this More fields\n    to muster in? Or haue wee some strange Indian with the\n    great Toole, come to Court, the women so besiege vs?\n    Bless me, what a fry of Fornication is at dore? On my\n    Christian Conscience this one Christening will beget a\n    thousand, here will bee Father, God-father, and all together\n\n    Man. The Spoones will be the bigger Sir: There is\n","question":"Noyse and Tumult within: Enter Porter and his man.\n\nPort. You'l leaue your noyse anon ye Rascals: doe\nyou take the Court for Parish Garden: ye rude Slaues,\n    leaue your gaping\n\n    Within. Good M[aster]. Porter I belong to th' Larder\n\n    Port. Belong to th' Gallowes, and be hang'd ye Rogue:\n    Is this a place to roare in? Fetch me a dozen Crab-tree\n    staues, and strong ones; these are but switches to 'em:\n    Ile scratch your heads; you must be seeing Christenings?\n    Do you looke for Ale, and Cakes heere, you rude\n    Raskalls?\n    Man. Pray Sir be patient; 'tis as much impossible,\n    Vnlesse wee sweepe 'em from the dore with Cannons,\n    To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em sleepe\n    On May-day Morning, which will neuer be:\n    We may as well push against Powles as stirre 'em\n\n    Por. How got they in, and be hang'd?\n    Man. Alas I know not, how gets the Tide in?\n   "}
{"answer":"Candide were borne thither upon a plank.\n\nAs soon as they recovered themselves a little they walked toward Lisbon.\nThey had some money left, with which they hoped to save themselves from\nstarving, after they had escaped drowning. Scarcely had they reached the\ncity, lamenting the death of their benefactor, when they felt the earth\ntremble under their feet. The sea swelled and foamed in the harbour, and\nbeat to pieces the vessels riding at anchor. Whirlwinds of fire and\nashes covered the streets and public places; houses fell, roofs were\nflung upon the pavements, and the pavements were scattered. Thirty\nthousand inhabitants of all ages and sexes were crushed under the\nruins.[4] The sailor, whistling and swearing, said there was booty to be\ngained here.\n\n\"What can be the _sufficient reason_ of this phenomenon?\" said Pangloss.\n\n\"This is the Last Day!\" cried Candide.\n\nThe sailor ran among the ruins, facing death to find money; finding it,\nhe took it, got drunk, and having slept himself sober, purchased the\nfavours of the first good-natured wench whom he met on the ruins of the\ndestroyed houses, and in the midst of the dying and the dead. Pangloss\npulled him by the sleeve.\n\n\"My friend,\" said he, \"this is not right. You sin against the _universal\nreason_; you choose your time badly.\"\n\n\"S'blood and fury!\" answered the other; \"I am a sailor and born at\nBatavia. Four times have I trampled upon the crucifix in four voyages to\nJapan[5]; a fig for thy universal reason.\"\n\nSome falling stones had wounded Candide. He lay stretched in the street\ncovered with rubbish.\n\n\"Alas!\" said he to Pangloss, \"get me a","question":"\n\nHalf dead of that inconceivable anguish which the rolling of a ship\nproduces, one-half of the passengers were not even sensible of the\ndanger. The other half shrieked and prayed. The sheets were rent, the\nmasts broken, the vessel gaped. Work who would, no one heard, no one\ncommanded. The Anabaptist being upon deck bore a hand; when a brutish\nsailor struck him roughly and laid him sprawling; but with the violence\nof the blow he himself tumbled head foremost overboard, and stuck upon a\npiece of the broken mast. Honest James ran to his assistance, hauled him\nup, and from the effort he made was precipitated into the sea in sight\nof the sailor, who left him to perish, without deigning to look at him.\nCandide drew near and saw his benefactor, who rose above the water one\nmoment and was then swallowed up for ever. He was just going to jump\nafter him, but was prevented by the philosopher Pangloss, who\ndemonstrated to him that the Bay of Lisbon had been made on purpose for\nthe Anabaptist to be drowned. While he was proving this _a priori_, the\nship foundered; all perished except Pangloss, Candide, and that brutal\nsailor who had drowned the good Anabaptist. The villain swam safely to\nthe shore, while Pangloss and"}
{"answer":"fixed: but _his_\nwas the hush of exhausted anguish, and _hers_ of perfect peace.  Her brow\nsmooth, her lids closed, her lips wearing the expression of a smile; no\nangel in heaven could be more beautiful than she appeared.  And I partook\nof the infinite calm in which she lay: my mind was never in a holier\nframe than while I gazed on that untroubled image of Divine rest.  I\ninstinctively echoed the words she had uttered a few hours before:\n'Incomparably beyond and above us all!  Whether still on earth or now in\nheaven, her spirit is at home with God!'\n\nI don't know if it be a peculiarity in me, but I am seldom otherwise than\nhappy while watching in the chamber of death, should no frenzied or\ndespairing mourner share the duty with me.  I see a repose that neither\nearth nor hell can break, and I feel an assurance of the endless and\nshadowless hereafter--the Eternity they have entered--where life is\nboundless in its duration, and love in its sympathy, and joy in its\nfulness.  I noticed on that occasion how much selfishness there is even\nin a love like Mr. Linton's, when he so regretted Catherine's blessed\nrelease!  To be sure, one might have doubted, after the wayward and\nimpatient existence she had led, whether she merited a haven of peace at\nlast.  One might doubt in seasons of cold reflection; but not then, in\nthe presence of her corpse.  It asserted its own tranquillity, which\nseemed a pledge of equal quiet to its former inhabitant.\n\nDo you","question":"\n\nAbout twelve o'clock that night was born the Catherine you saw at\nWuthering Heights: a puny, seven-months' child; and two hours after the\nmother died, having never recovered sufficient consciousness to miss\nHeathcliff, or know Edgar.  The latter's distraction at his bereavement\nis a subject too painful to be dwelt on; its after-effects showed how\ndeep the sorrow sunk.  A great addition, in my eyes, was his being left\nwithout an heir.  I bemoaned that, as I gazed on the feeble orphan; and I\nmentally abused old Linton for (what was only natural partiality) the\nsecuring his estate to his own daughter, instead of his son's.  An\nunwelcomed infant it was, poor thing!  It might have wailed out of life,\nand nobody cared a morsel, during those first hours of existence.  We\nredeemed the neglect afterwards; but its beginning was as friendless as\nits end is likely to be.\n\nNext morning--bright and cheerful out of doors--stole softened in through\nthe blinds of the silent room, and suffused the couch and its occupant\nwith a mellow, tender glow.  Edgar Linton had his head laid on the\npillow, and his eyes shut.  His young and fair features were almost as\ndeathlike as those of the form beside him, and almost as"}
{"answer":"would be the only aid that he could\nbequeath to guide her.  He said to me, a few days afterwards, \"I wish my\nnephew would write, Ellen, or call.  Tell me, sincerely, what you think\nof him: is he changed for the better, or is there a prospect of\nimprovement, as he grows a man?\"\n\n'\"He's very delicate, sir,\" I replied; \"and scarcely likely to reach\nmanhood: but this I can say, he does not resemble his father; and if Miss\nCatherine had the misfortune to marry him, he would not be beyond her\ncontrol: unless she were extremely and foolishly indulgent.  However,\nmaster, you'll have plenty of time to get acquainted with him and see\nwhether he would suit her: it wants four years and more to his being of\nage.\"'\n\nEdgar sighed; and, walking to the window, looked out towards Gimmerton\nKirk. It was a misty afternoon, but the February sun shone dimly, and we\ncould just distinguish the two fir-trees in the yard, and the\nsparely-scattered gravestones.\n\n'I've prayed often,' he half soliloquised, 'for the approach of what is\ncoming; and now I begin to shrink, and fear it.  I thought the memory of\nthe hour I came down that glen a bridegroom would be less sweet than the\nanticipation that I was soon, in a few months, or, possibly, weeks, to be\ncarried up, and laid in its lonely hollow!  Ellen, I've been very happy\nwith my little Cathy: through winter nights and summer days she was a\nliving hope at my side.  But I've been as happy musing by myself among\nthose","question":"\n\n'These things happened last winter, sir,' said Mrs. Dean; 'hardly more\nthan a year ago.  Last winter, I did not think, at another twelve months'\nend, I should be amusing a stranger to the family with relating them!\nYet, who knows how long you'll be a stranger?  You're too young to rest\nalways contented, living by yourself; and I some way fancy no one could\nsee Catherine Linton and not love her.  You smile; but why do you look so\nlively and interested when I talk about her? and why have you asked me to\nhang her picture over your fireplace? and why--?'\n\n'Stop, my good friend!' I cried.  'It may be very possible that _I_\nshould love her; but would she love me?  I doubt it too much to venture\nmy tranquillity by running into temptation: and then my home is not here.\nI'm of the busy world, and to its arms I must return.  Go on.  Was\nCatherine obedient to her father's commands?'\n\n'She was,' continued the housekeeper.  'Her affection for him was still\nthe chief sentiment in her heart; and he spoke without anger: he spoke in\nthe deep tenderness of one about to leave his treasure amid perils and\nfoes, where his remembered words"}
{"answer":"heartiness, mere\nrelieved anxiety at my appearance, she knew nothing whatever that could\nbear upon the incident I had there ready for her. I had not suspected\nin advance that her comfortable face would pull me up, and I somehow\nmeasured the importance of what I had seen by my thus finding myself\nhesitate to mention it. Scarce anything in the whole history seems to\nme so odd as this fact that my real beginning of fear was one, as I\nmay say, with the instinct of sparing my companion. On the spot,\naccordingly, in the pleasant hall and with her eyes on me, I, for\na reason that I couldn't then have phrased, achieved an inward\nresolution--offered a vague pretext for my lateness and, with the plea\nof the beauty of the night and of the heavy dew and wet feet, went as\nsoon as possible to my room.\n\nHere it was another affair; here, for many days after, it was a queer\naffair enough. There were hours, from day to day--or at least there were\nmoments, snatched even from clear duties--when I had to shut myself up\nto think. It was not so much yet that I was more nervous than I could\nbear to be as that I was remarkably afraid of becoming so; for the truth\nI had now to turn over was, simply and clearly, the truth that I could\narrive at no account whatever of the visitor with whom I had been so\ninexplicably and yet, as it seemed to me, so intimately concerned. It\ntook little time to see that I could sound without","question":"It was not that I didn't wait, on this occasion, for more, for I was\nrooted as deeply as I was shaken. Was there a \"secret\" at Bly--a mystery\nof Udolpho or an insane, an unmentionable relative kept in unsuspected\nconfinement? I can't say how long I turned it over, or how long, in\na confusion of curiosity and dread, I remained where I had had my\ncollision; I only recall that when I re-entered the house darkness had\nquite closed in. Agitation, in the interval, certainly had held me and\ndriven me, for I must, in circling about the place, have walked three\nmiles; but I was to be, later on, so much more overwhelmed that this\nmere dawn of alarm was a comparatively human chill. The most singular\npart of it, in fact--singular as the rest had been--was the part I\nbecame, in the hall, aware of in meeting Mrs. Grose. This picture comes\nback to me in the general train--the impression, as I received it on my\nreturn, of the wide white panelled space, bright in the lamplight and\nwith its portraits and red carpet, and of the good surprised look of\nmy friend, which immediately told me she had missed me. It came to\nme straightway, under her contact, that, with plain"}
{"answer":"desires, without free will and without choice, if\nnot a stop in an organ?  What do you think?  Let us reckon the\nchances--can such a thing happen or not?\n\n\"H'm!\" you decide.  \"Our choice is usually mistaken from a false view\nof our advantage.  We sometimes choose absolute nonsense because in our\nfoolishness we see in that nonsense the easiest means for attaining a\nsupposed advantage.  But when all that is explained and worked out on\npaper (which is perfectly possible, for it is contemptible and\nsenseless to suppose that some laws of nature man will never\nunderstand), then certainly so-called desires will no longer exist.\nFor if a desire should come into conflict with reason we shall then\nreason and not desire, because it will be impossible retaining our\nreason to be SENSELESS in our desires, and in that way knowingly act\nagainst reason and desire to injure ourselves. And as all choice and\nreasoning can be really calculated--because there will some day be\ndiscovered the laws of our so-called free will--so, joking apart, there\nmay one day be something like a table constructed of them, so that we\nreally shall choose in accordance with it.  If, for instance, some day\nthey calculate and prove to me that I made a long nose at someone\nbecause I could not help making a long nose at him and that I had to do\nit in that particular way, what FREEDOM is left me, especially if I am\na learned man and have taken my degree somewhere?  Then I should be\nable to calculate my whole","question":"\n\"Ha! ha! ha!  But you know there is no such thing as choice in reality,\nsay what you like,\" you will interpose with a chuckle.  \"Science has\nsucceeded in so far analysing man that we know already that choice and\nwhat is called freedom of will is nothing else than--\"\n\nStay, gentlemen, I meant to begin with that myself I confess, I was\nrather frightened.  I was just going to say that the devil only knows\nwhat choice depends on, and that perhaps that was a very good thing,\nbut I remembered the teaching of science ... and pulled myself up.  And\nhere you have begun upon it.  Indeed, if there really is some day\ndiscovered a formula for all our desires and caprices--that is, an\nexplanation of what they depend upon, by what laws they arise, how they\ndevelop, what they are aiming at in one case and in another and so on,\nthat is a real mathematical formula--then, most likely, man will at\nonce cease to feel desire, indeed, he will be certain to.  For who\nwould want to choose by rule?  Besides, he will at once be transformed\nfrom a human being into an organ-stop or something of the sort; for\nwhat is a man without"}
{"answer":"me,\" she said, \"and say nothing.\"\n\nShe took him by the arm, and walked with him about a quarter of a mile\ninto the country; they arrived at a lonely house, surrounded with\ngardens and canals. The old woman knocked at a little door, it opened,\nshe led Candide up a private staircase into a small apartment richly\nfurnished. She left him on a brocaded sofa, shut the door and went away.\nCandide thought himself in a dream; indeed, that he had been dreaming\nunluckily all his life, and that the present moment was the only\nagreeable part of it all.\n\nThe old woman returned very soon, supporting with difficulty a trembling\nwoman of a majestic figure, brilliant with jewels, and covered with a\nveil.\n\n\"Take off that veil,\" said the old woman to Candide.\n\nThe young man approaches, he raises the veil with a timid hand. Oh!\nwhat a moment! what surprise! he believes he beholds Miss Cunegonde? he\nreally sees her! it is herself! His strength fails him, he cannot utter\na word, but drops at her feet. Cunegonde falls upon the sofa. The old\nwoman supplies a smelling bottle; they come to themselves and recover\ntheir speech. As they began with broken accents, with questions and\nanswers interchangeably interrupted with sighs, with tears, and cries.\nThe old woman desired they would make less noise and then she left them\nto themselves.\n\n\"What, is it you?\" said Candide, \"you live? I find you again in\nPortugal? then you have not been ravished? then they did not rip open\nyour belly as Doctor Pangloss informed me?\"\n\n\"Yes, they did,\" said the beautiful Cunegonde; \"but","question":"\nCandide did not take courage, but followed the old woman to a decayed\nhouse, where she gave him a pot of pomatum to anoint his sores, showed\nhim a very neat little bed, with a suit of clothes hanging up, and left\nhim something to eat and drink.\n\n\"Eat, drink, sleep,\" said she, \"and may our lady of Atocha,[9] the great\nSt. Anthony of Padua, and the great St. James of Compostella, receive\nyou under their protection. I shall be back to-morrow.\"\n\nCandide, amazed at all he had suffered and still more with the charity\nof the old woman, wished to kiss her hand.\n\n\"It is not my hand you must kiss,\" said the old woman; \"I shall be back\nto-morrow. Anoint yourself with the pomatum, eat and sleep.\"\n\nCandide, notwithstanding so many disasters, ate and slept. The next\nmorning the old woman brought him his breakfast, looked at his back, and\nrubbed it herself with another ointment: in like manner she brought him\nhis dinner; and at night she returned with his supper. The day following\nshe went through the very same ceremonies.\n\n\"Who are you?\" said Candide; \"who has inspired you with so much\ngoodness? What return can I make you?\"\n\nThe good woman made no answer; she returned in the evening, but brought\nno supper.\n\n\"Come with"}
{"answer":"and the safest. Were it known, or had it\nbeen known this morning, that the king of Jugendheit and the prince\nregent had entered Dreiberg in disguise and had been lodged in the\nStein-schloss, there would have been a serious riot in the city. So I\nhad you arrested as spies. Presently a closed carriage will convey you\nto the frontier, and the unfortunate incident will be ended.\"\n\n\"Thanks!\" said Prince Ludwig.\n\n\"And when you cross the frontier, it would be wise to disperse the\ntroops waiting there for you.\"\n\nPrince Ludwig smiled. \"It was only an army of defense. The duke had\nnearly twenty thousand men at the maneuvers. I have no desire for war;\nbut, on the other hand, I am always ready for it.\"\n\n\"There will never be any war between us,\" prophetically. \"The duke\ngrows impatient at times, but I can always rouse his sense of justice.\nYou will, of course, pardon the move I made. There will be no publicity.\nThere will be no newspaper notoriety, for the journalists will know\nnothing of what has really happened.\"\n\n\"For that consideration your excellency has my deepest thanks,\" replied\nPrince Ludwig.\n\n\"I thought it best to let you go without seeing the duke. The meeting\nbetween you two might be painful.\"\n\n\"That also is thoughtful of your excellency,\" said the king. \"I have no\ndesire to see or speak to his highness.\"\n\n\"There is, however, one favor I should like to ask,\" said the prince.\n\n\"Can I grant it?\"\n\n\"Easily. I wish to leave a sum of money in trust, to be paid to one\nGretchen Schwarz, who lives in the Krumerweg. She","question":"\nA LITTLE FINGER\n\n\nThe king of Jugendheit, Prince Ludwig, and the chancellor sat in the\nform of a triangle. Herbeck was making a pyramid of his finger-tips,\nsometimes touching his chin with his thumbs. His face was cheerful. His\nroyal highness, still in the guise of a mountaineer, sat stiffly in his\nchair, the expression on his face hardly translatable; that on the\nking's not at all. He was dressed in the brilliant uniform of a colonel\nin the Prussian Uhlans, an honor conferred upon him recently by King\nWilliam. Prior to his advent into the Grand Duchy of Ehrenstein he had\nbeen to Berlin. A whim, for which he was now grateful, had cozened him\ninto carrying this uniform along with him on his adventures. It was only\nafter he met Gretchen that there came moments when he forgot he was a\nking. He was pale. From hour to hour his heart seemed to grow colder and\nsmaller and harder, till it now rested in his breast with the heaviness\nof a stone, out of which life and the care of living had been squeezed.\nHe rarely spoke, leaving the burden of the conversation to rest upon his\nuncle's tongue.\n\n\"So your royal highness will understand,\" said Herbeck, \"that it was the\nsimplest move I could make,"}
{"answer":"my love 'hobby-horse'?\n\nMOTH.\nNo, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love\nperhaps, a hackney. But have you forgot your love?\n\nARMADO.\nAlmost I had.\n\nMOTH.\nNegligent student! learn her by heart.\n\nARMADO.\nBy heart and in heart, boy.\n\nMOTH.\nAnd out of heart, master: all those three I will prove.\n\nARMADO.\nWhat wilt thou prove?\n\nMOTH.\nA man, if I live; and this, by, in, and without, upon the\ninstant: by heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by\nher; in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with\nher; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you\ncannot enjoy her.\n\nARMADO.\nI am all these three.\n\nMOTH.\nAnd three times as much more, and yet nothing at all.\n\nARMADO.\nFetch hither the swain: he must carry me a letter.\n\nMOTH.\nA message well sympathized; a horse to be ambassador for an\nass.\n\nARMADO.\nHa, ha! what sayest thou?\n\nMOTH.\nMarry, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is\nvery slow-gaited. But I go.\n\nARMADO.\nThe way is but short: away!\n\nMOTH.\nAs swift as lead, sir.\n\nARMADO.\nThe meaning, pretty ingenious?\nIs not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow?\n\nMOTH.\nMinime, honest master; or rather, master, no.\n\nARMADO.\nI say lead is slow.\n\nMOTH.\nYou are too swift, sir, to say so:\nIs that lead slow which is fir'd from a gun?\n\nARMADO.\nSweet smoke of rhetoric!\nHe reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he;\nI shoot thee at the swain.\n\nMOTH.\nThump then, and I flee.\n\n[Exit.]\n\nARMADO.\nA most acute juvenal; volable and free of grace!\nBy thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face:\nMost rude melancholy, valour gives thee place.\nMy herald is return'd.\n\n[Re-enter MOTH with COSTARD.]\n\nMOTH.\nA wonder, master! here's a","question":"ACT III. SCENE I.\n\nThe King of Navarre's park.\n\n[Enter ARMADO and MOTH.]\n\nARMADO.\nWarble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing.\n\nMOTH [Singing.]\nConcolinel,--\n\nARMADO.\nSweet air! Go, tenderness of years; take this key, give\nenlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither; I must\nemploy him in a letter to my love.\n\nMOTH.\nMaster, will you win your love with a French brawl?\n\nARMADO.\nHow meanest thou? brawling in French?\n\nMOTH.\nNo, my complete master; but to jig off a tune at the tongue's\nend, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your\neyelids, sigh a note and sing a note, sometime through the\nthroat, as if you swallowed love with singing love, sometime\nthrough the nose, as if you snuffed up love by smelling love;\nwith your hat penthouse-like o'er the shop of your eyes, with\nyour arms crossed on your thin-belly doublet, like a rabbit on a\nspit; or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old\npainting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away.\nThese are complements, these are humours; these betray nice\nwenches, that would be betrayed without these; and make them men\nof note,--do you note me?--that most are affected to these.\n\nARMADO.\nHow hast thou purchased this experience?\n\nMOTH.\nBy my penny of observation.\n\nARMADO.\nBut O--but O,--\n\nMOTH.\n'The hobby-horse is forgot.'\n\nARMADO.\nCall'st thou"}
{"answer":"both of them had been concerned in the stealing of L10 from a\nbusiness firm. The matter was patched up with the intervention of the\nArmy, and the boys were restored to their parents.\n\nOccasionally, too, lads are brought here by kind folk, who find them\nstarving. They are taken in, kept for a while, taught and fed, and\nwhen their characters are re-established--for many of them have none\nleft--put out into the world. Some of them, indeed, work daily at\nvarious employments in London, and pay 5s. a week for their board and\nlodging at the Home. A good proportion of these lads also are sent to\nthe collieries in Wales, where, after a few years, they earn good\nwages.\n\nIn these collieries a man and a boy generally work together. A while\nago such a man applied to the Army for a boy, and the applicant,\nproving respectable, the boy was sent, and turned out extremely well.\nIn due course he became a collier himself, and, in his turn, sent for\na boy. So the thing spread, till up to the present time the Army has\nsupplied fifty or sixty lads to colliers in South Wales, all of whom\nseem to be satisfactory and prosperous.\n\nAs the Manager explained, it is not difficult to place out a lad as\nsoon as his character can be more or less guaranteed. The difficulty\ncomes with a man who is middle-aged or old. He added that this Home\ndoes not in any sense compete with those of Dr. Barnardo; in fact, in\ncertain ways they work hand in hand. The Barnardo Homes will","question":"STURGE HOUSE, BOW ROAD\n\n\n\nThis branch of the Men's Social Work of the Salvation Army is a home\nfor poor and destitute boys. The house, which once belonged to the\nlate Dr. Barnardo, has been recently hired on a short lease. One of\nthe features of the Army work is the reclamation of lads, of whom\nabout 2,400 have passed through its hands in London during the course\nof the last eight years.\n\nSturge House has been fitted up for this special purpose, and\naccommodates about fifty boys. The Officer in charge informed me that\nsome boys apply to them for assistance when they are out of work,\nwhile others come from bad homes, and yet others through the Shelters,\nwhich pass on suitable lads. Each case is strictly investigated when\nit arrives, with the result that about one-third of their number are\nrestored to their parents, from whom often enough they have run away,\nsometimes upon the most flimsy pretexts.\n\nNot unfrequently these boys are bad characters, who tell false tales\nof their past. Thus, recently, two who arrived at the Headquarters at\nWhitechapel, alleged that they were farm-labourers from Norfolk. As\nthey did not in the least look the part, inquiries were made, when it\nwas found that they had never been nearer to Norfolk than Hampstead,\nwhere"}
{"answer":"indeed I would go any distance round\nto avoid him--but I do not envy his wife in the least; I neither admire\nher nor envy her, as I have done: she is very charming, I dare say, and\nall that, but I think her very ill-tempered and disagreeable--I shall\nnever forget her look the other night!--However, I assure you, Miss\nWoodhouse, I wish her no evil.--No, let them be ever so happy together,\nit will not give me another moment's pang: and to convince you that I\nhave been speaking truth, I am now going to destroy--what I ought to\nhave destroyed long ago--what I ought never to have kept--I know that\nvery well (blushing as she spoke).--However, now I will destroy it\nall--and it is my particular wish to do it in your presence, that you\nmay see how rational I am grown. Cannot you guess what this parcel\nholds?\" said she, with a conscious look.\n\n\"Not the least in the world.--Did he ever give you any thing?\"\n\n\"No--I cannot call them gifts; but they are things that I have valued\nvery much.\"\n\nShe held the parcel towards her, and Emma read the words _Most_\n_precious_ _treasures_ on the top. Her curiosity was greatly excited.\nHarriet unfolded the parcel, and she looked on with impatience. Within\nabundance of silver paper was a pretty little Tunbridge-ware box,\nwhich Harriet opened: it was well lined with the softest cotton; but,\nexcepting the cotton, Emma saw only a small piece of court-plaister.\n\n\"Now,\" said Harriet, \"you _must_ recollect.\"\n\n\"No, indeed I do not.\"\n\n\"Dear me! I should not have thought it possible you could forget what\npassed","question":"\n\nA very few days had passed after this adventure, when Harriet came one\nmorning to Emma with a small parcel in her hand, and after sitting down\nand hesitating, thus began:\n\n\"Miss Woodhouse--if you are at leisure--I have something that I should\nlike to tell you--a sort of confession to make--and then, you know, it\nwill be over.\"\n\nEmma was a good deal surprized; but begged her to speak. There was a\nseriousness in Harriet's manner which prepared her, quite as much as her\nwords, for something more than ordinary.\n\n\"It is my duty, and I am sure it is my wish,\" she continued, \"to have\nno reserves with you on this subject. As I am happily quite an altered\ncreature in _one_ _respect_, it is very fit that you should have\nthe satisfaction of knowing it. I do not want to say more than is\nnecessary--I am too much ashamed of having given way as I have done, and\nI dare say you understand me.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Emma, \"I hope I do.\"\n\n\"How I could so long a time be fancying myself!...\" cried Harriet,\nwarmly. \"It seems like madness! I can see nothing at all extraordinary\nin him now.--I do not care whether I meet him or not--except that of the\ntwo I had rather not see him--and"}
{"answer":"saies, \"Unus\nSustineo Tres Personas; Mei, Adversarii, & Judicis, I beare three\nPersons; my own, my Adversaries, and the Judges;\") and is called in\ndiverse occasions, diversly; as a Representer, or Representative, a\nLieutenant, a Vicar, an Attorney, a Deputy, a Procurator, an Actor, and\nthe like.\n\n\n\n\nActor, Author; Authority\n\nOf Persons Artificiall, some have their words and actions Owned by\nthose whom they represent. And then the Person is the Actor; and he that\nowneth his words and actions, is the AUTHOR: In which case the\nActor acteth by Authority. For that which in speaking of goods and\npossessions, is called an Owner, and in latine Dominus, in Greeke\nKurios; speaking of Actions, is called Author. And as the Right of\npossession, is called Dominion; so the Right of doing any Action, is\ncalled AUTHORITY. So that by Authority, is alwayes understood a Right\nof doing any act: and Done By Authority, done by Commission, or Licence\nfrom him whose right it is.\n\n\n\n\nCovenants By Authority, Bind The Author\n\nFrom hence it followeth, that when the Actor maketh a Covenant by\nAuthority, he bindeth thereby the Author, no lesse than if he had made\nit himselfe; and no lesse subjecteth him to all the consequences of the\nsame. And therfore all that hath been said formerly, (Chap. 14) of the\nnature of Covenants between man and man in their naturall capacity,\nis true also when they are made by their Actors, Representers, or\nProcurators, that have authority from them, so far-forth as is in their\nCommission, but no farther.\n\nAnd therefore he that maketh a Covenant with the Actor, or Representer,\nnot knowing the Authority he","question":"CHAPTER XVI. OF PERSONS, AUTHORS, AND THINGS PERSONATED\n\n\n\n\nA Person What\n\nA PERSON, is he \"whose words or actions are considered, either as his\nown, or as representing the words or actions of an other man, or of any\nother thing to whom they are attributed, whether Truly or by Fiction.\"\n\n\n\n\nPerson Naturall, And Artificiall\n\nWhen they are considered as his owne, then is he called a Naturall\nPerson: And when they are considered as representing the words and\nactions of an other, then is he a Feigned or Artificiall person.\n\n\n\n\nThe Word Person, Whence\n\nThe word Person is latine: instead whereof the Greeks have Prosopon,\nwhich signifies the Face, as Persona in latine signifies the Disguise,\nor Outward Appearance of a man, counterfeited on the Stage; and somtimes\nmore particularly that part of it, which disguiseth the face, as a Mask\nor Visard: And from the Stage, hath been translated to any Representer\nof speech and action, as well in Tribunalls, as Theaters. So that a\nPerson, is the same that an Actor is, both on the Stage and in common\nConversation; and to Personate, is to Act, or Represent himselfe, or an\nother; and he that acteth another, is said to beare his Person, or\nact in his name; (in which sence Cicero useth it where he"}
{"answer":"seats himself:--with gentle raillery\n  He mocks my tapestry that's never done;\n  He tells me all the gossip of the week. . .\n(Le Bret appears on the steps):\n  Why, here's Le Bret!\n(Le Bret descends):\n  How goes it with our friend?\n\nLE BRET:\n  Ill!--very ill.\n\nTHE DUKE:\n  How?\n\nROXANE (to the Duke):\n  He exaggerates!\n\nLE BRET:\n  All that I prophesied:  desertion, want!. . .\n  His letters now make him fresh enemies!--\n  Attacking the sham nobles, sham devout,\n  Sham brave,--the thieving authors,--all the world!\n\nROXANE:\n  Ah! but his sword still holds them all in check;\n  None get the better of him.\n\nTHE DUKE (shaking his head):\n  Time will show!\n\nLE BRET:\n  Ah, but I fear for him--not man's attack,--\n  Solitude--hunger--cold December days,\n  That wolf-like steal into his chamber drear:--\n  Lo! the assassins that I fear for him!\n  Each day he tightens by one hole his belt:\n  That poor nose--tinted like old ivory:\n  He has retained one shabby suit of serge.\n\nTHE DUKE:\n  Ay, there is one who has no prize of Fortune!--\n  Yet is not to be pitied!\n\nLE BRET (with a bitter smile):\n  My Lord Marshal!. . .\n\nTHE DUKE:\n  Pity him not!  He has lived out his vows,\n  Free in his thoughts, as in his actions free!\n\nLE BRET (in the same tone):\n  My Lord!. . .\n\nTHE DUKE (haughtily):\n  True!  I have all, and he has naught;. . .\n  Yet","question":"Roxane; the Duke de Grammont, formerly Count de Guiche.  Then Le Bret and\nRagueneau.\n\nTHE DUKE:\n  And you stay here still--ever vainly fair,\n  Ever in weeds?\n\nROXANE:\n  Ever.\n\nTHE DUKE:\n  Still faithful?\n\nROXANE:\n  Still.\n\nTHE DUKE (after a pause):\n  Am I forgiven?\n\nROXANE:\n  Ay, since I am here.\n\n(Another pause.)\n\nTHE DUKE:\n  His was a soul, you say?. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  Ah!--when you knew him!\n\nTHE DUKE:\n  Ah, may be!. . .I, perchance, too little knew him!\n  . . .And his last letter, ever next your heart?\n\nROXANE:\n  Hung from this chain, a gentle scapulary.\n\nTHE DUKE:\n  And, dead, you love him still?\n\nROXANE:\n  At times,--meseems\n  He is but partly dead--our hearts still speak,\n  As if his love, still living, wrapped me round!\n\nTHE DUKE (after another pause):\n  Cyrano comes to see you?\n\nROXANE:\n  Often, ay.\n  Dear, kind old friend!  We call him my 'Gazette.'\n  He never fails to come:  beneath this tree\n  They place his chair, if it be fine:--I wait,\n  I broider;--the clock strikes;--at the last stroke\n  I hear,--for now I never turn to look--\n  Too sure to hear his cane tap down the steps;\n  He"}
{"answer":"appearance at distance was such, that some\nmight have thought her, if anything, rather beautiful, though of a style\nof beauty rather peculiar and cactus-like.\n\nIt was happy for Goneril that her more striking peculiarities were less\nof the person than of temper and taste. One hardly knows how to reveal,\nthat, while having a natural antipathy to such things as the breast of\nchicken, or custard, or peach, or grape, Goneril could yet in private\nmake a satisfactory lunch on hard crackers and brawn of ham. She liked\nlemons, and the only kind of candy she loved were little dried sticks of\nblue clay, secretly carried in her pocket. Withal she had hard, steady\nhealth like a squaw's, with as firm a spirit and resolution. Some other\npoints about her were likewise such as pertain to the women of savage\nlife. Lithe though she was, she loved supineness, but upon occasion\ncould endure like a stoic. She was taciturn, too. From early morning\ntill about three o'clock in the afternoon she would seldom speak--it\ntaking that time to thaw her, by all accounts, into but talking terms\nwith humanity. During the interval she did little but look, and keep\nlooking out of her large, metallic eyes, which her enemies called cold\nas a cuttle-fish's, but which by her were esteemed gazelle-like; for\nGoneril was not without vanity. Those who thought they best knew her,\noften wondered what happiness such a being could take in life, not\nconsidering the happiness which is to be had by some natures in the very\neasy way of simply causing pain to those around them. Those","question":"CHAPTER XII. STORY OF THE UNFORTUNATE MAN, FROM WHICH MAY BE GATHERED WHETHER OR NO HE HAS BEEN JUSTLY SO ENTITLED.\n\n\n\nIt appeared that the unfortunate man had had for a wife one of those\nnatures, anomalously vicious, which would almost tempt a metaphysical\nlover of our species to doubt whether the human form be, in all cases,\nconclusive evidence of humanity, whether, sometimes, it may not be a\nkind of unpledged and indifferent tabernacle, and whether, once for all\nto crush the saying of Thrasea, (an unaccountable one, considering that\nhe himself was so good a man) that \"he who hates vice, hates humanity,\"\nit should not, in self-defense, be held for a reasonable maxim, that\nnone but the good are human.\n\nGoneril was young, in person lithe and straight, too straight, indeed,\nfor a woman, a complexion naturally rosy, and which would have been\ncharmingly so, but for a certain hardness and bakedness, like that of\nthe glazed colors on stone-ware. Her hair was of a deep, rich chestnut,\nbut worn in close, short curls all round her head. Her Indian figure was\nnot without its impairing effect on her bust, while her mouth would have\nbeen pretty but for a trace of moustache. Upon the whole, aided by the\nresources of the toilet, her"}
{"answer":"Ulysses could have writ such letters!\n  But would have cast away her silken bobbins,\n  And fled to join him, mad for love as Helen!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  But. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  I read, read again--grew faint for love;\n  I was thine utterly.  Each separate page\n  Was like a fluttering flower-petal, loosed\n  From your own soul, and wafted thus to mine.\n  Imprinted in each burning word was love\n  Sincere, all-powerful. . .\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  A love sincere!\n  Can that be felt, Roxane!\n\nROXANE:\n  Ay, that it can!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  You come. . .?\n\nROXANE:\n  O, Christian, my true lord, I come--\n  (Were I to throw myself, here, at your knees,\n  You would raise me--but 'tis my soul I lay\n  At your feet--you can raise it nevermore!)\n  --I come to crave your pardon.  (Ay, 'tis time\n  To sue for pardon, now that death may come!)\n  For the insult done to you when, frivolous,\n  At first I loved you only for your face!\n\nCHRISTIAN (horror-stricken):\n  Roxane!\n\nROXANE:\n  And later, love--less frivolous--\n  Like a bird that spreads its wings, but can not fly--\n  Arrested by your beauty, by your soul\n  Drawn close--I loved for both at once!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  And now?\n\nROXANE:\n  Ah! you yourself have triumphed o'er yourself,\n  And now, I love you only for your soul!\n\nCHRISTIAN (stepping backward):\n  Roxane!\n\nROXANE:\n  Be happy.  To be loved for beauty--\n  A poor disguise that time so","question":"Roxane, Christian.  In the distance cadets coming and going.  Carbon and De\nGuiche give orders.\n\nROXANE (running up to Christian):\n  Ah, Christian, at last!. . .\n\nCHRISTIAN (taking her hands):\n  Now tell me why--\n  Why, by these fearful paths so perilous--\n  Across these ranks of ribald soldiery,\n  You have come?\n\nROXANE:\n  Love, your letters brought me here!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  What say you?\n\nROXANE:\n  'Tis your fault if I ran risks!\n  Your letters turned my head!  Ah! all this month,\n  How many!--and the last one ever bettered\n  The one that went before!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  What!--for a few\n  Inconsequent love-letters!\n\nROXANE:\n  Hold your peace!\n  Ah! you cannot conceive it!  Ever since\n  That night, when, in a voice all new to me,\n  Under my window you revealed your soul--\n  Ah! ever since I have adored you!  Now\n  Your letters all this whole month long!--meseemed\n  As if I heard that voice so tender, true,\n  Sheltering, close!  Thy fault, I say!  It drew me,\n  The voice o' th' night!  Oh! wise Penelope\n  Would ne'er have stayed to broider on her hearthstone,\n  If her"}
{"answer":"    Enter SIR WILLIAM LUCY\n\n  SOMERSET. How now, Sir William! Whither were you sent?\n  LUCY. Whither, my lord! From bought and sold Lord\n    Talbot,\n    Who, ring'd about with bold adversity,\n    Cries out for noble York and Somerset\n    To beat assailing death from his weak legions;\n    And whiles the honourable captain there\n    Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs\n    And, in advantage ling'ring, looks for rescue,\n    You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour,\n    Keep off aloof with worthless emulation.\n    Let not your private discord keep away\n    The levied succours that should lend him aid,\n    While he, renowned noble gentleman,\n    Yield up his life unto a world of odds.\n    Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy,\n    Alencon, Reignier, compass him about,\n    And Talbot perisheth by your default.\n  SOMERSET. York set him on; York should have sent him aid.\n  LUCY. And York as fast upon your Grace exclaims,\n    Swearing that you withhold his levied host,\n    Collected for this expedition.\n  SOMERSET. York lies; he might have sent and had the horse.\n    I owe him little duty and less love,\n    And take foul scorn to fawn on","question":"SCENE 4.\n\n                     Other plains of Gascony\n\n        Enter SOMERSET, With his forces; an OFFICER of\n                     TALBOT'S with him\n\n  SOMERSET. It is too late; I cannot send them now.\n    This expedition was by York and Talbot\n    Too rashly plotted; all our general force\n    Might with a sally of the very town\n    Be buckled with. The over daring Talbot\n    Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour\n    By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure.\n    York set him on to fight and die in shame.\n    That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name.\n  OFFICER. Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me\n    Set from our o'er-match'd forces forth for aid.\n\n                  "}
{"answer":"beholding to your Paper:\n  But I beseech you, what's become of Katherine\n  The Princesse Dowager? How goes her businesse?\n  1 That I can tell you too. The Archbishop\n  Of Canterbury, accompanied with other\n  Learned, and Reuerend Fathers of his Order,\n  Held a late Court at Dunstable; sixe miles off\n  From Ampthill, where the Princesse lay, to which\n  She was often cyted by them, but appear'd not:\n  And to be short, for not Appearance, and\n  The Kings late Scruple, by the maine assent\n  Of all these Learned men, she was diuorc'd,\n  And the late Marriage made of none effect:\n  Since which, she was remou'd to Kymmalton,\n  Where she remaines now sicke\n\n  2 Alas good Lady.\n  The Trumpets sound: Stand close,\n  The Queene is comming.\n\n  Ho-boyes. The Order of the Coronation. 1 A liuely Flourish of\n  Trumpets. 2\n  Then, two Iudges. 3 Lord Chancellor, with Purse and Mace before\n  him. 4\n  Quirristers singing. Musicke. 5 Maior of London, bearing the\n  Mace. Then\n  Garter, in his Coate of Armes, and on his head he wore a Gilt\n  Copper\n  Crowne. 6 Marquesse Dorset, bearing a Scepter of Gold, on his\n  head, a\n  Demy Coronall of Gold. With him, the Earle of Surrey, bearing the\n  Rod of\n  Siluer with the Doue, Crowned with an Earles Coronet. Collars of\n  Esses. 7\n  Duke of Suffolke,","question":"Enter two Gentlemen, meeting one another.\n\n1 Y'are well met once againe\n\n2 So are you\n\n1 You come to take your stand heere, and behold\nThe Lady Anne, passe from her Corronation\n\n2 'Tis all my businesse. At our last encounter,\n  The Duke of Buckingham came from his Triall\n\n  1 'Tis very true. But that time offer'd sorrow,\n  This generall ioy\n\n  2 'Tis well: The Citizens\n  I am sure haue shewne at full their Royall minds,\n  As let 'em haue their rights, they are euer forward\n  In Celebration of this day with Shewes,\n  Pageants, and Sights of Honor\n\n  1 Neuer greater,\n  Nor Ile assure you better taken Sir\n\n  2 May I be bold to aske what that containes,\n  That Paper in your hand\n\n  1 Yes, 'tis the List\n  Of those that claime their Offices this day,\n  By custome of the Coronation.\n  The Duke of Suffolke is the first, and claimes\n  To be high Steward; Next the Duke of Norfolke,\n  He to be Earle Marshall: you may reade the rest\n\n  1 I thanke you Sir: Had I not known those customs,\n  I should haue beene"}
{"answer":"thou art King,\nlet not vs that are Squires of the Nights bodie, bee call'd\nTheeues of the Dayes beautie. Let vs be Dianaes Forresters,\nGentlemen of the Shade, Minions of the Moone;\nand let men say, we be men of good Gouernment, being\ngouerned as the Sea, by our noble and chast mistris the\nMoone, vnder whose countenance we steale\n\n   Prin. Thou say'st well, and it holds well too: for the\nfortune of vs that are the Moones men, doeth ebbe and\nflow like the Sea, beeing gouerned as the Sea is, by the\nMoone: as for proofe. Now a Purse of Gold most resolutely\nsnatch'd on Monday night, and most dissolutely\nspent on Tuesday Morning; got with swearing, Lay by:\nand spent with crying, Bring in: now, in as low an ebbe\nas the foot of the Ladder, and by and by in as high a flow\nas the ridge of the Gallowes\n\n   Fal. Thou say'st true Lad: and is not my Hostesse of\nthe Tauerne a most sweet Wench?\n  Prin. As is the hony, my old Lad of the Castle: and is\nnot a Buffe Ierkin a most sweet robe of durance?\n  Fal. How now? how now mad Wagge? What in thy\nquips and thy quiddities? What a plague haue I to doe\nwith a Buffe-Ierkin?\n  Prin. Why, what a poxe haue I to doe with my Hostesse\nof the Tauerne?\n  Fal. Well, thou hast call'd her to a reck'ning many a\ntime and oft\n\n   Prin. Did I euer call for thee to pay thy part?\n ","question":"Scaena Secunda.\n\n\nEnter Henry Prince of Wales, Sir Iohn Falstaffe, and Pointz.\n\n  Fal. Now Hal, what time of day is it Lad?\n  Prince. Thou art so fat-witted with drinking of olde\nSacke, and vnbuttoning thee after Supper, and sleeping\nvpon Benches in the afternoone, that thou hast forgotten\nto demand that truely, which thou wouldest truly know.\nWhat a diuell hast thou to do with the time of the day?\nvnlesse houres were cups of Sacke, and minutes Capons,\nand clockes the tongues of Bawdes, and dialls the signes\nof Leaping-houses, and the blessed Sunne himselfe a faire\nhot Wench in Flame-coloured Taffata; I see no reason,\nwhy thou shouldest bee so superfluous, to demaund the\ntime of the day\n\n   Fal. Indeed you come neere me now Hal, for we that\ntake Purses, go by the Moone and seuen Starres, and not\nby Phoebus hee, that wand'ring Knight so faire. And I\nprythee sweet Wagge, when thou art King, as God saue\nthy Grace, Maiesty I should say, for Grace thou wilte\nhaue none\n\n   Prin. What, none?\n  Fal. No, not so much as will serue to be Prologue to\nan Egge and Butter\n\n   Prin. Well, how then? Come roundly, roundly\n\n   Fal. Marry then, sweet Wagge, when"}
{"answer":"creditors.\n\n\"Whither he had vanished, none could guess. At length, nothing being\nheard, it was surmised that he must have made away with himself--a\nsurmise, doubtless, originating in the remembrance of the change some\nmonths previous to his bankruptcy--a change of a sort only to be\nascribed to a mind suddenly thrown from its balance.\n\n\"Years passed. It was spring-time, and lo, one bright morning,\nCharlemont lounged into the St. Louis coffee-houses--gay, polite,\nhumane, companionable, and dressed in the height of costly elegance. Not\nonly was he alive, but he was himself again. Upon meeting with old\nacquaintances, he made the first advances, and in such a manner that it\nwas impossible not to meet him half-way. Upon other old friends, whom he\ndid not chance casually to meet, he either personally called, or left\nhis card and compliments for them; and to several, sent presents of game\nor hampers of wine.\n\n\"They say the world is sometimes harshly unforgiving, but it was not so\nto Charlemont. The world feels a return of love for one who returns to\nit as he did. Expressive of its renewed interest was a whisper, an\ninquiring whisper, how now, exactly, so long after his bankruptcy, it\nfared with Charlemont's purse. Rumor, seldom at a loss for answers,\nreplied that he had spent nine years in Marseilles in France, and there\nacquiring a second fortune, had returned with it, a man devoted\nhenceforth to genial friendships.\n\n\"Added years went by, and the restored wanderer still the same; or\nrather, by his noble qualities, grew up like golden maize in the\nencouraging sun of good opinions. But still the latent","question":"CHAPTER XXXIV. IN WHICH THE COSMOPOLITAN TELLS THE STORY OF THE GENTLEMAN MADMAN.\n\n\n\n\"Charlemont was a young merchant of French descent, living in St.\nLouis--a man not deficient in mind, and possessed of that sterling and\ncaptivating kindliness, seldom in perfection seen but in youthful\nbachelors, united at times to a remarkable sort of gracefully\ndevil-may-care and witty good-humor. Of course, he was admired by\neverybody, and loved, as only mankind can love, by not a few. But in his\ntwenty-ninth year a change came over him. Like one whose hair turns gray\nin a night, so in a day Charlemont turned from affable to morose. His\nacquaintances were passed without greeting; while, as for his\nconfidential friends, them he pointedly, unscrupulously, and with a kind\nof fierceness, cut dead.\n\n\"One, provoked by such conduct, would fain have resented it with words\nas disdainful; while another, shocked by the change, and, in concern for\na friend, magnanimously overlooking affronts, implored to know what\nsudden, secret grief had distempered him. But from resentment and from\ntenderness Charlemont alike turned away.\n\n\"Ere long, to the general surprise, the merchant Charlemont was\ngazetted, and the same day it was reported that he had withdrawn from\ntown, but not before placing his entire property in the hands of\nresponsible assignees for the benefit of"}
{"answer":"he lugged off to\nthe mountain a great round demijohn of a calabash, and, panting with his\nexertions, brought it back filled with his darling fluid.\n\nThe water tasted like a solution of a dozen disagreeable things, and was\nsufficiently nauseous to have made the fortune of the proprietor, had\nthe spa been situated in the midst of any civilized community.\n\nAs I am no chemist, I cannot give a scientific analysis of the water.\nAll I know about the matter is, that one day Marheyo in my presence\npoured out the last drop from his huge calabash, and I observed at the\nbottom of the vessel a small quantity of gravelly sediment very much\nresembling our common sand. Whether this is always found in the water,\nand gives it its peculiar flavour and virtues, or whether its presence\nwas merely incidental, I was not able to ascertain.\n\nOne day in returning from this spring by a circuitous path, I came upon\na scene which reminded me of Stonehenge and the architectural labours of\nthe Druids.\n\nAt the base of one of the mountains, and surrounded on all sides by\ndense groves, a series of vast terraces of stone rises, step by step,\nfor a considerable distance up the hill side. These terraces cannot\nbe less than one hundred yards in length and twenty in width. Their\nmagnitude, however, is less striking than the immense size of the blocks\ncomposing them. Some of the stones, of an oblong shape, are from ten\nto fifteen feet in length, and five or six feet thick. Their sides are\nquite smooth, but though square, and of","question":"ALMOST every country has its medicinal springs famed for their healing\nvirtues. The Cheltenham of Typee is embosomed in the deepest solitude,\nand but seldom receives a visitor. It is situated remote from any\ndwelling, a little way up the mountain, near the head of the valley; and\nyou approach it by a pathway shaded by the most beautiful foliage, and\nadorned with a thousand fragrant plants. The mineral waters of Arva Wai*\nooze forth from the crevices of a rock, and gliding down its mossy side,\nfall at last, in many clustering drops, into a natural basin of stone\nfringed round with grass and dewy-looking little violet-coloured\nflowers, as fresh and beautiful as the perpetual moisture they enjoy can\nmake them.\n\n*I presume this might be translated into 'Strong Waters'. Arva is the\nname bestowed upon a root the properties of which are both inebriating\nand medicinal. 'Wai' is the Marquesan word for water.\n\n\n\nThe water is held in high estimation by the islanders, some of whom\nconsider it an agreeable as well as a medicinal beverage; they bring it\nfrom the mountain in their calabashes, and store it away beneath heaps\nof leaves in some shady nook near the house. Old Marheyo had a great\nlove for the waters of the spring. Every now and then"}
{"answer":"is whispered,--\n  Brush of a bee's wing, that makes time eternal,--\n  Communion perfumed like the spring's wild flowers,--\n  The heart's relieving in the heart's outbreathing,\n  When to the lips the soul's flood rises, brimming!\n\nROXANE:\n  Hush! hush!\n\nCYRANO:\n  A kiss, Madame, is honorable:\n  The Queen of France, to a most favored lord\n  Did grant a kiss--the Queen herself!\n\nROXANE:\n  What then?\n\nCYRANO (speaking more warmly):\n  Buckingham suffered dumbly,--so have I,--\n  Adored his Queen, as loyally as I,--\n  Was sad, but faithful,--so am I. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  And you\n  Are fair as Buckingham!\n\nCYRANO (aside--suddenly cooled):\n  True,--I forgot!\n\nROXANE:\n  Must I then bid thee mount to cull this flower?\n\nCYRANO (pushing Christian toward the balcony):\n  Mount!\n\nROXANE:\n  This heart-breathing!. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Mount!\n\nROXANE:\n  This brush of bee's wing!. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Mount!\n\nCHRISTIAN (hesitating):\n  But I feel now, as though 'twere ill done!\n\nROXANE:\n  This moment infinite!. . .\n\nCYRANO (still pushing him):\n  Come, blockhead, mount!\n\n(Christian springs forward, and by means of the bench, the branches, and the\npillars, climbs to the balcony and strides over it.)\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Ah, Roxane!\n\n(He takes her in his arms, and bends over her lips.)\n\nCYRANO:\n  Aie!  Strange pain that wrings my heart!\n  The kiss, love's feast, so near!  I, Lazarus,\n  Lie at the gate in darkness.  Yet to me\n  Falls still a crumb or two from the rich man's board--\n  Ay, 'tis my heart receives thee, Roxane--mine!\n  For","question":"Cyrano, Christian.\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Oh! win for me that kiss. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  No!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Soon or late!. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  'Tis true!  The moment of intoxication--\n  Of madness,--when your mouths are sure to meet\n  Thanks to your fair mustache--and her rose lips!\n(To himself):\n  I'd fainer it should come thanks to. . .\n\n(A sound of shutters reopening.  Christian goes in again under the balcony.)\n\n\n\n\nCyrano, Christian, Roxane.\n\nROXANE (coming out on the balcony):\n  Still there?\n  We spoke of a. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  A kiss!  The word is sweet.\n  I see not why your lip should shrink from it;\n  If the word burns it,--what would the kiss do?\n  Oh! let it not your bashfulness affright;\n  Have you not, all this time, insensibly,\n  Left badinage aside, and unalarmed\n  Glided from smile to sigh,--from sigh to weeping?\n  Glide gently, imperceptibly, still onward--\n  From tear to kiss,--a moment's thrill!--a heartbeat!\n\nROXANE:\n  Hush! hush!\n\nCYRANO:\n  A kiss, when all is said,--what is it?\n  An oath that's ratified,--a sealed promise,\n  A heart's avowal claiming confirmation,--\n  A rose-dot on the 'i' of 'adoration,'--\n  A secret that to mouth, not ear,"}
{"answer":"marry many.\nThe man y makes his Toe, what he his Hart shold make,\nShall of a Corne cry woe, and turne his sleepe to wake.\nFor there was neuer yet faire woman, but shee made\nmouthes in a glasse.\nEnter Kent\n\n   Lear. No, I will be the patterne of all patience,\nI will say nothing\n\n   Kent. Who's there?\n  Foole. Marry here's Grace, and a Codpiece, that's a\nWiseman, and a Foole\n\n   Kent. Alas Sir are you here? Things that loue night,\nLoue not such nights as these: The wrathfull Skies\nGallow the very wanderers of the darke\nAnd make them keepe their Caues: Since I was man,\nSuch sheets of Fire, such bursts of horrid Thunder,\nSuch groanes of roaring Winde, and Raine, I neuer\nRemember to haue heard. Mans Nature cannot carry\nTh' affliction, nor the feare\n\n   Lear. Let the great Goddes\nThat keepe this dreadfull pudder o're our heads,\nFinde out their enemies now. Tremble thou Wretch,\nThat hast within thee vndivulged Crimes\nVnwhipt of Iustice. Hide thee, thou Bloudy hand;\nThou Periur'd, and thou Simular of Vertue\nThat art Incestuous. Caytiffe, to peeces shake\nThat vnder couert, and conuenient seeming\nHa's practis'd on mans life. Close pent-vp guilts,\nRiue your concealing Continents, and cry\nThese dreadfull Summoners grace. I am a man,\nMore sinn'd against, then sinning\n\n   Kent. Alacke, bare-headed?\nGracious my Lord, hard by heere is a Houell,\nSome friendship will it lend you 'gainst the Tempest:\nRepose you there, while I to this hard house,\n(More harder then the stones whereof 'tis rais'd,\nWhich euen but now, demanding after you,\nDeny'd me to come","question":"Scena Secunda.\n\n\nStorme still. Enter Lear, and Foole.\n\n  Lear. Blow windes, & crack your cheeks; Rage, blow\nYou Cataracts, and Hyrricano's spout,\nTill you haue drench'd our Steeples, drown the Cockes.\nYou Sulph'rous and Thought-executing Fires,\nVaunt-curriors of Oake-cleauing Thunder-bolts,\nSindge my white head. And thou all-shaking Thunder,\nStrike flat the thicke Rotundity o'th' world,\nCracke Natures moulds, all germaines spill at once\nThat makes ingratefull Man\n\n   Foole. O Nunkle, Court holy-water in a dry house, is\nbetter then this Rain-water out o' doore. Good Nunkle,\nin, aske thy Daughters blessing, heere's a night pitties\nneither Wisemen, nor Fooles\n\n   Lear. Rumble thy belly full: spit Fire, spowt Raine:\nNor Raine, Winde, Thunder, Fire are my Daughters;\nI taxe not you, you Elements with vnkindnesse.\nI neuer gaue you Kingdome, call'd you Children;\nYou owe me no subscription. Then let fall\nYour horrible pleasure. Heere I stand your Slaue,\nA poore, infirme, weake, and dispis'd old man:\nBut yet I call you Seruile Ministers,\nThat will with two pernicious Daughters ioyne\nYour high-engender'd Battailes, 'gainst a head\nSo old, and white as this. O, ho! 'tis foule\n\n   Foole. He that has a house to put's head in, has a good\nHead-peece:\nThe Codpiece that will house, before the head has any;\nThe Head, and he shall Lowse: so Beggers"}
{"answer":"the\nTender Passion!\n\nROXANE'S VOICE:\n  I come!  I come!\n\n(A sound of stringed instruments approaching.)\n\nCYRANO'S VOICE (behind the scenes, singing):\n  La, la, la, la!\n\nTHE DUENNA (surprised):\n  They serenade us?\n\nCYRANO (followed by two pages with arch-lutes):\n  I tell you they are demi-semi-quavers, demi-semi-fool!\n\nFIRST PAGE (ironically):\n  You know then, Sir, to distinguish between semi-quavers and demi-semi-\nquavers?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Is not every disciple of Gassendi a musician?\n\nTHE PAGE (playing and singing):\n  La, la!\n\nCYRANO (snatching the lute from him, and going on with the phrase):\n  In proof of which, I can continue!  La, la, la, la!\n\nROXANE (appearing on the balcony):\n  What?  'Tis you?\n\nCYRANO (going on with the air, and singing to it):\n  'Tis I, who come to serenade your lilies, and pay my devoir to your ro-o-\noses!\n\nROXANE:\n  I am coming down!\n\n(She leaves the balcony.)\n\nTHE DUENNA (pointing to the pages):\n  How come these two virtuosi here?\n\nCYRANO:\n  'Tis for a wager I won of D'Assoucy.  We were disputing a nice point in\ngrammar; contradictions raged hotly--''Tis so!'  'Nay, 'tis so!' when suddenly\nhe shows me these two long-shanks, whom he takes about with him as an escort,\nand who are skillful in scratching lute-strings with their skinny claws!  'I\nwill wager you a day's music,' says he!--And lost it!  Thus, see you, till\nPhoebus' chariot starts once again, these lute-twangers are at my heels,\nseeing all I do, hearing all I say, and accompanying all with melody.  'Twas\npleasant at the first, but i' faith, I begin","question":"Ragueneau, the duenna.  Then Roxane, Cyrano, and two pages.\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  --And then, off she went, with a musketeer!  Deserted and ruined too, I\nwould make an end of all, and so hanged myself.  My last breath was drawn:--\nthen in comes Monsieur de Bergerac!  He cuts me down, and begs his cousin to\ntake me for her steward.\n\nTHE DUENNA:\n  Well, but how came it about that you were thus ruined?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Oh!  Lise loved the warriors, and I loved the poets!  What cakes there were\nthat Apollo chanced to leave were quickly snapped up by Mars.  Thus ruin was\nnot long a-coming.\n\nTHE DUENNA (rising, and calling up to the open window):\n  Roxane, are you ready?  They wait for us!\n\nROXANE'S VOICE (from the window):\n  I will but put me on a cloak!\n\nTHE DUENNA (to Ragueneau, showing him the door opposite):\n  They wait us there opposite, at Clomire's house.  She receives them all\nthere to-day--the precieuses, the poets; they read a discourse on the Tender\nPassion.\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  The Tender Passion?\n\nTHE DUENNA (in a mincing voice):\n  Ay, indeed!\n(Calling up to the window):\n  Roxane, an you come not down quickly, we shall miss the discourse on"}
{"answer":"FLUTE. O sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost sixpence a day\n    during his life; he could not have scaped sixpence a day. An\nthe\n    Duke had not given him sixpence a day for playing Pyramus,\nI'll\n    be hanged. He would have deserved it: sixpence a day in\nPyramus,\n    or nothing.\n\n                           Enter BOTTOM\n\n  BOTTOM. Where are these lads? Where are these hearts?\n  QUINCE. Bottom! O most courageous day! O most happy hour!\n  BOTTOM. Masters, I am to discourse wonders; but ask me not\nwhat;\n    for if I tell you, I am not true Athenian. I will tell you\n    everything, right as it fell out.\n  QUINCE. Let us hear, sweet Bottom.\n  BOTTOM. Not a word of me. All that I will tell you is, that the\n    Duke hath dined. Get your apparel together; good strings to\nyour\n    beards, new ribbons to your pumps; meet presently at the\npalace;\n    every man look o'er his part; for the short and the long is,\nour\n    play is preferr'd. In any case, let Thisby have clean linen;\nand\n    let not him that plays the lion pare his nails, for they\nshall\n    hang out for the lion's claws.","question":"SCENE II.\nAthens. QUINCE'S house\n\nEnter QUINCE, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING\n\n  QUINCE. Have you sent to Bottom's house? Is he come home yet?\n  STARVELING. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt he is\ntransported.\n  FLUTE. If he come not, then the play is marr'd; it goes not\n    forward, doth it?\n  QUINCE. It is not possible. You have not a man in all Athens\nable\n    to discharge Pyramus but he.\n  FLUTE. No; he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft man in\n    Athens.\n  QUINCE. Yea, and the best person too; and he is a very paramour\nfor\n    a sweet voice.\n  FLUTE. You must say 'paragon.' A paramour is- God bless us!- A\n    thing of naught.\n\n                           Enter SNUG\n\n  SNUG. Masters, the Duke is coming from the temple; and there is\ntwo\n    or three lords and ladies more married. If our sport had gone\n\n    forward, we had all been made men.\n "}
{"answer":"thither.\n\nMRS. PAGE.\nThere is an old tale goes that Herne the hunter,\nSometime a keeper here in Windsor Forest,\nDoth all the winter-time, at still midnight,\nWalk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns;\nAnd there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle,\nAnd makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a chain\nIn a most hideous and dreadful manner:\nYou have heard of such a spirit, and well you know\nThe superstitious idle-headed eld\nReceived, and did deliver to our age,\nThis tale of Herne the hunter for a truth.\n\nPAGE.\nWhy, yet there want not many that do fear\nIn deep of night to walk by this Herne's oak.\nBut what of this?\n\nMRS. FORD.\nMarry, this is our device;\nThat Falstaff at that oak shall meet with us,\nDisguis'd, like Herne, with huge horns on his head.\n\nPAGE.\nWell, let it not be doubted but he'll come,\nAnd in this shape. When you have brought him thither,\nWhat shall be done with him? What is your plot?\n\nMRS. PAGE.\nThat likewise have we thought upon, and thus:\nNan Page my daughter, and my little son,\nAnd three or four more of their growth, we'll dress\nLike urchins, ouphs, and fairies, green and white,\nWith rounds of waxen tapers on their heads,\nAnd rattles in their hands. Upon a sudden,\nAs Falstaff, she, and I, are newly met,\nLet them from forth a sawpit rush at once\nWith some diffused song; upon their sight\nWe two in great amazedness will fly:\nThen let them all encircle him about,\nAnd fairy-like, to pinch the unclean knight;\nAnd ask him why, that hour of fairy revel,\nIn their so sacred paths he dares to tread\nIn shape profane.\n\nMRS.","question":"SCENE 4.\n\nA room in FORD'S house.\n\n[Enter PAGE, FORD, MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and SIR HUGH\nEVANS.]\n\nEVANS.\n'Tis one of the best discretions of a 'oman as ever I did look upon.\n\nPAGE.\nAnd did he send you both these letters at an instant?\n\nMRS. PAGE.\nWithin a quarter of an hour.\n\nFORD.\nPardon me, wife. Henceforth, do what thou wilt;\nI rather will suspect the sun with cold\nThan thee with wantonness: now doth thy honour stand,\nIn him that was of late an heretic,\nAs firm as faith.\n\nPAGE.\n'Tis well, 'tis well; no more.\nBe not as extreme in submission\nAs in offence;\nBut let our plot go forward: let our wives\nYet once again, to make us public sport,\nAppoint a meeting with this old fat fellow,\nWhere we may take him and disgrace him for it.\n\nFORD.\nThere is no better way than that they spoke of.\n\nPAGE.\nHow? To send him word they'll meet him in the park at midnight?\nFie, fie! he'll never come!\n\nEVANS.\nYou say he has been thrown in the rivers; and has been grievously\npeaten as an old 'oman; methinks there should be terrors in him,\nthat he should not come; methinks his flesh is punished; he shall\nhave no desires.\n\nPAGE.\nSo think I too.\n\nMRS. FORD.\nDevise but how you'll use him when he comes,\nAnd let us two devise to bring him"}
{"answer":"                           JOHN FALSTAFF.'\n\nWhat a Herod of Jewry is this! O wicked, wicked world! One that is\nwell-nigh worn to pieces with age to show himself a young gallant.\nWhat an unweighed behaviour hath this Flemish drunkard picked, with\nthe devil's name! out of my conversation, that he dares in this manner\nassay me? Why, he hath not been thrice in my company! What should I\nsay to him? I was then frugal of my mirth:--Heaven forgive me! Why,\nI'll exhibit a bill in the parliament for the putting down of men.\nHow shall I be revenged on him? for revenged I will be, as sure as\nhis guts are made of puddings.\n\n[Enter MISTRESS FORD.]\n\nMRS. FORD.\nMistress Page! trust me, I was going to your house.\n\nMRS. PAGE.\nAnd, trust me, I was coming to you. You look very ill.\n\nMRS. FORD.\nNay, I'll ne'er believe that; I have to show to the contrary.\n\nMRS. PAGE.\nFaith, but you do, in my mind.\n\nMRS. FORD.\nWell, I do, then; yet, I say, I could show you to the contrary.\nO, Mistress Page! give me some counsel.\n\nMRS. PAGE.\nWhat's the matter, woman?\n\nMRS. FORD.\nO woman, if it were not for one trifling respect, I could come to\nsuch honour!\n\nMRS. PAGE.\nHang the trifle, woman; take the honour. What is it?--Dispense with\ntrifles;--what is it?\n\nMRS. FORD.\nIf I would but go to hell for an eternal moment or so, I could be\nknighted.\n\nMRS. PAGE.\nWhat? thou liest. Sir Alice Ford! These knights will","question":"ACT II. SCENE 1.\n\nBefore PAGE'S house\n\n[Enter MISTRESS PAGE, with a letter.]\n\nMRS. PAGE.\nWhat! have I scaped love-letters in the holiday-time of my beauty,\nand am I now a subject for them? Let me see.\n\n  'Ask me no reason why I love you; for though Love use Reason\n   for his precisian, he admits him not for his counsellor. You\n   are not young, no more am I; go to, then, there's sympathy:\n   you are merry, so am I; ha! ha! then there's more sympathy;\n   you love sack, and so do I; would you desire better sympathy?\n   Let it suffice thee, Mistress Page, at the least, if the love\n   of soldier can suffice, that I love thee. I will not say,\n   pity me: 'tis not a soldier-like phrase; but I say, Love me.\n   By me,\n      Thine own true knight,\n      By day or night,\n      Or any kind of light,\n      With all his might,\n      For thee to fight,\n       "}
{"answer":"send each soul away,\n  Receive alone him,--whose great boldness you\n  Have deigned, I hope, to pardon, ere he asks,--\n  He who is ever your--et cetera.'\n(To the monk):\n  Father, this is the matter of the letter:--\n(All come near her, and she reads aloud):\n  'Lady,\n  The Cardinal's wish is law; albeit\n  It be to you unwelcome.  For this cause\n  I send these lines--to your fair ear addressed--\n  By a holy man, discreet, intelligent:\n  It is our will that you receive from him,\n  In your own house, the marriage\n(She turns the page):\n      benediction\n  Straightway, this night.  Unknown to all the world\n  Christian becomes your husband.  Him we send.\n  He is abhorrent to your choice.  Let be.\n  Resign yourself, and this obedience\n  Will be by Heaven well recompensed.  Receive,\n  Fair lady, all assurance of respect,\n  From him who ever was, and still remains,\n  Your humble and obliged--et cetera.'\n\nTHE FRIAR (with great delight):\n  O worthy lord!  I knew naught was to fear;\n  It could be but holy business!\n\nROXANE (to Christian, in a low voice):\n  Am I not apt at reading letters?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Hum!\n\nROXANE (aloud, with despair):\n  But this is horrible!\n\nTHE FRIAR (who has turned his lantern on Cyrano):\n  'Tis you?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  'Tis I!\n\nTHE FRIAR (turning the light on to him, and as if a doubt struck him on seeing\nhis beauty):\n","question":"Cyrano, Christian, Roxane, the friar, Ragueneau.\n\nTHE FRIAR:\n  'Tis here,--I'm sure of it--Madame Madeleine Robin.\n\nCYRANO:\n  Why, you said Ro-LIN.\n\nTHE FRIAR:\n  No, not I.\n  B,I,N,BIN!\n\nROXANE (appearing on the threshold, followed by Ragueneau, who carries a\nlantern, and Christian):\n  What is't?\n\nTHE FRIAR:\n  A letter.\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  What?\n\nTHE FRIAR (to Roxane):\n  Oh, it can boot but a holy business!\n  'Tis from a worthy lord. . .\n\nROXANE (to Christian):\n  De Guiche!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  He dares. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  Oh, he will not importune me forever!\n(Unsealing the letter):\n  I love you,--therefore--\n(She reads in a low voice by the aid of Ragueneau's lantern):\n  'Lady,\n  The drums beat;\n  My regiment buckles its harness on\n  And starts; but I,--they deem me gone before--\n  But I stay.  I have dared to disobey\n  Your mandate.  I am here in convent walls.\n  I come to you to-night.  By this poor monk--\n  A simple fool who knows not what he bears--\n  I send this missive to apprise your ear.\n  Your lips erewhile have smiled on me, too sweet:\n  I go not ere I've seen them once again!\n  I would be private;"}
{"answer":"away aft with ye!\" cried Hoseason.\n\nAnd at that I brushed by the sailors and the boy (who neither spoke nor\nmoved), and ran up the ladder on deck.\n\nThe brig was sheering swiftly and giddily through a long, cresting\nswell. She was on the starboard tack, and on the left hand, under the\narched foot of the foresail, I could see the sunset still quite bright.\nThis, at such an hour of the night, surprised me greatly; but I was too\nignorant to draw the true conclusion--that we were going north-about\nround Scotland, and were now on the high sea between the Orkney and\nShetland Islands, having avoided the dangerous currents of the Pentland\nFirth. For my part, who had been so long shut in the dark and knew\nnothing of head-winds, I thought we might be half-way or more across the\nAtlantic. And indeed (beyond that I wondered a little at the lateness of\nthe sunset light) I gave no heed to it, and pushed on across the decks,\nrunning between the seas, catching at ropes, and only saved from going\noverboard by one of the hands on deck, who had been always kind to me.\n\nThe round-house, for which I was bound, and where I was now to sleep and\nserve, stood some six feet above the decks, and considering the size of\nthe brig, was of good dimensions. Inside were a fixed table and bench,\nand two berths, one for the captain and the other for the two mates,\nturn and turn about. It was all fitted with lockers from top to bottom,\nso as to stow","question":"One night, about eleven o'clock, a man of Mr. Riach's watch (which was\non deck) came below for his jacket; and instantly there began to go\na whisper about the forecastle that \"Shuan had done for him at last.\"\nThere was no need of a name; we all knew who was meant; but we had\nscarce time to get the idea rightly in our heads, far less to speak of\nit, when the scuttle was again flung open, and Captain Hoseason came\ndown the ladder. He looked sharply round the bunks in the tossing light\nof the lantern; and then, walking straight up to me, he addressed me, to\nmy surprise, in tones of kindness.\n\n\"My man,\" said he, \"we want ye to serve in the round-house. You and\nRansome are to change berths. Run away aft with ye.\"\n\nEven as he spoke, two seamen appeared in the scuttle, carrying Ransome\nin their arms; and the ship at that moment giving a great sheer into the\nsea, and the lantern swinging, the light fell direct on the boy's face.\nIt was as white as wax, and had a look upon it like a dreadful smile.\nThe blood in me ran cold, and I drew in my breath as if I had been\nstruck.\n\n\"Run away aft; run"}
{"answer":"of a search for the way\nto escape from it. I encountered her on the ground of a probability that\nwith recurrence--for recurrence we took for granted--I should get\nused to my danger, distinctly professing that my personal exposure had\nsuddenly become the least of my discomforts. It was my new suspicion\nthat was intolerable; and yet even to this complication the later hours\nof the day had brought a little ease.\n\nOn leaving her, after my first outbreak, I had of course returned to my\npupils, associating the right remedy for my dismay with that sense of\ntheir charm which I had already found to be a thing I could positively\ncultivate and which had never failed me yet. I had simply, in other\nwords, plunged afresh into Flora's special society and there become\naware--it was almost a luxury!--that she could put her little conscious\nhand straight upon the spot that ached. She had looked at me in sweet\nspeculation and then had accused me to my face of having \"cried.\" I had\nsupposed I had brushed away the ugly signs: but I could literally--for\nthe time, at all events--rejoice, under this fathomless charity, that\nthey had not entirely disappeared. To gaze into the depths of blue of\nthe child's eyes and pronounce their loveliness a trick of premature\ncunning was to be guilty of a cynicism in preference to which I\nnaturally preferred to abjure my judgment and, so far as might be, my\nagitation. I couldn't abjure for merely wanting to, but I could repeat\nto Mrs. Grose--as I did there, over and over, in the small hours--that\nwith their","question":"What I had said to Mrs. Grose was true enough: there were in the matter\nI had put before her depths and possibilities that I lacked resolution\nto sound; so that when we met once more in the wonder of it we were of a\ncommon mind about the duty of resistance to extravagant fancies. We were\nto keep our heads if we should keep nothing else--difficult indeed as\nthat might be in the face of what, in our prodigious experience, was\nleast to be questioned. Late that night, while the house slept, we had\nanother talk in my room, when she went all the way with me as to its\nbeing beyond doubt that I had seen exactly what I had seen. To hold her\nperfectly in the pinch of that, I found I had only to ask her how, if\nI had \"made it up,\" I came to be able to give, of each of the persons\nappearing to me, a picture disclosing, to the last detail, their\nspecial marks--a portrait on the exhibition of which she had instantly\nrecognized and named them. She wished of course--small blame to her!--to\nsink the whole subject; and I was quick to assure her that my own\ninterest in it had now violently taken the form"}
{"answer":"being ended, Peru found itself like\nmany valorous gentlemen, free and independent enough, but with few shot\nin the locker. In other words, Peru had not wherewithal to pay off its\ntroops. But the Creole--I forget his name--volunteered to take his pay\nin lands. So they told him he might have his pick of the Enchanted\nIsles, which were then, as they still remain, the nominal appanage of\nPeru. The soldier straightway embarks thither, explores the group,\nreturns to Callao, and says he will take a deed of Charles's Isle.\nMoreover, this deed must stipulate that thenceforth Charles's Isle is\nnot only the sole property of the Creole, but is forever free of Peru,\neven as Peru of Spain. To be short, this adventurer procures himself to\nbe made in effect Supreme Lord of the Island, one of the princes of the\npowers of the earth.[A]\n\n[Footnote A: The American Spaniards have long been in the habit of\nmaking presents of islands to deserving individuals. The pilot Juan\nFernandez procured a deed of the isle named after him, and for some\nyears resided there before Selkirk came. It is supposed, however, that\nhe eventually contracted the blues upon his princely property, for after\na time he returned to the main, and as report goes, became a very\ngarrulous barber in the city of Lima.]\n\nHe now sends forth a proclamation inviting subjects to his as yet\nunpopulated kingdom. Some eighty souls, men and women, respond; and\nbeing provided by their leader with necessaries, and tools of various\nsorts, together with a few cattle and goats, take ship for the promised\nland; the last arrival","question":"SKETCH SEVENTH. CHARLES'S ISLE AND THE DOG-KING. \n\n  --So with outragious cry,\n  A thousand villeins round about him swarmed\n  Out of the rocks and caves adjoining nye;\n  Vile caitive wretches, ragged, rude, deformed;\n  All threatning death, all in straunge manner armed;\n  Some with unweldy clubs, some with long speares.\n  Some rusty knives, some staves in fier warmd.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n  We will not be of any occupation,\n  Let such vile vassals, born to base vocation,\n  Drudge in the world, and for their living droyle,\n  Which have no wit to live withouten toyle.\n\n\nSouthwest of Barrington lies Charles's Isle. And hereby hangs a history\nwhich I gathered long ago from a shipmate learned in all the lore of\noutlandish life.\n\nDuring the successful revolt of the Spanish provinces from Old Spain,\nthere fought on behalf of Peru a certain Creole adventurer from Cuba,\nwho, by his bravery and good fortune, at length advanced himself to high\nrank in the patriot army. The war"}
{"answer":"rang, up started\n      Affery, and was in the sick room before she was awake.\n\n      Having got her mistress into bed, lighted her lamp, and given her good\n      night, Mrs Flintwinch went to roost as usual, saving that her lord had\n      not yet appeared. It was her lord himself who became--unlike the\n      last theme in the mind, according to the observation of most\n      philosophers--the subject of Mrs Flintwinch's dream.\n\n      It seemed to her that she awoke after sleeping some hours, and found\n      Jeremiah not yet abed. That she looked at the candle she had left\n      burning, and, measuring the time like King Alfred the Great, was\n      confirmed by its wasted state in her belief that she had been asleep for\n      some considerable period. That she arose thereupon, muffled herself up\n      in a wrapper, put on her shoes, and went out on the staircase, much\n      surprised, to look for Jeremiah.\n\n      The staircase was as wooden and solid as need be, and Affery went\n      straight down it without any of those deviations peculiar to dreams.\n   ","question":"When Mrs Flintwinch dreamed, she usually dreamed, unlike the son of her\nold mistress, with her eyes shut. She had a curiously vivid dream that\nnight, and before she had left the son of her old mistress many hours.\nIn fact it was not at all like a dream; it was so very real in every\nrespect. It happened in this wise.\n\nThe bed-chamber occupied by Mr and Mrs Flintwinch was within a few paces\nof that to which Mrs Clennam had been so long confined. It was not on\nthe same floor, for it was a room at the side of the house, which was\napproached by a steep descent of a few odd steps, diverging from the\nmain staircase nearly opposite to Mrs Clennam's door. It could scarcely\nbe said to be within call, the walls, doors, and panelling of the old\nplace were so cumbrous; but it was within easy reach, in any undress,\n      at any hour of the night, in any temperature. At the head of the bed\n      and within a foot of Mrs Flintwinch's ear, was a bell, the line of which\n      hung ready to Mrs Clennam's hand. Whenever this bell"}
{"answer":"As if to be but a man were nothing. But don't be too sure\nwhat I am. You call me _man_, just as the townsfolk called the angels\nwho, in man's form, came to Lot's house; just as the Jew rustics called\nthe devils who, in man's form, haunted the tombs. You can conclude\nnothing absolute from the human form, barber.\"\n\n\"But I can conclude something from that sort of talk, with that sort of\ndress,\" shrewdly thought the barber, eying him with regained\nself-possession, and not without some latent touch of apprehension at\nbeing alone with him. What was passing in his mind seemed divined by the\nother, who now, more rationally and gravely, and as if he expected it\nshould be attended to, said: \"Whatever else you may conclude upon, it is\nmy desire that you conclude to give me a good shave,\" at the same time\nloosening his neck-cloth. \"Are you competent to a good shave, barber?\"\n\n\"No broker more so, sir,\" answered the barber, whom the business-like\nproposition instinctively made confine to business-ends his views of the\nvisitor.\n\n\"Broker? What has a broker to do with lather? A broker I have always\nunderstood to be a worthy dealer in certain papers and metals.\"\n\n\"He, he!\" taking him now for some dry sort of joker, whose jokes, he\nbeing a customer, it might be as well to appreciate, \"he, he! You\nunderstand well enough, sir. Take this seat, sir,\" laying his hand on a\ngreat stuffed chair, high-backed and high-armed, crimson-covered, and\nraised on a sort of dais, and which seemed but to lack a canopy and\nquarterings, to make","question":"CHAPTER XLII. UPON THE HEEL OF THE LAST SCENE THE COSMOPOLITAN ENTERS THE BARBER'S SHOP, A BENEDICTION ON HIS LIPS.\n\n\n\n\"Bless you, barber!\"\n\nNow, owing to the lateness of the hour, the barber had been all alone\nuntil within the ten minutes last passed; when, finding himself rather\ndullish company to himself, he thought he would have a good time with\nSouter John and Tam O'Shanter, otherwise called Somnus and Morpheus, two\nvery good fellows, though one was not very bright, and the other an\narrant rattlebrain, who, though much listened to by some, no wise man\nwould believe under oath.\n\nIn short, with back presented to the glare of his lamps, and so to the\ndoor, the honest barber was taking what are called cat-naps, and\ndreaming in his chair; so that, upon suddenly hearing the benediction\nabove, pronounced in tones not unangelic, starting up, half awake, he\nstared before him, but saw nothing, for the stranger stood behind. What\nwith cat-naps, dreams, and bewilderments, therefore, the voice seemed a\nsort of spiritual manifestation to him; so that, for the moment, he\nstood all agape, eyes fixed, and one arm in the air.\n\n\"Why, barber, are you reaching up to catch birds there with salt?\"\n\n\"Ah!\" turning round disenchanted, \"it is only a man, then.\"\n\n\"_Only_ a man?"}
{"answer":"tidings I shed many tears, and bitterly reproached\nmyself for having left him so long. But I had done it for the best, and now\nall I could do was to pray to the heavenly Father to guide and protect him.\n\nNot long after my return, I received the following letter from Miss Emily\nFlint, now Mrs. Dodge:--\n\n   In this you will recognize the hand of your friend and mistress.\n   Having heard that you had gone with a family to Europe, I have\n   waited to hear of your return to write to you. I should have\n   answered the letter you wrote to me long since, but as I could\n   not then act independently of my father, I knew there could be\n   nothing done satisfactory to you. There were persons here who\n   were willing to buy you and run the risk of getting you. To this\n   I would not consent. I have always been attached to you, and\n   would not like to see you the slave of another, or have unkind\n   treatment. I am married now, and can protect you. My husband\n   expects to move to Virginia this spring, where we think of\n   settling. I am very anxious that you should come and live with\n   me. If you are not willing to come, you may purchase yourself;\n   but I should prefer having you live with me. If","question":"\n\nWe had a tedious winter passage, and from the distance spectres seemed to\nrise up on the shores of the United States. It is a sad feeling to be\nafraid of one's native country. We arrived in New York safely, and I\nhastened to Boston to look after my children. I found Ellen well, and\nimproving at her school; but Benny was not there to welcome me. He had been\nleft at a good place to learn a trade, and for several months every thing\nworked well. He was liked by the master, and was a favorite with his\nfellow-apprentices; but one day they accidentally discovered a fact they\nhad never before suspected--that he was colored! This at once transformed\nhim into a different being. Some of the apprentices were Americans, others\nAmerican-born Irish; and it was offensive to their dignity to have a\n\"nigger\" among them, after they had been told that he _was_ a \"nigger.\"\nThey began by treating him with silent scorn, and finding that he returned\nthe same, they resorted to insults and abuse. He was too spirited a boy to\nstand that, and he went off. Being desirous to do something to support\nhimself, and having no one to advise him, he shipped for a whaling voyage.\nWhen I received these"}
{"answer":"he never thought of putting it in the bank before Jess saw\nit), he found a delicious lunch waiting for him. Jess had boiled the\nlittle vegetables in clear water, and the moment they were done she had\ndrained off the water in a remarkable drainer, and heaped them on the\nbiggest dish with melted butter on top.\n\nHis family almost forgot to eat while Henry recounted the details of the\nexciting race. And when he showed them the silver cup and the money they\nactually did stop eating, hungry as they were.\n\n\"I said my name was Henry James,\" repeated Henry.\n\n\"That's all right. So it is,\" affirmed Jess. \"It's clever, too. You can\nuse that name for your bank book.\"\n\n\"So I can!\" said Henry, delighted. \"I'll put it in the bank this very\nafternoon. And by the way, I brought something for dinner tonight.\"\n\nJess looked in the bag. There were a dozen smooth, brown potatoes.\n\n\"I know how to cook those,\" said Jess, nodding her head wisely. \"You\njust wait!\"\n\n\"Can't wait, hardly,\" Henry called back as he went to work.\n\nWhen he had gone, Benny frolicked around noisily with the dog.\n\n\"Benny,\" Jess exclaimed suddenly, as she hung her dish towels up to dry,\n\"it's high time you learned to read.\"\n\n\"No school _now_,\" said Benny hopefully.\n\n\"No, but I can teach you. If I only had a primer!\"\n\n\"Let's make one,\" suggested Violet, shaking her hair back. \"We have\nsaved all the wrapping paper off the bundles, you know.\"\n\nJess was staring off into space, as she always did when she had a bright\nidea.\n\n\"Violet,\" she cried at last,","question":"MORE EDUCATION\n\n\nWith twenty-five dollars in his hand, Henry felt like a millionaire as\nhe edged through the crowd to the gate.\n\n\"That's the boy,\" he heard many a person say when he was forced to hold\nhis silver cup in view out of harm's way.\n\nWhen Dr. McAllister drove into his yard he found a boy washing the\nconcrete drives as calmly as if nothing had happened. He chuckled\nquietly, for he had stopped at the Fair Grounds for a few minutes\nhimself, and held a little conversation with the score-keeper. When\nHenry faithfully repeated the list of winners, however, he said nothing\nabout it.\n\n\"What are you going to do with the prize?\" queried Dr. McAllister.\n\n\"Put it in the savings bank, I guess,\" replied Henry.\n\n\"Have you an account?\" asked his friend.\n\n\"No, but Jess says it's high time we started one.\"\n\n\"Good for Jess,\" said the doctor absently. \"I remember an old uncle of\nmine who put two hundred dollars in the savings bank and forgot all\nabout it. He left it in there till he died, and it came to me. It\namounted to sixteen hundred dollars.\"\n\n\"Whew!\" said Henry.\n\n\"He left it alone for over forty years, you see,\" explained Dr.\nMcAllister.\n\nWhen Henry arrived at his little home in the woods with the twenty-five\ndollars (for"}
{"answer":"and in strange postures.  His disordered mind interpreted the\nhall of the forest as a charnel place.  He believed for an instant that\nhe was in the house of the dead, and he did not dare to move lest these\ncorpses start up, squalling and squawking.  In a second, however, he\nachieved his proper mind. He swore a complicated oath at himself.  He\nsaw that this somber picture was not a fact of the present, but a mere\nprophecy.\n\nHe heard then the noise of a fire crackling briskly in the cold air,\nand, turning his head, he saw his friend pottering busily about a small\nblaze.  A few other figures moved in the fog, and he heard the hard\ncracking of axe blows.\n\nSuddenly there was a hollow rumble of drums.  A distant bugle sang\nfaintly.  Similar sounds, varying in strength, came from near and far\nover the forest.  The bugles called to each other like brazen\ngamecocks.  The near thunder of the regimental drums rolled.\n\nThe body of men in the woods rustled.  There was a general uplifting of\nheads.  A murmuring of voices broke upon the air.  In it there was much\nbass of grumbling oaths.  Strange gods were addressed in condemnation\nof the early hours necessary to correct war.  An officer's peremptory\ntenor rang out and quickened the stiffened movement of the men.  The\ntangled limbs unraveled.  The corpse-hued faces were hidden behind\nfists that twisted slowly in the eye sockets.\n\nThe youth sat up and gave vent to an enormous yawn.","question":"\nWhen the youth awoke it seemed to him that he had been asleep for a\nthousand years, and he felt sure that he opened his eyes upon an\nunexpected world.  Gray mists were slowly shifting before the first\nefforts of the sun rays.  An impending splendor could be seen in the\neastern sky.  An icy dew had chilled his face, and immediately upon\narousing he curled farther down into his blanket.  He stared for a\nwhile at the leaves overhead, moving in a heraldic wind of the day.\n\nThe distance was splintering and blaring with the noise of fighting.\nThere was in the sound an expression of a deadly persistency, as if it\nhad not begun and was not to cease.\n\nAbout him were the rows and groups of men that he had dimly seen the\nprevious night.  They were getting a last draught of sleep before the\nawakening.  The gaunt, careworn features and dusty figures were made\nplain by this quaint light at the dawning, but it dressed the skin of\nthe men in corpselike hues and made the tangled limbs appear pulseless\nand dead.  The youth started up with a little cry when his eyes first\nswept over this motionless mass of men, thick-spread upon the ground,\npallid,"}
{"answer":"spread out their samples on the counters. The Black Hawk\nmerchants went to look at these things and order goods, and Mrs. Thomas,\nthough she was \"retail trade,\" was permitted to see them and to \"get\nideas.\" They were all generous, these traveling men; they gave Tiny\nSoderball handkerchiefs and gloves and ribbons and striped stockings, and\nso many bottles of perfume and cakes of scented soap that she bestowed\nsome of them on Lena.\n\nOne afternoon in the week before Christmas I came upon Lena and her funny,\nsquare-headed little brother Chris, standing before the drug-store, gazing\nin at the wax dolls and blocks and Noah's arks arranged in the frosty show\nwindow. The boy had come to town with a neighbor to do his Christmas\nshopping, for he had money of his own this year. He was only twelve, but\nthat winter he had got the job of sweeping out the Norwegian church and\nmaking the fire in it every Sunday morning. A cold job it must have been,\ntoo!\n\nWe went into Duckford's dry-goods store, and Chris unwrapped all his\npresents and showed them to me--something for each of the six younger than\nhimself, even a rubber pig for the baby. Lena had given him one of Tiny\nSoderball's bottles of perfume for his mother, and he thought he would get\nsome handkerchiefs to go with it. They were cheap, and he had n't much\nmoney left. We found a tableful of handkerchiefs spread out for view at\nDuckford's. Chris wanted those with initial letters in the corner, because\nhe had never seen any before. He studied them seriously,","question":"\n\nAFTER Lena came to Black Hawk I often met her downtown, where she would be\nmatching sewing silk or buying \"findings\" for Mrs. Thomas. If I happened\nto walk home with her, she told me all about the dresses she was helping\nto make, or about what she saw and heard when she was with Tiny Soderball\nat the hotel on Saturday nights.\n\nThe Boys' Home was the best hotel on our branch of the Burlington, and all\nthe commercial travelers in that territory tried to get into Black Hawk\nfor Sunday. They used to assemble in the parlor after supper on Saturday\nnights. Marshall Field's man, Anson Kirkpatrick, played the piano and sang\nall the latest sentimental songs. After Tiny had helped the cook wash the\ndishes, she and Lena sat on the other side of the double doors between the\nparlor and the dining-room, listening to the music and giggling at the\njokes and stories. Lena often said she hoped I would be a traveling man\nwhen I grew up. They had a gay life of it; nothing to do but ride about on\ntrains all day and go to theaters when they were in big cities. Behind the\nhotel there was an old store building, where the salesmen opened their big\ntrunks and"}
{"answer":"to me!  'Tis the first time!--and just when I must\nquit you!\n\nROXANE (collected, and fanning herself):\n  Thus,--you would fain revenge your grudge against my cousin?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  My fair lady is on his side?\n\nROXANE:\n  Nay,--against him!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Do you see him often?\n\nROXANE:\n  But very rarely.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  He is ever to be met now in company with one of the cadets,. . .one New--\nvillen--viller--\n\nROXANE:\n  Of high stature?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Fair-haired!\n\nROXANE:\n  Ay, a red-headed fellow!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Handsome!. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  Tut!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  But dull-witted.\n\nROXANE:\n  One would think so, to look at him!\n(Changing her tone):\n  How mean you to play your revenge on Cyrano?  Perchance you think to put him\ni' the thick of the shots?  Nay, believe me, that were a poor vengeance--he\nwould love such a post better than aught else!  I know the way to wound his\npride far more keenly!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  What then?  Tell. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  If, when the regiment march to Arras, he were left here with his beloved\nboon companions, the Cadets, to sit with crossed arms so long as the war\nlasted!  There is your method, would you enrage a man of his kind; cheat him\nof his chance of mortal danger, and you punish him right fiercely.\n\nDE GUICHE (coming nearer):\n  O woman! woman!  Who but a woman had e'er devised so subtle a trick?\n\nROXANE:\n  See you not how he will eat out his heart, while his friends gnaw their\nthick fists","question":"Roxane, De Guiche, the duenna standing a little way off.\n\nROXANE (courtesying to De Guiche):\n  I was going out.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  I come to take my leave.\n\nROXANE:\n  Whither go you?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  To the war.\n\nROXANE:\n  Ah!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Ay, to-night.\n\nROXANE:\n  Oh!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  I am ordered away.  We are to besiege Arras.\n\nROXANE:\n  Ah--to besiege?. . .\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Ay.  My going moves you not, meseems.\n\nROXANE:\n  Nay. . .\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  I am grieved to the core of the heart.  Shall I again behold you?. . .When?\nI know not.  Heard you that I am named commander?. . .\n\nROXANE (indifferently):\n  Bravo!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Of the Guards regiment.\n\nROXANE (startled):\n  What! the Guards?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Ay, where serves your cousin, the swaggering boaster.  I will find a way to\nrevenge myself on him at Arras.\n\nROXANE (choking):\n  What mean you?  The Guards go to Arras?\n\nDE GUICHE (laughing):\n  Bethink you, is it not my own regiment?\n\nROXANE (falling seated on the bench--aside):\n  Christian!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  What ails you?\n\nROXANE (moved deeply):\n  Oh--I am in despair!  The man one loves!--at the war!\n\nDE GUICHE (surprised and delighted):\n  You say such sweet words"}
{"answer":"be sent to college; and Mr.\nEarnshaw agreed, though with a heavy spirit, for he said--'Hindley was\nnought, and would never thrive as where he wandered.'\n\nI hoped heartily we should have peace now.  It hurt me to think the\nmaster should be made uncomfortable by his own good deed.  I fancied the\ndiscontent of age and disease arose from his family disagreements; as he\nwould have it that it did: really, you know, sir, it was in his sinking\nframe.  We might have got on tolerably, notwithstanding, but for two\npeople--Miss Cathy, and Joseph, the servant: you saw him, I daresay, up\nyonder.  He was, and is yet most likely, the wearisomest self-righteous\nPharisee that ever ransacked a Bible to rake the promises to himself and\nfling the curses to his neighbours.  By his knack of sermonising and\npious discoursing, he contrived to make a great impression on Mr.\nEarnshaw; and the more feeble the master became, the more influence he\ngained.  He was relentless in worrying him about his soul's concerns, and\nabout ruling his children rigidly.  He encouraged him to regard Hindley\nas a reprobate; and, night after night, he regularly grumbled out a long\nstring of tales against Heathcliff and Catherine: always minding to\nflatter Earnshaw's weakness by heaping the heaviest blame on the latter.\n\nCertainly she had ways with her such as I never saw a child take up\nbefore; and she put all of us past our patience fifty times and oftener\nin a day: from the hour she came down-stairs till the hour she went to\nbed, we","question":"\n\nIn the course of time Mr. Earnshaw began to fail. He had been active and\nhealthy, yet his strength left him suddenly; and when he was confined to\nthe chimney-corner he grew grievously irritable. A nothing vexed him;\nand suspected slights of his authority nearly threw him into fits. This\nwas especially to be remarked if any one attempted to impose upon, or\ndomineer over, his favourite: he was painfully jealous lest a word\nshould be spoken amiss to him; seeming to have got into his head the\nnotion that, because he liked Heathcliff, all hated, and longed to do\nhim an ill-turn. It was a disadvantage to the lad; for the kinder among\nus did not wish to fret the master, so we humoured his partiality; and\nthat humouring was rich nourishment to the child's pride and black\ntempers. Still it became in a manner necessary; twice, or thrice,\nHindley's manifestation of scorn, while his father was near, roused the\nold man to a fury: he seized his stick to strike him, and shook with\nrage that he could not do it.\n\nAt last, our curate (we had a curate then who made the living answer by\nteaching the little Lintons and Earnshaws, and farming his bit of land\nhimself) advised that the young man should"}
{"answer":"o'erjoyed!\n\nLE BRET:\n  But these strange ways,\n  Where will they lead you, at the end?  Explain\n  Your system--come!\n\nCYRANO:\n  I in a labyrinth\n  Was lost--too many different paths to choose;\n  I took. . .\n\nLE BRET:\n  Which?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Oh! by far the simplest path. . .\n  Decided to be admirable in all!\n\nLE BRET (shrugging his shoulders):\n  So be it!  But the motive of your hate\n  To Montfleury--come, tell me!\n\nCYRANO (rising):\n  This Silenus,\n  Big-bellied, coarse, still deems himself a peril--\n  A danger to the love of lovely ladies,\n  And, while he sputters out his actor's part,\n  Makes sheep's eyes at their boxes--goggling frog!\n  I hate him since the evening he presumed\n  To raise his eyes to hers. . .Meseemed I saw\n  A slug crawl slavering o'er a flower's petals!\n\nLE BRET (stupefied):\n  How now?  What?  Can it be. . .?\n\nCYRANO (laughing bitterly):\n  That I should love?. . .\n(Changing his tone, gravely):\n  I love.\n\nLE BRET:\n  And may I know?. . .You never said. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Come now, bethink you!. . .The fond hope to be\n  Beloved, e'en by some poor graceless lady,\n  Is, by this nose of mine for aye bereft me;\n  --This lengthy nose which, go where'er I will,\n  Pokes yet a quarter-mile ahead of me;\n  But I may love--and who?  'Tis Fate's decree\n  I love the fairest--how were't otherwise?\n\nLE BRET:\n","question":"Cyrano, Le Bret.\n\nCYRANO (to Le Bret):\n  Now talk--I listen.\n(He stands at the buffet, and placing before him first the macaroon):\n  Dinner!. . .\n(then the grapes):\n  Dessert!. . .\n(then the glass of water):\n  Wine!. . .\n(he seats himself):\n  So!  And now to table!\n  Ah!  I was hungry, friend, nay, ravenous!\n(eating):\n  You said--?\n\nLE BRET:\n  These fops, would-be belligerent,\n  Will, if you heed them only, turn your head!. . .\n  Ask people of good sense if you would know\n  The effect of your fine insolence--\n\nCYRANO (finishing his macaroon):\n  Enormous!\n\nLE BRET:\n  The Cardinal. . .\n\nCYRANO (radiant):\n  The Cardinal--was there?\n\nLE BRET:\n  Must have thought it. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Original, i' faith!\n\nLE BRET:\n  But. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  He's an author.  'Twill not fail to please him\n  That I should mar a brother-author's play.\n\nLE BRET:\n  You make too many enemies by far!\n\nCYRANO (eating his grapes):\n  How many think you I have made to-night?\n\nLE BRET:\n  Forty, no less, not counting ladies.\n\nCYRANO:\n  Count!\n\nLE BRET:\n  Montfleury first, the bourgeois, then De Guiche,\n  The Viscount, Baro, the Academy. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Enough!  I am"}
{"answer":"Clau. And Hymen now with luckier issue speeds,\nThen this for whom we rendred vp this woe.\n\nExeunt.\n\n\nScene 4.\n\nEnter Leonato, Bene. Marg. Vrsula, old man, Frier, Hero.\n\n  Frier. Did I not tell you she was innocent?\n  Leo. So are the Prince and Claudio who accus'd her,\nVpon the errour that you heard debated:\nBut Margaret was in some fault for this,\nAlthough against her will as it appeares,\nIn the true course of all the question\n\n   Old. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well\n\n   Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforc'd\nTo call young Claudio to a reckoning for it\n\n   Leo. Well daughter, and you gentlewomen all,\nWithdraw into a chamber by your selues,\nAnd when I send for you, come hither mask'd:\nThe Prince and Claudio promis'd by this howre\nTo visit me, you know your office Brother,\nYou must be father to your brothers daughter,\nAnd giue her to young Claudio.\n\nExeunt. Ladies.\n\n  Old. Which I will doe with confirm'd countenance\n\n   Bene. Frier, I must intreat your paines, I thinke\n\n   Frier. To doe what Signior?\n  Bene. To binde me, or vndoe me, one of them:\nSignior Leonato, truth it is good Signior,\nYour neece regards me with an eye of fauour\n\n   Leo. That eye my daughter lent her, 'tis most true\n\n   Bene. And I doe with an eye of loue requite her\n\n   Leo. The sight whereof I thinke you had from me,\nFrom Claudio, and the Prince, but what's","question":"Scene 3.\n\nEnter Claudio, Prince, and three or foure with Tapers.\n\n  Clau. Is this the monument of Leonato?\n  Lord. It is my Lord.\n\nEpitaph.\n\nDone to death by slanderous tongues,\nWas the Hero that here lies:\nDeath in guerdon of her wrongs,\nGiues her fame which neuer dies:\nSo the life that dyed with shame,\nLiues in death with glorious fame.\nHang thou there vpon the tombe,\nPraising her when I am dombe\n\n   Clau. Now musick sound & sing your solemn hymne\n\nSong.\n\nPardon goddesse of the night,\nThose that slew thy virgin knight,\nFor the which with songs of woe,\nRound about her tombe they goe:\nMidnight assist our mone, helpe vs to sigh and grone.\nHeauily, heauily.\nGraues yawne and yeelde your dead,\nTill death be vttered,\nHeauenly, heauenly\n\n   Lo. Now vnto thy bones good night, yeerely will I do this right\n\n   Prin. Good morrow masters, put your Torches out,\nThe wolues haue preied, and looke, the gentle day\nBefore the wheeles of Phoebus, round about\nDapples the drowsie East with spots of grey:\nThanks to you all, and leaue vs, fare you well\n\n   Clau. Good morrow masters, each his seuerall way\n\n   Prin. Come let vs hence, and put on other weedes,\nAnd then to Leonatoes we will goe\n\n  "}
{"answer":"with the experience that\nthey could tear. There was a change in the appearance of Saint Antoine;\nthe image had been hammering into this for hundreds of years, and the\nlast finishing blows had told mightily on the expression.\n\nMadame Defarge sat observing it, with such suppressed approval as was\nto be desired in the leader of the Saint Antoine women. One of her\nsisterhood knitted beside her. The short, rather plump wife of a starved\ngrocer, and the mother of two children withal, this lieutenant had\nalready earned the complimentary name of The Vengeance.\n\n\"Hark!\" said The Vengeance. \"Listen, then! Who comes?\"\n\nAs if a train of powder laid from the outermost bound of Saint Antoine\nQuarter to the wine-shop door, had been suddenly fired, a fast-spreading\nmurmur came rushing along.\n\n\"It is Defarge,\" said madame. \"Silence, patriots!\"\n\nDefarge came in breathless, pulled off a red cap he wore, and looked\naround him! \"Listen, everywhere!\" said madame again. \"Listen to him!\"\nDefarge stood, panting, against a background of eager eyes and open\nmouths, formed outside the door; all those within the wine-shop had\nsprung to their feet.\n\n\"Say then, my husband. What is it?\"\n\n\"News from the other world!\"\n\n\"How, then?\" cried madame, contemptuously. \"The other world?\"\n\n\"Does everybody here recall old Foulon, who told the famished people\nthat they might eat grass, and who died, and went to Hell?\"\n\n\"Everybody!\" from all throats.\n\n\"The news is of him. He is among us!\"\n\n\"Among us!\" from the universal throat again. \"And dead?\"\n\n\"Not dead! He feared us so much--and with reason--that he caused himself\nto be represented as dead, and had a grand mock-funeral. But they have\nfound","question":"XXII. The Sea Still Rises\n\n\nHaggard Saint Antoine had had only one exultant week, in which to soften\nhis modicum of hard and bitter bread to such extent as he could, with\nthe relish of fraternal embraces and congratulations, when Madame\nDefarge sat at her counter, as usual, presiding over the customers.\nMadame Defarge wore no rose in her head, for the great brotherhood of\nSpies had become, even in one short week, extremely chary of trusting\nthemselves to the saint's mercies. The lamps across his streets had a\nportentously elastic swing with them.\n\nMadame Defarge, with her arms folded, sat in the morning light and heat,\ncontemplating the wine-shop and the street. In both, there were several\nknots of loungers, squalid and miserable, but now with a manifest sense\nof power enthroned on their distress. The raggedest nightcap, awry on\nthe wretchedest head, had this crooked significance in it: \"I know how\nhard it has grown for me, the wearer of this, to support life in myself;\nbut do you know how easy it has grown for me, the wearer of this, to\ndestroy life in you?\" Every lean bare arm, that had been without work\nbefore, had this work always ready for it now, that it could strike.\nThe fingers of the knitting women were vicious,"}
{"answer":"to me!  'Tis the first time!--and just when I must\nquit you!\n\nROXANE (collected, and fanning herself):\n  Thus,--you would fain revenge your grudge against my cousin?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  My fair lady is on his side?\n\nROXANE:\n  Nay,--against him!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Do you see him often?\n\nROXANE:\n  But very rarely.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  He is ever to be met now in company with one of the cadets,. . .one New--\nvillen--viller--\n\nROXANE:\n  Of high stature?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Fair-haired!\n\nROXANE:\n  Ay, a red-headed fellow!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Handsome!. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  Tut!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  But dull-witted.\n\nROXANE:\n  One would think so, to look at him!\n(Changing her tone):\n  How mean you to play your revenge on Cyrano?  Perchance you think to put him\ni' the thick of the shots?  Nay, believe me, that were a poor vengeance--he\nwould love such a post better than aught else!  I know the way to wound his\npride far more keenly!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  What then?  Tell. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  If, when the regiment march to Arras, he were left here with his beloved\nboon companions, the Cadets, to sit with crossed arms so long as the war\nlasted!  There is your method, would you enrage a man of his kind; cheat him\nof his chance of mortal danger, and you punish him right fiercely.\n\nDE GUICHE (coming nearer):\n  O woman! woman!  Who but a woman had e'er devised so subtle a trick?\n\nROXANE:\n  See you not how he will eat out his heart, while his friends gnaw their\nthick fists","question":"Roxane, De Guiche, the duenna standing a little way off.\n\nROXANE (courtesying to De Guiche):\n  I was going out.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  I come to take my leave.\n\nROXANE:\n  Whither go you?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  To the war.\n\nROXANE:\n  Ah!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Ay, to-night.\n\nROXANE:\n  Oh!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  I am ordered away.  We are to besiege Arras.\n\nROXANE:\n  Ah--to besiege?. . .\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Ay.  My going moves you not, meseems.\n\nROXANE:\n  Nay. . .\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  I am grieved to the core of the heart.  Shall I again behold you?. . .When?\nI know not.  Heard you that I am named commander?. . .\n\nROXANE (indifferently):\n  Bravo!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Of the Guards regiment.\n\nROXANE (startled):\n  What! the Guards?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Ay, where serves your cousin, the swaggering boaster.  I will find a way to\nrevenge myself on him at Arras.\n\nROXANE (choking):\n  What mean you?  The Guards go to Arras?\n\nDE GUICHE (laughing):\n  Bethink you, is it not my own regiment?\n\nROXANE (falling seated on the bench--aside):\n  Christian!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  What ails you?\n\nROXANE (moved deeply):\n  Oh--I am in despair!  The man one loves!--at the war!\n\nDE GUICHE (surprised and delighted):\n  You say such sweet words"}
{"answer":"the\nTender Passion!\n\nROXANE'S VOICE:\n  I come!  I come!\n\n(A sound of stringed instruments approaching.)\n\nCYRANO'S VOICE (behind the scenes, singing):\n  La, la, la, la!\n\nTHE DUENNA (surprised):\n  They serenade us?\n\nCYRANO (followed by two pages with arch-lutes):\n  I tell you they are demi-semi-quavers, demi-semi-fool!\n\nFIRST PAGE (ironically):\n  You know then, Sir, to distinguish between semi-quavers and demi-semi-\nquavers?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Is not every disciple of Gassendi a musician?\n\nTHE PAGE (playing and singing):\n  La, la!\n\nCYRANO (snatching the lute from him, and going on with the phrase):\n  In proof of which, I can continue!  La, la, la, la!\n\nROXANE (appearing on the balcony):\n  What?  'Tis you?\n\nCYRANO (going on with the air, and singing to it):\n  'Tis I, who come to serenade your lilies, and pay my devoir to your ro-o-\noses!\n\nROXANE:\n  I am coming down!\n\n(She leaves the balcony.)\n\nTHE DUENNA (pointing to the pages):\n  How come these two virtuosi here?\n\nCYRANO:\n  'Tis for a wager I won of D'Assoucy.  We were disputing a nice point in\ngrammar; contradictions raged hotly--''Tis so!'  'Nay, 'tis so!' when suddenly\nhe shows me these two long-shanks, whom he takes about with him as an escort,\nand who are skillful in scratching lute-strings with their skinny claws!  'I\nwill wager you a day's music,' says he!--And lost it!  Thus, see you, till\nPhoebus' chariot starts once again, these lute-twangers are at my heels,\nseeing all I do, hearing all I say, and accompanying all with melody.  'Twas\npleasant at the first, but i' faith, I begin","question":"Ragueneau, the duenna.  Then Roxane, Cyrano, and two pages.\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  --And then, off she went, with a musketeer!  Deserted and ruined too, I\nwould make an end of all, and so hanged myself.  My last breath was drawn:--\nthen in comes Monsieur de Bergerac!  He cuts me down, and begs his cousin to\ntake me for her steward.\n\nTHE DUENNA:\n  Well, but how came it about that you were thus ruined?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Oh!  Lise loved the warriors, and I loved the poets!  What cakes there were\nthat Apollo chanced to leave were quickly snapped up by Mars.  Thus ruin was\nnot long a-coming.\n\nTHE DUENNA (rising, and calling up to the open window):\n  Roxane, are you ready?  They wait for us!\n\nROXANE'S VOICE (from the window):\n  I will but put me on a cloak!\n\nTHE DUENNA (to Ragueneau, showing him the door opposite):\n  They wait us there opposite, at Clomire's house.  She receives them all\nthere to-day--the precieuses, the poets; they read a discourse on the Tender\nPassion.\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  The Tender Passion?\n\nTHE DUENNA (in a mincing voice):\n  Ay, indeed!\n(Calling up to the window):\n  Roxane, an you come not down quickly, we shall miss the discourse on"}
{"answer":"Gay, if a woman comes,--for a man, sad!\n(The pages disappear, one at each street corner.  To Christian):\n  Call her!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Roxane!\n\nCYRANO (picking up stones and throwing them at the window):\n  Some pebbles! wait awhile!\n\nROXANE (half-opening the casement):\n  Who calls me?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  I!\n\nROXANE:\n  Who's that?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Christian!\n\nROXANE (disdainfully):\n  Oh! you?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  I would speak with you.\n\nCYRANO (under the balcony--to Christian):\n  Good.  Speak soft and low.\n\nROXANE:\n  No, you speak stupidly!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Oh, pity me!\n\nROXANE:\n  No! you love me no more!\n\nCHRISTIAN (prompted by Cyrano):\n  You say--Great Heaven!\n  I love no more?--when--I--love more and more!\n\nROXANE (who was about to shut the casement, pausing):\n  Hold! 'tis a trifle better! ay, a trifle!\n\nCHRISTIAN (same play):\n  Love grew apace, rocked by the anxious beating. . .\n  Of this poor heart, which the cruel wanton boy. . .\n  Took for a cradle!\n\nROXANE (coming out on to the balcony):\n  That is better!  But\n  An if you deem that Cupid be so cruel\n  You should have stifled baby-love in's cradle!\n\nCHRISTIAN (same play):\n  Ah, Madame, I assayed, but all in vain\n  This. . .new-born babe is a young. . .Hercules!\n\nROXANE:\n  Still better!\n\nCHRISTIAN (same play):\n  Thus he strangled in my heart\n  The. . .serpents twain, of. . .Pride. . .and Doubt!\n\nROXANE (leaning over the balcony):\n  Well said!\n  --But why so faltering?  Has mental palsy\n  Seized on your faculty imaginative?\n\nCYRANO (drawing Christian under the","question":"Christian, Cyrano, two pages.\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Come to my aid!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Not I!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  But I shall die,\n  Unless at once I win back her fair favor.\n\nCYRANO:\n  And how can I, at once, i' th' devil's name,\n  Lesson you in. . .\n\nCHRISTIAN (seizing his arm):\n  Oh, she is there!\n\n(The window of the balcony is now lighted up.)\n\nCYRANO (moved):\n  Her window!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Oh!  I shall die!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Speak lower!\n\nCHRISTIAN (in a whisper):\n  I shall die!\n\nCYRANO:\n  The night is dark. . .\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Well!\n\nCYRANO:\n  All can be repaired.\n  Although you merit not.  Stand there, poor wretch!\n  Fronting the balcony!  I'll go beneath\n  And prompt your words to you. . .\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  But. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Hold your tongue!\n\nTHE PAGES (reappearing at back--to Cyrano):\n  Ho!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Hush!\n\n(He signs to them to speak softly.)\n\nFIRST PAGE (in a low voice):\n  We've played the serenade you bade\n  To Montfleury!\n\nCYRANO (quickly, in a low voice):\n  Go! lurk in ambush there,\n  One at this street corner, and one at that;\n  And if a passer-by should here intrude,\n  Play you a tune!\n\nSECOND PAGE:\n  What tune, Sir Gassendist?\n\nCYRANO:\n "}
{"answer":"tired, as if something has worried you.\"\n\n\"What if I do? It doesn't prevent me from realizing the truth. I can't\nmarry you, and you will thank me for saying so some day.\"\n\n\"You had that bad headache yesterday--All right\"--for she had exclaimed\nindignantly: \"I see it's much more than headaches. But give me a\nmoment's time.\" He closed his eyes. \"You must excuse me if I say stupid\nthings, but my brain has gone to pieces. Part of it lives three minutes\nback, when I was sure that you loved me, and the other part--I find it\ndifficult--I am likely to say the wrong thing.\"\n\nIt struck her that he was not behaving so badly, and her irritation\nincreased. She again desired a struggle, not a discussion. To bring on\nthe crisis, she said:\n\n\"There are days when one sees clearly, and this is one of them. Things\nmust come to a breaking-point some time, and it happens to be to-day. If\nyou want to know, quite a little thing decided me to speak to you--when\nyou wouldn't play tennis with Freddy.\"\n\n\"I never do play tennis,\" said Cecil, painfully bewildered; \"I never\ncould play. I don't understand a word you say.\"\n\n\"You can play well enough to make up a four. I thought it abominably\nselfish of you.\"\n\n\"No, I can't--well, never mind the tennis. Why couldn't you--couldn't\nyou have warned me if you felt anything wrong? You talked of our wedding\nat lunch--at least, you let me talk.\"\n\n\"I knew you wouldn't understand,\" said Lucy quite crossly. \"I might have\nknown there would have been these dreadful explanations. Of course,\nit isn't","question":"\nHe was bewildered. He had nothing to say. He was not even angry, but\nstood, with a glass of whiskey between his hands, trying to think what\nhad led her to such a conclusion.\n\nShe had chosen the moment before bed, when, in accordance with their\nbourgeois habit, she always dispensed drinks to the men. Freddy and Mr.\nFloyd were sure to retire with their glasses, while Cecil invariably\nlingered, sipping at his while she locked up the sideboard.\n\n\"I am very sorry about it,\" she said; \"I have carefully thought things\nover. We are too different. I must ask you to release me, and try to\nforget that there ever was such a foolish girl.\"\n\nIt was a suitable speech, but she was more angry than sorry, and her\nvoice showed it.\n\n\"Different--how--how--\"\n\n\"I haven't had a really good education, for one thing,\" she continued,\nstill on her knees by the sideboard. \"My Italian trip came too late, and\nI am forgetting all that I learnt there. I shall never be able to talk\nto your friends, or behave as a wife of yours should.\"\n\n\"I don't understand you. You aren't like yourself. You're tired, Lucy.\"\n\n\"Tired!\" she retorted, kindling at once. \"That is exactly like you. You\nalways think women don't mean what they say.\"\n\n\"Well, you sound"}
{"answer":"me less luxurious than those I had\n      seen in American hotels; but my situation was indescribably more pleasant.\n      For the first time in my life I was in a place where I was treated\n      according to my deportment, without reference to my complexion. I felt as\n      if a great millstone had been lifted from my breast. Ensconced in a\n      pleasant room, with my dear little charge, I laid my head on my pillow, for\n      the first time, with the delightful consciousness of pure, unadulterated\n      freedom.\n\n      As I had constant care of the child, I had little opportunity to see the\n      wonders of that great city; but I watched the tide of life that flowed\n      through the streets, and found it a strange contrast to the stagnation in\n      our Southern towns. Mr. Bruce took his little daughter to spend some days\n      with friends in Oxford Crescent, and of course it was necessary for me to\n      accompany her. I had heard much of the systematic method of English\n      education, and I was very desirous that my dear Mary should steer straight\n ","question":"In the spring, sad news came to me. Mrs. Bruce was dead. Never again, in\nthis world, should I see her gentle face, or hear her sympathizing voice. I\nhad lost an excellent friend, and little Mary had lost a tender mother. Mr.\nBruce wished the child to visit some of her mother's relatives in England,\n      and he was desirous that I should take charge of her. The little motherless\n      one was accustomed to me, and attached to me, and I thought she would be\n      happier in my care than in that of a stranger. I could also earn more in\n      this way than I could by my needle. So I put Benny to a trade, and left\n      Ellen to remain in the house with my friend and go to school.\n\n      We sailed from New York, and arrived in Liverpool after a pleasant voyage\n      of twelve days. We proceeded directly to London, and took lodgings at the\n      Adelaide Hotel. The supper seemed to"}
{"answer":"bothered with four strange children, with\nthe bakery on her hands and two children of her own.\n\n\"Haven't you any other folks?\" she asked the children.\n\n\"We have a grandfather in Greenfield,\" spoke up the youngest child\nbefore his sister could clap her hand over his mouth.\n\n\"Hush, Benny,\" she said anxiously.\n\nThis made the bakeshop woman suspicious. \"What's the matter with your\ngrandfather?\" she asked.\n\n\"He doesn't like us,\" replied the oldest boy reluctantly. \"He didn't\nwant my father to marry my mother, and if he found us he would treat us\ncruelly.\"\n\n\"Did you ever see him?\"\n\n\"Jess has. Once she saw him.\"\n\n\"Well, did he treat you cruelly?\" asked the woman, turning upon Jess.\n\n\"Oh, he didn't see me,\" replied Jess. \"He was just passing through\nour--where we used to live--and my father pointed him out to me.\"\n\n\"Where did you use to live?\" went on the questioner. But none of the\nchildren could be made to tell.\n\n\"We will get along all right alone, won't we, Henry?\" declared Jess.\n\n\"Indeed we will!\" said Henry.\n\n\"I will stay in the house with you tonight,\" said the woman at last,\n\"and tomorrow we will see what can be done.\"\n\nThe four children went to bed in the kitchen, and gave the visitor the\nonly other bed in the house. They knew that she did not at once go to\nbed, but sat by the window in the dark. Suddenly they heard her talking\nto her husband through the open window.\n\n\"They must go to their grandfather, that's certain,\" Jess heard her say.\n\n\"Of course,\" agreed her husband. \"Tomorrow we will make them tell us\nwhat his","question":"THE FLIGHT\n\n\nAbout seven o'clock one hot summer evening a strange family moved into\nthe little village of Middlesex. Nobody knew where they came from, or\nwho they were. But the neighbors soon made up their minds what they\nthought of the strangers, for the father was very drunk. He could hardly\nwalk up the rickety front steps of the old tumble-down house, and his\nthirteen-year-old son had to help him. Toward eight o'clock a pretty,\ncapable-looking girl of twelve came out of the house and bought a loaf\nof bread at the baker's. And that was all the villagers learned about\nthe newcomers that night.\n\n\"There are four children,\" said the bakeshop woman to her husband the\nnext day, \"and their mother is dead. They must have some money, for the\ngirl paid for the bread with a dollar bill.\"\n\n\"Make them pay for everything they get,\" growled the baker, who was a\nhard man. \"The father is nearly dead with drink now, and soon they will\nbe only beggars.\"\n\nThis happened sooner than he thought. The next day the oldest boy and\ngirl came to ask the bakeshop woman to come over. Their father was dead.\n\nShe went over willingly enough, for someone had to go. But it was clear\nthat she did not expect to be"}
{"answer":"have felt guilty, everybody agreed,\nfor as the train left town, a farmer saw him standing in the vestibule\nand looking out.\n\nHis house--with the addition which he had built four months ago--was\nvery near the track on which his train passed.\n\nWhen Carol went there, for the last time, she found Olaf's chariot with\nits red spool wheels standing in the sunny corner beside the stable. She\nwondered if a quick eye could have noticed it from a train.\n\nThat day and that week she went reluctantly to Red Cross work; she\nstitched and packed silently, while Vida read the war bulletins. And she\nsaid nothing at all when Kennicott commented, \"From what Champ says,\nI guess Bjornstam was a bad egg, after all. In spite of Bea, don't\nknow but what the citizens' committee ought to have forced him to\nbe patriotic--let on like they could send him to jail if he didn't\nvolunteer and come through for bonds and the Y. M. C. A. They've worked\nthat stunt fine with all these German farmers.\"\n\n\nII\n\n\nShe found no inspiration but she did find a dependable kindness in Mrs.\nWestlake, and at last she yielded to the old woman's receptivity and had\nrelief in sobbing the story of Bea.\n\nGuy Pollock she often met on the street, but he was merely a pleasant\nvoice which said things about Charles Lamb and sunsets.\n\nHer most positive experience was the revelation of Mrs. Flickerbaugh,\nthe tall, thin, twitchy wife of the attorney. Carol encountered her at\nthe drug store.\n\n\"Walking?\" snapped Mrs. Flickerbaugh.\n\n\"Why, yes.\"\n\n\"Humph. Guess you're the only female in this town that retains the","question":"CHAPTER XXVII\n\n\nI\n\nA LETTER from Raymie Wutherspoon, in France, said that he had been sent\nto the front, been slightly wounded, been made a captain. From Vida's\npride Carol sought to draw a stimulant to rouse her from depression.\n\nMiles had sold his dairy. He had several thousand dollars. To Carol he\nsaid good-by with a mumbled word, a harsh hand-shake, \"Going to buy a\nfarm in northern Alberta--far off from folks as I can get.\" He turned\nsharply away, but he did not walk with his former spring. His shoulders\nseemed old.\n\nIt was said that before he went he cursed the town. There was talk\nof arresting him, of riding him on a rail. It was rumored that at the\nstation old Champ Perry rebuked him, \"You better not come back here.\nWe've got respect for your dead, but we haven't got any for a blasphemer\nand a traitor that won't do anything for his country and only bought one\nLiberty Bond.\"\n\nSome of the people who had been at the station declared that Miles made\nsome dreadful seditious retort: something about loving German workmen\nmore than American bankers; but others asserted that he couldn't find\none word with which to answer the veteran; that he merely sneaked up on\nthe platform of the train. He must"}
{"answer":"as taut as a bowstring and the current so strong she\npulled upon her anchor. All round the hull, in the blackness, the\nrippling current bubbled and chattered like a little mountain stream.\nOne cut with my sea gully, and the _Hispaniola_ would go humming down\nthe tide.\n\nSo far so good; but it next occurred to my recollection that a taut\nhawser, suddenly cut, is a thing as dangerous as a kicking horse. Ten to\none, if I were so foolhardy as to cut the _Hispaniola_ from her anchor,\nI and the coracle would be knocked clean out of the water.\n\nThis brought me to a full stop, and if fortune had not again\nparticularly favored me, I should have had to abandon my design. But the\nlight airs which had begun blowing from the southeast and south had\nhauled round after nightfall into the southwest. Just while I was\nmeditating, a puff came, caught the _Hispaniola_, and forced her up into\nthe current; and, to my great joy, I felt the hawser slacken in my\ngrasp, and the hand by which I held it dip for a second under water.\n\nWith that I made my mind up, took out my gully, opened it with my teeth,\nand cut one strand after another, till the vessel swung only by two.\nThen I lay quiet, waiting to sever these last when the strain should be\nonce more lightened by a breath of wind.\n\nAll this time I had heard the sound of loud voices from the cabin; but,\nto say truth, my mind had been so entirely taken up with other","question":"\nTHE EBB-TIDE RUNS\n\n\nThe coracle--as I had ample reason to know before I was done with\nher--was a very safe boat for a person of my height and weight, both\nbuoyant and clever in a sea-way; but she was the most cross-grained,\nlopsided craft to manage. Do as you pleased, she always made more leeway\nthan anything else, and turning round and round was the maneuver she was\nbest at. Even Ben Gunn himself has admitted that she was \"queer to\nhandle till you knew her way.\"\n\nCertainly I did not know her way. She turned in every direction but the\none I was bound to go; the most part of the time we were broadside on,\nand I am very sure I never should have made the ship at all but for the\ntide. By good fortune, paddle as I pleased, the tide was still sweeping\nme down; and there lay the _Hispaniola_ right in the fairway, hardly to\nbe missed.\n\nFirst she loomed before me like a blot of something yet blacker than\ndarkness, then her spars and hull began to take shape, and the next\nmoment, as it seemed (for the further I went the brisker grew the\ncurrent of the ebb), I was alongside of her hawser, and had laid hold.\n\nThe hawser was"}
{"answer":"Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards\n\n   Prin. What? sigh for the tooth-ach\n\n   Leon. Where is but a humour or a worme\n\n   Bene. Well, euery one cannot master a griefe, but hee\nthat has it\n\n   Clau. Yet say I, he is in loue\n\n   Prin. There is no appearance of fancie in him, vnlesse\nit be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises, as to bee a\nDutchman to day, a Frenchman to morrow: vnlesse hee\nhaue a fancy to this foolery, as it appeares hee hath, hee\nis no foole for fancy, as you would haue it to appeare\nhe is\n\n   Clau. If he be not in loue with some woman, there\nis no beleeuing old signes, a brushes his hat a mornings,\nWhat should that bode?\n  Prin. Hath any man seene him at the Barbers?\n  Clau. No, but the Barbers man hath beene seen with\nhim, and the olde ornament of his cheeke hath alreadie\nstuft tennis balls\n\n   Leon. Indeed he lookes yonger than hee did, by the\nlosse of a beard\n\n   Prin. Nay a rubs himselfe with Ciuit, can you smell\nhim out by that?\n  Clau. That's as much as to say, the sweet youth's in\nloue\n\n   Prin. The greatest note of it is his melancholy\n\n   Clau. And when was he wont to wash his face?\n  Prin. Yea, or to paint himselfe? for the which I heare\nwhat they say of him\n\n  ","question":"Scene 2.\n\nEnter Prince, Claudio, Benedicke, and Leonato.\n\n  Prince. I doe but stay till your marriage be consummate,\nand then go I toward Arragon\n\n   Clau. Ile bring you thither my Lord, if you'l vouchsafe\nme\n\n   Prin. Nay, that would be as great a soyle in the new\nglosse of your marriage, as to shew a childe his new coat\nand forbid him to weare it, I will onely bee bold with\nBenedicke for his companie, for from the crowne of his\nhead, to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth, he hath twice\nor thrice cut Cupids bow-string, and the little hang-man\ndare not shoot at him, he hath a heart as sound as a bell,\nand his tongue is the clapper, for what his heart thinkes,\nhis tongue speakes\n\n   Bene. Gallants, I am not as I haue bin\n\n   Leo. So say I, methinkes you are sadder\n\n   Claud. I hope he be in loue\n\n   Prin. Hang him truant, there's no true drop of bloud\nin him to be truly toucht with loue, if he be sad, he wants\nmoney\n\n   Bene. I haue the tooth-ach\n\n   Prin. Draw it\n\n   Bene. Hang it\n\n  "}
{"answer":"Lear. Prythee go in thy selfe, seeke thine owne ease,\nThis tempest will not giue me leaue to ponder\nOn things would hurt me more, but Ile goe in,\nIn Boy, go first. You houselesse pouertie,\nEnter.\n\nNay get thee in; Ile pray, and then Ile sleepe.\nPoore naked wretches, where so ere you are\nThat bide the pelting of this pittilesse storme,\nHow shall your House-lesse heads, and vnfed sides,\nYour lop'd, and window'd raggednesse defend you\nFrom seasons such as these? O I haue tane\nToo little care of this: Take Physicke, Pompe,\nExpose thy selfe to feele what wretches feele,\nThat thou maist shake the superflux to them,\nAnd shew the Heauens more iust.\nEnter Edgar, and Foole.\n\n  Edg. Fathom, and halfe, Fathom and halfe; poore Tom\n\n   Foole. Come not in heere Nuncle, here's a spirit, helpe\nme, helpe me\n\n   Kent. Giue my thy hand, who's there?\n  Foole. A spirite, a spirite, he sayes his name's poore\nTom\n\n   Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there i'th'\nstraw? Come forth\n\n   Edg. Away, the foule Fiend followes me, through the\nsharpe Hauthorne blow the windes. Humh, goe to thy\nbed and warme thee\n\n   Lear. Did'st thou giue all to thy Daughters? And art\nthou come to this?\n  Edgar. Who giues any thing to poore Tom? Whom\nthe foule fiend hath led through Fire, and through Flame,\nthrough Sword, and Whirle-Poole, o're Bog, and Quagmire,\nthat hath laid Kniues vnder his Pillow, and Halters\nin his Pue, set Rats-bane by his Porredge, made him\nProud of heart, to ride on a Bay","question":"Scena Quarta.\n\n\nEnter Lear, Kent, and Foole.\n\n  Kent. Here is the place my Lord, good my Lord enter,\nThe tirrany of the open night's too rough\nFor Nature to endure.\n\nStorme still\n\n  Lear. Let me alone\n\n   Kent. Good my Lord enter heere\n\n   Lear. Wilt breake my heart?\n  Kent. I had rather breake mine owne,\nGood my Lord enter\n\n   Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storme\nInuades vs to the skin so: 'tis to thee,\nBut where the greater malady is fixt,\nThe lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a Beare,\nBut if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea,\nThou'dst meete the Beare i'th' mouth, when the mind's free,\nThe bodies delicate: the tempest in my mind,\nDoth from my sences take all feeling else,\nSaue what beates there, Filliall ingratitude,\nIs it not as this mouth should teare this hand\nFor lifting food too't? But I will punish home;\nNo, I will weepe no more; in such a night,\nTo shut me out? Poure on, I will endure:\nIn such a night as this? O Regan, Gonerill,\nYour old kind Father, whose franke heart gaue all,\nO that way madnesse lies, let me shun that:\nNo more of that\n\n   Kent. Good my Lord enter here\n\n  "}
{"answer":"advantages of\nperfect beauty and merit, was in possession of an independent fortune,\nof so many thousands as would always be called ten; a point of some\ndignity, as well as some convenience: the story told well; he had not\nthrown himself away--he had gained a woman of 10,000 l. or thereabouts;\nand he had gained her with such delightful rapidity--the first hour of\nintroduction had been so very soon followed by distinguishing notice;\nthe history which he had to give Mrs. Cole of the rise and progress\nof the affair was so glorious--the steps so quick, from the accidental\nrencontre, to the dinner at Mr. Green's, and the party at Mrs.\nBrown's--smiles and blushes rising in importance--with consciousness and\nagitation richly scattered--the lady had been so easily impressed--so\nsweetly disposed--had in short, to use a most intelligible phrase,\nbeen so very ready to have him, that vanity and prudence were equally\ncontented.\n\nHe had caught both substance and shadow--both fortune and affection, and\nwas just the happy man he ought to be; talking only of himself and\nhis own concerns--expecting to be congratulated--ready to be laughed\nat--and, with cordial, fearless smiles, now addressing all the young\nladies of the place, to whom, a few weeks ago, he would have been more\ncautiously gallant.\n\nThe wedding was no distant event, as the parties had only themselves to\nplease, and nothing but the necessary preparations to wait for; and\nwhen he set out for Bath again, there was a general expectation, which\na certain glance of Mrs. Cole's did not seem to contradict, that when he\nnext entered Highbury he would bring his bride.\n\nDuring his present","question":"\n\nHuman nature is so well disposed towards those who are in interesting\nsituations, that a young person, who either marries or dies, is sure of\nbeing kindly spoken of.\n\nA week had not passed since Miss Hawkins's name was first mentioned in\nHighbury, before she was, by some means or other, discovered to have\nevery recommendation of person and mind; to be handsome, elegant, highly\naccomplished, and perfectly amiable: and when Mr. Elton himself arrived\nto triumph in his happy prospects, and circulate the fame of her merits,\nthere was very little more for him to do, than to tell her Christian\nname, and say whose music she principally played.\n\nMr. Elton returned, a very happy man. He had gone away rejected and\nmortified--disappointed in a very sanguine hope, after a series of what\nappeared to him strong encouragement; and not only losing the right\nlady, but finding himself debased to the level of a very wrong one. He\nhad gone away deeply offended--he came back engaged to another--and\nto another as superior, of course, to the first, as under such\ncircumstances what is gained always is to what is lost. He came back gay\nand self-satisfied, eager and busy, caring nothing for Miss Woodhouse,\nand defying Miss Smith.\n\nThe charming Augusta Hawkins, in addition to all the usual"}
{"answer":"determine with th' ancient of warre\nOn our proceeding\n\n   Reg. Sister you'le go with vs?\n  Gon. No\n\n   Reg. 'Tis most conuenient, pray go with vs\n\n   Gon. Oh ho, I know the Riddle, I will goe.\n\nExeunt. both the Armies.\n\nEnter Edgar.\n\n  Edg. If ere your Grace had speech with man so poore,\nHeare me one word\n\n   Alb. Ile ouertake you, speake\n\n   Edg. Before you fight the Battaile, ope this Letter:\nIf you haue victory, let the Trumpet sound\nFor him that brought it: wretched though I seeme,\nI can produce a Champion, that will proue\nWhat is auouched there. If you miscarry,\nYour businesse of the world hath so an end,\nAnd machination ceases. Fortune loues you\n\n   Alb. Stay till I haue read the Letter\n\n   Edg. I was forbid it:\nWhen time shall serue, let but the Herald cry,\nAnd Ile appeare againe.\nEnter.\n\n  Alb. Why farethee well, I will o're-looke thy paper.\nEnter Edmund.\n\n  Bast. The Enemy's in view, draw vp your powers,\nHeere is the guesse of their true strength and Forces,\nBy dilligent discouerie, but your hast\nIs now vrg'd on you\n\n   Alb. We will greet the time.\nEnter.\n\n  Bast. To both these Sisters haue I sworne my loue:\nEach iealous of the other, as the stung\nAre of the Adder. Which of them shall I take?\nBoth? One? Or neither? Neither can be enioy'd\nIf both remaine aliue: To take the Widdow,\nExasperates, makes mad her Sister Gonerill,\nAnd hardly shall I carry out my side,\nHer husband being aliue.","question":"Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.\n\n\nEnter with Drumme and Colours, Edmund, Regan. Gentlemen, and\nSouldiers.\n\n  Bast. Know of the Duke if his last purpose hold,\nOr whether since he is aduis'd by ought\nTo change the course, he's full of alteration,\nAnd selfereprouing, bring his constant pleasure\n\n   Reg. Our Sisters man is certainely miscarried\n\n   Bast. 'Tis to be doubted Madam\n\n   Reg. Now sweet Lord,\nYou know the goodnesse I intend vpon you:\nTell me but truly, but then speake the truth,\nDo you not loue my Sister?\n  Bast. In honour'd Loue\n\n   Reg. But haue you neuer found my Brothers way,\nTo the fore-fended place?\n  Bast. No by mine honour, Madam\n\n   Reg. I neuer shall endure her, deere my Lord\nBe not familiar with her\n\n   Bast. Feare not, she and the Duke her husband.\nEnter with Drum and Colours, Albany, Gonerill, Soldiers.\n\n  Alb. Our very louing Sister, well be-met:\nSir, this I heard, the King is come to his Daughter\nWith others, whom the rigour of our State\nForc'd to cry out\n\n   Regan. Why is this reasond?\n  Gone. Combine together 'gainst the Enemie:\nFor these domesticke and particular broiles,\nAre not the question heere\n\n   Alb. Let's then"}
{"answer":"that have wrack'd for Rome\n    To make coals cheap- a noble memory!\n  COMINIUS. I minded him how royal 'twas to pardon\n    When it was less expected; he replied,\n    It was a bare petition of a state\n    To one whom they had punish'd.\n  MENENIUS. Very well.\n    Could he say less?\n  COMINIUS. I offer'd to awaken his regard\n    For's private friends; his answer to me was,\n    He could not stay to pick them in a pile\n    Of noisome musty chaff. He said 'twas folly,\n    For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt\n    And still to nose th' offence.\n  MENENIUS. For one poor grain or two!\n    I am one of those. His mother, wife, his child,\n    And this brave fellow too- we are the grains:\n    You are the musty chaff, and you are smelt\n    Above the moon. We must be burnt for you.\n  SICINIUS. Nay, pray be patient; if you refuse your aid\n    In this so never-needed help, yet do not\n    Upbraid's with our distress. But sure, if you\n    Would be your country's pleader, your good tongue,\n    More than the instant army we can make,\n    Might stop our countryman.\n ","question":"ACT V. SCENE I.\nRome. A public place\n\nEnter MENENIUS, COMINIUS, SICINIUS and BRUTUS, the two Tribunes,\nwith others\n\n  MENENIUS. No, I'll not go. You hear what he hath said\n    Which was sometime his general, who lov'd him\n    In a most dear particular. He call'd me father;\n    But what o' that? Go, you that banish'd him:\n    A mile before his tent fall down, and knee\n    The way into his mercy. Nay, if he coy'd\n    To hear Cominius speak, I'll keep at home.\n  COMINIUS. He would not seem to know me.\n  MENENIUS. Do you hear?\n  COMINIUS. Yet one time he did call me by my name.\n    I urg'd our old acquaintance, and the drops\n    That we have bled together. 'Coriolanus'\n    He would not answer to; forbid all names;\n    He was a kind of nothing, titleless,\n    Till he had forg'd himself a name i' th' fire\n    Of burning Rome.\n  MENENIUS. Why, so! You have made good work.\n    A pair of tribunes"}
{"answer":"canopies of purple velvet and gold, and listened to\nthe gay strains that floated along the vaulted roof, she almost fancied\nherself in an enchanted palace, and declared, that she had not met with\nany place, which charmed her so much, since she read the fairy tales;\nnay, that the fairies themselves, at their nightly revels in this old\nhall, could display nothing finer; while old Dorothee, as she surveyed\nthe scene, sighed, and said, the castle looked as it was wont to do in\nthe time of her youth.\n\nAfter gracing the festivities of Chateau-le-Blanc, for some days,\nValancourt and Emily took leave of their kind friends, and returned to\nLa Vallee, where the faithful Theresa received them with unfeigned\njoy, and the pleasant shades welcomed them with a thousand tender and\naffecting remembrances; and, while they wandered together over the\nscenes, so long inhabited by the late Mons. and Madame St. Aubert, and\nEmily pointed out, with pensive affection, their favourite haunts, her\npresent happiness was heightened, by considering, that it would have\nbeen worthy of their approbation, could they have witnessed it.\n\nValancourt led her to the plane-tree on the terrace, where he had first\nventured to declare his love, and where now the remembrance of the\nanxiety he had then suffered, and the retrospect of all the dangers\nand misfortunes they had each encountered, since last they sat together\nbeneath its broad branches, exalted the sense of their present felicity,\nwhich, on this spot, sacred to the memory of St. Aubert, they solemnly\nvowed to deserve, as far as possible, by endeavouring to imitate his\nbenevolence,--by remembering, that superior attainments","question":"CHAPTER XIX\n\n\n\n  Now my task is smoothly done,\n I can fly, or I can run\n Quickly to the green earth's end,\n Where the bow'd welkin low doth bend,\n And, from thence, can soar as soon\n To the corners of the moon.\n     MILTON\n\nThe marriages of the Lady Blanche and Emily St. Aubert were celebrated,\non the same day, and with the ancient baronial magnificence, at\nChateau-le-Blanc. The feasts were held in the great hall of the castle,\nwhich, on this occasion, was hung with superb new tapestry, representing\nthe exploits of Charlemagne and his twelve peers; here, were seen the\nSaracens, with their horrible visors, advancing to battle; and there,\nwere displayed the wild solemnities of incantation, and the necromantic\nfeats, exhibited by the magician JARL before the Emperor. The sumptuous\nbanners of the family of Villeroi, which had long slept in dust, were\nonce more unfurled, to wave over the gothic points of painted casements;\nand music echoed, in many a lingering close, through every winding\ngallery and colonnade of that vast edifice.\n\nAs Annette looked down from the corridor upon the hall, whose arches and\nwindows were illuminated with brilliant festoons of lamps, and gazed\non the splendid dresses of the dancers, the costly liveries of the\nattendants, the"}
{"answer":"him, haue you nothing said\nVpon his partie 'gainst the Duke of Albany?\nAduise your selfe\n\n   Edg. I am sure on't, not a word\n\n   Bast. I heare my Father comming, pardon me:\nIn cunning, I must draw my Sword vpon you:\nDraw, seeme to defend your selfe,\nNow quit you well.\nYeeld, come before my Father, light hoa, here,\nFly Brother, Torches, Torches, so farewell.\n\nExit Edgar.\n\nSome blood drawne on me, would beget opinion\nOf my more fierce endeauour. I haue seene drunkards\nDo more then this in sport; Father, Father,\nStop, stop, no helpe?\nEnter Gloster, and Seruants with Torches.\n\n  Glo. Now Edmund, where's the villaine?\n  Bast. Here stood he in the dark, his sharpe Sword out,\nMumbling of wicked charmes, coniuring the Moone\nTo stand auspicious Mistris\n\n   Glo. But where is he?\n  Bast. Looke Sir, I bleed\n\n   Glo. Where is the villaine, Edmund?\n  Bast. Fled this way Sir, when by no meanes he could\n\n   Glo. Pursue him, ho: go after. By no meanes, what?\n  Bast. Perswade me to the murther of your Lordship,\nBut that I told him the reuenging Gods,\n'Gainst Paricides did all the thunder bend,\nSpoke with how manifold, and strong a Bond\nThe Child was bound to'th' Father; Sir in fine,\nSeeing how lothly opposite I stood\nTo his vnnaturall purpose, in fell motion\nWith his prepared Sword, he charges home\nMy vnprouided body, latch'd mine arme;\nAnd when he saw my best alarum'd spirits\nBold in the quarrels right, rouz'd to th' encounter,\nOr whether gasted by the noyse I made,\nFull sodainely he","question":"Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.\n\n\nEnter Bastard, and Curan, seuerally.\n\n  Bast. Saue thee Curan\n\n   Cur. And you Sir, I haue bin\nWith your Father, and giuen him notice\nThat the Duke of Cornwall, and Regan his Duchesse\nWill be here with him this night\n\n   Bast. How comes that?\n  Cur. Nay I know not, you haue heard of the newes abroad,\nI meane the whisper'd ones, for they are yet but\near-kissing arguments\n\n   Bast. Not I: pray you what are they?\n  Cur. Haue you heard of no likely Warres toward,\n'Twixt the Dukes of Cornwall, and Albany?\n  Bast. Not a word\n\n   Cur. You may do then in time,\nFare you well Sir.\nEnter.\n\n  Bast. The Duke be here to night? The better best,\nThis weaues it selfe perforce into my businesse,\nMy Father hath set guard to take my Brother,\nAnd I haue one thing of a queazie question\nWhich I must act, Briefenesse, and Fortune worke.\nEnter Edgar.\n\nBrother, a word, discend; Brother I say,\nMy Father watches: O Sir, fly this place,\nIntelligence is giuen where you are hid;\nYou haue now the good aduantage of the night,\nHaue you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornewall?\nHee's comming hither, now i'th' night, i'th' haste,\nAnd Regan with"}
{"answer":"watched her as a curiosity.  A new emanation,\nwhich had nothing to do with her skill as a teacher, seemed to\nsurround her this morning.  He went to the school also, and Sue\nremained governing her class at the other end of the room, all day\nunder his eye.  She certainly was an excellent teacher.\n\nIt was part of his duty to give her private lessons in the evening,\nand some article in the Code made it necessary that a respectable,\nelderly woman should be present at these lessons when the teacher and\nthe taught were of different sexes.  Richard Phillotson thought of\nthe absurdity of the regulation in this case, when he was old enough\nto be the girl's father; but he faithfully acted up to it; and sat\ndown with her in a room where Mrs. Hawes, the widow at whose house\nSue lodged, occupied herself with sewing.  The regulation was,\nindeed, not easy to evade, for there was no other sitting-room in the\ndwelling.\n\nSometimes as she figured--it was arithmetic that they were working\nat--she would involuntarily glance up with a little inquiring smile\nat him, as if she assumed that, being the master, he must perceive\nall that was passing in her brain, as right or wrong.  Phillotson was\nnot really thinking of the arithmetic at all, but of her, in a novel\nway which somehow seemed strange to him as preceptor.  Perhaps she\nknew that he was thinking of her thus.\n\nFor a few weeks their work had gone on with a monotony which in\nitself was a delight to him.","question":"\n\nThe schoolmaster sat in his homely dwelling attached to the school,\nboth being modern erections; and he looked across the way at the old\nhouse in which his teacher Sue had a lodging.  The arrangement had\nbeen concluded very quickly.  A pupil-teacher who was to have been\ntransferred to Mr. Phillotson's school had failed him, and Sue had\nbeen taken as stop-gap.  All such provisional arrangements as these\ncould only last till the next annual visit of H.M. Inspector, whose\napproval was necessary to make them permanent.  Having taught for\nsome two years in London, though she had abandoned that vocation of\nlate, Miss Bridehead was not exactly a novice, and Phillotson thought\nthere would be no difficulty in retaining her services, which he\nalready wished to do, though she had only been with him three or four\nweeks.  He had found her quite as bright as Jude had described her;\nand what master-tradesman does not wish to keep an apprentice who\nsaves him half his labour?\n\nIt was a little over half-past eight o'clock in the morning and he\nwas waiting to see her cross the road to the school, when he would\nfollow.  At twenty minutes to nine she did cross, a light hat tossed\non her head; and he"}
{"answer":"bangs, it was something louder than we had intended--the doors we\nhad indiscreetly opened. All roads lead to Rome, and there were times\nwhen it might have struck us that almost every branch of study or\nsubject of conversation skirted forbidden ground. Forbidden ground was\nthe question of the return of the dead in general and of whatever, in\nespecial, might survive, in memory, of the friends little children had\nlost. There were days when I could have sworn that one of them had, with\na small invisible nudge, said to the other: \"She thinks she'll do it\nthis time--but she WON'T!\" To \"do it\" would have been to indulge for\ninstance--and for once in a way--in some direct reference to the lady\nwho had prepared them for my discipline. They had a delightful endless\nappetite for passages in my own history, to which I had again and\nagain treated them; they were in possession of everything that had\never happened to me, had had, with every circumstance the story of my\nsmallest adventures and of those of my brothers and sisters and of the\ncat and the dog at home, as well as many particulars of the eccentric\nnature of my father, of the furniture and arrangement of our house, and\nof the conversation of the old women of our village. There were things\nenough, taking one with another, to chatter about, if one went very fast\nand knew by instinct when to go round. They pulled with an art of their\nown the strings of my invention and my memory; and nothing else perhaps,\nwhen I thought of such","question":"\nIt was all very well to join them, but speaking to them proved quite as\nmuch as ever an effort beyond my strength--offered, in close quarters,\ndifficulties as insurmountable as before. This situation continued a\nmonth, and with new aggravations and particular notes, the note above\nall, sharper and sharper, of the small ironic consciousness on the part\nof my pupils. It was not, I am as sure today as I was sure then, my mere\ninfernal imagination: it was absolutely traceable that they were aware\nof my predicament and that this strange relation made, in a manner, for\na long time, the air in which we moved. I don't mean that they had their\ntongues in their cheeks or did anything vulgar, for that was not one\nof their dangers: I do mean, on the other hand, that the element of the\nunnamed and untouched became, between us, greater than any other, and\nthat so much avoidance could not have been so successfully effected\nwithout a great deal of tacit arrangement. It was as if, at moments, we\nwere perpetually coming into sight of subjects before which we must stop\nshort, turning suddenly out of alleys that we perceived to be blind,\nclosing with a little bang that made us look at each other--for, like\nall"}
{"answer":"could get no more approving reply,\nthan,\n\n\"Very well. If the Westons think it worth while to be at all this\ntrouble for a few hours of noisy entertainment, I have nothing to say\nagainst it, but that they shall not chuse pleasures for me.--Oh! yes,\nI must be there; I could not refuse; and I will keep as much awake as\nI can; but I would rather be at home, looking over William Larkins's\nweek's account; much rather, I confess.--Pleasure in seeing\ndancing!--not I, indeed--I never look at it--I do not know who\ndoes.--Fine dancing, I believe, like virtue, must be its own reward.\nThose who are standing by are usually thinking of something very\ndifferent.\"\n\nThis Emma felt was aimed at her; and it made her quite angry. It was not\nin compliment to Jane Fairfax however that he was so indifferent, or so\nindignant; he was not guided by _her_ feelings in reprobating the ball,\nfor _she_ enjoyed the thought of it to an extraordinary degree. It made\nher animated--open hearted--she voluntarily said;--\n\n\"Oh! Miss Woodhouse, I hope nothing may happen to prevent the ball.\nWhat a disappointment it would be! I do look forward to it, I own, with\n_very_ great pleasure.\"\n\nIt was not to oblige Jane Fairfax therefore that he would have preferred\nthe society of William Larkins. No!--she was more and more convinced\nthat Mrs. Weston was quite mistaken in that surmise. There was a great\ndeal of friendly and of compassionate attachment on his side--but no\nlove.\n\nAlas! there was soon no leisure for quarrelling with Mr. Knightley. Two\ndays of joyful security were immediately followed by the","question":"\n\nOne thing only was wanting to make the prospect of the ball completely\nsatisfactory to Emma--its being fixed for a day within the granted\nterm of Frank Churchill's stay in Surry; for, in spite of Mr. Weston's\nconfidence, she could not think it so very impossible that the\nChurchills might not allow their nephew to remain a day beyond his\nfortnight. But this was not judged feasible. The preparations must take\ntheir time, nothing could be properly ready till the third week were\nentered on, and for a few days they must be planning, proceeding and\nhoping in uncertainty--at the risk--in her opinion, the great risk, of\nits being all in vain.\n\nEnscombe however was gracious, gracious in fact, if not in word. His\nwish of staying longer evidently did not please; but it was not opposed.\nAll was safe and prosperous; and as the removal of one solicitude\ngenerally makes way for another, Emma, being now certain of her\nball, began to adopt as the next vexation Mr. Knightley's provoking\nindifference about it. Either because he did not dance himself, or\nbecause the plan had been formed without his being consulted, he\nseemed resolved that it should not interest him, determined against its\nexciting any present curiosity, or affording him any future amusement.\nTo her voluntary communications Emma"}
{"answer":"pursuing that idea,\ngave a hint of his hope as to the limitation of the audience, they were\nready, in the complaisance of the moment, to promise anything. It was\nall good-humour and encouragement. Mrs. Norris offered to contrive his\ndress, Mr. Yates assured him that Anhalt's last scene with the Baron\nadmitted a good deal of action and emphasis, and Mr. Rushworth undertook\nto count his speeches.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said Tom, \"Fanny may be more disposed to oblige us now.\nPerhaps you may persuade _her_.\"\n\n\"No, she is quite determined. She certainly will not act.\"\n\n\"Oh! very well.\" And not another word was said; but Fanny felt herself\nagain in danger, and her indifference to the danger was beginning to\nfail her already.\n\nThere were not fewer smiles at the Parsonage than at the Park on this\nchange in Edmund; Miss Crawford looked very lovely in hers, and entered\nwith such an instantaneous renewal of cheerfulness into the whole\naffair as could have but one effect on him. \"He was certainly right in\nrespecting such feelings; he was glad he had determined on it.\" And the\nmorning wore away in satisfactions very sweet, if not very sound. One\nadvantage resulted from it to Fanny: at the earnest request of Miss\nCrawford, Mrs. Grant had, with her usual good-humour, agreed to\nundertake the part for which Fanny had been wanted; and this was all\nthat occurred to gladden _her_ heart during the day; and even this, when\nimparted by Edmund, brought a pang with it, for it was Miss Crawford to\nwhom she was obliged--it was Miss Crawford whose kind exertions were to\nexcite her gratitude,","question":"\nIt was, indeed, a triumphant day to Mr. Bertram and Maria. Such a\nvictory over Edmund's discretion had been beyond their hopes, and was\nmost delightful. There was no longer anything to disturb them in their\ndarling project, and they congratulated each other in private on the\njealous weakness to which they attributed the change, with all the glee\nof feelings gratified in every way. Edmund might still look grave, and\nsay he did not like the scheme in general, and must disapprove the play\nin particular; their point was gained: he was to act, and he was driven\nto it by the force of selfish inclinations only. Edmund had descended\nfrom that moral elevation which he had maintained before, and they were\nboth as much the better as the happier for the descent.\n\nThey behaved very well, however, to _him_ on the occasion, betraying no\nexultation beyond the lines about the corners of the mouth, and seemed\nto think it as great an escape to be quit of the intrusion of Charles\nMaddox, as if they had been forced into admitting him against their\ninclination. \"To have it quite in their own family circle was what\nthey had particularly wished. A stranger among them would have been the\ndestruction of all their comfort\"; and when Edmund,"}
{"answer":"the most holy one,\nBuddha, he had left him, had to part with him, was not able to accept\nhis teachings.\n\nSlower, he walked along in his thoughts and asked himself:  \"But what\nis this, what you have sought to learn from teachings and from teachers,\nand what they, who have taught you much, were still unable to teach\nyou?\"  And he found:  \"It was the self, the purpose and essence of which\nI sought to learn.  It was the self, I wanted to free myself from, which\nI sought to overcome.  But I was not able to overcome it, could only\ndeceive it, could only flee from it, only hide from it.  Truly, no\nthing in this world has kept my thoughts thus busy, as this my very own\nself, this mystery of me being alive, of me being one and being\nseparated and isolated from all others, of me being Siddhartha!  And\nthere is no thing in this world I know less about than about me, about\nSiddhartha!\"\n\nHaving been pondering while slowly walking along, he now stopped as\nthese thoughts caught hold of him, and right away another thought sprang\nforth from these, a new thought, which was:  \"That I know nothing about\nmyself, that Siddhartha has remained thus alien and unknown to me, stems\nfrom one cause, a single cause:  I was afraid of myself, I was fleeing\nfrom myself!  I searched Atman, I searched Brahman, I was willing to\ndissect my self and peel off all of its layers, to find the core of\nall peels in","question":"AWAKENING\n\n\nWhen Siddhartha left the grove, where the Buddha, the perfected one,\nstayed behind, where Govinda stayed behind, then he felt that in this\ngrove his past life also stayed behind and parted from him.  He pondered\nabout this sensation, which filled him completely, as he was slowly\nwalking along.  He pondered deeply, like diving into a deep water he\nlet himself sink down to the ground of the sensation, down to the place\nwhere the causes lie, because to identify the causes, so it seemed to\nhim, is the very essence of thinking, and by this alone sensations turn\ninto realizations and are not lost, but become entities and start to\nemit like rays of light what is inside of them.\n\nSlowly walking along, Siddhartha pondered.  He realized that he was no\nyouth any more, but had turned into a man.  He realized that one thing\nhad left him, as a snake is left by its old skin, that one thing no\nlonger existed in him, which had accompanied him throughout his youth\nand used to be a part of him: the wish to have teachers and to listen to\nteachings.  He had also left the last teacher who had appeared on his\npath, even him, the highest and wisest teacher,"}
{"answer":"water. After a while, one of the sailors\nsaid, \"Don't be down-hearted, madam. We will take you safely to your\nhusband, in ----.\" At first I could not imagine what he meant; but I had\npresence of mind to think that it probably referred to something the\ncaptain had told him; so I thanked him, and said I hoped we should have\npleasant weather.\n\nWhen I entered the vessel the captain came forward to meet me. He was an\nelderly man, with a pleasant countenance. He showed me to a little box of a\ncabin, where sat my friend Fanny. She started as if she had seen a spectre.\nShe gazed on me in utter astonishment, and exclaimed, \"Linda, can this be\n_you_? or is it your ghost?\" When we were locked in each other's arms, my\noverwrought feelings could no longer be restrained. My sobs reached the\nears of the captain, who came and very kindly reminded us, that for his\nsafety, as well as our own, it would be prudent for us not to attract any\nattention. He said that when there was a sail in sight he wished us to keep\nbelow; but at other times, he had no objection to our being on deck. He\nassured us that he would keep a good lookout, and if we acted prudently, he\nthought we should be in no danger. He had represented us as women going to\nmeet our husbands in ----. We thanked him, and promised to observe\ncarefully all the directions he gave us.\n\nFanny and I now talked by ourselves, low and quietly, in our","question":"\n\nI never could tell how we reached the wharf. My brain was all of a whirl,\nand my limbs tottered under me. At an appointed place we met my uncle\nPhillip, who had started before us on a different route, that he might\nreach the wharf first, and give us timely warning if there was any danger.\nA row-boat was in readiness. As I was about to step in, I felt something\npull me gently, and turning round I saw Benny, looking pale and anxious. He\nwhispered in my ear, \"I've been peeping into the doctor's window, and he's\nat home. Good by, mother. Don't cry; I'll come.\" He hastened away. I\nclasped the hand of my good uncle, to whom I owed so much, and of Peter,\nthe brave, generous friend who had volunteered to run such terrible risks\nto secure my safety. To this day I remember how his bright face beamed with\njoy, when he told me he had discovered a safe method for me to escape. Yet\nthat intelligent, enterprising, noble-hearted man was a chattel! Liable, by\nthe laws of a country that calls itself civilized, to be sold with horses\nand pigs! We parted in silence. Our hearts were all too full for words!\n\nSwiftly the boat glided over the"}
{"answer":"of the family have had any feeling of resentment towards\n   you, they feel it no longer. We all sympathize with you in your\n   unfortunate condition, and are ready to do all in our power to\n   make you contented and happy. It is difficult for you to return\n   home as a free person. If you were purchased by your grandmother,\n   it is doubtful whether you would be permitted to remain, although\n   it would be lawful for you to do so. If a servant should be\n   allowed to purchase herself, after absenting herself so long from\n   her owners, and return free, it would have an injurious effect.\n   From your letter, I think your situation must be hard and\n   uncomfortable. Come home. You have it in your power to be\n   reinstated in our affections. We would receive you with open arms\n   and tears of joy. You need not apprehend any unkind treatment, as\n   we have not put ourselves to any trouble or expense to get you.\n   Had we done so, perhaps we should feel otherwise. You know my\n   sister was always attached to you, and that you were never\n   treated as a slave. You were never put to hard work, nor exposed\n   to field labor. On the contrary, you were taken into the house,\n   and treated as","question":"\n\nMy young mistress, Miss Emily Flint, did not return any answer to my letter\nrequesting her to consent to my being sold. But after a while, I received a\nreply, which purported to be written by her younger brother. In order\nrightly to enjoy the contents of this letter, the reader must bear in mind\nthat the Flint family supposed I had been at the north many years. They had\nno idea that I knew of the doctor's three excursions to New York in search\nof me; that I had heard his voice, when he came to borrow five hundred\ndollars for that purpose; and that I had seen him pass on his way to the\nsteamboat. Neither were they aware that all the particulars of aunt Nancy's\ndeath and burial were conveyed to me at the time they occurred. I have kept\nthe letter, of which I herewith subjoin a copy:--\n\n   Your letter to sister was received a few days ago. I gather from\n   it that you are desirous of returning to your native place, among\n   your friends and relatives. We were all gratified with the\n   contents of your letter; and let me assure you that if any\n   members"}
{"answer":"  I humbly set it at your will; but for my mistress,\n    I nothing know where she remains, why gone,\n    Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your Highness,\n    Hold me your loyal servant.\n  LORD. Good my liege,\n    The day that she was missing he was here.\n    I dare be bound he's true and shall perform\n    All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten,\n    There wants no diligence in seeking him,\n    And will no doubt be found.\n  CYMBELINE. The time is troublesome.\n    [To PISANIO] We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy\n    Does yet depend.\n  LORD. So please your Majesty,\n    The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,\n    Are landed on your coast, with a supply\n    Of Roman gentlemen by the Senate sent.\n  CYMBELINE. Now for the counsel of my son and queen!\n    I am amaz'd with matter.\n  LORD. Good my liege,\n    Your preparation can affront no less\n    Than what you hear of. Come more, for more you're ready.\n    The want is but to put those pow'rs in motion\n    That long to move.\n  CYMBELINE. I thank you. Let's withdraw,\n    And meet the time as it seeks us.","question":"SCENE III.\nBritain. CYMBELINE'S palace\n\nEnter CYMBELINE, LORDS, PISANIO, and attendants\n\n  CYMBELINE. Again! and bring me word how 'tis with her.\n                                               Exit an attendant\n    A fever with the absence of her son;\n    A madness, of which her life's in danger. Heavens,\n    How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen,\n    The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen\n    Upon a desperate bed, and in a time\n    When fearful wars point at me; her son gone,\n    So needful for this present. It strikes me past\n    The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow,\n    Who needs must know of her departure and\n    Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee\n    By a sharp torture.\n  PISANIO. Sir, my life is yours;\n "}
{"answer":"'tis to tell you we will go:\nTherefore we meete not now. Then let me heare\nOf you my gentle Cousin Westmerland,\nWhat yesternight our Councell did decree,\nIn forwarding this deere expedience\n\n   West. My Liege: This haste was hot in question,\nAnd many limits of the Charge set downe\nBut yesternight: when all athwart there came\nA Post from Wales, loaden with heauy Newes;\nWhose worst was, That the Noble Mortimer,\nLeading the men of Herefordshire to fight\nAgainst the irregular and wilde Glendower,\nWas by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,\nAnd a thousand of his people butchered:\nVpon whose dead corpes there was such misuse,\nSuch beastly, shamelesse transformation,\nBy those Welshwomen done, as may not be\n(Without much shame) re-told or spoken of\n\n   King. It seemes then, that the tidings of this broile,\nBrake off our businesse for the Holy land\n\n   West. This matcht with other like, my gracious Lord,\nFarre more vneuen and vnwelcome Newes\nCame from the North, and thus it did report:\nOn Holy-roode day, the gallant Hotspurre there,\nYoung Harry Percy, and braue Archibald,\nThat euer-valiant and approoued Scot,\nAt Holmeden met, where they did spend\nA sad and bloody houre:\nAs by discharge of their Artillerie,\nAnd shape of likely-hood the newes was told:\nFor he that brought them, in the very heate\nAnd pride of their contention, did take horse,\nVncertaine of the issue any way\n\n   King. Heere is a deere and true industrious friend,\nSir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his Horse,\nStrain'd with the variation of each soyle,\nBetwixt that Holmedon, and this Seat of ours:\nAnd he hath brought vs smooth","question":"Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.\n\n\nEnter the King, Lord Iohn of Lancaster, Earle of Westmerland,\nwith\nothers.\n\n  King. So shaken as we are, so wan with care,\nFinde we a time for frighted Peace to pant,\nAnd breath shortwinded accents of new broils\nTo be commenc'd in Stronds a-farre remote:\nNo more the thirsty entrance of this Soile,\nShall daube her lippes with her owne childrens blood:\nNo more shall trenching Warre channell her fields,\nNor bruise her Flowrets with the Armed hoofes\nOf hostile paces. Those opposed eyes,\nWhich like the Meteors of a troubled Heauen,\nAll of one Nature, of one Substance bred,\nDid lately meete in the intestine shocke,\nAnd furious cloze of ciuill Butchery,\nShall now in mutuall well-beseeming rankes\nMarch all one way, and be no more oppos'd\nAgainst Acquaintance, Kindred, and Allies.\nThe edge of Warre, like an ill-sheathed knife,\nNo more shall cut his Master. Therefore Friends,\nAs farre as to the Sepulcher of Christ,\nWhose Souldier now vnder whose blessed Crosse\nWe are impressed and ingag'd to fight,\nForthwith a power of English shall we leuie,\nWhose armes were moulded in their Mothers wombe,\nTo chace these Pagans in those holy Fields,\nOuer whose Acres walk'd those blessed feete\nWhich fourteene hundred yeares ago were nail'd\nFor our aduantage on the bitter Crosse.\nBut this our purpose is a tweluemonth old,\nAnd bootlesse"}
{"answer":"fame unparallel'd haply amplified;\n    For I have ever verified my friends-\n    Of whom he's chief- with all the size that verity\n    Would without lapsing suffer. Nay, sometimes,\n    Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground,\n    I have tumbled past the throw, and in his praise\n    Have almost stamp'd the leasing; therefore, fellow,\n    I must have leave to pass.\n  FIRST WATCH. Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in his\nbehalf\n    as you have uttered words in your own, you should not pass\nhere;\n    no, though it were as virtuous to lie as to live chastely.\n    Therefore go back.\n  MENENIUS. Prithee, fellow, remember my name is Menenius, always\n    factionary on the party of your general.\n  SECOND WATCH. Howsoever you have been his liar, as you say you\n    have, I am one that, telling true under him, must say you\ncannot\n    pass. Therefore go back.\n  MENENIUS. Has he din'd, canst thou tell? For I would not speak\nwith\n    him till after dinner.\n  FIRST WATCH. You are a Roman, are you?\n  MENENIUS. I am as thy general is.\n  FIRST WATCH. Then you should hate Rome, as he does. Can you,\nwhen\n    you have push'd out your gates the very defender of them, and\nin\n ","question":"SCENE II.\nThe Volscian camp before Rome\n\nEnter MENENIUS to the WATCH on guard\n\n  FIRST WATCH. Stay. Whence are you?\n  SECOND WATCH. Stand, and go back.\n  MENENIUS. You guard like men, 'tis well; but, by your leave,\n    I am an officer of state and come\n    To speak with Coriolanus.\n  FIRST WATCH. From whence?\n  MENENIUS. From Rome.\n  FIRST WATCH. You may not pass; you must return. Our general\n    Will no more hear from thence.\n  SECOND WATCH. You'll see your Rome embrac'd with fire before\n    You'll speak with Coriolanus.\n  MENENIUS. Good my friends,\n    If you have heard your general talk of Rome\n    And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks\n    My name hath touch'd your ears: it is Menenius.\n  FIRST WATCH. Be it so; go back. The virtue of your name\n    Is not here passable.\n  MENENIUS. I tell thee, fellow,\n    Thy general is my lover. I have been\n    The book of his good acts whence men have read\n    His"}
{"answer":"Temperance\n\n   Cor. O my deere Father, restauratian hang\nThy medicine on my lippes, and let this kisse\nRepaire those violent harmes, that my two Sisters\nHaue in thy Reuerence made\n\n   Kent. Kind and deere Princesse\n\n   Cor. Had you not bin their Father, these white flakes\nDid challenge pitty of them. Was this a face\nTo be oppos'd against the iarring windes?\nMine Enemies dogge, though he had bit me,\nShould haue stood that night against my fire,\nAnd was't thou faine (poore Father)\nTo houell thee with Swine and Rogues forlorne,\nIn short, and musty straw? Alacke, alacke,\n'Tis wonder that thy life and wits, at once\nHad not concluded all. He wakes, speake to him\n\n   Gen. Madam do you, 'tis fittest\n\n   Cor. How does my Royall Lord?\nHow fares your Maiesty?\n  Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o'th' graue,\nThou art a Soule in blisse, but I am bound\nVpon a wheele of fire, that mine owne teares\nDo scal'd, like molten Lead\n\n   Cor. Sir, do you know me?\n  Lear. You are a spirit I know, where did you dye?\n  Cor. Still, still, farre wide\n\n   Gen. He's scarse awake,\nLet him alone a while\n\n   Lear. Where haue I bin?\nWhere am I? Faire day light?\nI am mightily abus'd; I should eu'n dye with pitty\nTo see another thus. I know not what to say:\nI will not sweare these are my hands: let's see,\nI feele this pin pricke, would I were assur'd\nOf my condition\n\n   Cor.","question":"\nScaena Septima.\n\nEnter Cordelia, Kent, and Gentleman.\n\n  Cor. O thou good Kent,\nHow shall I liue and worke\nTo match thy goodnesse?\nMy life will be too short,\nAnd euery measure faile me\n\n   Kent. To be acknowledg'd Madam is ore-pai'd,\nAll my reports go with the modest truth,\nNor more, nor clipt, but so\n\n   Cor. Be better suited,\nThese weedes are memories of those worser houres:\nI prythee put them off\n\n   Kent. Pardon deere Madam,\nYet to be knowne shortens my made intent,\nMy boone I make it, that you know me not,\nTill time, and I, thinke meet\n\n   Cor. Then be't so my good Lord:\nHow do's the King?\n  Gent. Madam sleepes still\n\n   Cor. O you kind Gods!\nCure this great breach in his abused Nature,\nTh' vntun'd and iarring senses, O winde vp,\nOf this childe-changed Father\n\n   Gent. So please your Maiesty,\nThat we may wake the King, he hath slept long?\n  Cor. Be gouern'd by your knowledge, and proceede\nI'th' sway of your owne will: is he array'd?\nEnter Lear in a chaire carried by Seruants]\n  Gent. I Madam: in the heauinesse of sleepe,\nWe put fresh garments on him.\nBe by good Madam when we do awake him,\nI doubt of his"}
{"answer":"not the truth in saying that!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Did you see my nose quiver when I spoke?  'Faith, it must have been a\nmonstrous lie that should move it!\n(Changing his tone):\n  I wait some one here.  Leave us alone, and disturb us for naught an it were\nnot for crack of doom!\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  But 'tis impossible; my poets are coming. . .\n\nLISE (ironically):\n  Oh, ay, for their first meal o' the day!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Prythee, take them aside when I shall make you sign to do so. . .What's\no'clock?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Ten minutes after six.\n\nCYRANO (nervously seating himself at Ragueneau's table, and drawing some paper\ntoward him):\n  A pen!. . .\n\nRAGUENEAU (giving him the one from behind his ear):\n  Here--a swan's quill.\n\nA MUSKETEER (with fierce mustache, enters, and in a stentorian voice):\n  Good-day!\n\n(Lise goes up to him quickly.)\n\nCYRANO (turning round):\n  Who's that?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  'Tis a friend of my wife--a terrible warrior--at least so says he himself.\n\nCYRANO (taking up the pen, and motioning Ragueneau away):\n  Hush!\n(To himself):\n  I will write, fold it, give it her, and fly!\n(Throws down the pen):\n  Coward!. . .But strike me dead if I dare to speak to her,. . .ay, even one\nsingle word!\n(To Ragueneau):\n  What time is it?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  A quarter after six!. . .\n\nCYRANO (striking his breast):\n  Ay--a single word of all those here! here!  But writing, 'tis easier done. .\n.\n(He takes up the pen):\n  Go to, I will write it, that love-letter!  Oh! ","question":"Ragueneau, Lise, Cyrano, then the musketeer.\n\nCYRANO:\n  What's o'clock?\n\nRAGUENEAU (bowing low):\n  Six o'clock.\n\nCYRANO (with emotion):\n  In one hour's time!\n\n(He paces up and down the shop.)\n\nRAGUENEAU (following him):\n  Bravo!  I saw. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Well, what saw you, then?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Your combat!. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Which?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  That in the Burgundy Hotel, 'faith!\n\nCYRANO (contemptuously):\n  Ah!. . .the duel!\n\nRAGUENEAU (admiringly):\n  Ay! the duel in verse!. . .\n\nLISE:\n  He can talk of naught else!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Well!  Good! let be!\n\nRAGUENEAU (making passes with a spit that he catches up):\n  'At the envoi's end, I touch!. . .At the envoi's end, I touch!'. . .'Tis\nfine, fine!\n(With increasing enthusiasm):\n  'At the envoi's end--'\n\nCYRANO:\n  What hour is it now, Ragueneau?\n\nRAGUENEAU (stopping short in the act of thrusting to look at the clock):\n  Five minutes after six!. . .'I touch!'\n(He straightens himself):\n  . . .Oh! to write a ballade!\n\nLISE (to Cyrano, who, as he passes by the counter, has absently shaken hands\nwith her):\n  What's wrong with your hand?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Naught; a slight cut.\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Have you been in some danger?\n\nCYRANO:\n  None in the world.\n\nLISE (shaking her finger at him):\n  Methinks you speak"}
{"answer":"of her pupils and bringing out the best that was\nin them mentally and morally. Anne expanded like a flower under this\nwholesome influence and carried home to the admiring Matthew and the\ncritical Marilla glowing accounts of schoolwork and aims.\n\n\"I love Miss Stacy with my whole heart, Marilla. She is so ladylike\nand she has such a sweet voice. When she pronounces my name I feel\n_instinctively_ that she's spelling it with an E. We had recitations\nthis afternoon. I just wish you could have been there to hear me recite\n'Mary, Queen of Scots.' I just put my whole soul into it. Ruby Gillis\ntold me coming home that the way I said the line, 'Now for my father's\narm,' she said, 'my woman's heart farewell,' just made her blood run\ncold.\"\n\n\"Well now, you might recite it for me some of these days, out in the\nbarn,\" suggested Matthew.\n\n\"Of course I will,\" said Anne meditatively, \"but I won't be able to do\nit so well, I know. It won't be so exciting as it is when you have a\nwhole schoolful before you hanging breathlessly on your words. I know I\nwon't be able to make your blood run cold.\"\n\n\"Mrs. Lynde says it made _her_ blood run cold to see the boys climbing to\nthe very tops of those big trees on Bell's hill after crows' nests last\nFriday,\" said Marilla. \"I wonder at Miss Stacy for encouraging it.\"\n\n\"But we wanted a crow's nest for nature study,\" explained Anne. \"That\nwas on our field afternoon. Field afternoons are splendid, Marilla.\nAnd Miss Stacy explains everything so","question":"\n\n|IT was October again when Anne was ready to go back to school--a\nglorious October, all red and gold, with mellow mornings when the\nvalleys were filled with delicate mists as if the spirit of autumn had\npoured them in for the sun to drain--amethyst, pearl, silver, rose, and\nsmoke-blue. The dews were so heavy that the fields glistened like cloth\nof silver and there were such heaps of rustling leaves in the hollows of\nmany-stemmed woods to run crisply through. The Birch Path was a canopy\nof yellow and the ferns were sear and brown all along it. There was a\ntang in the very air that inspired the hearts of small maidens tripping,\nunlike snails, swiftly and willingly to school; and it _was_ jolly to\nbe back again at the little brown desk beside Diana, with Ruby Gillis\nnodding across the aisle and Carrie Sloane sending up notes and Julia\nBell passing a \"chew\" of gum down from the back seat. Anne drew a long\nbreath of happiness as she sharpened her pencil and arranged her picture\ncards in her desk. Life was certainly very interesting.\n\nIn the new teacher she found another true and helpful friend. Miss Stacy\nwas a bright, sympathetic young woman with the happy gift of winning and\nholding the affections"}
{"answer":"think, be loved more tenderly;\n  At table he must have the seat of honour,\n  While with delight our master sees him eat\n  As much as six men could; we must give up\n  The choicest tidbits to him; if he belches,\n  ('tis a servant speaking) [2]\n  Master exclaims: \"God bless you!\"--Oh, he dotes\n  Upon him! he's his universe, his hero;\n  He's lost in constant admiration, quotes him\n  On all occasions, takes his trifling acts\n  For wonders, and his words for oracles.\n  The fellow knows his dupe, and makes the most on't,\n  He fools him with a hundred masks of virtue,\n  Gets money from him all the time by canting,\n  And takes upon himself to carp at us.\n  Even his silly coxcomb of a lackey\n  Makes it his business to instruct us too;\n  He comes with rolling eyes to preach at us,\n  And throws away our ribbons, rouge, and patches.\n  The wretch, the other day, tore up a kerchief\n  That he had found, pressed in the _Golden Legend_,\n  Calling it a horrid crime for us to mingle\n  The devil's finery with holy things.\n\n  [Footnote 1: Referring to the rebellion called La Fronde, during the\n  minority of Louis XIV.]\n\n  [Footnote 2: Moliere's note, inserted in the text of all the old\n  editions. It is a curious illustration of the desire for uniformity\n  and dignity of style","question":"SCENE II\n\n  CLEANTE, DORINE\n\n\n  CLEANTE\n  I won't escort her down,\n  For fear she might fall foul of me again;\n  The good old lady ...\n\n  DORINE\n  Bless us! What a pity\n  She shouldn't hear the way you speak of her!\n  She'd surely tell you you're too \"good\" by half,\n  And that she's not so \"old\" as all that, neither!\n\n  CLEANTE\n  How she got angry with us all for nothing!\n  And how she seems possessed with her Tartuffe!\n\n  DORINE\n  Her case is nothing, though, beside her son's!\n  To see him, you would say he's ten times worse!\n  His conduct in our late unpleasantness [1]\n  Had won him much esteem, and proved his courage\n  In service of his king; but now he's like\n  A man besotted, since he's been so taken\n  With this Tartuffe. He calls him brother, loves him\n  A hundred times as much as mother, son,\n  Daughter, and wife. He tells him all his secrets\n  And lets him guide his acts, and rule his conscience.\n  He fondles and embraces him; a sweetheart\n  Could not, I"}
{"answer":"it is\ngenerally supposed to be rather more easy to pass a camel through the\neye of a needle than to reclaim a confirmed female drunkard. Yet, as I\nhave already said, the Salvation Army, on a three years' test in each\ncase, has shown that it deals successfully with about 50 per cent of\nthose women who come into its hands for treatment as inebriates or\ndrug-takers. How is this done? Largely, of course, by effecting\nthrough religious means a change of heart and nature, as the Army\noften seems to have the power to do, and by the exercise of gentle\npersonal influences.\n\nBut there remains another aid which is physical.\n\nWith the shrewdness that distinguishes them, the Officers of the Army\nhave discovered that the practice of vegetarianism is a wonderful\nenemy to the practice of alcoholism. The vegetarian, it seems,\nconceives a bodily distaste to spirituous liquors. If they can\npersuade a patient to become a vegetarian, then the chances of her\ncure are enormously increased. Therefore, in this and in the other\nfemale Inebriate Homes no meat is served. The breakfast, which is\neaten at 7.30, consists of tea, brown and white bread and butter,\nporridge and fresh milk, or stewed fruit. A sample dinner at one\no'clock includes macaroni cheese, greens, potatoes, fruit pudding or\nplain boiled puddings with stewed figs. On one day a week, however,\nbaked or boiled fish is served with pease pudding, potatoes, and\nboiled currant pudding, and on another, brown gravy is given with\nonions in batter. Tea, which is served at six o'clock, consists--to\ntake a couple of samples--of tea, white and brown","question":"HILLSBOROUGH HOUSE INEBRIATES' HOME\n\n\nUnder the guidance of Commissioner Cox I inspected a number of the\nLondon Women's Institutions of the Army, first visiting the\nHillsborough House Inebriates' Home. This Home, a beautifully clean\nand well-kept place, has accommodation for thirty patients,\ntwenty-nine beds being occupied on the day of my visit. The lady in\ncharge informed me that these patients are expected to contribute 10s.\nper week towards the cost of their maintenance; but that, as a matter\nof fact, they seldom pay so much. Generally the sum recovered varies\nfrom 7s. to 3s. per week, while a good many give nothing at all.\n\nThe work the patients do in this Home is sold and produces something\ntowards the cost of upkeep. The actual expense of the maintenance of\nthe inmates averages about 12s. 6d. a week per head, which sum\nincludes an allowance for rent. Most of the cases stay in the Home for\ntwelve months, although some remain for a shorter period. When the\ncure is completed, if they are married, the patients return to their\nhusbands. The unmarried are sent out to positions as governesses,\nnurses, or servants, that is, if the authorities of the Home are able\nto give them satisfactory characters.\n\nAs the reader who knows anything of such matters will be aware,"}
{"answer":"company had no flag.  But now, by my faith, they will have the fairest in\nall the camp!\n\nROXANE (smiling):\n  'Tis somewhat small.\n\nCARBON (tying the handkerchief on the staff of his lance):\n  But--'tis of lace!\n\nA CADET (to the rest):\n  I could die happy, having seen so sweet a face, if I had something in my\nstomach--were it but a nut!\n\nCARBON (who has overheard, indignantly):\n  Shame on you!  What, talk of eating when a lovely woman!. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  But your camp air is keen; I myself am famished.  Pasties, cold fricassee,\nold wines--there is my bill of fare?  Pray bring it all here.\n\n(Consternation.)\n\nA CADET:\n  All that?\n\nANOTHER:\n  But where on earth find it?\n\nROXANE (quietly):\n  In my carriage.\n\nALL:\n  How?\n\nROXANE:\n  Now serve up--carve!  Look a little closer at my coachman, gentlemen, and\nyou will recognize a man most welcome.  All the sauces can be sent to table\nhot, if we will!\n\nTHE CADETS (rushing pellmell to the carriage):\n  'Tis Ragueneau!\n(Acclamations):\n  Oh, oh!\n\nROXANE (looking after them):\n  Poor fellows!\n\nCYRANO (kissing her hand):\n  Kind fairy!\n\nRAGUENEAU (standing on the box like a quack doctor at a fair):\n  Gentlemen!. . .\n\n(General delight.)\n\nTHE CADETS:\n  Bravo! bravo!\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  . . .The Spaniards, gazing on a lady so dainty fair, overlooked the fare so\ndainty!. . .\n\n(Applause.)\n\nCYRANO (in a whisper to Christian):\n  Hark, Christian!\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  . . .And, occupied with gallantry, perceived not--\n(His draws a plate from under the seat, and holds it up):\n  --The galantine!.","question":"The same, all but De Guiche.\n\nCHRISTIAN (entreatingly):\n  Roxane!\n\nROXANE:\n  No!\n\nFIRST CADET (to the others):\n  She stays!\n\nALL (hurrying, hustling each other, tidying themselves):\n  A comb!--Soap!--My uniform is torn!--A needle!--A ribbon!--Lend your\nmirror!--My cuffs!--Your curling-iron!--A razor!. . .\n\nROXANE (to Cyrano, who still pleads with her):\n  No!  Naught shall make me stir from this spot!\n\nCARBON (who, like the others, has been buckling, dusting, brushing his hat,\nsettling his plume, and drawing on his cuffs, advances to Roxane, and\nceremoniously):\n  It is perchance more seemly, since things are thus, that I present to you\nsome of these gentlemen who are about to have the honor of dying before your\neyes.\n(Roxane bows, and stands leaning on Christian's arm, while Carbon introduces\nthe cadets to her):\n  Baron de Peyrescous de Colignac!\n\nTHE CADET (with a low reverence):\n  Madame. . .\n\nCARBON (continuing):\n  Baron de Casterac de Cahuzac,--Vidame de Malgouyre Estressac Lesbas\nd'Escarabiot, Chevalier d'Antignac-Juzet, Baron Hillot de Blagnac-Salechan de\nCastel Crabioules. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  But how many names have you each?\n\nBARON HILLOT:\n  Scores!\n\nCARBON (to Roxane):\n  Pray, upon the hand that holds your kerchief.\n\nROXANE (opens her hand, and the handkerchief falls):\n  Why?\n\n(The whole company start forward to pick it up.)\n\nCARBON (quickly raising it):\n  My"}
{"answer":"the left shoulder he carried a crutch, which he managed with\nwonderful dexterity, hopping about upon it like a bird. He was very tall\nand strong, with a face as big as a ham--plain and pale, but\nintelligent and smiling. Indeed, he seemed in the most cheerful spirits,\nwhistling as he moved about among the tables, with a merry word or a\nslap on the shoulder for the more favored of his guests.\n\nNow, to tell you the truth, from the very first mention of Long John in\nSquire Trelawney's letter, I had taken a fear in my mind that he might\nprove to be the very one-legged sailor whom I had watched for so long at\nthe old \"Benbow.\" But one look at the man before me was enough. I had\nseen the captain, and Black Dog, and the blind man Pew, and I thought I\nknew what a buccaneer was like--a very different creature, according to\nme, from this clean and pleasant-tempered landlord.\n\nI plucked up courage at once, crossed the threshold, and walked right up\nto the man where he stood, propped on his crutch, talking to a customer.\n\n\"Mr. Silver, sir?\" I asked, holding out the note.\n\n\"Yes, my lad,\" said he; \"such is my name, to be sure. And who may you\nbe?\" And when he saw the squire's letter he seemed to me to give\nsomething almost like a start.\n\n\"Oh!\" said he, quite aloud, and offering his hand, \"I see. You are our\nnew cabin-boy; pleased I am to see you.\"\n\nAnd he took my hand in his large firm grasp.\n\nJust then one of","question":"\nAT THE SIGN OF THE \"SPY-GLASS\"\n\n\nWhen I had done breakfasting, the squire gave me a note addressed to\nJohn Silver, at the sign of the \"Spy-glass,\" and told me I should easily\nfind the place by following the line of the docks, and keeping a bright\nlookout for a little tavern with a large brass telescope for a sign. I\nset off, overjoyed at this opportunity to see some more of the ships and\nseamen, and picked my way among a great crowd of people and carts and\nbales, for the dock was now at its busiest, until I found the tavern in\nquestion.\n\nIt was a bright enough little place of entertainment. The sign was newly\npainted; the windows had neat red curtains; the floor was cleanly\nsanded. There was a street on each side, and an open door on both, which\nmade the large, low room pretty clear to see in, in spite of clouds of\ntobacco smoke.\n\nThe customers were mostly seafaring men, and they talked so loudly that\nI hung at the door, almost afraid to enter.\n\nAs I was waiting, a man came out of a side room, and at a glance I was\nsure he must be Long John. His left leg was cut off close by the hip,\nand under"}
{"answer":"Master\nHeathcliff, you are not fit for enjoying a ramble this morning.  How ill\nyou do look!'\n\nCatherine surveyed him with grief and astonishment: she changed the\nejaculation of joy on her lips to one of alarm; and the congratulation on\ntheir long-postponed meeting to an anxious inquiry, whether he were worse\nthan usual?\n\n'No--better--better!' he panted, trembling, and retaining her hand as if\nhe needed its support, while his large blue eyes wandered timidly over\nher; the hollowness round them transforming to haggard wildness the\nlanguid expression they once possessed.\n\n'But you have been worse,' persisted his cousin; 'worse than when I saw\nyou last; you are thinner, and--'\n\n'I'm tired,' he interrupted, hurriedly.  'It is too hot for walking, let\nus rest here.  And, in the morning, I often feel sick--papa says I grow\nso fast.'\n\nBadly satisfied, Cathy sat down, and he reclined beside her.\n\n'This is something like your paradise,' said she, making an effort at\ncheerfulness.  'You recollect the two days we agreed to spend in the\nplace and way each thought pleasantest?  This is nearly yours, only there\nare clouds; but then they are so soft and mellow: it is nicer than\nsunshine.  Next week, if you can, we'll ride down to the Grange Park, and\ntry mine.'\n\nLinton did not appear to remember what she talked of and he had evidently\ngreat difficulty in sustaining any kind of conversation.  His lack of\ninterest in the subjects she started, and his equal incapacity to\ncontribute to her entertainment, were so obvious that she could not\nconceal her disappointment.  An indefinite alteration had come","question":"\n\nSummer was already past its prime, when Edgar reluctantly yielded his\nassent to their entreaties, and Catherine and I set out on our first ride\nto join her cousin.  It was a close, sultry day: devoid of sunshine, but\nwith a sky too dappled and hazy to threaten rain: and our place of\nmeeting had been fixed at the guide-stone, by the cross-roads.  On\narriving there, however, a little herd-boy, despatched as a messenger,\ntold us that,--'Maister Linton wer just o' this side th' Heights: and\nhe'd be mitch obleeged to us to gang on a bit further.'\n\n'Then Master Linton has forgot the first injunction of his uncle,' I\nobserved: 'he bid us keep on the Grange land, and here we are off at\nonce.'\n\n'Well, we'll turn our horses' heads round when we reach him,' answered my\ncompanion; 'our excursion shall lie towards home.'\n\nBut when we reached him, and that was scarcely a quarter of a mile from\nhis own door, we found he had no horse; and we were forced to dismount,\nand leave ours to graze.  He lay on the heath, awaiting our approach, and\ndid not rise till we came within a few yards.  Then he walked so feebly,\nand looked so pale, that I immediately exclaimed,--'Why,"}
{"answer":"Enter other SERVANTS\n\n  FLAVIUS. All broken implements of a ruin'd house.\n  THIRD SERVANT. Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery;\n    That see I by our faces. We are fellows still,\n    Serving alike in sorrow. Leak'd is our bark;\n    And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck,\n    Hearing the surges threat. We must all part\n    Into this sea of air.\n  FLAVIUS. Good fellows all,\n    The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you.\n    Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake,\n    Let's yet be fellows; let's shake our heads and say,\n    As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortune,\n    'We have seen better days.' Let each take some.\n                                             [Giving them money]\n    Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more!\n    Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor.\n                                [Embrace, and part several ways]\n   ","question":"Athens. TIMON's house\n\nEnter FLAVIUS, with two or three SERVANTS\n\n  FIRST SERVANT. Hear you, Master Steward, where's our master?\n    Are we undone, cast off, nothing remaining?\n  FLAVIUS. Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you?\n    Let me be recorded by the righteous gods,\n    I am as poor as you.\n  FIRST SERVANT. Such a house broke!\n    So noble a master fall'n! All gone, and not\n    One friend to take his fortune by the arm\n    And go along with him?\n  SECOND SERVANT. As we do turn our backs\n    From our companion, thrown into his grave,\n    So his familiars to his buried fortunes\n    Slink all away; leave their false vows with him,\n    Like empty purses pick'd; and his poor self,\n    A dedicated beggar to the air,\n    With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty,\n    Walks, like contempt, alone. More of our fellows.\n\n                    "}
{"answer":"attacked and renounced the enigma of\nwhat such a little gentleman could have done that deserved a penalty.\nSay that, by the dark prodigy I knew, the imagination of all evil HAD\nbeen opened up to him: all the justice within me ached for the proof\nthat it could ever have flowered into an act.\n\nHe had never, at any rate, been such a little gentleman as when, after\nour early dinner on this dreadful day, he came round to me and asked if\nI shouldn't like him, for half an hour, to play to me. David playing\nto Saul could never have shown a finer sense of the occasion. It was\nliterally a charming exhibition of tact, of magnanimity, and quite\ntantamount to his saying outright: \"The true knights we love to read\nabout never push an advantage too far. I know what you mean now: you\nmean that--to be let alone yourself and not followed up--you'll cease to\nworry and spy upon me, won't keep me so close to you, will let me go\nand come. Well, I 'come,' you see--but I don't go! There'll be plenty of\ntime for that. I do really delight in your society, and I only want to\nshow you that I contended for a principle.\" It may be imagined whether I\nresisted this appeal or failed to accompany him again, hand in hand, to\nthe schoolroom. He sat down at the old piano and played as he had never\nplayed; and if there are those who think he had better have been kicking\na football I can only say that I wholly","question":"The next day, after lessons, Mrs. Grose found a moment to say to me\nquietly: \"Have you written, miss?\"\n\n\"Yes--I've written.\" But I didn't add--for the hour--that my letter,\nsealed and directed, was still in my pocket. There would be time enough\nto send it before the messenger should go to the village. Meanwhile\nthere had been, on the part of my pupils, no more brilliant, more\nexemplary morning. It was exactly as if they had both had at heart to\ngloss over any recent little friction. They performed the dizziest feats\nof arithmetic, soaring quite out of MY feeble range, and perpetrated,\nin higher spirits than ever, geographical and historical jokes. It was\nconspicuous of course in Miles in particular that he appeared to wish to\nshow how easily he could let me down. This child, to my memory, really\nlives in a setting of beauty and misery that no words can translate;\nthere was a distinction all his own in every impulse he revealed; never\nwas a small natural creature, to the uninitiated eye all frankness and\nfreedom, a more ingenious, a more extraordinary little gentleman. I had\nperpetually to guard against the wonder of contemplation into which my\ninitiated view betrayed me; to check the irrelevant gaze and discouraged\nsigh in which I constantly both"}
{"answer":"by the\nwesterly swell.\n\nAltogether it was no such ill night to keep the seas in; and I had begun\nto wonder what it was that sat so heavily upon the captain, when the\nbrig rising suddenly on the top of a high swell, he pointed and cried to\nus to look. Away on the lee bow, a thing like a fountain rose out of the\nmoonlit sea, and immediately after we heard a low sound of roaring.\n\n\"What do ye call that?\" asked the captain, gloomily.\n\n\"The sea breaking on a reef,\" said Alan. \"And now ye ken where it is;\nand what better would ye have?\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said Hoseason, \"if it was the only one.\"\n\nAnd sure enough, just as he spoke there came a second fountain farther\nto the south.\n\n\"There!\" said Hoseason. \"Ye see for yourself. If I had kent of these\nreefs, if I had had a chart, or if Shuan had been spared, it's not sixty\nguineas, no, nor six hundred, would have made me risk my brig in sic a\nstoneyard! But you, sir, that was to pilot us, have ye never a word?\"\n\n\"I'm thinking,\" said Alan, \"these'll be what they call the Torran\nRocks.\"\n\n\"Are there many of them?\" says the captain.\n\n\"Truly, sir, I am nae pilot,\" said Alan; \"but it sticks in my mind there\nare ten miles of them.\"\n\nMr. Riach and the captain looked at each other.\n\n\"There's a way through them, I suppose?\" said the captain.\n\n\"Doubtless,\" said Alan, \"but where? But it somehow runs in my mind once\nmore that it is clearer under the land.\"\n\n\"So?\" said Hoseason. \"We'll have","question":"It was already late at night, and as dark as it ever would be at that\nseason of the year (and that is to say, it was still pretty bright),\nwhen Hoseason clapped his head into the round-house door.\n\n\"Here,\" said he, \"come out and see if ye can pilot.\"\n\n\"Is this one of your tricks?\" asked Alan.\n\n\"Do I look like tricks?\" cries the captain. \"I have other things to\nthink of--my brig's in danger!\"\n\nBy the concerned look of his face, and, above all, by the sharp tones in\nwhich he spoke of his brig, it was plain to both of us he was in deadly\nearnest; and so Alan and I, with no great fear of treachery, stepped on\ndeck.\n\nThe sky was clear; it blew hard, and was bitter cold; a great deal of\ndaylight lingered; and the moon, which was nearly full, shone brightly.\nThe brig was close hauled, so as to round the southwest corner of the\nIsland of Mull, the hills of which (and Ben More above them all, with a\nwisp of mist upon the top of it) lay full upon the lar-board bow. Though\nit was no good point of sailing for the Covenant, she tore through\nthe seas at a great rate, pitching and straining, and pursued"}
{"answer":"of the\nrailway would enable him to manage the whole journey and back in four\ndays.\n\nBut one morning after Lydgate had gone out, a letter came addressed to\nhim, which Rosamond saw clearly to be from Sir Godwin.  She was full of\nhope.  Perhaps there might be a particular note to her enclosed; but\nLydgate was naturally addressed on the question of money or other aid,\nand the fact that he was written to, nay, the very delay in writing at\nall, seemed to certify that the answer was thoroughly compliant.  She\nwas too much excited by these thoughts to do anything but light\nstitching in a warm corner of the dining-room, with the outside of this\nmomentous letter lying on the table before her.  About twelve she heard\nher husband's step in the passage, and tripping to open the door, she\nsaid in her lightest tones, \"Tertius, come in here--here is a letter\nfor you.\"\n\n\"Ah?\" he said, not taking off his hat, but just turning her round\nwithin his arm to walk towards the spot where the letter lay.  \"My\nuncle Godwin!\" he exclaimed, while Rosamond reseated herself, and\nwatched him as he opened the letter.  She had expected him to be\nsurprised.\n\nWhile Lydgate's eyes glanced rapidly over the brief letter, she saw his\nface, usually of a pale brown, taking on a dry whiteness; with nostrils\nand lips quivering he tossed down the letter before her, and said\nviolently--\n\n\"It will be impossible to endure life with you, if you will always be\nacting secretly--acting in opposition to me and hiding your actions.\"\n\nHe checked","question":"\n    \"One of us two must bowen douteless,\n     And, sith a man is more reasonable\n     Than woman is, ye [men] moste be suffrable.\n                             --CHAUCER: Canterbury Tales.\n\n\nThe bias of human nature to be slow in correspondence triumphs even\nover the present quickening in the general pace of things: what wonder\nthen that in 1832 old Sir Godwin Lydgate was slow to write a letter\nwhich was of consequence to others rather than to himself?  Nearly\nthree weeks of the new year were gone, and Rosamond, awaiting an answer\nto her winning appeal, was every day disappointed.  Lydgate, in total\nignorance of her expectations, was seeing the bills come in, and\nfeeling that Dover's use of his advantage over other creditors was\nimminent.  He had never mentioned to Rosamond his brooding purpose of\ngoing to Quallingham: he did not want to admit what would appear to her\na concession to her wishes after indignant refusal, until the last\nmoment; but he was really expecting to set off soon.  A slice"}
{"answer":"soul, is dead; it is the inexorable\nconsolidation and perpetuation of the secret that was always in that\nindividuality, and which I shall carry in mine to my life's end. In\nany of the burial-places of this city through which I pass, is there\na sleeper more inscrutable than its busy inhabitants are, in their\ninnermost personality, to me, or than I am to them?\n\nAs to this, his natural and not to be alienated inheritance, the\nmessenger on horseback had exactly the same possessions as the King, the\nfirst Minister of State, or the richest merchant in London. So with the\nthree passengers shut up in the narrow compass of one lumbering old mail\ncoach; they were mysteries to one another, as complete as if each had\nbeen in his own coach and six, or his own coach and sixty, with the\nbreadth of a county between him and the next.\n\nThe messenger rode back at an easy trot, stopping pretty often at\nale-houses by the way to drink, but evincing a tendency to keep his\nown counsel, and to keep his hat cocked over his eyes. He had eyes that\nassorted very well with that decoration, being of a surface black, with\nno depth in the colour or form, and much too near together--as if they\nwere afraid of being found out in something, singly, if they kept too\nfar apart. They had a sinister expression, under an old cocked-hat like\na three-cornered spittoon, and over a great muffler for the chin and\nthroat, which descended nearly to the wearer's knees. When he stopped\nfor drink, he moved this muffler","question":"III. The Night Shadows\n\n\nA wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is\nconstituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A\nsolemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every\none of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every\nroom in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating\nheart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of\nits imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it! Something of the\nawfulness, even of Death itself, is referable to this. No more can I\nturn the leaves of this dear book that I loved, and vainly hope in time\nto read it all. No more can I look into the depths of this unfathomable\nwater, wherein, as momentary lights glanced into it, I have had glimpses\nof buried treasure and other things submerged. It was appointed that the\nbook should shut with a spring, for ever and for ever, when I had read\nbut a page. It was appointed that the water should be locked in an\neternal frost, when the light was playing on its surface, and I stood\nin ignorance on the shore. My friend is dead, my neighbour is dead,\nmy love, the darling of my"}
{"answer":"the\nTender Passion!\n\nROXANE'S VOICE:\n  I come!  I come!\n\n(A sound of stringed instruments approaching.)\n\nCYRANO'S VOICE (behind the scenes, singing):\n  La, la, la, la!\n\nTHE DUENNA (surprised):\n  They serenade us?\n\nCYRANO (followed by two pages with arch-lutes):\n  I tell you they are demi-semi-quavers, demi-semi-fool!\n\nFIRST PAGE (ironically):\n  You know then, Sir, to distinguish between semi-quavers and demi-semi-\nquavers?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Is not every disciple of Gassendi a musician?\n\nTHE PAGE (playing and singing):\n  La, la!\n\nCYRANO (snatching the lute from him, and going on with the phrase):\n  In proof of which, I can continue!  La, la, la, la!\n\nROXANE (appearing on the balcony):\n  What?  'Tis you?\n\nCYRANO (going on with the air, and singing to it):\n  'Tis I, who come to serenade your lilies, and pay my devoir to your ro-o-\noses!\n\nROXANE:\n  I am coming down!\n\n(She leaves the balcony.)\n\nTHE DUENNA (pointing to the pages):\n  How come these two virtuosi here?\n\nCYRANO:\n  'Tis for a wager I won of D'Assoucy.  We were disputing a nice point in\ngrammar; contradictions raged hotly--''Tis so!'  'Nay, 'tis so!' when suddenly\nhe shows me these two long-shanks, whom he takes about with him as an escort,\nand who are skillful in scratching lute-strings with their skinny claws!  'I\nwill wager you a day's music,' says he!--And lost it!  Thus, see you, till\nPhoebus' chariot starts once again, these lute-twangers are at my heels,\nseeing all I do, hearing all I say, and accompanying all with melody.  'Twas\npleasant at the first, but i' faith, I begin","question":"Ragueneau, the duenna.  Then Roxane, Cyrano, and two pages.\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  --And then, off she went, with a musketeer!  Deserted and ruined too, I\nwould make an end of all, and so hanged myself.  My last breath was drawn:--\nthen in comes Monsieur de Bergerac!  He cuts me down, and begs his cousin to\ntake me for her steward.\n\nTHE DUENNA:\n  Well, but how came it about that you were thus ruined?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Oh!  Lise loved the warriors, and I loved the poets!  What cakes there were\nthat Apollo chanced to leave were quickly snapped up by Mars.  Thus ruin was\nnot long a-coming.\n\nTHE DUENNA (rising, and calling up to the open window):\n  Roxane, are you ready?  They wait for us!\n\nROXANE'S VOICE (from the window):\n  I will but put me on a cloak!\n\nTHE DUENNA (to Ragueneau, showing him the door opposite):\n  They wait us there opposite, at Clomire's house.  She receives them all\nthere to-day--the precieuses, the poets; they read a discourse on the Tender\nPassion.\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  The Tender Passion?\n\nTHE DUENNA (in a mincing voice):\n  Ay, indeed!\n(Calling up to the window):\n  Roxane, an you come not down quickly, we shall miss the discourse on"}
{"answer":"me,\" she said, \"and say nothing.\"\n\nShe took him by the arm, and walked with him about a quarter of a mile\ninto the country; they arrived at a lonely house, surrounded with\ngardens and canals. The old woman knocked at a little door, it opened,\nshe led Candide up a private staircase into a small apartment richly\nfurnished. She left him on a brocaded sofa, shut the door and went away.\nCandide thought himself in a dream; indeed, that he had been dreaming\nunluckily all his life, and that the present moment was the only\nagreeable part of it all.\n\nThe old woman returned very soon, supporting with difficulty a trembling\nwoman of a majestic figure, brilliant with jewels, and covered with a\nveil.\n\n\"Take off that veil,\" said the old woman to Candide.\n\nThe young man approaches, he raises the veil with a timid hand. Oh!\nwhat a moment! what surprise! he believes he beholds Miss Cunegonde? he\nreally sees her! it is herself! His strength fails him, he cannot utter\na word, but drops at her feet. Cunegonde falls upon the sofa. The old\nwoman supplies a smelling bottle; they come to themselves and recover\ntheir speech. As they began with broken accents, with questions and\nanswers interchangeably interrupted with sighs, with tears, and cries.\nThe old woman desired they would make less noise and then she left them\nto themselves.\n\n\"What, is it you?\" said Candide, \"you live? I find you again in\nPortugal? then you have not been ravished? then they did not rip open\nyour belly as Doctor Pangloss informed me?\"\n\n\"Yes, they did,\" said the beautiful Cunegonde; \"but","question":"\nCandide did not take courage, but followed the old woman to a decayed\nhouse, where she gave him a pot of pomatum to anoint his sores, showed\nhim a very neat little bed, with a suit of clothes hanging up, and left\nhim something to eat and drink.\n\n\"Eat, drink, sleep,\" said she, \"and may our lady of Atocha,[9] the great\nSt. Anthony of Padua, and the great St. James of Compostella, receive\nyou under their protection. I shall be back to-morrow.\"\n\nCandide, amazed at all he had suffered and still more with the charity\nof the old woman, wished to kiss her hand.\n\n\"It is not my hand you must kiss,\" said the old woman; \"I shall be back\nto-morrow. Anoint yourself with the pomatum, eat and sleep.\"\n\nCandide, notwithstanding so many disasters, ate and slept. The next\nmorning the old woman brought him his breakfast, looked at his back, and\nrubbed it herself with another ointment: in like manner she brought him\nhis dinner; and at night she returned with his supper. The day following\nshe went through the very same ceremonies.\n\n\"Who are you?\" said Candide; \"who has inspired you with so much\ngoodness? What return can I make you?\"\n\nThe good woman made no answer; she returned in the evening, but brought\nno supper.\n\n\"Come with"}
{"answer":"me,\" she said, \"and say nothing.\"\n\nShe took him by the arm, and walked with him about a quarter of a mile\ninto the country; they arrived at a lonely house, surrounded with\ngardens and canals. The old woman knocked at a little door, it opened,\nshe led Candide up a private staircase into a small apartment richly\nfurnished. She left him on a brocaded sofa, shut the door and went away.\nCandide thought himself in a dream; indeed, that he had been dreaming\nunluckily all his life, and that the present moment was the only\nagreeable part of it all.\n\nThe old woman returned very soon, supporting with difficulty a trembling\nwoman of a majestic figure, brilliant with jewels, and covered with a\nveil.\n\n\"Take off that veil,\" said the old woman to Candide.\n\nThe young man approaches, he raises the veil with a timid hand. Oh!\nwhat a moment! what surprise! he believes he beholds Miss Cunegonde? he\nreally sees her! it is herself! His strength fails him, he cannot utter\na word, but drops at her feet. Cunegonde falls upon the sofa. The old\nwoman supplies a smelling bottle; they come to themselves and recover\ntheir speech. As they began with broken accents, with questions and\nanswers interchangeably interrupted with sighs, with tears, and cries.\nThe old woman desired they would make less noise and then she left them\nto themselves.\n\n\"What, is it you?\" said Candide, \"you live? I find you again in\nPortugal? then you have not been ravished? then they did not rip open\nyour belly as Doctor Pangloss informed me?\"\n\n\"Yes, they did,\" said the beautiful Cunegonde; \"but","question":"\nCandide did not take courage, but followed the old woman to a decayed\nhouse, where she gave him a pot of pomatum to anoint his sores, showed\nhim a very neat little bed, with a suit of clothes hanging up, and left\nhim something to eat and drink.\n\n\"Eat, drink, sleep,\" said she, \"and may our lady of Atocha,[9] the great\nSt. Anthony of Padua, and the great St. James of Compostella, receive\nyou under their protection. I shall be back to-morrow.\"\n\nCandide, amazed at all he had suffered and still more with the charity\nof the old woman, wished to kiss her hand.\n\n\"It is not my hand you must kiss,\" said the old woman; \"I shall be back\nto-morrow. Anoint yourself with the pomatum, eat and sleep.\"\n\nCandide, notwithstanding so many disasters, ate and slept. The next\nmorning the old woman brought him his breakfast, looked at his back, and\nrubbed it herself with another ointment: in like manner she brought him\nhis dinner; and at night she returned with his supper. The day following\nshe went through the very same ceremonies.\n\n\"Who are you?\" said Candide; \"who has inspired you with so much\ngoodness? What return can I make you?\"\n\nThe good woman made no answer; she returned in the evening, but brought\nno supper.\n\n\"Come with"}
{"answer":"for her, and trying to make\nher help or advise him in his work, till Jane Fairfax was quite ready\nto sit down to the pianoforte again. That she was not immediately ready,\nEmma did suspect to arise from the state of her nerves; she had not yet\npossessed the instrument long enough to touch it without emotion; she\nmust reason herself into the power of performance; and Emma could not\nbut pity such feelings, whatever their origin, and could not but resolve\nnever to expose them to her neighbour again.\n\nAt last Jane began, and though the first bars were feebly given, the\npowers of the instrument were gradually done full justice to. Mrs.\nWeston had been delighted before, and was delighted again; Emma\njoined her in all her praise; and the pianoforte, with every proper\ndiscrimination, was pronounced to be altogether of the highest promise.\n\n\"Whoever Colonel Campbell might employ,\" said Frank Churchill, with a\nsmile at Emma, \"the person has not chosen ill. I heard a good deal of\nColonel Campbell's taste at Weymouth; and the softness of the upper\nnotes I am sure is exactly what he and _all_ _that_ _party_ would\nparticularly prize. I dare say, Miss Fairfax, that he either gave his\nfriend very minute directions, or wrote to Broadwood himself. Do not you\nthink so?\"\n\nJane did not look round. She was not obliged to hear. Mrs. Weston had\nbeen speaking to her at the same moment.\n\n\"It is not fair,\" said Emma, in a whisper; \"mine was a random guess. Do\nnot distress her.\"\n\nHe shook his head with a smile, and looked as if he","question":"\n\nThe appearance of the little sitting-room as they entered, was\ntranquillity itself; Mrs. Bates, deprived of her usual employment,\nslumbering on one side of the fire, Frank Churchill, at a table near\nher, most deedily occupied about her spectacles, and Jane Fairfax,\nstanding with her back to them, intent on her pianoforte.\n\nBusy as he was, however, the young man was yet able to shew a most happy\ncountenance on seeing Emma again.\n\n\"This is a pleasure,\" said he, in rather a low voice, \"coming at least\nten minutes earlier than I had calculated. You find me trying to be\nuseful; tell me if you think I shall succeed.\"\n\n\"What!\" said Mrs. Weston, \"have not you finished it yet? you would not\nearn a very good livelihood as a working silversmith at this rate.\"\n\n\"I have not been working uninterruptedly,\" he replied, \"I have been\nassisting Miss Fairfax in trying to make her instrument stand steadily,\nit was not quite firm; an unevenness in the floor, I believe. You see\nwe have been wedging one leg with paper. This was very kind of you to be\npersuaded to come. I was almost afraid you would be hurrying home.\"\n\nHe contrived that she should be seated by him; and was sufficiently\nemployed in looking out the best baked apple"}
{"answer":"into their hearts,\nWith humble, and familiar courtesie,\nWhat reuerence he did throw away on slaues;\nWooing poore Craftes-men, with the craft of soules,\nAnd patient vnder-bearing of his Fortune,\nAs 'twere to banish their affects with him.\nOff goes his bonnet to an Oyster-wench,\nA brace of Dray-men bid God speed him well,\nAnd had the tribute of his supple knee,\nWith thankes my Countrimen, my louing friends,\nAs were our England in reuersion his,\nAnd he our subiects next degree in hope\n\n   Gr. Well, he is gone, & with him go these thoughts:\nNow for the Rebels, which stand out in Ireland,\nExpedient manage must be made my Liege\nEre further leysure, yeeld them further meanes\nFor their aduantage, and your Highnesse losse\n\n   Ric. We will our selfe in person to this warre,\nAnd for our Coffers, with too great a Court,\nAnd liberall Largesse, are growne somewhat light,\nWe are inforc'd to farme our royall Realme,\nThe Reuennew whereof shall furnish vs\nFor our affayres in hand: if that come short\nOur Substitutes at home shall haue Blanke-charters:\nWhereto, when they shall know what men are rich,\nThey shall subscribe them for large summes of Gold,\nAnd send them after to supply our wants:\nFor we will make for Ireland presently.\nEnter Bushy.\n\nBushy, what newes?\n  Bu. Old Iohn of Gaunt is verie sicke my Lord,\nSodainly taken, and hath sent post haste\nTo entreat your Maiesty to visit him\n\n   Ric. Where lyes he?\n  Bu. At Ely house\n\n   Ric. Now put it (heauen) in his Physitians minde,\nTo helpe him to his graue immediately:\nThe lining of his","question":"Scoena Quarta.\n\nEnter King, Aumerle, Greene, and Bagot.\n\n  Rich. We did obserue. Cosine Aumerle,\nHow far brought you high Herford on his way?\n  Aum. I brought high Herford (if you call him so)\nBut to the next high way, and there I left him\n\n   Rich. And say, what store of parting tears were shed?\n  Aum. Faith none for me: except the Northeast wind\nWhich then grew bitterly against our face,\nAwak'd the sleepie rhewme, and so by chance\nDid grace our hollow parting with a teare\n\n   Rich. What said our Cosin when you parted with him?\n  Au. Farewell: and for my hart disdained y my tongue\nShould so prophane the word, that taught me craft\nTo counterfeit oppression of such greefe,\nThat word seem'd buried in my sorrowes graue.\nMarry, would the word Farwell, haue lengthen'd houres,\nAnd added yeeres to his short banishment,\nHe should haue had a volume of Farwels,\nBut since it would not, he had none of me\n\n   Rich. He is our Cosin (Cosin) but 'tis doubt,\nWhen time shall call him home from banishment,\nWhether our kinsman come to see his friends,\nOur selfe, and Bushy: heere Bagot and Greene\nObseru'd his Courtship to the common people:\nHow he did seeme to diue"}
{"answer":"for some water.  Immediately canteens were\nshowered upon him.  \"Fill mine, will yeh?\"  \"Bring me some, too.\"  \"And\nme, too.\" He departed, ladened.  The youth went with his friend,\nfeeling a desire to throw his heated body onto the stream and, soaking\nthere, drink quarts.\n\nThey made a hurried search for the supposed stream, but did not find\nit.  \"No water here,\" said the youth.  They turned without delay and\nbegan to retrace their steps.\n\nFrom their position as they again faced toward the place of the\nfighting, they could of course comprehend a greater amount of the\nbattle than when their visions had been blurred by the hurling smoke of\nthe line.  They could see dark stretches winding along the land, and on\none cleared space there was a row of guns making gray clouds, which\nwere filled with large flashes of orange-colored flame.  Over some\nfoliage they could see the roof of a house.  One window, glowing a deep\nmurder red, shone squarely through the leaves.  From the edifice a tall\nleaning tower of smoke went far into the sky.\n\nLooking over their own troops, they saw mixed masses slowly getting\ninto regular form. The sunlight made twinkling points of the bright\nsteel.  To the rear there was a glimpse of a distant roadway as it\ncurved over a slope.  It was crowded with retreating infantry.  From\nall the interwoven forest arose the smoke and bluster of the battle.\nThe air was always occupied by a blaring.\n\nNear where they stood shells were flip-flapping and hooting. Occasional\nbullets","question":"\nThe ragged line had respite for some minutes, but during its pause the\nstruggle in the forest became magnified until the trees seemed to\nquiver from the firing and the ground to shake from the rushing of the\nmen.  The voices of the cannon were mingled in a long and interminable\nrow.  It seemed difficult to live in such an atmosphere.  The chests of\nthe men strained for a bit of freshness, and their throats craved water.\n\nThere was one shot through the body, who raised a cry of bitter\nlamentation when came this lull.  Perhaps he had been calling out\nduring the fighting also, but at that time no one had heard him.  But\nnow the men turned at the woeful complaints of him upon the ground.\n\n\"Who is it?  Who is it?\"\n\n\"It's Jimmie Rogers.  Jimmie Rogers.\"\n\nWhen their eyes first encountered him there was a sudden halt, as if\nthey feared to go near. He was thrashing about in the grass, twisting\nhis shuddering body into many strange postures. He was screaming\nloudly.  This instant's hesitation seemed to fill him with a\ntremendous, fantastic contempt, and he damned them in shrieked\nsentences.\n\nThe youth's friend had a geographical illusion concerning a stream, and\nhe obtained permission to go"}
{"answer":"pretend to be lost in their fairytale\nthey're steeped in their vision of the dead restored. He's not reading\nto her,\" I declared; \"they're talking of THEM--they're talking horrors!\nI go on, I know, as if I were crazy; and it's a wonder I'm not. What\nI've seen would have made YOU so; but it has only made me more lucid,\nmade me get hold of still other things.\"\n\nMy lucidity must have seemed awful, but the charming creatures who were\nvictims of it, passing and repassing in their interlocked sweetness,\ngave my colleague something to hold on by; and I felt how tight she held\nas, without stirring in the breath of my passion, she covered them still\nwith her eyes. \"Of what other things have you got hold?\"\n\n\"Why, of the very things that have delighted, fascinated, and yet, at\nbottom, as I now so strangely see, mystified and troubled me. Their more\nthan earthly beauty, their absolutely unnatural goodness. It's a game,\"\nI went on; \"it's a policy and a fraud!\"\n\n\"On the part of little darlings--?\"\n\n\"As yet mere lovely babies? Yes, mad as that seems!\" The very act of\nbringing it out really helped me to trace it--follow it all up and piece\nit all together. \"They haven't been good--they've only been absent. It\nhas been easy to live with them, because they're simply leading a\nlife of their own. They're not mine--they're not ours. They're his and\nthey're hers!\"\n\n\"Quint's and that woman's?\"\n\n\"Quint's and that woman's. They want to get to them.\"\n\nOh, how, at this, poor Mrs. Grose appeared to study them! \"But for\nwhat?\"\n\n\"For the love","question":"\nThe particular impression I had received proved in the morning light,\nI repeat, not quite successfully presentable to Mrs. Grose, though I\nreinforced it with the mention of still another remark that he had made\nbefore we separated. \"It all lies in half a dozen words,\" I said to her,\n\"words that really settle the matter. 'Think, you know, what I MIGHT\ndo!' He threw that off to show me how good he is. He knows down to\nthe ground what he 'might' do. That's what he gave them a taste of at\nschool.\"\n\n\"Lord, you do change!\" cried my friend.\n\n\"I don't change--I simply make it out. The four, depend upon it,\nperpetually meet. If on either of these last nights you had been with\neither child, you would clearly have understood. The more I've watched\nand waited the more I've felt that if there were nothing else to make it\nsure it would be made so by the systematic silence of each. NEVER, by a\nslip of the tongue, have they so much as alluded to either of their old\nfriends, any more than Miles has alluded to his expulsion. Oh, yes,\nwe may sit here and look at them, and they may show off to us there to\ntheir fill; but even while they"}
{"answer":"know not how to think\notherwise.\"\n\n\"Surely you must be possessed by the devil,\" said Candide.\n\n\"He is so deeply concerned in the affairs of this world,\" answered\nMartin, \"that he may very well be in me, as well as in everybody else;\nbut I own to you that when I cast an eye on this globe, or rather on\nthis little ball, I cannot help thinking that God has abandoned it to\nsome malignant being. I except, always, El Dorado. I scarcely ever knew\na city that did not desire the destruction of a neighbouring city, nor a\nfamily that did not wish to exterminate some other family. Everywhere\nthe weak execrate the powerful, before whom they cringe; and the\npowerful beat them like sheep whose wool and flesh they sell. A million\nregimented assassins, from one extremity of Europe to the other, get\ntheir bread by disciplined depredation and murder, for want of more\nhonest employment. Even in those cities which seem to enjoy peace, and\nwhere the arts flourish, the inhabitants are devoured by more envy,\ncare, and uneasiness than are experienced by a besieged town. Secret\ngriefs are more cruel than public calamities. In a word I have seen so\nmuch, and experienced so much that I am a Manichean.\"\n\n\"There are, however, some things good,\" said Candide.\n\n\"That may be,\" said Martin; \"but I know them not.\"\n\nIn the middle of this dispute they heard the report of cannon; it\nredoubled every instant. Each took out his glass. They saw two ships in\nclose fight about three miles off. The wind brought both so near to the\nFrench vessel","question":"\nThe old philosopher, whose name was Martin, embarked then with Candide\nfor Bordeaux. They had both seen and suffered a great deal; and if the\nvessel had sailed from Surinam to Japan, by the Cape of Good Hope, the\nsubject of moral and natural evil would have enabled them to entertain\none another during the whole voyage.\n\nCandide, however, had one great advantage over Martin, in that he always\nhoped to see Miss Cunegonde; whereas Martin had nothing at all to hope.\nBesides, Candide was possessed of money and jewels, and though he had\nlost one hundred large red sheep, laden with the greatest treasure upon\nearth; though the knavery of the Dutch skipper still sat heavy upon his\nmind; yet when he reflected upon what he had still left, and when he\nmentioned the name of Cunegonde, especially towards the latter end of a\nrepast, he inclined to Pangloss's doctrine.\n\n\"But you, Mr. Martin,\" said he to the philosopher, \"what do you think\nof all this? what are your ideas on moral and natural evil?\"\n\n\"Sir,\" answered Martin, \"our priests accused me of being a Socinian, but\nthe real fact is I am a Manichean.\"[21]\n\n\"You jest,\" said Candide; \"there are no longer Manicheans in the world.\"\n\n\"I am one,\" said Martin. \"I cannot help it; I"}
{"answer":"must withdraw and weep\nUpon the spot of this enforc'd cause--\nTo grace the gentry of a land remote,\nAnd follow unacquainted colours here?\nWhat, here?--O nation, that thou couldst remove!\nThat Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about,\nWould bear thee from the knowledge of thyself,\nAnd grapple thee unto a pagan shore,\nWhere these two Christian armies might combine\nThe blood of malice in a vein of league,\nAnd not to spend it so unneighbourly!\n\nLOUIS.\nA noble temper dost thou show in this;\nAnd great affections wrestling in thy bosom\nDoth make an earthquake of nobility.\nO, what a noble combat hast thou fought\nBetween compulsion and a brave respect!\nLet me wipe off this honourable dew\nThat silverly doth progress on thy cheeks:\nMy heart hath melted at a lady's tears,\nBeing an ordinary inundation;\nBut this effusion of such manly drops,\nThis shower, blown up by tempest of the soul,\nStartles mine eyes and makes me more amaz'd\nThan had I seen the vaulty top of heaven\nFigur'd quite o'er with burning meteors.\nLift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,\nAnd with a great heart heave away this storm:\nCommend these waters to those baby eyes\nThat never saw the giant world enrag'd,\nNor met with fortune other than at feasts,\nFull of warm blood, of mirth, of gossiping.\nCome, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep\nInto the purse of rich prosperity\nAs Louis himself:--so, nobles, shall you all,\nThat knit your sinews to the strength of mine.--\nAnd even there, methinks, an angel spake:\nLook, where the holy legate comes apace,\nTo give us warrant from the hand of heaven\nAnd on our actions set the name of right\nWith holy breath.\n\n[Enter PANDULPH,","question":"SCENE 2.\n\nNear Saint Edmunds-bury. The French Camp.\n\n[Enter, in arms, LOUIS, SALISBURY, MELUN, PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and\nsoldiers.]\n\nLOUIS.\nMy Lord Melun, let this be copied out\nAnd keep it safe for our remembrance:\nReturn the precedent to these lords again;\nThat, having our fair order written down,\nBoth they and we, perusing o'er these notes,\nMay know wherefore we took the sacrament,\nAnd keep our faiths firm and inviolable.\n\nSALISBURY.\nUpon our sides it never shall be broken.\nAnd, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear\nA voluntary zeal and an unurg'd faith\nTo your proceedings; yet, believe me, prince,\nI am not glad that such a sore of time\nShould seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt,\nAnd heal the inveterate canker of one wound\nBy making many. O, it grieves my soul\nThat I must draw this metal from my side\nTo be a widow-maker! O, and there\nWhere honourable rescue and defence\nCries out upon the name of Salisbury!\nBut such is the infection of the time,\nThat, for the health and physic of our right,\nWe cannot deal but with the very hand\nOf stern injustice and confused wrong.--\nAnd is't not pity, O my grieved friends!\nThat we, the sons and children of this isle,\nWere born to see so sad an hour as this;\nWherein we step after a stranger-march\nUpon her gentle bosom, and fill up\nHer enemies' ranks--I"}
{"answer":"  The ugly fiends do sally forth of hell,\n    And frame my heart with fierce inflamed thoughts;\n    The cloudy day my discontents records,\n    Early begins to register my dreams\n    And drive me forth to seek the murderer.\n    Eyes, life, world, heav'ns, hell, night and day,\n    See, search, show, send, some man, some mean, that may--\n\n                A letter falleth.\n\n    What's here? a letter?  Tush, it is not so!\n    A letter for Hieronimo.\n    [Reads]  \"For want of ink receive this bloody writ.\n    Me hath my hapless brother hid from thee.\n    Revenge thyself on Balthazar and him,\n    For these were they that murdered thy son.\n    Hieronimo, revenge Horatio's death,\n    And better fare then Bel-imperia doth!\"--\n    What means this unexpected miracle?\n    My son slain by Lorenzo and the prince?\n    What cause had they Horatio to malign?\n    Or what might move thee, Bel-imperia,\n    To accuse thy brother, had he been the mean?\n    Hieronimo, beware!  thou art betray'd,\n    And to entrap thy life this train is laid.\n    Advise thee therefore, be","question":"                [Spain: near the DUKE's castle.]\n\n                Enter HIERONIMO.\n\n  HIERO.  Oh eyes!  no eyes but fountains fraught with tears;\n    Oh life! no life, but lively form of death;\n    Oh world! no world, but mass of public wrongs,\n    Confus'd and fill'd with murder and misdeeds;\n    Oh sacred heav'ns, if this unhallow'd deed,\n    If this inhuman and barbarous attempt,\n    If this incomparable murder thus\n    Of mine, but now no more my son shall pass,\n    Unreveal'd and unrevenged pass,\n    How should we term your dealings to be just,\n    If you unjustly deal with those that in your justice trust?\n    The night, sad secretary to my moans,\n    With direful visions wake my vexed soul,\n    And with the wounds of my distressful son\n    Solicit me for notice of his death;\n "}
{"answer":"could get no more approving reply,\nthan,\n\n\"Very well. If the Westons think it worth while to be at all this\ntrouble for a few hours of noisy entertainment, I have nothing to say\nagainst it, but that they shall not chuse pleasures for me.--Oh! yes,\nI must be there; I could not refuse; and I will keep as much awake as\nI can; but I would rather be at home, looking over William Larkins's\nweek's account; much rather, I confess.--Pleasure in seeing\ndancing!--not I, indeed--I never look at it--I do not know who\ndoes.--Fine dancing, I believe, like virtue, must be its own reward.\nThose who are standing by are usually thinking of something very\ndifferent.\"\n\nThis Emma felt was aimed at her; and it made her quite angry. It was not\nin compliment to Jane Fairfax however that he was so indifferent, or so\nindignant; he was not guided by _her_ feelings in reprobating the ball,\nfor _she_ enjoyed the thought of it to an extraordinary degree. It made\nher animated--open hearted--she voluntarily said;--\n\n\"Oh! Miss Woodhouse, I hope nothing may happen to prevent the ball.\nWhat a disappointment it would be! I do look forward to it, I own, with\n_very_ great pleasure.\"\n\nIt was not to oblige Jane Fairfax therefore that he would have preferred\nthe society of William Larkins. No!--she was more and more convinced\nthat Mrs. Weston was quite mistaken in that surmise. There was a great\ndeal of friendly and of compassionate attachment on his side--but no\nlove.\n\nAlas! there was soon no leisure for quarrelling with Mr. Knightley. Two\ndays of joyful security were immediately followed by the","question":"\n\nOne thing only was wanting to make the prospect of the ball completely\nsatisfactory to Emma--its being fixed for a day within the granted\nterm of Frank Churchill's stay in Surry; for, in spite of Mr. Weston's\nconfidence, she could not think it so very impossible that the\nChurchills might not allow their nephew to remain a day beyond his\nfortnight. But this was not judged feasible. The preparations must take\ntheir time, nothing could be properly ready till the third week were\nentered on, and for a few days they must be planning, proceeding and\nhoping in uncertainty--at the risk--in her opinion, the great risk, of\nits being all in vain.\n\nEnscombe however was gracious, gracious in fact, if not in word. His\nwish of staying longer evidently did not please; but it was not opposed.\nAll was safe and prosperous; and as the removal of one solicitude\ngenerally makes way for another, Emma, being now certain of her\nball, began to adopt as the next vexation Mr. Knightley's provoking\nindifference about it. Either because he did not dance himself, or\nbecause the plan had been formed without his being consulted, he\nseemed resolved that it should not interest him, determined against its\nexciting any present curiosity, or affording him any future amusement.\nTo her voluntary communications Emma"}
{"answer":"of the winter water-courses,\nwhich formed summer paths, had undergone a species of incineration since\nthe drought had set in.\n\nIn cool, fresh weather Mrs. Yeobright would have found no inconvenience\nin walking to Alderworth, but the present torrid attack made the journey\na heavy undertaking for a woman past middle age; and at the end of the\nthird mile she wished that she had hired Fairway to drive her a portion\nat least of the distance. But from the point at which she had arrived it\nwas as easy to reach Clym's house as to get home again. So she went on,\nthe air around her pulsating silently, and oppressing the earth with\nlassitude. She looked at the sky overhead, and saw that the sapphirine\nhue of the zenith in spring and early summer had been replaced by a\nmetallic violet.\n\nOccasionally she came to a spot where independent worlds of ephemerons\nwere passing their time in mad carousal, some in the air, some on the\nhot ground and vegetation, some in the tepid and stringy water of a\nnearly dried pool. All the shallower ponds had decreased to a vaporous\nmud amid which the maggoty shapes of innumerable obscure creatures could\nbe indistinctly seen, heaving and wallowing with enjoyment. Being a\nwoman not disinclined to philosophize she sometimes sat down under her\numbrella to rest and to watch their happiness, for a certain hopefulness\nas to the result of her visit gave ease to her mind, and between\nimportant thoughts left it free to dwell on any infinitesimal matter\nwhich caught her eyes.\n\nMrs. Yeobright had never before been to her son's","question":"<CHAPTER>\n5--The Journey across the Heath\n\n\nThursday, the thirty-first of August, was one of a series of days during\nwhich snug houses were stifling, and when cool draughts were treats;\nwhen cracks appeared in clayey gardens, and were called \"earthquakes\" by\napprehensive children; when loose spokes were discovered in the wheels\nof carts and carriages; and when stinging insects haunted the air, the\nearth, and every drop of water that was to be found.\n\nIn Mrs. Yeobright's garden large-leaved plants of a tender kind flagged\nby ten o'clock in the morning; rhubarb bent downward at eleven; and even\nstiff cabbages were limp by noon.\n\nIt was about eleven o'clock on this day that Mrs. Yeobright started\nacross the heath towards her son's house, to do her best in getting\nreconciled with him and Eustacia, in conformity with her words to the\nreddleman. She had hoped to be well advanced in her walk before the heat\nof the day was at its highest, but after setting out she found that this\nwas not to be done. The sun had branded the whole heath with its mark,\neven the purple heath-flowers having put on a brownness under the dry\nblazes of the few preceding days. Every valley was filled with air like\nthat of a kiln, and the clean quartz sand"}
{"answer":"fleet. 'Twas now a stern and pale old man, his clothes covered\nwith dust, and hair whitened by old age. He trembled whilst leaning\nagainst the door-frame, and was near falling on seeing, by the light of\nthe lamps, the countenance of his master. These two men who had lived so\nlong together in a community of intelligence, and whose eyes, accustomed\nto economize expressions, knew how to say so many things silently--these\ntwo old friends, one as noble as the other in heart, if they were\nunequal in fortune and birth, remained tongue-tied whilst looking at\neach other. By the exchange of a single glance they had just read to\nthe bottom of each other's hearts. The old servitor bore upon his\ncountenance the impression of a grief already old, the outward token of\na grim familiarity with woe. He appeared to have no longer in use more\nthan a single version of his thoughts. As formerly he was accustomed not\nto speak much, he was now accustomed not to smile at all. Athos read at\na glance all these shades upon the visage of his faithful servant, and\nin the same tone he would have employed to speak to Raoul in his dream:\n\n\"Grimaud,\" said he, \"Raoul is dead. _Is it not so?_\"\n\nBehind Grimaud the other servants listened breathlessly, with their\neyes fixed upon the bed of their sick master. They heard the terrible\nquestion, and a heart-breaking silence followed.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied the old man, heaving the monosyllable from his chest with\na hoarse, broken sigh.\n\nThen arose voices of lamentation, which groaned without measure, and\nfilled with regrets and","question":"Chapter LVIII. The Angel of Death.\n\n\nAthos was at this part of his marvelous vision, when the charm was\nsuddenly broken by a great noise rising from the outer gates. A horse\nwas heard galloping over the hard gravel of the great alley, and the\nsound of noisy and animated conversations ascended to the chamber in\nwhich the comte was dreaming. Athos did not stir from the place he\noccupied; he scarcely turned his head towards the door to ascertain the\nsooner what these noises could be. A heavy step ascended the stairs; the\nhorse, which had recently galloped, departed slowly towards the stables.\nGreat hesitation appeared in the steps, which by degrees approached the\nchamber. A door was opened, and Athos, turning a little towards the part\nof the room the noise came from, cried, in a weak voice:\n\n\"It is a courier from Africa, is it not?\"\n\n\"No, monsieur le comte,\" replied a voice which made the father of Raoul\nstart upright in his bed.\n\n\"Grimaud!\" murmured he. And the sweat began to pour down his face.\nGrimaud appeared in the doorway. It was no longer the Grimaud we have\nseen, still young with courage and devotion, when he jumped the first\ninto the boat destined to convey Raoul de Bragelonne to the vessels of\nthe royal"}
{"answer":"that I might serve him;\n  But Heaven's interests cannot allow it;\n  If he returns, then I must leave the house.\n  After his conduct, quite unparalleled,\n  All intercourse between us would bring scandal;\n  God knows what everyone's first thought would be!\n  They would attribute it to merest scheming\n  On my part--say that conscious of my guilt\n  I feigned a Christian love for my accuser,\n  But feared him in my heart, and hoped to win him\n  And underhandedly secure his silence.\n\n  CLEANTE\n  You try to put us off with specious phrases;\n  But all your arguments are too far-fetched.\n  Why take upon yourself the cause of Heaven?\n  Does Heaven need our help to punish sinners?\n  Leave to itself the care of its own vengeance,\n  And keep in mind the pardon it commands us;\n  Besides, think somewhat less of men's opinions,\n  When you are following the will of Heaven.\n  Shall petty fear of what the world may think\n  Prevent the doing of a noble deed?\n  No!--let us always do as Heaven commands,\n  And not perplex our brains with further questions.\n\n  TARTUFFE\n  Already I have told you I forgive him;\n  And that is doing, sir, as Heaven commands.\n  But after this day's scandal and affront\n  Heaven does not order me to live with him.\n\n  CLEANTE\n  And does it order you to lend your ear\n ","question":"ACT IV   SCENE I\n\n  CLEANTE, TARTUFFE\n\n\n  CLEANTE\n  Yes, it's become the talk of all the town,\n  And make a stir that's scarcely to your credit;\n  And I have met you, sir, most opportunely,\n  To tell you in a word my frank opinion.\n  Not to sift out this scandal to the bottom,\n  Suppose the worst for us--suppose Damis\n  Acted the traitor, and accused you falsely;\n  Should not a Christian pardon this offence,\n  And stifle in his heart all wish for vengeance?\n  Should you permit that, for your petty quarrel,\n  A son be driven from his father's house?\n  I tell you yet again, and tell you frankly,\n  Everyone, high or low, is scandalised;\n  If you'll take my advice, you'll make it up,\n  And not push matters to extremities.\n  Make sacrifice to God of your resentment;\n  Restore the son to favour with his father.\n\n  TARTUFFE\n  Alas! So far as I'm concerned, how gladly\n  Would I do so! I bear him no ill will;\n  I pardon all, lay nothing to his charge,\n  And wish with all my heart"}
{"answer":"and still protest, all that is\nleft you for your own gratification is to thrash yourself or beat your\nwall with your fist as hard as you can, and absolutely nothing more.\nWell, these mortal insults, these jeers on the part of someone unknown,\nend at last in an enjoyment which sometimes reaches the highest degree\nof voluptuousness.  I ask you, gentlemen, listen sometimes to the moans\nof an educated man of the nineteenth century suffering from toothache,\non the second or third day of the attack, when he is beginning to moan,\nnot as he moaned on the first day, that is, not simply because he has\ntoothache, not just as any coarse peasant, but as a man affected by\nprogress and European civilisation, a man who is \"divorced from the\nsoil and the national elements,\" as they express it now-a-days.  His\nmoans become nasty, disgustingly malignant, and go on for whole days\nand nights.  And of course he knows himself that he is doing himself no\nsort of good with his moans; he knows better than anyone that he is\nonly lacerating and harassing himself and others for nothing; he knows\nthat even the audience before whom he is making his efforts, and his\nwhole family, listen to him with loathing, do not put a ha'porth of\nfaith in him, and inwardly understand that he might moan differently,\nmore simply, without trills and flourishes, and that he is only amusing\nhimself like that from ill-humour, from malignancy.  Well, in all these\nrecognitions and disgraces it is that there lies a voluptuous pleasure.\nAs though he would","question":"\n\"Ha, ha, ha!  You will be finding enjoyment in toothache next,\" you\ncry, with a laugh.\n\n\"Well, even in toothache there is enjoyment,\" I answer.  I had\ntoothache for a whole month and I know there is.  In that case, of\ncourse, people are not spiteful in silence, but moan; but they are not\ncandid moans, they are malignant moans, and the malignancy is the whole\npoint.  The enjoyment of the sufferer finds expression in those moans;\nif he did not feel enjoyment in them he would not moan.  It is a good\nexample, gentlemen, and I will develop it.  Those moans express in the\nfirst place all the aimlessness of your pain, which is so humiliating\nto your consciousness; the whole legal system of nature on which you\nspit disdainfully, of course, but from which you suffer all the same\nwhile she does not.  They express the consciousness that you have no\nenemy to punish, but that you have pain; the consciousness that in\nspite of all possible Wagenheims you are in complete slavery to your\nteeth; that if someone wishes it, your teeth will leave off aching, and\nif he does not, they will go on aching another three months; and that\nfinally if you are still contumacious"}
{"answer":"say to you, we are none\n\n   Kemp. Well, stand aside, 'fore God they are both in\na tale: haue you writ downe that they are none?\n  Sext. Master Constable, you goe not the way to examine,\nyou must call forth the watch that are their accusers\n\n   Kemp. Yea marry, that's the eftest way, let the watch\ncome forth: masters, I charge you in the Princes name,\naccuse these men\n\n   Watch 1. This man said sir, that Don Iohn the Princes\nbrother was a villaine\n\n   Kemp. Write down, Prince Iohn a villaine: why this\nis flat periurie, to call a Princes brother villaine\n\n   Bora. Master Constable\n\n   Kemp. Pray thee fellow peace, I do not like thy looke\nI promise thee\n\n   Sexton. What heard you him say else?\n  Watch 2. Mary that he had receiued a thousand Dukates\nof Don Iohn, for accusing the Lady Hero wrongfully\n\n   Kemp. Flat Burglarie as euer was committed\n\n   Const. Yea by th' masse that it is\n\n   Sexton. What else fellow?\n  Watch 1. And that Count Claudio did meane vpon his\nwords, to disgrace Hero before the whole assembly, and\nnot marry her\n\n   Kemp. O villaine! thou wilt be condemn'd into euerlasting\nredemption for this\n\n   Sexton. What else?\n  Watch. This is all\n\n   Sexton. And this is more masters then you can deny,\nPrince Iohn is this morning secretly stolne away: Hero\nwas in this manner accus'd, in this very manner","question":"Scene 2.\n\nEnter the Constables, Borachio, and the Towne Clerke in gownes.\n\n  Keeper. Is our whole dissembly appeard?\n  Cowley. O a stoole and a cushion for the Sexton\n\n   Sexton. Which be the malefactors?\n  Andrew. Marry that am I, and my partner\n\n   Cowley. Nay that's certaine, wee haue the exhibition\nto examine\n\n   Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to be examined,\nlet them come before master Constable\n\n   Kemp. Yea marry, let them come before mee, what is\nyour name, friend?\n  Bor. Borachio\n\n   Kem. Pray write downe Borachio. Yours sirra\n\n   Con. I am a Gentleman sir, and my name is Conrade\n\n   Kee. Write downe Master gentleman Conrade: maisters,\ndoe you serue God: maisters, it is proued alreadie\nthat you are little better than false knaues, and it will goe\nneere to be thought so shortly, how answer you for your\nselues?\n  Con. Marry sir, we say we are none\n\n   Kemp. A maruellous witty fellow I assure you, but I\nwill goe about with him: come you hither sirra, a word\nin your eare sir, I say to you, it is thought you are false\nknaues\n\n   Bor. Sir, I"}
{"answer":"fool.\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Bah!  One finds battle-cry to lead th' assault!\n  I have a certain military wit,\n  But, before women, can but hold my tongue.\n  Their eyes!  True, when I pass, their eyes are kind. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  And, when you stay, their hearts, methinks, are kinder?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  No! for I am one of those men--tongue-tied,\n  I know it--who can never tell their love.\n\nCYRANO:\n  And I, meseems, had Nature been more kind,\n  More careful, when she fashioned me,--had been\n  One of those men who well could speak their love!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Oh, to express one's thoughts with facile grace!. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  . . .To be a musketeer, with handsome face!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Roxane is precieuse.  I'm sure to prove\n  A disappointment to her!\n\nCYRANO (looking at him):\n  Had I but\n  Such an interpreter to speak my soul!\n\nCHRISTIAN (with despair):\n  Eloquence!  Where to find it?\n\nCYRANO (abruptly):\n  That I lend,\n  If you lend me your handsome victor-charms;\n  Blended, we make a hero of romance!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  How so?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Think you you can repeat what things\n  I daily teach your tongue?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  What do you mean?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Roxane shall never have a disillusion!\n  Say, wilt thou that we woo her, double-handed?\n  Wilt thou that we two woo her, both together?\n  Feel'st thou, passing from my leather doublet,\n  Through thy laced doublet, all my soul inspiring?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  But, Cyrano!. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Will you,","question":"Cyrano, Christian.\n\nCYRANO:\n  Embrace me now!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Sir. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  You are brave.\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Oh! but. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Nay, I insist.\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Pray tell me. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Come, embrace!  I am her brother.\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Whose brother?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Hers i' faith!  Roxane's!\n\nCHRISTIAN (rushing up to him):\n  O heavens!\n  Her brother. . .?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Cousin--brother!. . .the same thing!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  And she has told you. . .?\n\nCYRANO:\n  All!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  She loves me? say!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Maybe!\n\nCHRISTIAN (taking his hands):\n  How glad I am to meet you, Sir!\n\nCYRANO:\n  That may be called a sudden sentiment!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  I ask your pardon. . .\n\nCYRANO (looking at him, with his hand on his shoulder):\n  True, he's fair, the villain!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Ah, Sir!  If you but knew my admiration!. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  But all those noses?. . .\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Oh!  I take them back!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Roxane expects a letter.\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Woe the day!\n\nCYRANO:\n  How?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  I am lost if I but ope my lips!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Why so?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  I am a fool--could die for shame!\n\nCYRANO:\n  None is a fool who knows himself a fool.\n  And you did not attack me like a"}
{"answer":"did not notice the heat,--though I was kept busy carrying water\nfor them,--and grandmother and Antonia had so much to do in the kitchen\nthat they could not have told whether one day was hotter than another.\nEach morning, while the dew was still on the grass, Antonia went with me\nup to the garden to get early vegetables for dinner. Grandmother made her\nwear a sunbonnet, but as soon as we reached the garden she threw it on the\ngrass and let her hair fly in the breeze. I remember how, as we bent over\nthe pea-vines, beads of perspiration used to gather on her upper lip like\na little mustache.\n\n\"Oh, better I like to work out of doors than in a house!\" she used to sing\njoyfully. \"I not care that your grandmother say it makes me like a man. I\nlike to be like a man.\" She would toss her head and ask me to feel the\nmuscles swell in her brown arm.\n\nWe were glad to have her in the house. She was so gay and responsive that\none did not mind her heavy, running step, or her clattery way with pans.\nGrandmother was in high spirits during the weeks that Antonia worked for\nus.\n\n\nAll the nights were close and hot during that harvest season. The\nharvesters slept in the hayloft because it was cooler there than in the\nhouse. I used to lie in my bed by the open window, watching the heat\nlightning play softly along the horizon, or looking up at the gaunt frame\nof the windmill against the blue night sky.","question":"\n\nJULY came on with that breathless, brilliant heat which makes the plains\nof Kansas and Nebraska the best corn country in the world. It seemed as if\nwe could hear the corn growing in the night; under the stars one caught a\nfaint crackling in the dewy, heavy-odored cornfields where the feathered\nstalks stood so juicy and green. If all the great plain from the Missouri\nto the Rocky Mountains had been under glass, and the heat regulated by a\nthermometer, it could not have been better for the yellow tassels that\nwere ripening and fertilizing each other day by day. The cornfields were\nfar apart in those times, with miles of wild grazing land between. It took\na clear, meditative eye like my grandfather's to foresee that they would\nenlarge and multiply until they would be, not the Shimerdas' cornfields,\nor Mr. Bushy's, but the world's cornfields; that their yield would be one\nof the great economic facts, like the wheat crop of Russia, which underlie\nall the activities of men, in peace or war.\n\nThe burning sun of those few weeks, with occasional rains at night,\nsecured the corn. After the milky ears were once formed, we had little to\nfear from dry weather. The men were working so hard in the wheatfields\nthat they"}
{"answer":"quite grateful\nto you if you will tell me how I can help to make things a little\nbetter.  Everything of that sort has slipped away from me since I have\nbeen married.  I mean,\" she said, after a moment's hesitation, \"that\nthe people in our village are tolerably comfortable, and my mind has\nbeen too much taken up for me to inquire further.  But here--in such a\nplace as Middlemarch--there must be a great deal to be done.\"\n\n\"There is everything to be done,\" said Lydgate, with abrupt energy.\n\"And this Hospital is a capital piece of work, due entirely to Mr.\nBulstrode's exertions, and in a great degree to his money.  But one man\ncan't do everything in a scheme of this sort.  Of course he looked\nforward to help.  And now there's a mean, petty feud set up against the\nthing in the town, by certain persons who want to make it a failure.\"\n\n\"What can be their reasons?\" said Dorothea, with naive surprise.\n\n\"Chiefly Mr. Bulstrode's unpopularity, to begin with.  Half the town\nwould almost take trouble for the sake of thwarting him.  In this\nstupid world most people never consider that a thing is good to be done\nunless it is done by their own set.  I had no connection with Bulstrode\nbefore I came here.  I look at him quite impartially, and I see that he\nhas some notions--that he has set things on foot--which I can turn to\ngood public purpose.  If a fair number of the better educated men went\nto work","question":"\n    I would not creep along the coast but steer\n    Out in mid-sea, by guidance of the stars.\n\n\nWhen Dorothea, walking round the laurel-planted plots of the New\nHospital with Lydgate, had learned from him that there were no signs of\nchange in Mr. Casaubon's bodily condition beyond the mental sign of\nanxiety to know the truth about his illness, she was silent for a few\nmoments, wondering whether she had said or done anything to rouse this\nnew anxiety.  Lydgate, not willing to let slip an opportunity of\nfurthering a favorite purpose, ventured to say--\n\n\"I don't know whether your or Mr.--Casaubon's attention has been drawn\nto the needs of our New Hospital.  Circumstances have made it seem\nrather egotistic in me to urge the subject; but that is not my fault:\nit is because there is a fight being made against it by the other\nmedical men.  I think you are generally interested in such things, for\nI remember that when I first had the pleasure of seeing you at Tipton\nGrange before your marriage, you were asking me some questions about\nthe way in which the health of the poor was affected by their miserable\nhousing.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed,\" said Dorothea, brightening.  \"I shall be"}
{"answer":"any one. Now she proposed to\nconsult a lawyer and hire a detective. She would find out at once just\nwhat advantages she could gain.\n\nHurstwood walked the floor, mentally arranging the chief points of\nhis situation. \"She has that property in her name,\" he kept saying to\nhimself. \"What a fool trick that was. Curse it! What a fool move that\nwas.\"\n\nHe also thought of his managerial position. \"If she raises a row now\nI'll lose this thing. They won't have me around if my name gets in the\npapers. My friends, too!\" He grew more angry as he thought of the talk\nany action on her part would create. How would the papers talk about it?\nEvery man he knew would be wondering. He would have to explain and deny\nand make a general mark of himself. Then Moy would come and confer with\nhim and there would be the devil to pay.\n\nMany little wrinkles gathered between his eyes as he contemplated this,\nand his brow moistened. He saw no solution of anything--not a loophole\nleft.\n\nThrough all this thoughts of Carrie flashed upon him, and the\napproaching affair of Saturday. Tangled as all his matters were, he did\nnot worry over that. It was the one pleasing thing in this whole rout of\ntrouble. He could arrange that satisfactorily, for Carrie would be glad\nto wait, if necessary. He would see how things turned out to-morrow, and\nthen he would talk to her. They were going to meet as usual. He saw only\nher pretty face and neat figure and wondered why life was not arranged\nso that such","question":"\n\nThat night Hurstwood remained down town entirely, going to the Palmer\nHouse for a bed after his work was through. He was in a fevered state of\nmind, owing to the blight his wife's action threatened to cast upon\nhis entire future. While he was not sure how much significance might be\nattached to the threat she had made, he was sure that her attitude, if\nlong continued, would cause him no end of trouble. She was determined,\nand had worsted him in a very important contest. How would it be from\nnow on? He walked the floor of his little office, and later that of his\nroom, putting one thing and another together to no avail.\n\nMrs. Hurstwood, on the contrary, had decided not to lose her advantage\nby inaction. Now that she had practically cowed him, she would follow up\nher work with demands, the acknowledgment of which would make her word\nLAW in the future. He would have to pay her the money which she would\nnow regularly demand or there would be trouble. It did not matter what\nhe did. She really did not care whether he came home any more or not.\nThe household would move along much more pleasantly without him, and she\ncould do as she wished without consulting"}
{"answer":"me ye'd--\"\n\nJimmie turned upon her fiercely as if resolved to make a last stand for\ncomfort and peace.\n\n\"Say, fer Gawd's sake, Hattie, don' foller me from one end of deh city\nteh deh odder.  Let up, will yehs!  Give me a minute's res', can't\nyehs?  Yehs makes me tired, allus taggin' me.  See?  Ain' yehs got no\nsense.  Do yehs want people teh get onto me?  Go chase yerself, fer\nGawd's sake.\"\n\nThe woman stepped closer and laid her fingers on his arm.  \"But,\nlook-a-here--\"\n\nJimmie snarled.  \"Oh, go teh hell.\"\n\nHe darted into the front door of a convenient saloon and a moment later\ncame out into the shadows that surrounded the side door.  On the\nbrilliantly lighted avenue he perceived the forlorn woman dodging about\nlike a scout.  Jimmie laughed with an air of relief and went away.\n\nWhen he arrived home he found his mother clamoring.  Maggie had\nreturned.  She stood shivering beneath the torrent of her mother's\nwrath.\n\n\"Well, I'm damned,\" said Jimmie in greeting.\n\nHis mother, tottering about the room, pointed a quivering forefinger.\n\n\"Lookut her, Jimmie, lookut her.  Dere's yer sister, boy.  Dere's yer\nsister.  Lookut her!  Lookut her!\"\n\nShe screamed in scoffing laughter.\n\nThe girl stood in the middle of the room.  She edged about as if unable\nto find a place on the floor to put her feet.\n\n\"Ha, ha, ha,\" bellowed the mother.  \"Dere she stands!  Ain' she purty?\nLookut her!  Ain' she sweet, deh beast?  Lookut her!  Ha, ha, lookut\nher!\"\n\nShe lurched","question":"\nA forlorn woman went along a lighted avenue.  The street was filled\nwith people desperately bound on missions.  An endless crowd darted at\nthe elevated station stairs and the horse cars were thronged with\nowners of bundles.\n\nThe pace of the forlorn woman was slow.  She was apparently searching\nfor some one.  She loitered near the doors of saloons and watched men\nemerge from them.  She scanned furtively the faces in the rushing\nstream of pedestrians.  Hurrying men, bent on catching some boat or\ntrain, jostled her elbows, failing to notice her, their thoughts fixed\non distant dinners.\n\nThe forlorn woman had a peculiar face.  Her smile was no smile.  But\nwhen in repose her features had a shadowy look that was like a sardonic\ngrin, as if some one had sketched with cruel forefinger indelible lines\nabout her mouth.\n\nJimmie came strolling up the avenue.  The woman encountered him with an\naggrieved air.\n\n\"Oh, Jimmie, I've been lookin' all over fer yehs--,\" she began.\n\nJimmie made an impatient gesture and quickened his pace.\n\n\"Ah, don't bodder me!  Good Gawd!\" he said, with the savageness of a\nman whose life is pestered.\n\nThe woman followed him along the sidewalk in somewhat the manner of a\nsuppliant.\n\n\"But, Jimmie,\" she said, \"yehs told"}
{"answer":"Weston had foreseen,\nbefore she had the power of forming some opinion of Frank Churchill's\nfeelings. The Enscombe family were not in town quite so soon as had been\nimagined, but he was at Highbury very soon afterwards. He rode down\nfor a couple of hours; he could not yet do more; but as he came from\nRandalls immediately to Hartfield, she could then exercise all her quick\nobservation, and speedily determine how he was influenced, and how she\nmust act. They met with the utmost friendliness. There could be no doubt\nof his great pleasure in seeing her. But she had an almost instant doubt\nof his caring for her as he had done, of his feeling the same tenderness\nin the same degree. She watched him well. It was a clear thing he was\nless in love than he had been. Absence, with the conviction probably\nof her indifference, had produced this very natural and very desirable\neffect.\n\nHe was in high spirits; as ready to talk and laugh as ever, and seemed\ndelighted to speak of his former visit, and recur to old stories: and he\nwas not without agitation. It was not in his calmness that she read\nhis comparative difference. He was not calm; his spirits were evidently\nfluttered; there was restlessness about him. Lively as he was, it seemed\na liveliness that did not satisfy himself; but what decided her belief\non the subject, was his staying only a quarter of an hour, and hurrying\naway to make other calls in Highbury. \"He had seen a group of old\nacquaintance in the street as he passed--he","question":"\n\nA very little quiet reflection was enough to satisfy Emma as to the\nnature of her agitation on hearing this news of Frank Churchill. She\nwas soon convinced that it was not for herself she was feeling at all\napprehensive or embarrassed; it was for him. Her own attachment had\nreally subsided into a mere nothing; it was not worth thinking of;--but\nif he, who had undoubtedly been always so much the most in love of the\ntwo, were to be returning with the same warmth of sentiment which he had\ntaken away, it would be very distressing. If a separation of two\nmonths should not have cooled him, there were dangers and evils before\nher:--caution for him and for herself would be necessary. She did\nnot mean to have her own affections entangled again, and it would be\nincumbent on her to avoid any encouragement of his.\n\nShe wished she might be able to keep him from an absolute declaration.\nThat would be so very painful a conclusion of their present\nacquaintance! and yet, she could not help rather anticipating something\ndecisive. She felt as if the spring would not pass without bringing a\ncrisis, an event, a something to alter her present composed and tranquil\nstate.\n\nIt was not very long, though rather longer than Mr."}
{"answer":"my Richard both in shape and minde\nTransform'd, and weaken'd? Hath Bullingbrooke\nDepos'd thine Intellect? hath he beene in thy Heart?\nThe Lyon dying, thrusteth forth his Paw,\nAnd wounds the Earth, if nothing else, with rage\nTo be o're-powr'd: and wilt thou, Pupill-like,\nTake thy Correction mildly, kisse the Rodde,\nAnd fawne on Rage with base Humilitie,\nWhich art a Lyon, and a King of Beasts?\n  Rich. A King of Beasts indeed: if aught but Beasts,\nI had beene still a happy King of Men.\nGood (sometime Queene) prepare thee hence for France:\nThinke I am dead, and that euen here thou tak'st,\nAs from my Death-bed, my last liuing leaue.\nIn Winters tedious Nights sit by the fire\nWith good old folkes, and let them tell thee Tales\nOf wofull Ages, long agoe betide:\nAnd ere thou bid good-night, to quit their griefe,\nTell thou the lamentable fall of me,\nAnd send the hearers weeping to their Beds:\nFor why? the sencelesse Brands will sympathize\nThe heauie accent of thy mouing Tongue,\nAnd in compassion, weepe the fire out:\nAnd some will mourne in ashes, some coale-black,\nFor the deposing of a rightfull King.\nEnter Northumberland.\n\n  North. My Lord, the mind of Bullingbrooke is chang'd.\nYou must to Pomfret, not vnto the Tower.\nAnd Madame, there is order ta'ne for you:\nWith all swift speed, you must away to France\n\n   Rich. Northumberland, thou Ladder wherewithall\nThe mounting Bullingbrooke ascends my Throne,\nThe time shall not be many houres of age,\nMore then it is, ere foule sinne, gathering head,\nShall breake into corruption: thou shalt thinke,\nThough he diuide the Realme, and giue thee halfe,\nIt is","question":"Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.\n\nEnter Queene, and Ladies.\n\n  Qu. This way the King will come: this is the way\nTo Iulius C\ufffdsars ill-erected Tower:\nTo whose flint Bosome, my condemned Lord\nIs doom'd a Prisoner, by prowd Bullingbrooke.\nHere let vs rest, if this rebellious Earth\nHaue any resting for her true Kings Queene.\nEnter Richard, and Guard.\n\nBut soft, but see, or rather doe not see,\nMy faire Rose wither: yet looke vp; behold,\nThat you in pittie may dissolue to dew,\nAnd wash him fresh againe with true-loue Teares.\nAh thou, the Modell where old Troy did stand,\nThou Mappe of Honor, thou King Richards Tombe,\nAnd not King Richard: thou most beauteous Inne,\nWhy should hard-fauor'd Griefe be lodg'd in thee,\nWhen Triumph is become an Ale-house Guest\n\n   Rich. Ioyne not with griefe, faire Woman, do not so,\nTo make my end too sudden: learne good Soule,\nTo thinke our former State a happie Dreame,\nFrom which awak'd, the truth of what we are,\nShewes vs but this. I am sworne Brother (Sweet)\nTo grim Necessitie; and hee and I\nWill keepe a League till Death. High thee to France,\nAnd Cloyster thee in some Religious House:\nOur holy liues must winne a new Worlds Crowne,\nWhich our prophane houres here haue stricken downe\n\n   Qu. What, is"}
{"answer":"accounted ill.\nThus will I save my credit in the shoot:\nNot wounding, pity would not let me do't;\nIf wounding, then it was to show my skill,\nThat more for praise than purpose meant to kill.\nAnd out of question so it is sometimes,\nGlory grows guilty of detested crimes,\nWhen, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part,\nWe bend to that the working of the heart;\nAs I for praise alone now seek to spill\nThe poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill.\n\nBOYET.\nDo not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty\nOnly for praise' sake, when they strive to be\nLords o'er their lords?\n\nPRINCESS.\nOnly for praise; and praise we may afford\nTo any lady that subdues a lord.\n\n[Enter COSTARD.]\n\nBOYET.\nHere comes a member of the commonwealth.\n\nCOSTARD.\nGod dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the head lady?\n\nPRINCESS.\nThou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads.\n\nCOSTARD.\nWhich is the greatest lady, the highest?\n\nPRINCESS.\nThe thickest and the tallest.\n\nCOSTARD.\nThe thickest and the tallest! It is so; truth is truth.\nAn your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit,\nOne o' these maids' girdles for your waist should be fit.\nAre not you the chief woman? You are the thickest here.\n\nPRINCESS.\nWhat's your will, sir? What's your will?\n\nCOSTARD.\nI have a letter from Monsieur Berowne to one Lady Rosaline.\n\nPRINCESS.\nO! thy letter, thy letter; he's a good friend of mine.\nStand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve;\nBreak up this capon.\n\nBOYET.\nI am bound to serve.\nThis letter is mistook; it importeth none here.\nIt is writ to Jaquenetta.\n\nPRINCESS.\nWe will read it, I swear.\nBreak the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.\n\nBOYET.\n","question":"ACT IV. SCENE I.\n\nThe King of Navarre's park.\n\n[Enter the PRINCESS, ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET, LORDS,\nATTENDANTS, and a FORESTER.\n\nPRINCESS.\nWas that the King that spurr'd his horse so hard\nAgainst the steep uprising of the hill?\n\nBOYET.\nI know not; but I think it was not he.\n\nPRINCESS.\nWhoe'er a' was, a' show'd a mounting mind.\nWell, lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch;\nOn Saturday we will return to France.\nThen, forester, my friend, where is the bush\nThat we must stand and play the murderer in?\n\nFORESTER.\nHereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice;\nA stand where you may make the fairest shoot.\n\nPRINCESS.\nI thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot,\nAnd thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoot.\n\nFORESTER.\nPardon me, madam, for I meant not so.\n\nPRINCESS.\nWhat, what? First praise me, and again say no?\nO short-liv'd pride! Not fair? Alack for woe!\n\nFORESTER.\nYes, madam, fair.\n\nPRINCESS.\nNay, never paint me now;\nWhere fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.\nHere, good my glass [Gives money]:--take this for telling true:\n\nFair payment for foul words is more than due.\n\nFORESTER.\nNothing but fair is that which you inherit.\n\nPRINCESS.\nSee, see! my beauty will be sav'd by merit.\nO heresy in fair, fit for these days!\nA giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.\nBut come, the bow: now mercy goes to kill,\nAnd shooting well is then"}
{"answer":"Chancellour, and Iohn Car,\n    Confessor to him, with that Diuell Monke,\n    Hopkins, that made this mischiefe\n\n    2. That was hee\n    That fed him with his Prophecies\n\n    1. The same,\n    All these accus'd him strongly, which he faine\n    Would haue flung from him; but indeed he could not;\n    And so his Peeres vpon this euidence,\n    Haue found him guilty of high Treason. Much\n    He spoke, and learnedly for life: But all\n    Was either pittied in him, or forgotten\n\n    2. After all this, how did he beare himselfe?\n    1. When he was brought agen to th' Bar, to heare\n    His Knell rung out, his Iudgement, he was stir'd\n    With such an Agony, he sweat extreamly,\n    And somthing spoke in choller, ill, and hasty:\n    But he fell to himselfe againe, and sweetly,\n    In all the rest shew'd a most Noble patience\n\n    2. I doe not thinke he feares death\n\n    1. Sure he does not,\n    He neuer was so womanish, the cause\n    He may a little grieue at\n\n    2. Certainly,\n    The Cardinall is the end of this\n\n    1. Tis","question":"Enter two Gentlemen at seuerall Doores.\n\n1. Whether away so fast?\n2. O, God saue ye:\nEu'n to the Hall, to heare what shall become\nOf the great Duke of Buckingham\n\n1. Ile saue you\nThat labour Sir. All's now done but the Ceremony\nOf bringing backe the Prisoner\n\n2. Were you there ?\n1. Yes indeed was I\n\n2. Pray speake what ha's happen'd\n\n1. You may guesse quickly what\n\n2. Is he found guilty?\n1. Yes truely is he,\n    And condemn'd vpon't\n\n    2. I am sorry fort\n\n    1. So are a number more\n\n    2. But pray how past it?\n    1. Ile tell you in a little. The great Duke\n    Came to the Bar; where, to his accusations\n    He pleaded still not guilty, and alleadged\n    Many sharpe reasons to defeat the Law.\n    The Kings Atturney on the contrary,\n    Vrg'd on the Examinations, proofes, confessions\n    Of diuers witnesses, which the Duke desir'd\n    To him brought viua voce to his face;\n    At which appear'd against him, his Surueyor\n    Sir Gilbert Pecke his"}
{"answer":"it by one of his friars.\n\nCYRANO:\n  Ay! by His Eminence Joseph himself.\n\nANOTHER:\n  I am as ravenous as an ogre!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Eat your patience, then.\n\nTHE FIRST CADET (shrugging his shoulders):\n  Always your pointed word!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Ay, pointed words!\n  I would fain die thus, some soft summer eve,\n  Making a pointed word for a good cause.\n  --To make a soldier's end by soldier's sword,\n  Wielded by some brave adversary--die\n  On blood-stained turf, not on a fever-bed,\n  A point upon my lips, a point within my heart.\n\nCRIES FROM ALL:\n  I'm hungry!\n\nCYRANO (crossing his arms):\n  All your thoughts of meat and drink!\n  Bertrand the fifer!--you were shepherd once,--\n  Draw from its double leathern case your fife,\n  Play to these greedy, guzzling soldiers.  Play\n  Old country airs with plaintive rhythm recurring,\n  Where lurk sweet echoes of the dear home-voices,\n  Each note of which calls like a little sister,\n  Those airs slow, slow ascending, as the smoke-wreaths\n  Rise from the hearthstones of our native hamlets,\n  Their music strikes the ear like Gascon patois!. . .\n(The old man seats himself, and gets his flute ready):\n  Your flute was now a warrior in durance;\n  But on its stem your fingers are a-dancing\n  A bird-like minuet!  O flute!  Remember\n  That flutes were made of reeds first, not laburnum;\n  Make us a music pastoral days recalling--\n  The soul-time of your youth,","question":"The SAME.  Cyrano.\n\nCYRANO (appearing from the tent, very calm, with a pen stuck behind his ear\nand a book in his hand):\n  What is wrong?\n(Silence.  To the first cadet):\n  Why drag you your legs so sorrowfully?\n\nTHE CADET:\n  I have something in my heels which weighs them down.\n\nCYRANO:\n  And what may that be?\n\nTHE CADET:\n  My stomach!\n\nCYRANO:\n  So have I, 'faith!\n\nTHE CADET:\n  It must be in your way?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Nay, I am all the taller.\n\nA THIRD:\n  My stomach's hollow.\n\nCYRANO:\n  'Faith, 'twill make a fine drum to sound the assault.\n\nANOTHER:\n  I have a ringing in my ears.\n\nCYRANO:\n  No, no, 'tis false; a hungry stomach has no ears.\n\nANOTHER:\n  Oh, to eat something--something oily!\n\nCYRANO (pulling off the cadet's helmet and holding it out to him):\n  Behold your salad!\n\nANOTHER:\n  What, in God's name, can we devour?\n\nCYRANO (throwing him the book which he is carrying):\n  The 'Iliad'.\n\nANOTHER:\n  The first minister in Paris has his four meals a day!\n\nCYRANO:\n  'Twere courteous an he sent you a few partridges!\n\nTHE SAME:\n  And why not? with wine, too!\n\nCYRANO:\n  A little Burgundy.  Richelieu, s'il vous plait!\n\nTHE SAME:\n  He could send"}
{"answer":"attraction. They\nconsist of companies of slaves from the plantations, generally of the lower\nclass. Two athletic men, in calico wrappers, have a net thrown over them,\ncovered with all manner of bright-colored stripes. Cows' tails are fastened\nto their backs, and their heads are decorated with horns. A box, covered\nwith sheepskin, is called the gumbo box. A dozen beat on this, while other\nstrike triangles and jawbones, to which bands of dancers keep time. For a\nmonth previous they are composing songs, which are sung on this occasion.\nThese companies, of a hundred each, turn out early in the morning, and are\nallowed to go round till twelve o'clock, begging for contributions. Not a\ndoor is left unvisited where there is the least chance of obtaining a penny\nor a glass of rum. They do not drink while they are out, but carry the rum\nhome in jugs, to have a carousal. These Christmas donations frequently\namount to twenty or thirty dollars. It is seldom that any white man or\nchild refuses to give them a trifle. If he does, they regale his ears with\nthe following song:--\n\n   Poor massa, so dey say;\n   Down in de heel, so dey say;\n   Got no money, so dey say;\n   Not one shillin, so dey say;\n   God A'mighty bress you, so dey say.\n\nChristmas is a day of feasting, both with white and colored people. Slaves,\nwho are lucky enough to have a few shillings, are sure to spend them for\ngood eating; and many a turkey and pig is","question":"\n\nChristmas was approaching. Grandmother brought me materials, and I busied\nmyself making some new garments and little playthings for my children. Were\nit not that hiring day is near at hand, and many families are fearfully\nlooking forward to the probability of separation in a few days, Christmas\nmight be a happy season for the poor slaves. Even slave mothers try to\ngladden the hearts of their little ones on that occasion. Benny and Ellen\nhad their Christmas stockings filled. Their imprisoned mother could not\nhave the privilege of witnessing their surprise and joy. But I had the\npleasure of peeping at them as they went into the street with their new\nsuits on. I heard Benny ask a little playmate whether Santa Claus brought\nhim any thing. \"Yes,\" replied the boy; \"but Santa Claus ain't a real man.\nIt's the children's mothers that put things into the stockings.\" \"No, that\ncan't be,\" replied Benny, \"for Santa Claus brought Ellen and me these new\nclothes, and my mother has been gone this long time.\"\n\nHow I longed to tell him that his mother made those garments, and that many\na tear fell on them while she worked!\n\nEvery child rises early on Christmas morning to see the Johnkannaus.\nWithout them, Christmas would be shorn of its greatest"}
{"answer":"was half-way\nopen; and sitting close beside it, taking the air with an\ninfinite sadness of mien, like some disconsolate prisoner,\nUtterson saw Dr. Jekyll.\n\n\"What! Jekyll!\" he cried. \"I trust you are better.\"\n\n\"I am very low, Utterson,\" replied the doctor, drearily, \"very\nlow. It will not last long, thank God.\"\n\n\"You stay too much indoors,\" said the lawyer. \"You should be out,\nwhipping up the circulation like Mr. Enfield and me. (This is my\n        cousin--Mr. Enfield--Dr. Jekyll.) Come, now; get your hat and\ntake a quick turn with us.\"\n\n\"You are very good,\" sighed the other. \"I should like to very\nmuch; but no, no, no, it is quite impossible; I dare not. But\nindeed, Utterson, I am very glad to see you; this is really a\ngreat pleasure; I would ask you and Mr. Enfield up, but the place\nis really not fit.\"\n\n\"Why then,\" said the lawyer, good-naturedly, \"the best thing we\ncan do is to stay down here and speak with you from where we\nare.\"\n\n\"That is just what I was about to venture to propose,\" returned\nthe doctor with a smile. But the words were hardly uttered,\nbefore the smile was struck out of his face and succeeded\n\n50)\n\nby an expression of such abject terror and despair, as froze the\nvery blood of the two gentlemen below. They saw it but for a\nglimpse, for the window was instantly thrust down; but that\nglimpse had been sufficient, and they turned and left the court\nwithout a word. In silence, too, they traversed the by-street;\nand it was not until they had come","question":"INCIDENT AT THE WINDOW\n\nIT chanced on Sunday, when Mr. Utterson was on his usual walk\nwith Mr. Enfield, that their way lay once again through the\nby-street; and that when they came in front of the door, both\nstopped to gaze on it.\n\n\"Well,\" said Enfield, \"that story's at an end at least. We shall\nnever see more of Mr. Hyde.\"\n\n\"I hope not,\" said Utterson. \"Did I ever tell you that I once saw\nhim, and shared your feeling of repulsion?\"\n\n\"It was impossible to do the one without the other,\" returned\nEnfield. \"And by the way, what an ass you must have thought me,\nnot to know that this was a back way to Dr. Jekyll's! It was\npartly your own fault that I found it out, even when I did.\"\n\n\"So you found it out, did you?\" said Utterson. \"But if that be\nso, we may step into the court and take a look at the windows. To\ntell you the truth, I am uneasy about poor Jekyll; and even\noutside, I feel as if the presence of a friend might do him\ngood.\"\n\n49)\n\nThe court was very cool and a little damp, and full of premature\ntwilight, although the sky, high up overhead, was still bright\nwith sunset. The middle one of the three windows"}
{"answer":"   I fear\n    'Tis deepest winter in Lord Timon's purse;\n    That is, one may reach deep enough and yet\n    Find little.\n  PHILOTUS. I am of your fear for that.\n  TITUS. I'll show you how t' observe a strange event.\n    Your lord sends now for money.\n  HORTENSIUS. Most true, he does.\n  TITUS. And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift,\n    For which I wait for money.\n  HORTENSIUS. It is against my heart.\n  LUCIUS' SERVANT. Mark how strange it shows\n    Timon in this should pay more than he owes;\n    And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels\n    And send for money for 'em.\n  HORTENSIUS. I'm weary of this charge, the gods can witness;\n    I know my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth,\n    And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth.\n  FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. Yes, mine's three thousand crowns;\nwhat's\n    yours?\n  LUCIUS' SERVANT. Five thousand mine.\n  FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. 'Tis much deep; and it should seem by\nth'\n      sum\n    Your master's confidence was above mine,\n    Else surely his had equall'd.\n\n                           Enter","question":"A hall in TIMON'S house\n\nEnter two Of VARRO'S MEN, meeting LUCIUS' SERVANT, and others,\nall being servants of TIMON's creditors, to wait for his coming\nout.\nThen enter TITUS and HORTENSIUS\n\n  FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. Well met; good morrow, Titus and\nHortensius.\n  TITUS. The like to you, kind Varro.\n  HORTENSIUS. Lucius! What, do we meet together?\n  LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ay, and I think one business does command us\nall;\n    for mine is money.\n  TITUS. So is theirs and ours.\n\n                          Enter PHILOTUS\n\n  LUCIUS' SERVANT. And Sir Philotus too!\n  PHILOTUS. Good day at once.\n  LUCIUS' SERVANT. welcome, good brother, what do you think the\nhour?\n  PHILOTUS. Labouring for nine.\n  LUCIUS' SERVANT. So much?\n  PHILOTUS. Is not my lord seen yet?\n  LUCIUS' SERVANT. Not yet.\n  PHILOTUS. I wonder on't; he was wont to shine at seven.\n  LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ay, but the days are wax'd shorter with him;\n    You must consider that a prodigal course\n    Is like the sun's, but not like his recoverable.\n"}
{"answer":"were at length destroyed by the\nSpaniards.\n\n\"More wise by far were the princes of their family, who remained in\ntheir native country; and they ordained, with the consent of the whole\nnation, that none of the inhabitants should ever be permitted to quit\nthis little kingdom; and this has preserved our innocence and happiness.\nThe Spaniards have had a confused notion of this country, and have\ncalled it _El Dorado_; and an Englishman, whose name was Sir Walter\nRaleigh, came very near it about a hundred years ago; but being\nsurrounded by inaccessible rocks and precipices, we have hitherto been\nsheltered from the rapaciousness of European nations, who have an\ninconceivable passion for the pebbles and dirt of our land, for the sake\nof which they would murder us to the last man.\"\n\nThe conversation was long: it turned chiefly on their form of\ngovernment, their manners, their women, their public entertainments,\nand the arts. At length Candide, having always had a taste for\nmetaphysics, made Cacambo ask whether there was any religion in that\ncountry.\n\nThe old man reddened a little.\n\n\"How then,\" said he, \"can you doubt it? Do you take us for ungrateful\nwretches?\"\n\nCacambo humbly asked, \"What was the religion in El Dorado?\"\n\nThe old man reddened again.\n\n\"Can there be two religions?\" said he. \"We have, I believe, the religion\nof all the world: we worship God night and morning.\"\n\n\"Do you worship but one God?\" said Cacambo, who still acted as\ninterpreter in representing Candide's doubts.\n\n\"Surely,\" said the old man, \"there are not two, nor three, nor four. I\nmust confess the people from your side of the world ask","question":"\nCacambo expressed his curiosity to the landlord, who made answer:\n\n\"I am very ignorant, but not the worse on that account. However, we have\nin this neighbourhood an old man retired from Court who is the most\nlearned and most communicative person in the kingdom.\"\n\nAt once he took Cacambo to the old man. Candide acted now only a second\ncharacter, and accompanied his valet. They entered a very plain house,\nfor the door was only of silver, and the ceilings were only of gold, but\nwrought in so elegant a taste as to vie with the richest. The\nantechamber, indeed, was only encrusted with rubies and emeralds, but\nthe order in which everything was arranged made amends for this great\nsimplicity.\n\nThe old man received the strangers on his sofa, which was stuffed with\nhumming-birds' feathers, and ordered his servants to present them with\nliqueurs in diamond goblets; after which he satisfied their curiosity\nin the following terms:\n\n\"I am now one hundred and seventy-two years old, and I learnt of my late\nfather, Master of the Horse to the King, the amazing revolutions of\nPeru, of which he had been an eyewitness. The kingdom we now inhabit is\nthe ancient country of the Incas, who quitted it very imprudently to\nconquer another part of the world, and"}
{"answer":"advantages of\nperfect beauty and merit, was in possession of an independent fortune,\nof so many thousands as would always be called ten; a point of some\ndignity, as well as some convenience: the story told well; he had not\nthrown himself away--he had gained a woman of 10,000 l. or thereabouts;\nand he had gained her with such delightful rapidity--the first hour of\nintroduction had been so very soon followed by distinguishing notice;\nthe history which he had to give Mrs. Cole of the rise and progress\nof the affair was so glorious--the steps so quick, from the accidental\nrencontre, to the dinner at Mr. Green's, and the party at Mrs.\nBrown's--smiles and blushes rising in importance--with consciousness and\nagitation richly scattered--the lady had been so easily impressed--so\nsweetly disposed--had in short, to use a most intelligible phrase,\nbeen so very ready to have him, that vanity and prudence were equally\ncontented.\n\nHe had caught both substance and shadow--both fortune and affection, and\nwas just the happy man he ought to be; talking only of himself and\nhis own concerns--expecting to be congratulated--ready to be laughed\nat--and, with cordial, fearless smiles, now addressing all the young\nladies of the place, to whom, a few weeks ago, he would have been more\ncautiously gallant.\n\nThe wedding was no distant event, as the parties had only themselves to\nplease, and nothing but the necessary preparations to wait for; and\nwhen he set out for Bath again, there was a general expectation, which\na certain glance of Mrs. Cole's did not seem to contradict, that when he\nnext entered Highbury he would bring his bride.\n\nDuring his present","question":"\n\nHuman nature is so well disposed towards those who are in interesting\nsituations, that a young person, who either marries or dies, is sure of\nbeing kindly spoken of.\n\nA week had not passed since Miss Hawkins's name was first mentioned in\nHighbury, before she was, by some means or other, discovered to have\nevery recommendation of person and mind; to be handsome, elegant, highly\naccomplished, and perfectly amiable: and when Mr. Elton himself arrived\nto triumph in his happy prospects, and circulate the fame of her merits,\nthere was very little more for him to do, than to tell her Christian\nname, and say whose music she principally played.\n\nMr. Elton returned, a very happy man. He had gone away rejected and\nmortified--disappointed in a very sanguine hope, after a series of what\nappeared to him strong encouragement; and not only losing the right\nlady, but finding himself debased to the level of a very wrong one. He\nhad gone away deeply offended--he came back engaged to another--and\nto another as superior, of course, to the first, as under such\ncircumstances what is gained always is to what is lost. He came back gay\nand self-satisfied, eager and busy, caring nothing for Miss Woodhouse,\nand defying Miss Smith.\n\nThe charming Augusta Hawkins, in addition to all the usual"}
{"answer":"loneliness more evident. Its rate\nof advance was slow, and the old man gained upon it sensibly.\n\nWhen he drew nearer he perceived it to be a spring van, ordinary in\nshape, but singular in colour, this being a lurid red. The driver walked\nbeside it; and, like his van, he was completely red. One dye of that\ntincture covered his clothes, the cap upon his head, his boots, his\nface, and his hands. He was not temporarily overlaid with the colour; it\npermeated him.\n\nThe old man knew the meaning of this. The traveller with the cart was a\nreddleman--a person whose vocation it was to supply farmers with redding\nfor their sheep. He was one of a class rapidly becoming extinct in\nWessex, filling at present in the rural world the place which, during\nthe last century, the dodo occupied in the world of animals. He is a\ncurious, interesting, and nearly perished link between obsolete forms of\nlife and those which generally prevail.\n\nThe decayed officer, by degrees, came up alongside his fellow-wayfarer,\nand wished him good evening. The reddleman turned his head, and replied\nin sad and occupied tones. He was young, and his face, if not exactly\nhandsome, approached so near to handsome that nobody would have\ncontradicted an assertion that it really was so in its natural colour.\nHis eye, which glared so strangely through his stain, was in itself\nattractive--keen as that of a bird of prey, and blue as autumn mist. He\nhad neither whisker nor moustache, which allowed the soft curves of the\nlower part of his face to be apparent. His lips were","question":"<CHAPTER>\n2--Humanity Appears upon the Scene, Hand in Hand with Trouble\n\n\nAlong the road walked an old man. He was white-headed as a mountain,\nbowed in the shoulders, and faded in general aspect. He wore a glazed\nhat, an ancient boat-cloak, and shoes; his brass buttons bearing an\nanchor upon their face. In his hand was a silver-headed walking stick,\nwhich he used as a veritable third leg, perseveringly dotting the ground\nwith its point at every few inches' interval. One would have said that\nhe had been, in his day, a naval officer of some sort or other.\n\nBefore him stretched the long, laborious road, dry, empty, and white.\nIt was quite open to the heath on each side, and bisected that vast dark\nsurface like the parting-line on a head of black hair, diminishing and\nbending away on the furthest horizon.\n\nThe old man frequently stretched his eyes ahead to gaze over the tract\nthat he had yet to traverse. At length he discerned, a long distance\nin front of him, a moving spot, which appeared to be a vehicle, and\nit proved to be going the same way as that in which he himself was\njourneying. It was the single atom of life that the scene contained, and\nit only served to render the general"}
{"answer":"Chancellour, and Iohn Car,\n    Confessor to him, with that Diuell Monke,\n    Hopkins, that made this mischiefe\n\n    2. That was hee\n    That fed him with his Prophecies\n\n    1. The same,\n    All these accus'd him strongly, which he faine\n    Would haue flung from him; but indeed he could not;\n    And so his Peeres vpon this euidence,\n    Haue found him guilty of high Treason. Much\n    He spoke, and learnedly for life: But all\n    Was either pittied in him, or forgotten\n\n    2. After all this, how did he beare himselfe?\n    1. When he was brought agen to th' Bar, to heare\n    His Knell rung out, his Iudgement, he was stir'd\n    With such an Agony, he sweat extreamly,\n    And somthing spoke in choller, ill, and hasty:\n    But he fell to himselfe againe, and sweetly,\n    In all the rest shew'd a most Noble patience\n\n    2. I doe not thinke he feares death\n\n    1. Sure he does not,\n    He neuer was so womanish, the cause\n    He may a little grieue at\n\n    2. Certainly,\n    The Cardinall is the end of this\n\n    1. Tis","question":"Enter two Gentlemen at seuerall Doores.\n\n1. Whether away so fast?\n2. O, God saue ye:\nEu'n to the Hall, to heare what shall become\nOf the great Duke of Buckingham\n\n1. Ile saue you\nThat labour Sir. All's now done but the Ceremony\nOf bringing backe the Prisoner\n\n2. Were you there ?\n1. Yes indeed was I\n\n2. Pray speake what ha's happen'd\n\n1. You may guesse quickly what\n\n2. Is he found guilty?\n1. Yes truely is he,\n    And condemn'd vpon't\n\n    2. I am sorry fort\n\n    1. So are a number more\n\n    2. But pray how past it?\n    1. Ile tell you in a little. The great Duke\n    Came to the Bar; where, to his accusations\n    He pleaded still not guilty, and alleadged\n    Many sharpe reasons to defeat the Law.\n    The Kings Atturney on the contrary,\n    Vrg'd on the Examinations, proofes, confessions\n    Of diuers witnesses, which the Duke desir'd\n    To him brought viua voce to his face;\n    At which appear'd against him, his Surueyor\n    Sir Gilbert Pecke his"}
{"answer":"impulse, I\nfound myself catching them up and pressing them to my heart. As soon as\nI had done so I used to say to myself: \"What will they think of that?\nDoesn't it betray too much?\" It would have been easy to get into a sad,\nwild tangle about how much I might betray; but the real account, I feel,\nof the hours of peace that I could still enjoy was that the immediate\ncharm of my companions was a beguilement still effective even under the\nshadow of the possibility that it was studied. For if it occurred to me\nthat I might occasionally excite suspicion by the little outbreaks of my\nsharper passion for them, so too I remember wondering if I mightn't see\na queerness in the traceable increase of their own demonstrations.\n\nThey were at this period extravagantly and preternaturally fond of me;\nwhich, after all, I could reflect, was no more than a graceful response\nin children perpetually bowed over and hugged. The homage of which they\nwere so lavish succeeded, in truth, for my nerves, quite as well as if\nI never appeared to myself, as I may say, literally to catch them at a\npurpose in it. They had never, I think, wanted to do so many things for\ntheir poor protectress; I mean--though they got their lessons better and\nbetter, which was naturally what would please her most--in the way of\ndiverting, entertaining, surprising her; reading her passages, telling\nher stories, acting her charades, pouncing out at her, in disguises, as\nanimals and historical characters, and above all astonishing her by the\n\"pieces\" they","question":"I waited and waited, and the days, as they elapsed, took something from\nmy consternation. A very few of them, in fact, passing, in constant\nsight of my pupils, without a fresh incident, sufficed to give to\ngrievous fancies and even to odious memories a kind of brush of the\nsponge. I have spoken of the surrender to their extraordinary childish\ngrace as a thing I could actively cultivate, and it may be imagined if\nI neglected now to address myself to this source for whatever it\nwould yield. Stranger than I can express, certainly, was the effort to\nstruggle against my new lights; it would doubtless have been, however,\na greater tension still had it not been so frequently successful. I\nused to wonder how my little charges could help guessing that I thought\nstrange things about them; and the circumstances that these things only\nmade them more interesting was not by itself a direct aid to keeping\nthem in the dark. I trembled lest they should see that they WERE so\nimmensely more interesting. Putting things at the worst, at all events,\nas in meditation I so often did, any clouding of their innocence could\nonly be--blameless and foredoomed as they were--a reason the more for\ntaking risks. There were moments when, by an irresistible"}
{"answer":"his arms.\n\n\"Farewell, dear darling of my soul. My parting blessing on my love. We\nshall meet again, where the weary are at rest!\"\n\nThey were her husband's words, as he held her to his bosom.\n\n\"I can bear it, dear Charles. I am supported from above: don't suffer\nfor me. A parting blessing for our child.\"\n\n\"I send it to her by you. I kiss her by you. I say farewell to her by\nyou.\"\n\n\"My husband. No! A moment!\" He was tearing himself apart from her.\n\"We shall not be separated long. I feel that this will break my heart\nby-and-bye; but I will do my duty while I can, and when I leave her, God\nwill raise up friends for her, as He did for me.\"\n\nHer father had followed her, and would have fallen on his knees to both\nof them, but that Darnay put out a hand and seized him, crying:\n\n\"No, no! What have you done, what have you done, that you should kneel\nto us! We know now, what a struggle you made of old. We know, now what\nyou underwent when you suspected my descent, and when you knew it. We\nknow now, the natural antipathy you strove against, and conquered, for\nher dear sake. We thank you with all our hearts, and all our love and\nduty. Heaven be with you!\"\n\nHer father's only answer was to draw his hands through his white hair,\nand wring them with a shriek of anguish.\n\n\"It could not be otherwise,\" said the prisoner. \"All things have worked\ntogether as they have fallen out. It was the always-vain","question":"XI. Dusk\n\n\nThe wretched wife of the innocent man thus doomed to die, fell under\nthe sentence, as if she had been mortally stricken. But, she uttered no\nsound; and so strong was the voice within her, representing that it was\nshe of all the world who must uphold him in his misery and not augment\nit, that it quickly raised her, even from that shock.\n\nThe Judges having to take part in a public demonstration out of doors,\nthe Tribunal adjourned. The quick noise and movement of the court's\nemptying itself by many passages had not ceased, when Lucie stood\nstretching out her arms towards her husband, with nothing in her face\nbut love and consolation.\n\n\"If I might touch him! If I might embrace him once! O, good citizens, if\nyou would have so much compassion for us!\"\n\nThere was but a gaoler left, along with two of the four men who had\ntaken him last night, and Barsad. The people had all poured out to the\nshow in the streets. Barsad proposed to the rest, \"Let her embrace\nhim then; it is but a moment.\" It was silently acquiesced in, and they\npassed her over the seats in the hall to a raised place, where he, by\nleaning over the dock, could fold her in"}
{"answer":"be a good\nand an expressly religious design, it would be the curious coincidence\nthat it has been brought to its climax in these pages, in the days of\nthe public examination of late Directors of a Royal British Bank. But,\n    I submit myself to suffer judgment to go by default on all these counts,\n    if need be, and to accept the assurance (on good authority) that nothing\n    like them was ever known in this land.\n\n    Some of my readers may have an interest in being informed whether or no\n    any portions of the Marshalsea Prison are yet standing. I did not know,\n    myself, until the sixth of this present month, when I went to look. I\n    found the outer front courtyard, often mentioned here, metamorphosed\n    into a butter shop; and I then almost gave up every brick of the jail\n    for lost. Wandering, however, down a certain adjacent 'Angel Court,\n    leading to Bermondsey', I came to 'Marshalsea Place:' the houses in\n    which I recognised, not only as the great block of the former prison,\n    but as preserving the rooms that arose in my mind's-eye when I became\n    Little Dorrit's biographer. The smallest boy I ever conversed with,\n    carrying the largest baby I ever saw, offered a supernaturally\n   ","question":"I have been occupied with this story, during many working hours of two\nyears. I must have been very ill employed, if I could not leave its\nmerits and demerits as a whole, to express themselves on its being read\nas a whole. But, as it is not unreasonable to suppose that I may have\nheld its threads with a more continuous attention than anyone else can\nhave given them during its desultory publication, it is not unreasonable\nto ask that the weaving may be looked at in its completed state, and\nwith the pattern finished.\n\nIf I might offer any apology for so exaggerated a fiction as the\nBarnacles and the Circumlocution Office, I would seek it in the\ncommon experience of an Englishman, without presuming to mention the\nunimportant fact of my having done that violence to good manners, in the\ndays of a Russian war, and of a Court of Inquiry at Chelsea. If I might\nmake so bold as to defend that extravagant conception, Mr Merdle, I\nwould hint that it originated after the Railroad-share epoch, in the\ntimes of a certain Irish bank, and of one or two other equally\nlaudable enterprises. If I were to plead anything in mitigation of the\npreposterous fancy that a bad design will sometimes claim to"}
{"answer":"remember them. I hope it may be taken into account one day,\nwhen all days are at an end for me! Don't be alarmed; I am not going to\npreach.\"\n\n\"I am not at all alarmed. Earnestness in you, is anything but alarming\nto me.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said Carton, with a careless wave of his hand, as if he waved that\naway. \"On the drunken occasion in question (one of a large number, as\nyou know), I was insufferable about liking you, and not liking you. I\nwish you would forget it.\"\n\n\"I forgot it long ago.\"\n\n\"Fashion of speech again! But, Mr. Darnay, oblivion is not so easy to\nme, as you represent it to be to you. I have by no means forgotten it,\nand a light answer does not help me to forget it.\"\n\n\"If it was a light answer,\" returned Darnay, \"I beg your forgiveness\nfor it. I had no other object than to turn a slight thing, which, to my\nsurprise, seems to trouble you too much, aside. I declare to you, on the\nfaith of a gentleman, that I have long dismissed it from my mind. Good\nHeaven, what was there to dismiss! Have I had nothing more important to\nremember, in the great service you rendered me that day?\"\n\n\"As to the great service,\" said Carton, \"I am bound to avow to you, when\nyou speak of it in that way, that it was mere professional claptrap, I\ndon't know that I cared what became of you, when I rendered it.--Mind! I\nsay when I rendered it; I am speaking of the past.\"\n\n\"You make light of","question":"XX. A Plea\n\n\nWhen the newly-married pair came home, the first person who appeared, to\noffer his congratulations, was Sydney Carton. They had not been at home\nmany hours, when he presented himself. He was not improved in habits, or\nin looks, or in manner; but there was a certain rugged air of fidelity\nabout him, which was new to the observation of Charles Darnay.\n\nHe watched his opportunity of taking Darnay aside into a window, and of\nspeaking to him when no one overheard.\n\n\"Mr. Darnay,\" said Carton, \"I wish we might be friends.\"\n\n\"We are already friends, I hope.\"\n\n\"You are good enough to say so, as a fashion of speech; but, I don't\nmean any fashion of speech. Indeed, when I say I wish we might be\nfriends, I scarcely mean quite that, either.\"\n\nCharles Darnay--as was natural--asked him, in all good-humour and\ngood-fellowship, what he did mean?\n\n\"Upon my life,\" said Carton, smiling, \"I find that easier to comprehend\nin my own mind, than to convey to yours. However, let me try. You\nremember a certain famous occasion when I was more drunk than--than\nusual?\"\n\n\"I remember a certain famous occasion when you forced me to confess that\nyou had been drinking.\"\n\n\"I remember it too. The curse of those occasions is heavy upon me, for I\nalways"}
{"answer":"Lear. Prythee go in thy selfe, seeke thine owne ease,\nThis tempest will not giue me leaue to ponder\nOn things would hurt me more, but Ile goe in,\nIn Boy, go first. You houselesse pouertie,\nEnter.\n\nNay get thee in; Ile pray, and then Ile sleepe.\nPoore naked wretches, where so ere you are\nThat bide the pelting of this pittilesse storme,\nHow shall your House-lesse heads, and vnfed sides,\nYour lop'd, and window'd raggednesse defend you\nFrom seasons such as these? O I haue tane\nToo little care of this: Take Physicke, Pompe,\nExpose thy selfe to feele what wretches feele,\nThat thou maist shake the superflux to them,\nAnd shew the Heauens more iust.\nEnter Edgar, and Foole.\n\n  Edg. Fathom, and halfe, Fathom and halfe; poore Tom\n\n   Foole. Come not in heere Nuncle, here's a spirit, helpe\nme, helpe me\n\n   Kent. Giue my thy hand, who's there?\n  Foole. A spirite, a spirite, he sayes his name's poore\nTom\n\n   Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there i'th'\nstraw? Come forth\n\n   Edg. Away, the foule Fiend followes me, through the\nsharpe Hauthorne blow the windes. Humh, goe to thy\nbed and warme thee\n\n   Lear. Did'st thou giue all to thy Daughters? And art\nthou come to this?\n  Edgar. Who giues any thing to poore Tom? Whom\nthe foule fiend hath led through Fire, and through Flame,\nthrough Sword, and Whirle-Poole, o're Bog, and Quagmire,\nthat hath laid Kniues vnder his Pillow, and Halters\nin his Pue, set Rats-bane by his Porredge, made him\nProud of heart, to ride on a Bay","question":"Scena Quarta.\n\n\nEnter Lear, Kent, and Foole.\n\n  Kent. Here is the place my Lord, good my Lord enter,\nThe tirrany of the open night's too rough\nFor Nature to endure.\n\nStorme still\n\n  Lear. Let me alone\n\n   Kent. Good my Lord enter heere\n\n   Lear. Wilt breake my heart?\n  Kent. I had rather breake mine owne,\nGood my Lord enter\n\n   Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storme\nInuades vs to the skin so: 'tis to thee,\nBut where the greater malady is fixt,\nThe lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a Beare,\nBut if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea,\nThou'dst meete the Beare i'th' mouth, when the mind's free,\nThe bodies delicate: the tempest in my mind,\nDoth from my sences take all feeling else,\nSaue what beates there, Filliall ingratitude,\nIs it not as this mouth should teare this hand\nFor lifting food too't? But I will punish home;\nNo, I will weepe no more; in such a night,\nTo shut me out? Poure on, I will endure:\nIn such a night as this? O Regan, Gonerill,\nYour old kind Father, whose franke heart gaue all,\nO that way madnesse lies, let me shun that:\nNo more of that\n\n   Kent. Good my Lord enter here\n\n  "}
{"answer":"see me\nwhen you return.  But, to speak seriously, Harry; has any communication\nfrom the great nobs produced this sudden anxiety on your part to be\ngone?'\n\n'The great nobs,' replied Harry, 'under which designation, I presume,\nyou include my most stately uncle, have not communicated with me at\nall, since I have been here; nor, at this time of the year, is it\nlikely that anything would occur to render necessary my immediate\nattendance among them.'\n\n'Well,' said the doctor, 'you are a queer fellow.  But of course they\nwill get you into parliament at the election before Christmas, and\nthese sudden shiftings and changes are no bad preparation for political\nlife.  There's something in that.  Good training is always desirable,\nwhether the race be for place, cup, or sweepstakes.'\n\nHarry Maylie looked as if he could have followed up this short dialogue\nby one or two remarks that would have staggered the doctor not a\nlittle; but he contented himself with saying, 'We shall see,' and\npursued the subject no farther.  The post-chaise drove up to the door\nshortly afterwards; and Giles coming in for the luggage, the good\ndoctor bustled out, to see it packed.\n\n'Oliver,' said Harry Maylie, in a low voice, 'let me speak a word with\nyou.'\n\nOliver walked into the window-recess to which Mr. Maylie beckoned him;\nmuch surprised at the mixture of sadness and boisterous spirits, which\nhis whole behaviour displayed.\n\n'You can write well now?' said Harry, laying his hand upon his arm.\n\n'I hope so, sir,' replied Oliver.\n\n'I shall not be at home again, perhaps for some time; I wish you","question":"\n'And so you are resolved to be my travelling companion this morning;\neh?' said the doctor, as Harry Maylie joined him and Oliver at the\nbreakfast-table.  'Why, you are not in the same mind or intention two\nhalf-hours together!'\n\n'You will tell me a different tale one of these days,' said Harry,\ncolouring without any perceptible reason.\n\n'I hope I may have good cause to do so,' replied Mr. Losberne; 'though\nI confess I don't think I shall.  But yesterday morning you had made up\nyour mind, in a great hurry, to stay here, and to accompany your\nmother, like a dutiful son, to the sea-side. Before noon, you announce\nthat you are going to do me the honour of accompanying me as far as I\ngo, on your road to London.  And at night, you urge me, with great\nmystery, to start before the ladies are stirring; the consequence of\nwhich is, that young Oliver here is pinned down to his breakfast when\nhe ought to be ranging the meadows after botanical phenomena of all\nkinds. Too bad, isn't it, Oliver?'\n\n'I should have been very sorry not to have been at home when you and\nMr. Maylie went away, sir,' rejoined Oliver.\n\n'That's a fine fellow,' said the doctor; 'you shall come and"}
{"answer":"showing him a crumpled letter):\n  This letter warns me. . .that a hundred men. . .\n  Revenge that threatens me. . .that song, you know--\n  At the Porte de Nesle.  To get to my own house\n  I must pass there. . .I dare not!. . .Give me leave\n  To sleep to-night beneath your roof!  Allow. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  A hundred men?  You'll sleep in your own bed!\n\nLIGNIERE (frightened):\n  But--\n\nCYRANO (in a terrible voice, showing him the lighted lantern held by the\nporter, who is listening curiously):\n  Take the lantern.\n(Ligniere seizes it):\n  Let us start!  I swear\n  That I will make your bed to-night myself!\n(To the officers):\n  Follow; some stay behind, as witnesses!\n\nCUIGY:\n  A hundred!. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Less, to-night--would be too few!\n\n(The actors and actresses, in their costumes, have come down from the stage,\nand are listening.)\n\nLE BRET:\n  But why embroil yourself?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Le Bret who scolds!\n\nLE BRET:\n  That worthless drunkard!--\n\nCYRANO (slapping Ligniere on the shoulder):\n  Wherefore?  For this cause;--\n  This wine-barrel, this cask of Burgundy,\n  Did, on a day, an action full of grace;\n  As he was leaving church, he saw his love\n  Take holy water--he, who is affeared\n  At water's taste, ran quickly to the stoup,\n  And drank it all, to the last drop!. . .\n\nAN ACTRESS:\n  Indeed, that was a graceful thing!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Ay, was it not?\n\nTHE ACTRESS (to the others):\n  But","question":"Cyrano, Le Bret.  Then actors, actresses, Cuigy, Brissaille, Ligniere, the\nporter, the violinists.\n\nCYRANO (falling into Le Bret's arms):\n  A rendezvous. . .from her!. . .\n\nLE BRET:\n  You're sad no more!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Ah!  Let the world go burn!  She knows I live!\n\nLE BRET:\n  Now you'll be calm, I hope?\n\nCYRANO (beside himself for joy):\n  Calm?  I now calm?\n  I'll be frenetic, frantic,--raving mad!\n  Oh, for an army to attack!--a host!\n  I've ten hearts in my breast; a score of arms;\n  No dwarfs to cleave in twain!. . .\n(Wildly):\n  No!  Giants now!\n\n(For a few moments the shadows of the actors have been moving on the stage,\nwhispers are heard--the rehearsal is beginning.  The violinists are in their\nplaces.)\n\nA VOICE FROM THE STAGE:\n  Hollo there!  Silence!  We rehearse!\n\nCYRANO (laughing):\n  We go!\n\n(He moves away.  By the big door enter Cuigy, Brissaille, and some officers,\nholding up Ligniere, who is drunk.)\n\nCUIGY:\n  Cyrano!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Well, what now?\n\nCUIGY:\n  A lusty thrush\n  They're bringing you!\n\nCYRANO (recognizing him):\n  Ligniere!. . .What has chanced?\n\nCUIGY:\n  He seeks you!\n\nBRISSAILLE:\n  He dare not go home!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Why not?\n\nLIGNIERE (in a husky voice,"}
{"answer":"lie, that is, all this penitence,\nthis emotion, these vows of reform.  You will ask why did I worry\nmyself with such antics: answer, because it was very dull to sit with\none's hands folded, and so one began cutting capers.  That is really\nit.  Observe yourselves more carefully, gentlemen, then you will\nunderstand that it is so. I invented adventures for myself and made up\na life, so as at least to live in some way.  How many times it has\nhappened to me--well, for instance, to take offence simply on purpose,\nfor nothing; and one knows oneself, of course, that one is offended at\nnothing; that one is putting it on, but yet one brings oneself at last\nto the point of being really offended. All my life I have had an\nimpulse to play such pranks, so that in the end I could not control it\nin myself.  Another time, twice, in fact, I tried hard to be in love.\nI suffered, too, gentlemen, I assure you.  In the depth of my heart\nthere was no faith in my suffering, only a faint stir of mockery, but\nyet I did suffer, and in the real, orthodox way; I was jealous, beside\nmyself ... and it was all from ENNUI, gentlemen, all from ENNUI;\ninertia overcame me.  You know the direct, legitimate fruit of\nconsciousness is inertia, that is, conscious\nsitting-with-the-hands-folded.  I have referred to this already.  I\nrepeat, I repeat with emphasis: all \"direct\" persons and men of action\nare active just because they are stupid and limited. ","question":"\nCome, can a man who attempts to find enjoyment in the very feeling of\nhis own degradation possibly have a spark of respect for himself?  I am\nnot saying this now from any mawkish kind of remorse.  And, indeed, I\ncould never endure saying, \"Forgive me, Papa, I won't do it again,\" not\nbecause I am incapable of saying that--on the contrary, perhaps just\nbecause I have been too capable of it, and in what a way, too.  As\nthough of design I used to get into trouble in cases when I was not to\nblame in any way.  That was the nastiest part of it.  At the same time\nI was genuinely touched and penitent, I used to shed tears and, of\ncourse, deceived myself, though I was not acting in the least and there\nwas a sick feeling in my heart at the time....  For that one could not\nblame even the laws of nature, though the laws of nature have\ncontinually all my life offended me more than anything.  It is\nloathsome to remember it all, but it was loathsome even then.  Of\ncourse, a minute or so later I would realise wrathfully that it was all\na lie, a revolting lie, an affected"}
{"answer":"water-pipes or\nthe door-bell and take the clock to pieces, she seemed to think him a sort\nof prince. Nothing that Charley wanted was too much trouble for her. She\nloved to put up lunches for him when he went hunting, to mend his\nball-gloves and sew buttons on his shooting-coat, baked the kind of\nnut-cake he liked, and fed his setter dog when he was away on trips with\nhis father. Antonia had made herself cloth working-slippers out of Mr.\nHarling's old coats, and in these she went padding about after Charley,\nfairly panting with eagerness to please him.\n\nNext to Charley, I think she loved Nina best. Nina was only six, and she\nwas rather more complex than the other children. She was fanciful, had all\nsorts of unspoken preferences, and was easily offended. At the slightest\ndisappointment or displeasure her velvety brown eyes filled with tears,\nand she would lift her chin and walk silently away. If we ran after her\nand tried to appease her, it did no good. She walked on unmollified. I\nused to think that no eyes in the world could grow so large or hold so\nmany tears as Nina's. Mrs. Harling and Antonia invariably took her part.\nWe were never given a chance to explain. The charge was simply: \"You have\nmade Nina cry. Now, Jimmy can go home, and Sally must get her arithmetic.\"\nI liked Nina, too; she was so quaint and unexpected, and her eyes were\nlovely; but I often wanted to shake her.\n\nWe had jolly evenings at the Harlings when the father was away. If he was\nat","question":"\n\nON Saturday Ambrosch drove up to the back gate, and Antonia jumped down\nfrom the wagon and ran into our kitchen just as she used to do. She was\nwearing shoes and stockings, and was breathless and excited. She gave me a\nplayful shake by the shoulders. \"You ain't forget about me, Jim?\"\n\nGrandmother kissed her. \"God bless you, child! Now you've come, you must\ntry to do right and be a credit to us.\"\n\nAntonia looked eagerly about the house and admired everything. \"Maybe I be\nthe kind of girl you like better, now I come to town,\" she suggested\nhopefully.\n\nHow good it was to have Antonia near us again; to see her every day and\nalmost every night! Her greatest fault, Mrs. Harling found, was that she\nso often stopped her work and fell to playing with the children. She would\nrace about the orchard with us, or take sides in our hay-fights in the\nbarn, or be the old bear that came down from the mountain and carried off\nNina. Tony learned English so quickly that by the time school began she\ncould speak as well as any of us.\n\nI was jealous of Tony's admiration for Charley Harling. Because he was\nalways first in his classes at school, and could mend the"}
{"answer":"leave the city, Mr. Lorry\nwent out in quest of such a lodging, and found a suitable one, high up\nin a removed by-street where the closed blinds in all the other windows\nof a high melancholy square of buildings marked deserted homes.\n\nTo this lodging he at once removed Lucie and her child, and Miss Pross:\ngiving them what comfort he could, and much more than he had himself.\nHe left Jerry with them, as a figure to fill a doorway that would bear\nconsiderable knocking on the head, and returned to his own occupations.\nA disturbed and doleful mind he brought to bear upon them, and slowly\nand heavily the day lagged on with him.\n\nIt wore itself out, and wore him out with it, until the Bank closed. He\nwas again alone in his room of the previous night, considering what to\ndo next, when he heard a foot upon the stair. In a few moments, a\nman stood in his presence, who, with a keenly observant look at him,\naddressed him by his name.\n\n\"Your servant,\" said Mr. Lorry. \"Do you know me?\"\n\nHe was a strongly made man with dark curling hair, from forty-five\nto fifty years of age. For answer he repeated, without any change of\nemphasis, the words:\n\n\"Do you know me?\"\n\n\"I have seen you somewhere.\"\n\n\"Perhaps at my wine-shop?\"\n\nMuch interested and agitated, Mr. Lorry said: \"You come from Doctor\nManette?\"\n\n\"Yes. I come from Doctor Manette.\"\n\n\"And what says he? What does he send me?\"\n\nDefarge gave into his anxious hand, an open scrap of paper. It bore the\nwords in the Doctor's writing:\n\n   ","question":"III. The Shadow\n\n\nOne of the first considerations which arose in the business mind of Mr.\nLorry when business hours came round, was this:--that he had no right to\nimperil Tellson's by sheltering the wife of an emigrant prisoner under\nthe Bank roof. His own possessions, safety, life, he would have hazarded\nfor Lucie and her child, without a moment's demur; but the great trust\nhe held was not his own, and as to that business charge he was a strict\nman of business.\n\nAt first, his mind reverted to Defarge, and he thought of finding out\nthe wine-shop again and taking counsel with its master in reference to\nthe safest dwelling-place in the distracted state of the city. But, the\nsame consideration that suggested him, repudiated him; he lived in the\nmost violent Quarter, and doubtless was influential there, and deep in\nits dangerous workings.\n\nNoon coming, and the Doctor not returning, and every minute's delay\ntending to compromise Tellson's, Mr. Lorry advised with Lucie. She said\nthat her father had spoken of hiring a lodging for a short term, in that\nQuarter, near the Banking-house. As there was no business objection to\nthis, and as he foresaw that even if it were all well with Charles, and\nhe were to be released, he could not hope to"}
{"answer":"and to\nmiss me.\n\nLE BRET:\n  This passes all!  To take letters at each day's dawn.  To risk. . .\n\nCYRANO (stopping before Christian):\n  I promised he should write often.\n(He looks at him):\n  He sleeps.  How pale he is!  But how handsome still, despite his sufferings.\nIf his poor little lady-love knew that he is dying of hunger. . .\n\nLE BRET:\n  Get you quick to bed.\n\nCYRANO:\n  Nay, never scold, Le Bret.  I ran but little risk.  I have found me a spot\nto pass the Spanish lines, where each night they lie drunk.\n\nLE BRET:\n  You should try to bring us back provision.\n\nCYRANO:\n  A man must carry no weight who would get by there!  But there will be\nsurprise for us this night.  The French will eat or die. . .if I mistake not!\n\nLE BRET:\n  Oh!. . .tell me!. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Nay, not yet.  I am not certain. . .You will see!\n\nCARBON:\n  It is disgraceful that we should starve while we're besieging!\n\nLE BRET:\n  Alas, how full of complication is this siege of Arras!  To think that while\nwe are besieging, we should ourselves be caught in a trap and besieged by the\nCardinal Infante of Spain.\n\nCYRANO:\n  It were well done if he should be besieged in his turn.\n\nLE BRET:\n  I am in earnest.\n\nCYRANO:\n  Oh! indeed!\n\nLE BRET:\n  To think you risk a life so precious. . .for the sake of a letter. .\n.Thankless one.\n(Seeing him","question":"Christian, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, Le Bret, the cadets, then Cyrano.\n\nLE BRET:\n  'Tis terrible.\n\nCARBON:\n  Not a morsel left.\n\nLE BRET:\n  Mordioux!\n\nCARBON (making a sign that he should speak lower):\n  Curse under your breath.  You will awake them.\n(To the cadets):\n  Hush!  Sleep on.\n(To Le Bret):\n  He who sleeps, dines!\n\nLE BRET:\n  But that is sorry comfort for the sleepless!. . .\n  What starvation!\n\n(Firing is heard in the distance.)\n\nCARBON:\n  Oh, plague take their firing!  'Twill wake my sons.\n(To the cadets, who lift up their heads):\n  Sleep on!\n\n(Firing is again heard, nearer this time.)\n\nA CADET (moving):\n  The devil!. . .Again.\n\nCARBON:\n  'Tis nothing!  'Tis Cyrano coming back!\n\n(Those who have lifted up their heads prepare to sleep again.)\n\nA SENTINEL (from without):\n  Ventrebieu!  Who goes there?\n\nTHE VOICE Of CYRANO:\n  Bergerac.\n\nThe SENTINEL (who is on the redoubt):\n  Ventrebieu!  Who goes there?\n\nCYRANO (appearing at the top):\n  Bergerac, idiot!\n\n(He comes down; Le Bret advances anxiously to meet him.)\n\nLE BRET:\n  Heavens!\n\nCYRANO (making signs that he should not awake the others):\n  Hush!\n\nLE BRET:\n  Wounded?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Oh! you know it has become their custom to shoot at me every morning"}
{"answer":"we walked\ndown to the theater. The weather was warm and sultry and put us both in a\nholiday humor. We arrived early, because Lena liked to watch the people\ncome in. There was a note on the programme, saying that the \"incidental\nmusic\" would be from the opera \"Traviata,\" which was made from the same\nstory as the play. We had neither of us read the play, and we did not know\nwhat it was about--though I seemed to remember having heard it was a piece\nin which great actresses shone. \"The Count of Monte Cristo,\" which I had\nseen James O'Neill play that winter, was by the only Alexandre Dumas I\nknew. This play, I saw, was by his son, and I expected a family\nresemblance. A couple of jack-rabbits, run in off the prairie, could not\nhave been more innocent of what awaited them than were Lena and I.\n\nOur excitement began with the rise of the curtain, when the moody\nVarville, seated before the fire, interrogated Nanine. Decidedly, there\nwas a new tang about this dialogue. I had never heard in the theater lines\nthat were alive, that presupposed and took for granted, like those which\npassed between Varville and Marguerite in the brief encounter before her\nfriends entered. This introduced the most brilliant, worldly, the most\nenchantingly gay scene I had ever looked upon. I had never seen champagne\nbottles opened on the stage before--indeed, I had never seen them opened\nanywhere. The memory of that supper makes me hungry now; the sight of it\nthen, when I had only a students' boarding-house dinner behind me,","question":"\n\nIN Lincoln the best part of the theatrical season came late, when the good\ncompanies stopped off there for one-night stands, after their long runs in\nNew York and Chicago. That spring Lena went with me to see Joseph\nJefferson in \"Rip Van Winkle,\" and to a war play called \"Shenandoah.\" She\nwas inflexible about paying for her own seat; said she was in business\nnow, and she would n't have a schoolboy spending his money on her. I liked\nto watch a play with Lena; everything was wonderful to her, and everything\nwas true. It was like going to revival meetings with some one who was\nalways being converted. She handed her feelings over to the actors with a\nkind of fatalistic resignation. Accessories of costume and scene meant\nmuch more to her than to me. She sat entranced through \"Robin Hood\" and\nhung upon the lips of the contralto who sang, \"Oh, Promise Me!\"\n\nToward the end of April, the billboards, which I watched anxiously in\nthose days, bloomed out one morning with gleaming white posters on which\ntwo names were impressively printed in blue Gothic letters: the name of an\nactress of whom I had often heard, and the name \"Camille.\"\n\nI called at the Raleigh Block for Lena on Saturday evening, and"}
{"answer":"whose age was half her own. Clever talk alarmed\nher, and withered her delicate imaginings; it was the social counterpart\nof a motor-car, all jerks, and she was a wisp of hay, a flower. Twice\nshe deplored the weather, twice criticised the train service on the\nGreat Northern Railway. They vigorously assented, and rushed on, and\nwhen she inquired whether there was any news of Helen, her hostess was\ntoo much occupied in placing Rothenstein to answer. The question was\nrepeated: \"I hope that your sister is safe in Germany by now.\" Margaret\nchecked herself and said, \"Yes, thank you; I heard on Tuesday.\" But the\ndemon of vociferation was in her, and the next moment she was off again.\n\n\"Only on Tuesday, for they live right away at Stettin. Did you ever know\nany one living at Stettin?\"\n\n\"Never,\" said Mrs. Wilcox gravely, while her neighbour, a young man low\ndown in the Education Office, began to discuss what people who lived\nat Stettin ought to look like. Was there such a thing as Stettininity?\nMargaret swept on.\n\n\"People at Stettin drop things into boats out of overhanging warehouses.\nAt least, our cousins do, but aren't particularly rich. The town isn't\ninteresting, except for a clock that rolls its eyes, and the view of the\nOder, which truly is something special. Oh, Mrs. Wilcox, you would\nlove the Oder! The river, or rather rivers--there seem to be dozens\nof them--are intense blue, and the plain they run through an intensest\ngreen.\"\n\n\"Indeed! That sounds like a most beautiful view, Miss Schlegel.\"\n\n\"So I say, but Helen, who will muddle things, says no, it's","question":"\nMrs. Wilcox cannot be accused of giving Margaret much information about\nlife. And Margaret, on the other hand, has made a fair show of modesty,\nand has pretended to an inexperience that she certainly did not feel.\nShe had kept house for over ten years; she had entertained, almost with\ndistinction; she had brought up a charming sister, and was bringing up\na brother. Surely, if experience is attainable, she had attained it. Yet\nthe little luncheon-party that she gave in Mrs. Wilcox's honour was not\na success. The new friend did not blend with the \"one or two delightful\npeople\" who had been asked to meet her, and the atmosphere was one of\npolite bewilderment. Her tastes were simple, her knowledge of culture\nslight, and she was not interested in the New English Art Club, nor in\nthe dividing-line between Journalism and Literature, which was started\nas a conversational hare. The delightful people darted after it with\ncries of joy, Margaret leading them, and not till the meal was half\nover did they realise that the principal guest had taken no part in the\nchase. There was no common topic. Mrs. Wilcox, whose life had been spent\nin the service of husband and sons, had little to say to strangers who\nhad never shared it, and"}
{"answer":"Our army's in the field;\n    We never yet made doubt but Rome was ready\n    To answer us.\n  AUFIDIUS. Nor did you think it folly\n    To keep your great pretences veil'd till when\n    They needs must show themselves; which in the hatching,\n    It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery\n    We shall be short'ned in our aim, which was\n    To take in many towns ere almost Rome\n    Should know we were afoot.\n  SECOND SENATOR. Noble Aufidius,\n    Take your commission; hie you to your bands;\n    Let us alone to guard Corioli.\n    If they set down before's, for the remove\n    Bring up your army; but I think you'll find\n    Th' have not prepar'd for us.\n  AUFIDIUS. O, doubt not that!\n    I speak from certainties. Nay more,\n    Some parcels of their power are forth already,\n    And only hitherward. I leave your honours.\n    If we and Caius Marcius chance to meet,\n    'Tis sworn between us we shall ever strike\n    Till one can do no more.\n  ALL. The gods assist you!\n  AUFIDIUS. And keep your honours safe!\n  FIRST SENATOR. Farewell.\n  SECOND SENATOR. Farewell.\n  ALL. Farewell.      ","question":"SCENE II.\nCorioli. The Senate House.\n\nEnter TULLUS AUFIDIUS with SENATORS of Corioli\n\n  FIRST SENATOR. So, your opinion is, Aufidius,\n    That they of Rome are ent'red in our counsels\n    And know how we proceed.\n  AUFIDIUS. Is it not yours?\n    What ever have been thought on in this state\n    That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome\n    Had circumvention? 'Tis not four days gone\n    Since I heard thence; these are the words- I think\n    I have the letter here; yes, here it is:\n    [Reads]  'They have press'd a power, but it is not known\n    Whether for east or west. The dearth is great;\n    The people mutinous; and it is rumour'd,\n    Cominius, Marcius your old enemy,\n    Who is of Rome worse hated than of you,\n    And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman,\n    These three lead on this preparation\n    Whither 'tis bent. Most likely 'tis for you;\n    Consider of it.'\n  FIRST SENATOR."}
{"answer":"'tis to tell you we will go:\nTherefore we meete not now. Then let me heare\nOf you my gentle Cousin Westmerland,\nWhat yesternight our Councell did decree,\nIn forwarding this deere expedience\n\n   West. My Liege: This haste was hot in question,\nAnd many limits of the Charge set downe\nBut yesternight: when all athwart there came\nA Post from Wales, loaden with heauy Newes;\nWhose worst was, That the Noble Mortimer,\nLeading the men of Herefordshire to fight\nAgainst the irregular and wilde Glendower,\nWas by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,\nAnd a thousand of his people butchered:\nVpon whose dead corpes there was such misuse,\nSuch beastly, shamelesse transformation,\nBy those Welshwomen done, as may not be\n(Without much shame) re-told or spoken of\n\n   King. It seemes then, that the tidings of this broile,\nBrake off our businesse for the Holy land\n\n   West. This matcht with other like, my gracious Lord,\nFarre more vneuen and vnwelcome Newes\nCame from the North, and thus it did report:\nOn Holy-roode day, the gallant Hotspurre there,\nYoung Harry Percy, and braue Archibald,\nThat euer-valiant and approoued Scot,\nAt Holmeden met, where they did spend\nA sad and bloody houre:\nAs by discharge of their Artillerie,\nAnd shape of likely-hood the newes was told:\nFor he that brought them, in the very heate\nAnd pride of their contention, did take horse,\nVncertaine of the issue any way\n\n   King. Heere is a deere and true industrious friend,\nSir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his Horse,\nStrain'd with the variation of each soyle,\nBetwixt that Holmedon, and this Seat of ours:\nAnd he hath brought vs smooth","question":"Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.\n\n\nEnter the King, Lord Iohn of Lancaster, Earle of Westmerland,\nwith\nothers.\n\n  King. So shaken as we are, so wan with care,\nFinde we a time for frighted Peace to pant,\nAnd breath shortwinded accents of new broils\nTo be commenc'd in Stronds a-farre remote:\nNo more the thirsty entrance of this Soile,\nShall daube her lippes with her owne childrens blood:\nNo more shall trenching Warre channell her fields,\nNor bruise her Flowrets with the Armed hoofes\nOf hostile paces. Those opposed eyes,\nWhich like the Meteors of a troubled Heauen,\nAll of one Nature, of one Substance bred,\nDid lately meete in the intestine shocke,\nAnd furious cloze of ciuill Butchery,\nShall now in mutuall well-beseeming rankes\nMarch all one way, and be no more oppos'd\nAgainst Acquaintance, Kindred, and Allies.\nThe edge of Warre, like an ill-sheathed knife,\nNo more shall cut his Master. Therefore Friends,\nAs farre as to the Sepulcher of Christ,\nWhose Souldier now vnder whose blessed Crosse\nWe are impressed and ingag'd to fight,\nForthwith a power of English shall we leuie,\nWhose armes were moulded in their Mothers wombe,\nTo chace these Pagans in those holy Fields,\nOuer whose Acres walk'd those blessed feete\nWhich fourteene hundred yeares ago were nail'd\nFor our aduantage on the bitter Crosse.\nBut this our purpose is a tweluemonth old,\nAnd bootlesse"}
{"answer":"or\nadvanced life, think that it will kill them. The actual results,\nhowever, are found to be most satisfactory, as the percentage of\nsuccesses is found to be 50 per cent, after a year in the Home and\nthree years' subsequent supervision. I was told that a while ago, Sir\nThomas Barlow, the well-known physician, challenged this statement. He\nwas asked to see for himself, he examined a number of the patients,\ninspected the books and records, and finally satisfied himself that it\nwas absolutely correct.\n\nThe Army attaches much importance to what may be called the after-care\nof the cases, for the lack of which so many people who pass through\nHomes and then return to ordinary life, break down, and become,\nperhaps, worse than they were before. The seven devils of Scripture\nare always ready to re-occupy the swept and garnished soul, especially\nif they be the devils of drink.\n\nMoreover, the experience of the Army is that relatives and friends are\nextraordinarily thoughtless in this matter. Often enough they will, as\nit were, thrust spirituous liquors down the throat of the\nnewly-reformed drunkard, or at the least will pass them before their\neyes and drink them in their presence as usual, with results that may\nbe imagined. One taste and in four cases out of six the thing is done.\nThe old longings awake again and must be satisfied.\n\nFor these reasons the highly-skilled Officers of the Salvation Army\nhold that reclaimed inebriates should be safeguarded, watched, and, so\nfar as the circumstances may allow, kept under the influences that\nhave brought about their partial recovery. They say that they owe much\nof","question":"THE INEBRIATES' HOME SPRINGFIELD LODGE, DENMARK HILL.\n\nThis house, which has a fine garden attached, was a gentleman's\nresidence purchased by the Salvation Army, to serve as an Inebriates'\nHome for the better class of patients. With the exception of a few who\ngive their services in connexion with the work of the place as a\nreturn for their treatment, it is really a Home for gentlefolk. When I\nvisited it, some of the inmates, of whom there are usually from\ntwenty-five to thirty, were talented ladies who could speak several\nlanguages, or paint, or play very well. All these came here to be\ncured of the drink or drug habit. The fee for the course ranges from a\nguinea to 10_s_. per week, according to the ability of the patient to\npay, but some who lack this ability pay nothing at all.\n\nThe lady in charge remarked drily on this point, that many people\nseemed to think that as the place belonged to the Salvation Army it\ndid not matter if they paid or not. As is the practice at Hillsborough\nHouse, a vegetarian diet is insisted upon as a condition of\nthe patient receiving treatment at the Home. Often this is a cause of\nmuch remonstrance, as the inmates, who are mostly persons in middle"}
{"answer":"furnishing its own buildings.\n\nHere it may be stated that these complaints seem to be unreasonable.\nThe men employed have almost without exception been taken off the\nstreets to save them from starvation or the poorhouse. Often enough\nthey are by no means competent at their work, while some of them have\nfor the time being been rendered practically useless through the\neffects of drink or other debaucheries. Yet it is argued with violence\nthat to such people, whom no business firm would employ upon any\nterms, the Army ought to pay the full Trade Union rate of wages. When\nevery allowance is made for the great and urgent problems connected\nwith the cruel practice of 'sweating,' surely this attitude throws a\nstrange light upon some of the methods of the Trade Unions?\n\nThe inference seems to be that they would prefer that these derelicts\nshould come on the rates or starve rather than that the Army should\nhouse and feed them, giving them, in addition, such wage as their\nlabour may be worth. Further comment seems to be needless, especially\nwhen I repeat that, as I am assured, this Hanbury Street Institution\nnever has earned, and does not now earn, the cost of its upkeep.\n\nIt is situated in the heart of a very poor district, and is rather a\nramshackle place to look at, but still quite suitable to its purposes.\nI have observed that one of the characteristics of the Salvation Army\nis that it never spends unnecessary money upon buildings. If it can\nbuy a good house or other suitable structure cheap it does so. If it\ncannot, it","question":"THE MEN'S WORKSHOP HANBURY STREET, WHITECHAPEL\n\nThis Salvation Army carpentering and joinery shop has been in\nexistence for about fifteen years, but it does not even now pay its\nway. It was started by the Army in order to assist fallen mechanics by\ngiving them temporary work until they could find other situations.\n\nThe manager informed me that at the beginning they found work for\nabout thirty men. When I visited the place some fifty hands were\nemployed--bricklayers, painters, joiners, etc., none of whom need stop\nan hour longer than they choose. From 100 to 150 men pass through this\nWorkshop in a year, but many of them being elderly and therefore\nunable to obtain work elsewhere, stop for a long while, as the Army\ncannot well get rid of them. All of these folk arrive in a state of\nabsolute destitution, having even sold their tools, the last\npossessions with which a competent workman parts.\n\nThe Parliamentary Committee of the Labour Party and the Trade Unions\nhave recently stirred up a great agitation, which has been widely\nreported in the Press, against the Hanbury Street Workshop, because\nthe Army does not pay the Union rate of wages. As a result the Army\nnow declines all outside contracts, and confines its operations to the\nwork of erecting, repairing, or"}
{"answer":"not the truth in saying that!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Did you see my nose quiver when I spoke?  'Faith, it must have been a\nmonstrous lie that should move it!\n(Changing his tone):\n  I wait some one here.  Leave us alone, and disturb us for naught an it were\nnot for crack of doom!\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  But 'tis impossible; my poets are coming. . .\n\nLISE (ironically):\n  Oh, ay, for their first meal o' the day!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Prythee, take them aside when I shall make you sign to do so. . .What's\no'clock?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Ten minutes after six.\n\nCYRANO (nervously seating himself at Ragueneau's table, and drawing some paper\ntoward him):\n  A pen!. . .\n\nRAGUENEAU (giving him the one from behind his ear):\n  Here--a swan's quill.\n\nA MUSKETEER (with fierce mustache, enters, and in a stentorian voice):\n  Good-day!\n\n(Lise goes up to him quickly.)\n\nCYRANO (turning round):\n  Who's that?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  'Tis a friend of my wife--a terrible warrior--at least so says he himself.\n\nCYRANO (taking up the pen, and motioning Ragueneau away):\n  Hush!\n(To himself):\n  I will write, fold it, give it her, and fly!\n(Throws down the pen):\n  Coward!. . .But strike me dead if I dare to speak to her,. . .ay, even one\nsingle word!\n(To Ragueneau):\n  What time is it?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  A quarter after six!. . .\n\nCYRANO (striking his breast):\n  Ay--a single word of all those here! here!  But writing, 'tis easier done. .\n.\n(He takes up the pen):\n  Go to, I will write it, that love-letter!  Oh! ","question":"Ragueneau, Lise, Cyrano, then the musketeer.\n\nCYRANO:\n  What's o'clock?\n\nRAGUENEAU (bowing low):\n  Six o'clock.\n\nCYRANO (with emotion):\n  In one hour's time!\n\n(He paces up and down the shop.)\n\nRAGUENEAU (following him):\n  Bravo!  I saw. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Well, what saw you, then?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Your combat!. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Which?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  That in the Burgundy Hotel, 'faith!\n\nCYRANO (contemptuously):\n  Ah!. . .the duel!\n\nRAGUENEAU (admiringly):\n  Ay! the duel in verse!. . .\n\nLISE:\n  He can talk of naught else!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Well!  Good! let be!\n\nRAGUENEAU (making passes with a spit that he catches up):\n  'At the envoi's end, I touch!. . .At the envoi's end, I touch!'. . .'Tis\nfine, fine!\n(With increasing enthusiasm):\n  'At the envoi's end--'\n\nCYRANO:\n  What hour is it now, Ragueneau?\n\nRAGUENEAU (stopping short in the act of thrusting to look at the clock):\n  Five minutes after six!. . .'I touch!'\n(He straightens himself):\n  . . .Oh! to write a ballade!\n\nLISE (to Cyrano, who, as he passes by the counter, has absently shaken hands\nwith her):\n  What's wrong with your hand?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Naught; a slight cut.\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Have you been in some danger?\n\nCYRANO:\n  None in the world.\n\nLISE (shaking her finger at him):\n  Methinks you speak"}
{"answer":"me, I could bear without a murmur; it was the\nhorror I had upon my mind of falling from the crosstree into that still,\ngreen water beside the body of the coxswain.\n\nI clung with both hands till my nails ached, and I shut my eyes as if to\ncover up the peril. Gradually my mind came back again, my pulses\nquieted down to a more natural time, and I was once more in possession\nof myself.\n\nIt was my first thought to pluck forth the dirk; but either it stuck too\nhard or my nerve failed me, and I desisted with a violent shudder. Oddly\nenough, that very shudder did the business. The knife, in fact, had come\nthe nearest in the world to missing me altogether; it held me by a mere\npinch of skin, and this the shudder tore away. The blood ran down the\nfaster, to be sure, but I was my own master again, and only tacked to\nthe mast by my coat and shirt.\n\nThese last I broke through with a sudden jerk, and then regained the\ndeck by the starboard shrouds. For nothing in the world would I have\nagain ventured, shaken as I was, upon the overhanging port shrouds, from\nwhich Israel had so lately fallen.\n\nI went below and did what I could for my wound; it pained me a good\ndeal, and still bled freely, but it was neither deep nor dangerous, nor\ndid it greatly gall me when I used my arm. Then I looked around me, and\nas the ship was now, in a sense, my own, I began","question":"\n\"PIECES OF EIGHT\"\n\n\nOwing to the cant of the vessel, the masts hung far out over the water,\nand from my perch on the crosstrees I had nothing below me but the\nsurface of the bay. Hands, who was not so far up, was, in consequence,\nnearer to the ship, and fell between me and the bulwarks. He rose once\nto the surface in a lather of foam and blood, and then sank again for\ngood. As the water settled, I could see him lying huddled together on\nthe clean, bright sand in the shadow of the vessel's sides. A fish or\ntwo whipped past his body. Sometimes, by the quivering of the water, he\nappeared to move a little, as if he were trying to rise. But he was dead\nenough, for all that, being both shot and drowned, and was food for fish\nin the very place where he had designed my slaughter.\n\nI was no sooner certain of this than I began to feel sick, faint, and\nterrified. The hot blood was running over my back and chest. The dirk,\nwhere it had pinned my shoulder to the mast, seemed to burn like a hot\niron; yet it was not so much these real sufferings that distressed me,\nfor these, it seemed to"}
{"answer":"MARQUIS:\n  Madame de Guemenee.\n\nCUIGY:\n  Madame de Bois-Dauphin.\n\nFIRST MARQUIS:\n  Adored by us all!\n\nBRISSAILLE:\n  Madame de Chavigny. . .\n\nSECOND MARQUIS:\n  Who sports with our poor hearts!. . .\n\nLIGNIERE:\n  Ha! so Monsieur de Corneille has come back from Rouen!\n\nTHE YOUNG MAN (to his father):\n  Is the Academy here?\n\nTHE BURGHER:\n  Oh, ay, I see several of them.  There is Boudu, Boissat,\nand Cureau de la Chambre, Porcheres, Colomby, Bourzeys,\nBourdon, Arbaud. . .all names that will live!  'Tis fine!\n\nFIRST MARQUIS:\n  Attention!  Here come our precieuses; Barthenoide, Urimedonte, Cassandace,\nFelixerie. . .\n\nSECOND MARQUIS:\n  Ah!  How exquisite their fancy names are!  Do you know them all, Marquis?\n\nFIRST MARQUIS:\n  Ay, Marquis, I do, every one!\n\nLIGNIERE (drawing Christian aside):\n  Friend, I but came here to give you pleasure.  The lady comes not.  I will\nbetake me again to my pet vice.\n\nCHRISTIAN (persuasively):\n  No, no!  You, who are ballad-maker to Court and City alike, can tell me\nbetter than any who the lady is for whom I die of love.  Stay yet awhile.\n\nTHE FIRST VIOLIN (striking his bow on the desk):\n  Gentlemen violinists!\n\n(He raises his bow.)\n\nTHE BUFFET-GIRL:\n  Macaroons, lemon-drink. . .\n\n(The violins begin to play.)\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Ah!  I fear me she is coquettish, and over nice and fastidious!\nI, who am so poor of wit, how dare I speak to her--how address her?\nThis language that they speak to-day--ay, and write--confounds me;\nI am but an honest soldier, and timid withal. ","question":"The same.  Christian, Ligniere, then Ragueneau and Le Bret.\n\nCUIGY:\n  Ligniere!\n\nBRISSAILLE (laughing):\n  Not drunk as yet?\n\nLIGNIERE (aside to Christian):\n  I may introduce you?\n(Christian nods in assent):\n  Baron de Neuvillette.\n\n(Bows.)\n\nTHE AUDIENCE (applauding as the first luster is lighted and drawn up):\n  Ah!\n\nCUIGY (to Brissaille, looking at Christian):\n  'Tis a pretty fellow!\n\nFIRST MARQUIS (who has overheard):\n  Pooh!\n\nLIGNIERE (introducing them to Christian):\n  My lords De Cuigy.  De Brissaille. . .\n\nCHRISTIAN (bowing):\n  Delighted!. . .\n\nFIRST MARQUIS (to second):\n  He is not ill to look at, but certes, he is not costumed in the latest mode.\n\nLIGNIERE (to Cuigy):\n  This gentleman comes from Touraine.\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Yes, I have scarce been twenty days in Paris; tomorrow I join the Guards, in\nthe Cadets.\n\nFIRST MARQUIS (watching the people who are coming into the boxes):\n  There is the wife of the Chief-Justice.\n\nTHE BUFFET-GIRL:\n  Oranges, milk. . .\n\nTHE VIOLINISTS (tuning up):\n  La--la--\n\nCUIGY (to Christian, pointing to the hall, which is filling fast):\n  'Tis crowded.\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Yes, indeed.\n\nFIRST MARQUIS:\n  All the great world!\n\n(They recognize and name the different elegantly dressed ladies who enter the\nboxes, bowing low to them.  The ladies send smiles in answer.)\n\nSECOND"}
{"answer":"be thou sure,\n    When he shall come to his account, he knows not\n    What I can urge against him. Although it seems,\n    And so he thinks, and is no less apparent\n    To th' vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly\n    And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state,\n    Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon\n    As draw his sword; yet he hath left undone\n    That which shall break his neck or hazard mine\n    Whene'er we come to our account.\n  LIEUTENANT. Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry Rome?\n  AUFIDIUS. All places yield to him ere he sits down,\n    And the nobility of Rome are his;\n    The senators and patricians love him too.\n    The tribunes are no soldiers, and their people\n    Will be as rash in the repeal as hasty\n    To expel him thence. I think he'll be to Rome\n    As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it\n    By sovereignty of nature. First he was\n    A noble servant to them, but he could not\n    Carry his honours even. Whether 'twas pride,\n    Which out of daily fortune ever taints\n    The happy man; whether defect of judgment,\n","question":"SCENE VII.\nA camp at a short distance from Rome\n\nEnter AUFIDIUS with his LIEUTENANT\n\n  AUFIDIUS. Do they still fly to th' Roman?\n  LIEUTENANT. I do not know what witchcraft's in him, but\n    Your soldiers use him as the grace fore meat,\n    Their talk at table, and their thanks at end;\n    And you are dark'ned in this action, sir,\n    Even by your own.\n  AUFIDIUS. I cannot help it now,\n    Unless by using means I lame the foot\n    Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier,\n    Even to my person, than I thought he would\n    When first I did embrace him; yet his nature\n    In that's no changeling, and I must excuse\n    What cannot be amended.\n  LIEUTENANT. Yet I wish, sir-\n    I mean, for your particular- you had not\n    Join'd in commission with him, but either\n    Had borne the action of yourself, or else\n    To him had left it solely.\n  AUFIDIUS. I understand thee well; and"}
{"answer":"the cost of\ninterest and maintenance.\n\nThe object of this and similar Shelters is to afford to men upon the\nverge of destitution the choice between such accommodation as is here\nprovided and the common lodging-house, known as a 'kip house,' or the\ncasual ward of a workhouse. Those who avail themselves of these\nShelters belong, speaking generally, to the destitute or nearly\ndestitute classes. They are harbours of refuge for the unfortunates\nwho find themselves on the streets of London at nightfall with a few\ncoppers or some other small sum in their pockets. Many of these social\nwrecks have sunk through drink, but many others owe their sad position\nto lack or loss of employment, or to some other misfortune.\n\nFor an extra charge of 1d. the inmates are provided with a good\nsupper, consisting of a pint of soup and a large piece of bread, or of\nbread and jam and tea, or of potato-pie. A second penny supplies them\nwith breakfast on the following morning, consisting of bread and\nporridge or of bread and fish, with tea or coffee.\n\nThe dormitories, both of the fivepenny class on the ground floor and\nof the threepenny class upstairs, are kept scrupulously sweet and\nclean, and attached to them are lavatories and baths. These lavatories\ncontain a great number of brown earthenware basins fitted with taps.\nReceptacles are provided, also, where the inmates can wash their\nclothes and have them dried by means of an ingenious electrical\ncontrivance and hot air, capable of thoroughly drying any ordinary\ngarment in twenty minutes while its owner takes a bath.\n\nThe man in charge of this apparatus","question":"MEN'S SOCIAL WORK, LONDON\n\n\n\nTHE MIDDLESEX STREET SHELTER\n\nThe first of the London Institutions of the Salvation Army which I\nvisited was that known as the Middlesex Street Shelter and Working\nMen's Home, which is at present under the supervision of Commissioner\nSturgess. This building consists of six floors, and contains sleeping\naccommodation for 462 men. It has been at work since the year 1906,\nwhen it was acquired by the Army with the help of that well-known\nphilanthropist, the late Mr. George Herring.\n\nOf the 462 men accommodated daily, 311 pay 3d. for their night's\nlodging, and the remainder 5d. The threepenny charge entitles the\ntenant to the use of a bunk bedstead with sheets and an American cloth\ncover. If the extra 2d. is forthcoming the wanderer is provided with a\nproper bed, fitted with a wire spring hospital frame and provided with\na mattress, sheets, pillow, and blankets. I may state here that as in\nthe case of this Shelter the building, furniture and other equipment\nhave been provided by charity, the nightly fees collected almost\nsuffice to pay the running expenses of the establishment. Under less\nfavourable circumstances, however, where the building and equipment\nare a charge on the capital funds of the Salvation Army, the\nexperience is that these fees do not suffice to meet"}
{"answer":"laughing, and\nbe just as still as you possibly can. If you don't mind, you will be in\ndanger. Do you understand?\"\n\n\"Don't I have to mind Jess and Violet too?\" asked Benny.\n\n\"Absolutely!\" said Henry. \"You have to mind us all, every one of us!\"\n\nBenny thought a minute. \"Can't I ask for what I want any more?\" he said.\n\n\"Indeed you can!\" cried Jess and Henry together. \"What is it you want?\"\n\n\"I'm _awful_ hungry,\" said Benny anxiously.\n\nHenry's brow cleared. \"Good old Benny,\" he said. \"We're just going to\nhave supper--or is it breakfast?\"\n\nJess drew out the fragrant loaf of bread. She cut it with Henry's\njackknife into four quarters, and she and Henry took the two crusty ends\nthemselves.\n\n\"That's because we have to be the strongest, and crusts make you\nstrong,\" explained Jess.\n\nViolet looked at her older sister. She thought she knew why Jess took\nthe crust, but she did not speak.\n\n\"We will stay here till dark, and then we'll go on with our journey,\"\nsaid Henry cheerfully.\n\n\"I want a drink,\" announced Benny.\n\n\"A drink you shall have,\" Henry promised, \"but you'll have to wait till\nit's really dark. If we should creep out to the brook now, and any one\nsaw us--\" He did not finish his sentence, but Benny realized that he\nmust wait.\n\nHe was much refreshed from his long sleep, and felt very lively. Violet\nhad all she could do to keep him amused, even with Cinnamon Bear and his\nfive brothers.\n\nAt last Henry peeped out. It was after nine o'clock. There were lights\nin the farmhouse still, but they were all upstairs.\n\n\"We can","question":"THE SECOND NIGHT\n\n\nThe roosters crowed and the hens clucked; the farmer's wife began to get\nbreakfast, and the four children slept on. Dinner time came and went,\nand still they slept, for it must be remembered that they had been awake\nand walking during the whole night. In fact, it was nearly seven o'clock\nin the evening when they awoke. Luckily, all the others awoke before\nBenny.\n\n\"Can you hear me, Jess?\" said Henry, speaking very low through the wall\nof hay.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Jess softly. \"Let's make one big room of our nests.\"\n\nNo sooner said than done. The boy and girl worked quickly and quietly\nuntil they could see each other. They pressed the hay back firmly until\nthey had made their way into Violet's little room. And then she in turn\ngroped until she found Benny.\n\n\"Hello, little Cinnamon!\" whispered Violet playfully.\n\nAnd Benny at once made up his mind to laugh instead of cry. But laughing\nout loud was almost as bad, so Henry took his little brother on the hay\nbeside him and talked to him seriously.\n\n\"You're old enough now, Benny, to understand what I say to you. Now,\nlisten! When I tell you to _keep still_ after this, that means you're to\nstop crying if you're crying, or stop laughing if you're"}
{"answer":"do beseech your Maiesty\nTo haue some conference with your Grace alone\n\n   Bul. Withdraw your selues, and leaue vs here alone:\nWhat is the matter with our Cosin now?\n  Aum. For euer may my knees grow to the earth,\nMy tongue cleaue to my roofe within my mouth,\nVnlesse a Pardon, ere I rise, or speake\n\n   Bul. Intended, or committed was this fault?\nIf on the first, how heynous ere it bee,\nTo win thy after loue, I pardon thee\n\n   Aum. Then giue me leaue, that I may turne the key,\nThat no man enter, till my tale be done\n\n   Bul. Haue thy desire.\n\nYorke within.\n\n  Yor. My Liege beware, looke to thy selfe,\nThou hast a Traitor in thy presence there\n\n   Bul. Villaine, Ile make thee safe\n\n   Aum. Stay thy reuengefull hand, thou hast no cause\nto feare\n\n   Yorke. Open the doore, secure foole-hardy King:\nShall I for loue speake treason to thy face?\nOpen the doore, or I will breake it open.\nEnter Yorke.\n\n  Bul. What is the matter (Vnkle) speak, recouer breath,\nTell vs how neere is danger,\nThat we may arme vs to encounter it\n\n   Yor. Peruse this writing heere, and thou shalt know\nThe reason that my haste forbids me show\n\n   Aum. Remember as thou read'st, thy promise past:\nI do repent me, reade not my name there,\nMy heart is not confederate with my hand\n\n   Yor. It was (villaine) ere thy hand did set it downe.\nI tore it from","question":"Scoena Tertia.\n\nEnter Bullingbrooke, Percie, and other Lords.\n\n  Bul. Can no man tell of my vnthriftie Sonne?\n'Tis full three monthes since I did see him last.\nIf any plague hang ouer vs, 'tis he,\nI would to heauen (my Lords) he might be found:\nEnquire at London, 'mongst the Tauernes there:\nFor there (they say) he dayly doth frequent,\nWith vnrestrained loose Companions,\nEuen such (they say) as stand in narrow Lanes,\nAnd rob our Watch, and beate our passengers,\nWhich he, yong wanton, and effeminate Boy\nTakes on the point of Honor, to support\nSo dissolute a crew\n\n   Per. My Lord, some two dayes since I saw the Prince,\nAnd told him of these Triumphes held at Oxford\n\n   Bul. And what said the Gallant?\n  Per. His answer was: he would vnto the Stewes,\nAnd from the common'st creature plucke a Gloue\nAnd weare it as a fauour, and with that\nHe would vnhorse the lustiest Challenger\n\n   Bul. As dissolute as desp'rate, yet through both,\nI see some sparkes of better hope: which elder dayes\nMay happily bring forth. But who comes heere?\nEnter Aumerle.\n\n  Aum. Where is the King?\n  Bul. What meanes our Cosin, that hee stares\nAnd lookes so wildely?\n  Aum. God saue your Grace. I"}
{"answer":"I had but to\npass on and on, as far as I saw the country laid waste.  Ah, what horrors were\nthere!  Had I not seen, then I could never have believed it!  Well, gentlemen,\nif such be the service of your King, I would fainer serve mine!\n\nCYRANO:\n  But 'tis sheer madness!  Where in the fiend's name did you get through?\n\nROXANE:\n  Where?  Through the Spanish lines.\n\nFIRST CADET:\n  --For subtle craft, give me a woman!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  But how did you pass through their lines?\n\nLE BRET:\n  Faith! that must have been a hard matter!. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  None too hard.  I but drove quietly forward in my carriage, and when some\nhidalgo of haughty mien would have stayed me, lo! I showed at the window my\nsweetest smile, and these Senors being (with no disrespect to you) the most\ngallant gentlemen in the world,--I passed on!\n\nCARBON:\n  True, that smile is a passport!  But you must have been asked frequently to\ngive an account of where you were going, Madame?\n\nROXANE:\n  Yes, frequently.  Then I would answer, 'I go to see my lover.'  At that word\nthe very fiercest Spaniard of them all would gravely shut the carriage-door,\nand, with a gesture that a king might envy, make signal to his men to lower\nthe muskets leveled at me;--then, with melancholy but withal very graceful\ndignity--his beaver held to the wind that the plumes might flutter bravely, he\nwould bow low, saying to me, 'Pass on, Senorita!'\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  But, Roxane.","question":"The same.  Roxane.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  On the King's service!  You?\n\nROXANE:\n  Ay,--King Love's!  What other king?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Great God!\n\nCHRISTIAN (rushing forward):\n  Why have you come?\n\nROXANE:\n  This siege--'tis too long!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  But why?. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  I will tell you all!\n\nCYRANO (who, at the sound of her voice, has stood still, rooted to the ground,\nafraid to raise his eyes):\n  My God! dare I look at her?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  You cannot remain here!\n\nROXANE (merrily):\n  But I say yes!  Who will push a drum hither for me?\n(She seats herself on the drum they roll forward):\n  So!  I thank you.\n(She laughs):\n  My carriage was fired at\n(proudly):\n  by the patrol!  Look! would you not think 'twas made of a pumpkin, like\nCinderella's chariot in the tale,--and the footmen out of rats?\n(Sending a kiss with her lips to Christian):\n  Good-morrow!\n(Examining them all):\n  You look not merry, any of you!  Ah! know you that 'tis a long road to get\nto Arras?\n(Seeing Cyrano):\n  Cousin, delighted!\n\nCYRANO (coming up to her):\n  But how, in Heaven's name?. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  How found I the way to the army?  It was simple enough, for"}
{"answer":"you, and that perhaps will make you think me not quite as\nshrewd as you usually do think me. I intend to marry.\"\n\n\"_Do_ you?\"\n\n\"Yes. And not for money. What do you say now?\"\n\n\"I don't feel disposed to say much. Who is she?\"\n\n\"Guess.\"\n\n\"Do I know her?\"\n\n\"Guess.\"\n\n\"I am not going to guess, at five o'clock in the morning, with my brains\nfrying and sputtering in my head. If you want me to guess, you must ask\nme to dinner.\"\n\n\"Well then, I'll tell you,\" said Stryver, coming slowly into a sitting\nposture. \"Sydney, I rather despair of making myself intelligible to you,\nbecause you are such an insensible dog.\"\n\n\"And you,\" returned Sydney, busy concocting the punch, \"are such a\nsensitive and poetical spirit--\"\n\n\"Come!\" rejoined Stryver, laughing boastfully, \"though I don't prefer\nany claim to being the soul of Romance (for I hope I know better), still\nI am a tenderer sort of fellow than _you_.\"\n\n\"You are a luckier, if you mean that.\"\n\n\"I don't mean that. I mean I am a man of more--more--\"\n\n\"Say gallantry, while you are about it,\" suggested Carton.\n\n\"Well! I'll say gallantry. My meaning is that I am a man,\" said Stryver,\ninflating himself at his friend as he made the punch, \"who cares more to\nbe agreeable, who takes more pains to be agreeable, who knows better how\nto be agreeable, in a woman's society, than you do.\"\n\n\"Go on,\" said Sydney Carton.\n\n\"No; but before I go on,\" said Stryver, shaking his head in his bullying\nway, \"I'll have this out with you. You've been at Doctor Manette's house\nas much as I have,","question":"XI. A Companion Picture\n\n\n\"Sydney,\" said Mr. Stryver, on that self-same night, or morning, to his\njackal; \"mix another bowl of punch; I have something to say to you.\"\n\nSydney had been working double tides that night, and the night before,\nand the night before that, and a good many nights in succession, making\na grand clearance among Mr. Stryver's papers before the setting in\nof the long vacation. The clearance was effected at last; the Stryver\narrears were handsomely fetched up; everything was got rid of until\nNovember should come with its fogs atmospheric, and fogs legal, and\nbring grist to the mill again.\n\nSydney was none the livelier and none the soberer for so much\napplication. It had taken a deal of extra wet-towelling to pull him\nthrough the night; a correspondingly extra quantity of wine had preceded\nthe towelling; and he was in a very damaged condition, as he now pulled\nhis turban off and threw it into the basin in which he had steeped it at\nintervals for the last six hours.\n\n\"Are you mixing that other bowl of punch?\" said Stryver the portly, with\nhis hands in his waistband, glancing round from the sofa where he lay on\nhis back.\n\n\"I am.\"\n\n\"Now, look here! I am going to tell you something that will rather\nsurprise"}
{"answer":"Her eyes gazed too straight; they had read books\nthat are suitable for men only. And though he had dreaded a scene, and\nthough she had determined against one, there was a scene, all the same.\nIt was somehow imperative.\n\n\"I am unworthy of you,\" he began. \"Had I been worthy, I should not have\nreleased you from your engagement. I know what I am talking about. I\ncan't bear to talk of such things. We had better leave it.\"\n\nShe kissed his hand. He jerked it from her, and, rising to his feet,\nwent on: \"You, with your sheltered life, and refined pursuits, and\nfriends, and books, you and your sister, and women like you--I say, how\ncan you guess the temptations that lie round a man?\"\n\n\"It is difficult for us,\" said Margaret; \"but if we are worth marrying,\nwe do guess.\"\n\n\"Cut off from decent society and family ties, what do you suppose\nhappens to thousands of young fellows overseas? Isolated. No one near. I\nknow by bitter experience, and yet you say it makes 'no difference.'\"\n\n\"Not to me.\"\n\nHe laughed bitterly. Margaret went to the sideboard and helped herself\nto one of the breakfast dishes. Being the last down, she turned out the\nspirit-lamp that kept them warm. She was tender, but grave. She knew\nthat Henry was not so much confessing his soul as pointing out the gulf\nbetween the male soul and the female, and she did not desire to hear him\non this point.\n\n\"Did Helen come?\" she asked.\n\nHe shook his head.\n\n\"But that won't do at all, at all! We don't want her gossiping with","question":"\n\"Henry dear--\" was her greeting.\n\nHe had finished his breakfast, and was beginning the Times. His\nsister-in-law was packing. Margaret knelt by him and took the paper from\nhim, feeling that it was unusually heavy and thick. Then, putting her\nface where it had been, she looked up in his eyes.\n\n\"Henry dear, look at me. No, I won't have you shirking. Look at me.\nThere. That's all.\"\n\n\"You're referring to last evening,\" he said huskily. \"I have released\nyou from your engagement. I could find excuses, but I won't. No, I\nwon't. A thousand times no. I'm a bad lot, and must be left at that.\"\n\nExpelled from his old fortress, Mr. Wilcox was building a new one.\nHe could no longer appear respectable to her, so he defended himself\ninstead in a lurid past. It was not true repentance.\n\n\"Leave it where you will, boy. It's not going to trouble us; I know what\nI'm talking about, and it will make no difference.\"\n\n\"No difference?\" he inquired. \"No difference, when you find that I am\nnot the fellow you thought?\" He was annoyed with Miss Schlegel here. He\nwould have preferred her to be prostrated by the blow, or even to\nrage. Against the tide of his sin flowed the feeling that she was not\naltogether womanly."}
{"answer":"movements of his body, as if he were taking\ninfinite care not to arouse the passion of his wounds.  As he went on,\nhe seemed always looking for a place, like one who goes to choose a\ngrave.\n\nSomething in the gesture of the man as he waved the bloody and pitying\nsoldiers away made the youth start as if bitten.  He yelled in horror.\nTottering forward he laid a quivering hand upon the man's arm.  As the\nlatter slowly turned his waxlike features toward him, the youth\nscreamed:\n\n\"Gawd!  Jim Conklin!\"\n\nThe tall soldier made a little commonplace smile.  \"Hello, Henry,\" he\nsaid.\n\nThe youth swayed on his legs and glared strangely.  He stuttered and\nstammered.  \"Oh, Jim--oh, Jim--oh, Jim--\"\n\nThe tall soldier held out his gory hand.  There was a curious red and\nblack combination of new blood and old blood upon it.  \"Where yeh been,\nHenry?\" he asked.  He continued in a monotonous voice, \"I thought mebbe\nyeh got keeled over.  There 's been thunder t' pay t'-day.  I was\nworryin' about it a good deal.\"\n\nThe youth still lamented.  \"Oh, Jim--oh, Jim--oh, Jim--\"\n\n\"Yeh know,\" said the tall soldier, \"I was out there.\"  He made a\ncareful gesture.  \"An', Lord, what a circus!  An', b'jiminey, I got\nshot--I got shot.  Yes, b'jiminey, I got shot.\"  He reiterated this\nfact in a bewildered way, as if he did not know how it came about.\n\nThe youth put forth anxious arms to assist him, but the tall soldier\nwent firmly on as if propelled. ","question":"\nThe youth fell back in the procession until the tattered soldier was\nnot in sight.  Then he started to walk on with the others.\n\nBut he was amid wounds.  The mob of men was bleeding.  Because of the\ntattered soldier's question he now felt that his shame could be viewed.\nHe was continually casting sidelong glances to see if the men were\ncontemplating the letters of guilt he felt burned into his brow.\n\nAt times he regarded the wounded soldiers in an envious way.  He\nconceived persons with torn bodies to be peculiarly happy.  He wished\nthat he, too, had a wound, a red badge of courage.\n\nThe spectral soldier was at his side like a stalking reproach.  The\nman's eyes were still fixed in a stare into the unknown.  His gray,\nappalling face had attracted attention in the crowd, and men, slowing\nto his dreary pace, were walking with him.  They were discussing his\nplight, questioning him and giving him advice.\n\nIn a dogged way he repelled them, signing to them to go on and leave\nhim alone.  The shadows of his face were deepening and his tight lips\nseemed holding in check the moan of great despair. There could be seen\na certain stiffness in the"}
{"answer":"magnificent sum of 4s. a week, if she 'lives in' (about\nthe pay of a country kitchen maid); out of which she is expected to\ndefray the cost of her uniform and other clothes, postage stamps, etc.\nUltimately, after many years of service, it may rise to as much as\n10s. in the case of senior Officers, or, if the Officer finds her own\nboard and lodging, to a limit of L1 a week.\n\nOf these ladies who are trained in the Home few leave the Army. Should\nthey do so, however, I am informed that they can generally obtain from\nother Organizations double or treble the pay which the Army is able to\nafford.\n\nThis Training Institution is a building admirably suited to the\npurpose to which it is put. Originally it was a ladies' school, which\nwas purchased by the Salvation Army. The dining-room of the Cadets was\nvery well arranged and charmingly decorated with flowers, as was that\nof the Officers beyond. There was also a Cadets' retiring-room, where\nI saw some of them reading or otherwise amusing themselves on their\nSaturday half-holiday. The Army would be glad to find and train more\nof these self-sacrificing workers; but the conditions of the pay which\nthey can offer and the arduous nature of the lifelong service\ninvolved, are such that those of a satisfactory class are not too\nreadily forthcoming.\n\nAttached to this Training Institution is a Home for girls of doubtful\nor bad antecedents, which I also visited. This Rescue Home is linked\nup with the Training School, so that the Cadets may have the\nopportunity of acquiring a practical knowledge","question":"THE TRAINING INSTITUTE FOR WOMEN SOCIAL WORKERS, CLAPTON\n\nColonel Lambert, the lady-Officer in charge of this Institution,\ninformed me that it can accommodate sixty young women. At the time of\nmy visit forty-seven pupils were being prepared for service in the\nWomen's Department of what is called 'Salvation Army Warfare.' These\nCadets come from all sources and in various ways. Most of them have\nfirst been members of the Army and made application to be trained,\nfeeling themselves attracted to this particular branch of its work.\n\nThe basis of their instruction is religious and theological. It\nincludes the study of the Bible, of the doctrine and discipline of the\nSalvation Army and the rules and regulations governing the labours of\nits Social Officers. In addition, these Cadets attend practical\nclasses where they learn needlework, the scientific cutting out of\ngarments, knitting, laundry work, first medical aid, nursing, and so\nforth. The course at this Institution takes ten months to complete,\nafter which those Cadets who have passed the examinations are\nappointed to various centres of the Army's Social activities.\n\nWhen these young women have passed out and enter on active Social work\nthey are allowed their board and lodging and a small salary to pay for\ntheir clothing. This salary at the commencement of a worker's career\namounts to the"}
{"answer":"this?- my niece, that flies away so fast?\n    Cousin, a word: where is your husband?\n    If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me!\n    If I do wake, some planet strike me down,\n    That I may slumber an eternal sleep!\n    Speak, gentle niece. What stern ungentle hands\n    Hath lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare\n    Of her two branches- those sweet ornaments\n    Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in,\n    And might not gain so great a happiness\n    As half thy love? Why dost not speak to me?\n    Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,\n    Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind,\n    Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips,\n    Coming and going with thy honey breath.\n    But sure some Tereus hath deflowered thee,\n    And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue.\n    Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame!\n    And notwithstanding all this loss of blood-\n    As from a conduit with three issuing spouts-\n    Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face\n    Blushing to be encount'red with a cloud.\n    Shall I speak for thee? Shall","question":"SCENE IV.\nAnother part of the forest\n\nEnter the Empress' sons, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, with LAVINIA,\nher hands cut off, and her tongue cut out, and ravish'd\n\n  DEMETRIUS. So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak,\n    Who 'twas that cut thy tongue and ravish'd thee.\n  CHIRON. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so,\n    An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe.\n  DEMETRIUS. See how with signs and tokens she can scrowl.\n  CHIRON. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands.\n  DEMETRIUS. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash;\n    And so let's leave her to her silent walks.\n  CHIRON. An 'twere my cause, I should go hang myself.\n  DEMETRIUS. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord.\n                                     Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON\n\n           Wind horns. Enter MARCUS, from hunting\n\n  MARCUS. Who is"}
{"answer":"determine with th' ancient of warre\nOn our proceeding\n\n   Reg. Sister you'le go with vs?\n  Gon. No\n\n   Reg. 'Tis most conuenient, pray go with vs\n\n   Gon. Oh ho, I know the Riddle, I will goe.\n\nExeunt. both the Armies.\n\nEnter Edgar.\n\n  Edg. If ere your Grace had speech with man so poore,\nHeare me one word\n\n   Alb. Ile ouertake you, speake\n\n   Edg. Before you fight the Battaile, ope this Letter:\nIf you haue victory, let the Trumpet sound\nFor him that brought it: wretched though I seeme,\nI can produce a Champion, that will proue\nWhat is auouched there. If you miscarry,\nYour businesse of the world hath so an end,\nAnd machination ceases. Fortune loues you\n\n   Alb. Stay till I haue read the Letter\n\n   Edg. I was forbid it:\nWhen time shall serue, let but the Herald cry,\nAnd Ile appeare againe.\nEnter.\n\n  Alb. Why farethee well, I will o're-looke thy paper.\nEnter Edmund.\n\n  Bast. The Enemy's in view, draw vp your powers,\nHeere is the guesse of their true strength and Forces,\nBy dilligent discouerie, but your hast\nIs now vrg'd on you\n\n   Alb. We will greet the time.\nEnter.\n\n  Bast. To both these Sisters haue I sworne my loue:\nEach iealous of the other, as the stung\nAre of the Adder. Which of them shall I take?\nBoth? One? Or neither? Neither can be enioy'd\nIf both remaine aliue: To take the Widdow,\nExasperates, makes mad her Sister Gonerill,\nAnd hardly shall I carry out my side,\nHer husband being aliue.","question":"Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.\n\n\nEnter with Drumme and Colours, Edmund, Regan. Gentlemen, and\nSouldiers.\n\n  Bast. Know of the Duke if his last purpose hold,\nOr whether since he is aduis'd by ought\nTo change the course, he's full of alteration,\nAnd selfereprouing, bring his constant pleasure\n\n   Reg. Our Sisters man is certainely miscarried\n\n   Bast. 'Tis to be doubted Madam\n\n   Reg. Now sweet Lord,\nYou know the goodnesse I intend vpon you:\nTell me but truly, but then speake the truth,\nDo you not loue my Sister?\n  Bast. In honour'd Loue\n\n   Reg. But haue you neuer found my Brothers way,\nTo the fore-fended place?\n  Bast. No by mine honour, Madam\n\n   Reg. I neuer shall endure her, deere my Lord\nBe not familiar with her\n\n   Bast. Feare not, she and the Duke her husband.\nEnter with Drum and Colours, Albany, Gonerill, Soldiers.\n\n  Alb. Our very louing Sister, well be-met:\nSir, this I heard, the King is come to his Daughter\nWith others, whom the rigour of our State\nForc'd to cry out\n\n   Regan. Why is this reasond?\n  Gone. Combine together 'gainst the Enemie:\nFor these domesticke and particular broiles,\nAre not the question heere\n\n   Alb. Let's then"}
{"answer":"men come on from them to the Salvation Army.\n\nThe hard fact is that there are more idle hands than there is work for\nthem to do, even where honest and capable folk are concerned. Thus, in\nthe majority of instances, the Army is obliged to rely upon its own\nInstitutions and the Hadleigh Land Colony to provide some sort of job\nfor out-of-works. Of course, of such jobs there are not enough to go\nround, so many poor folk must be sent empty away or supported by\ncharity.\n\nI suggested that it might be worth while to establish a school of\nchauffeurs, and the Officers present said that they would consider the\nmatter. Unfortunately, however, such an experiment must be costly at\nthe present price of motor-vehicles.\n\nI annex the Labour Bureau Statistics for May, 1910:--\n\n     LONDON\n\n          Applicants for temporary employment  479\n          Sent to temporary employment         183\n          Applicants for Elevators             864\n          Sent to Elevators                    260\n          Sent to Shelters              ","question":"THE CENTRAL LABOUR BUREAU\n\n\n\nThis Bureau is established in the Social Headquarters at Whitechapel,\na large building acquired as long ago as 1878. Here is to be seen the\nroom in which General Booth used to hold some of his first prayer\nmeetings, and a little chamber where he took counsel with those\nOfficers who were the fathers of the Army. Also there is a place where\nhe could sit unseen and listen to the preaching of his subordinates,\nso that he might judge of their ability.\n\nThe large hall is now part of yet another Shelter, which contains 232\nbeds and bunks. I inspected this place, but as it differs in no\nimportant detail from others, I will not describe it.\n\nThe Officer who is in charge of the Labour Bureau informed me that\nhundreds of men apply there for work every week, of whom a great many\nare sent into the various Elevators and Shelters. The Army finds it\nextremely difficult to procure outside employment for these men, for\nthe simple reason that there is very little available. Moreover, now\nthat the Government Labour Bureaux are open, this trouble is not\nlessened. Of these Bureaux, the Manager said that they are most\nuseful, but fail to find employment for many who apply to them.\nIndeed, numbers of"}
{"answer":"consists of Ancients, Corporals,\nLieutenants, Gentlemen of Companies, Slaues as\nragged a Lazarus in the painted Cloth, where the Gluttons\nDogges licked his Sores; and such, as indeed were\nneuer Souldiers, but dis-carded vniust Seruingmen, younger\nSonnes to younger Brothers, reuolted Tapsters and\nOstlers, Trade-falne, the Cankers of a calme World, and\nlong Peace, tenne times more dis-honorable ragged,\nthen an old-fac'd Ancient; and such haue I to fill vp the\nroomes of them that haue bought out their seruices: that\nyou would thinke, that I had a hundred and fiftie totter'd\nProdigalls, lately come from Swine-keeping, from eating\nDraffe and Huskes. A mad fellow met me on the way,\nand told me, I had vnloaded all the Gibbets, and prest the\ndead bodyes. No eye hath seene such skar-Crowes: Ile\nnot march through Couentry with them, that's flat. Nay,\nand the Villaines march wide betwixt the Legges, as if\nthey had Gyues on; for indeede, I had the most of them\nout of Prison. There's not a Shirt and a halfe in all my\nCompany: and the halfe Shirt is two Napkins tackt together,\nand throwne ouer the shoulders like a Heralds\nCoat, without sleeues: and the Shirt, to say the truth,\nstolne from my Host of S[aint]. Albones, or the Red-Nose\nInne-keeper of Dauintry. But that's all one, they'le finde\nLinnen enough on euery Hedge.\nEnter the Prince, and the Lord of Westmerland.\n\n  Prince. How now blowne Iack? how now Quilt?\n  Falst. What Hal? How now mad Wag, what a Deuill\ndo'st thou in Warwickshire? My good Lord of Westmerland,\nI cry you mercy, I thought your Honour had already\nbeene at Shrewsbury\n\n ","question":"Scaena Secunda.\n\n\nEnter Falstaffe and Bardolph.\n\n  Falst. Bardolph, get thee before to Couentry, fill me a\nBottle of Sack, our Souldiers shall march through: wee'le\nto Sutton-cop-hill to Night\n\n   Bard. Will you giue me Money, Captaine?\n  Falst. Lay out, lay out\n\n   Bard. This Bottle makes an Angell\n\n   Falst. And if it doe, take it for thy labour: and if it\nmake twentie, take them all, Ile answere the Coynage.\nBid my Lieutenant Peto meete me at the Townes end\n\n   Bard. I will Captaine: farewell.\nEnter.\n\n  Falst. If I be not asham'd of my Souldiers, I am a\nsowc't-Gurnet: I haue mis-vs'd the Kings Presse damnably.\nI haue got, in exchange of a hundred and fiftie\nSouldiers, three hundred and odde Pounds. I presse me\nnone but good House-holders, Yeomens Sonnes: enquire\nme out contracted Batchelers, such as had beene ask'd\ntwice on the Banes: such a Commoditie of warme slaues,\nas had as lieue heare the Deuill, as a Drumme; such as\nfeare the report of a Caliuer, worse then a struck-Foole,\nor a hurt wilde-Ducke. I prest me none but such Tostes\nand Butter, with Hearts in their Bellyes no bigger then\nPinnes heads, and they haue bought out their seruices:\nAnd now, my whole Charge"}
{"answer":"that have wrack'd for Rome\n    To make coals cheap- a noble memory!\n  COMINIUS. I minded him how royal 'twas to pardon\n    When it was less expected; he replied,\n    It was a bare petition of a state\n    To one whom they had punish'd.\n  MENENIUS. Very well.\n    Could he say less?\n  COMINIUS. I offer'd to awaken his regard\n    For's private friends; his answer to me was,\n    He could not stay to pick them in a pile\n    Of noisome musty chaff. He said 'twas folly,\n    For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt\n    And still to nose th' offence.\n  MENENIUS. For one poor grain or two!\n    I am one of those. His mother, wife, his child,\n    And this brave fellow too- we are the grains:\n    You are the musty chaff, and you are smelt\n    Above the moon. We must be burnt for you.\n  SICINIUS. Nay, pray be patient; if you refuse your aid\n    In this so never-needed help, yet do not\n    Upbraid's with our distress. But sure, if you\n    Would be your country's pleader, your good tongue,\n    More than the instant army we can make,\n    Might stop our countryman.\n ","question":"ACT V. SCENE I.\nRome. A public place\n\nEnter MENENIUS, COMINIUS, SICINIUS and BRUTUS, the two Tribunes,\nwith others\n\n  MENENIUS. No, I'll not go. You hear what he hath said\n    Which was sometime his general, who lov'd him\n    In a most dear particular. He call'd me father;\n    But what o' that? Go, you that banish'd him:\n    A mile before his tent fall down, and knee\n    The way into his mercy. Nay, if he coy'd\n    To hear Cominius speak, I'll keep at home.\n  COMINIUS. He would not seem to know me.\n  MENENIUS. Do you hear?\n  COMINIUS. Yet one time he did call me by my name.\n    I urg'd our old acquaintance, and the drops\n    That we have bled together. 'Coriolanus'\n    He would not answer to; forbid all names;\n    He was a kind of nothing, titleless,\n    Till he had forg'd himself a name i' th' fire\n    Of burning Rome.\n  MENENIUS. Why, so! You have made good work.\n    A pair of tribunes"}
{"answer":"between the hemistiches?\n(To another, showing him an unfinished pasty):\n  To this palace of paste you must add the roof. . .\n(To a young apprentice, who, seated on the ground, is spitting the fowls):\n  And you, as you put on your lengthy spit the modest fowl and the superb\nturkey, my son, alternate them, as the old Malherbe loved well to alternate\nhis long lines of verse with the short ones; thus shall your roasts, in\nstrophes, turn before the flame!\n\nANOTHER APPRENTICE (also coming up with a tray covered by a napkin):\n  Master, I bethought me erewhile of your tastes, and made this, which will\nplease you, I hope.\n\n(He uncovers the tray, and shows a large lyre made of pastry.)\n\nRAGUENEAU (enchanted):\n  A lyre!\n\nTHE APPRENTICE:\n  'Tis of brioche pastry.\n\nRAGUENEAU (touched):\n  With conserved fruits.\n\nTHE APPRENTICE:\n  The strings, see, are of sugar.\n\nRAGUENEAU (giving him a coin):\n  Go, drink my health!\n(Seeing Lise enter):\n  Hush!  My wife.  Bustle, pass on, and hide that money!\n(To Lise, showing her the lyre, with a conscious look):\n  Is it not beautiful?\n\nLISE:\n  'Tis passing silly!\n\n(She puts a pile of papers on the counter.)\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Bags?  Good.  I thank you.\n(He looks at them):\n  Heavens! my cherished leaves!  The poems of my friends!  Torn, dismembered,\nto make bags for holding biscuits and cakes!. . .Ah, 'tis the old tale again.\n. .Orpheus and the Bacchantes!\n\nLISE (dryly):\n  And am I not free to turn at last to some use the sole","question":"Ragueneau, pastry-cooks, then Lise.  Ragueneau is writing, with an inspired\nair, at a small table, and counting on his fingers.\n\nFIRST PASTRY-COOK (bringing in an elaborate fancy dish):\n  Fruits in nougat!\n\nSECOND PASTRY-COOK (bringing another dish):\n  Custard!\n\nTHIRD PASTRY-COOK (bringing a roast, decorated with feathers):\n  Peacock!\n\nFOURTH PASTRY-COOK (bringing a batch of cakes on a slab):\n  Rissoles!\n\nFIFTH PASTRY-COOK (bringing a sort of pie-dish):\n  Beef jelly!\n\nRAGUENEAU (ceasing to write, and raising his head):\n  Aurora's silver rays begin to glint e'en now on the copper pans, and thou, O\nRagueneau! must perforce stifle in thy breast the God of Song!  Anon shall\ncome the hour of the lute!--now 'tis the hour of the oven!\n(He rises.  To a cook):\n  You, make that sauce longer, 'tis too short!\n\nTHE COOK:\n  How much too short?\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Three feet.\n\n(He passes on farther.)\n\nTHE COOK:\n  What means he?\n\nFIRST PASTRY-COOK (showing a dish to Ragueneau):\n  The tart!\n\nSECOND PASTRY-COOK:\n  The pie!\n\nRAGUENEAU (before the fire):\n  My muse, retire, lest thy bright eyes be reddened by the fagot's blaze!\n(To a cook, showing him some loaves):\n  You have put the cleft o' th' loaves in the wrong place; know you not that\nthe coesura should be"}
{"answer":"such a question. Have I not been\n    Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learn'd me how\n    To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so\n    That our great king himself doth woo me oft\n    For my confections? Having thus far proceeded-\n    Unless thou think'st me devilish- is't not meet\n    That I did amplify my judgment in\n    Other conclusions? I will try the forces\n    Of these thy compounds on such creatures as\n    We count not worth the hanging- but none human-\n    To try the vigour of them, and apply\n    Allayments to their act, and by them gather\n    Their several virtues and effects.\n  CORNELIUS. Your Highness\n    Shall from this practice but make hard your heart;\n    Besides, the seeing these effects will be\n    Both noisome and infectious.\n  QUEEN. O, content thee.\n\n                        Enter PISANIO\n\n    [Aside] Here comes a flattering rascal; upon him\n    Will I first work. He's for his master,\n    An enemy to my son.- How now, Pisanio!\n    Doctor, your service for this time is ended;\n    Take your own way.\n ","question":"SCENE V.\nBritain. CYMBELINE'S palace\n\nEnter QUEEN, LADIES, and CORNELIUS\n\n  QUEEN. Whiles yet the dew's on ground, gather those flowers;\n    Make haste; who has the note of them?\n  LADY. I, madam.\n  QUEEN. Dispatch.                                 Exeunt LADIES\n    Now, Master Doctor, have you brought those drugs?\n  CORNELIUS. Pleaseth your Highness, ay. Here they are, madam.\n                                              [Presenting a box]\n    But I beseech your Grace, without offence-\n    My conscience bids me ask- wherefore you have\n    Commanded of me these most poisonous compounds\n    Which are the movers of a languishing death,\n    But, though slow, deadly?\n  QUEEN. I wonder, Doctor,\n    Thou ask'st me"}
{"answer":"I had but to\npass on and on, as far as I saw the country laid waste.  Ah, what horrors were\nthere!  Had I not seen, then I could never have believed it!  Well, gentlemen,\nif such be the service of your King, I would fainer serve mine!\n\nCYRANO:\n  But 'tis sheer madness!  Where in the fiend's name did you get through?\n\nROXANE:\n  Where?  Through the Spanish lines.\n\nFIRST CADET:\n  --For subtle craft, give me a woman!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  But how did you pass through their lines?\n\nLE BRET:\n  Faith! that must have been a hard matter!. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  None too hard.  I but drove quietly forward in my carriage, and when some\nhidalgo of haughty mien would have stayed me, lo! I showed at the window my\nsweetest smile, and these Senors being (with no disrespect to you) the most\ngallant gentlemen in the world,--I passed on!\n\nCARBON:\n  True, that smile is a passport!  But you must have been asked frequently to\ngive an account of where you were going, Madame?\n\nROXANE:\n  Yes, frequently.  Then I would answer, 'I go to see my lover.'  At that word\nthe very fiercest Spaniard of them all would gravely shut the carriage-door,\nand, with a gesture that a king might envy, make signal to his men to lower\nthe muskets leveled at me;--then, with melancholy but withal very graceful\ndignity--his beaver held to the wind that the plumes might flutter bravely, he\nwould bow low, saying to me, 'Pass on, Senorita!'\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  But, Roxane.","question":"The same.  Roxane.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  On the King's service!  You?\n\nROXANE:\n  Ay,--King Love's!  What other king?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Great God!\n\nCHRISTIAN (rushing forward):\n  Why have you come?\n\nROXANE:\n  This siege--'tis too long!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  But why?. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  I will tell you all!\n\nCYRANO (who, at the sound of her voice, has stood still, rooted to the ground,\nafraid to raise his eyes):\n  My God! dare I look at her?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  You cannot remain here!\n\nROXANE (merrily):\n  But I say yes!  Who will push a drum hither for me?\n(She seats herself on the drum they roll forward):\n  So!  I thank you.\n(She laughs):\n  My carriage was fired at\n(proudly):\n  by the patrol!  Look! would you not think 'twas made of a pumpkin, like\nCinderella's chariot in the tale,--and the footmen out of rats?\n(Sending a kiss with her lips to Christian):\n  Good-morrow!\n(Examining them all):\n  You look not merry, any of you!  Ah! know you that 'tis a long road to get\nto Arras?\n(Seeing Cyrano):\n  Cousin, delighted!\n\nCYRANO (coming up to her):\n  But how, in Heaven's name?. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  How found I the way to the army?  It was simple enough, for"}
{"answer":"and tents.  Every nation under\nthe sun was represented there; and every language might be heard\nspoken at the same time.  It was a perfect Babel re-enacted.\nAll the various classes of American society were mingled\ntogether in terms of absolute equality.  Bankers, farmers,\nsailors, cotton-planters, brokers, merchants, watermen,\nmagistrates, elbowed each other in the most free-and-easy way.\nLouisiana Creoles fraternized with farmers from Indiana;\nKentucky and Tennessee gentlemen and haughty Virginians\nconversed with trappers and the half-savages of the lakes and\nbutchers from Cincinnati.  Broad-brimmed white hats and Panamas,\nblue-cotton trousers, light-colored stockings, cambric frills,\nwere all here displayed; while upon shirt-fronts, wristbands,\nand neckties, upon every finger, even upon the very ears, they\nwore an assortment of rings, shirt-pins, brooches, and trinkets,\nof which the value only equaled the execrable taste.  Women, children,\nand servants, in equally expensive dress, surrounded their husbands,\nfathers, or masters, who resembled the patriarchs of tribes in the\nmidst of their immense households.\n\nAt meal-times all fell to work upon the dishes peculiar to the\nSouthern States, and consumed with an appetite that threatened\nspeedy exhaustion of the victualing powers of Florida,\nfricasseed frogs, stuffed monkey, fish chowder, underdone\n'possum, and raccoon steaks.  And as for the liquors which\naccompanied this indigestible repast!  The shouts, the\nvociferations that resounded through the bars and taverns\ndecorated with glasses, tankards, and bottles of marvelous\nshape, mortars for pounding sugar, and bundles of straws!\n\"Mint-julep\" roars one of the barmen; \"Claret sangaree!\"\nshouts another; \"Cocktail!\" \"Brandy-smash!\" \"Real mint-julep\nin the new style!\"  All these cries intermingled produced a\nbewildering and deafening hubbub.\n\nBut on this day, 1st of December, such","question":"\n\nThe first of December had arrived! the fatal day! for, if the\nprojectile were not discharged that very night at 10h. 48m. 40s.\nP.M., more than eighteen years must roll by before the moon\nwould again present herself under the same conditions of zenith\nand perigee.\n\nThe weather was magnificent.  Despite the approach of winter,\nthe sun shone brightly, and bathed in its radiant light that\nearth which three of its denizens were about to abandon for a\nnew world.\n\nHow many persons lost their rest on the night which preceded\nthis long-expected day!  All hearts beat with disquietude, save\nonly the heart of Michel Ardan.  That imperturbable personage\ncame and went with his habitual business-like air, while nothing\nwhatever denoted that any unusual matter preoccupied his mind.\n\nAfter dawn, an innumerable multitude covered the prairie which\nextends, as far as the eye can reach, round Stones Hill.  Every\nquarter of an hour the railway brought fresh accessions of\nsightseers; and, according to the statement of the Tampa Town\n_Observer_, not less than five millions of spectators thronged\nthe soil of Florida.\n\nFor a whole month previously, the mass of these persons had\nbivouacked round the enclosure, and laid the foundations for a\ntown which was afterward called \"Ardan's Town.\"  The whole plain\nwas covered with huts, cottages,"}
{"answer":"That, presented by his conductors to this Tribunal, he\nhad announced himself by name and profession as having been for eighteen\nyears a secret and unaccused prisoner in the Bastille; that, one of the\nbody so sitting in judgment had risen and identified him, and that this\nman was Defarge.\n\nThat, hereupon he had ascertained, through the registers on the table,\nthat his son-in-law was among the living prisoners, and had pleaded hard\nto the Tribunal--of whom some members were asleep and some awake, some\ndirty with murder and some clean, some sober and some not--for his life\nand liberty. That, in the first frantic greetings lavished on himself as\na notable sufferer under the overthrown system, it had been accorded\nto him to have Charles Darnay brought before the lawless Court, and\nexamined. That, he seemed on the point of being at once released, when\nthe tide in his favour met with some unexplained check (not intelligible\nto the Doctor), which led to a few words of secret conference. That,\nthe man sitting as President had then informed Doctor Manette that\nthe prisoner must remain in custody, but should, for his sake, be held\ninviolate in safe custody. That, immediately, on a signal, the prisoner\nwas removed to the interior of the prison again; but, that he, the\nDoctor, had then so strongly pleaded for permission to remain and\nassure himself that his son-in-law was, through no malice or mischance,\ndelivered to the concourse whose murderous yells outside the gate had\noften drowned the proceedings, that he had obtained the permission, and\nhad remained in that Hall of Blood until the danger","question":"IV. Calm in Storm\n\n\nDoctor Manette did not return until the morning of the fourth day of his\nabsence. So much of what had happened in that dreadful time as could be\nkept from the knowledge of Lucie was so well concealed from her, that\nnot until long afterwards, when France and she were far apart, did she\nknow that eleven hundred defenceless prisoners of both sexes and all\nages had been killed by the populace; that four days and nights had been\ndarkened by this deed of horror; and that the air around her had been\ntainted by the slain. She only knew that there had been an attack upon\nthe prisons, that all political prisoners had been in danger, and that\nsome had been dragged out by the crowd and murdered.\n\nTo Mr. Lorry, the Doctor communicated under an injunction of secrecy on\nwhich he had no need to dwell, that the crowd had taken him through a\nscene of carnage to the prison of La Force. That, in the prison he had\nfound a self-appointed Tribunal sitting, before which the prisoners were\nbrought singly, and by which they were rapidly ordered to be put forth\nto be massacred, or to be released, or (in a few cases) to be sent back\nto their cells."}
{"answer":"her, except William's\naffection. His last thought on leaving home was for her. He stepped back\nagain to the door to say, \"Take care of Fanny, mother. She is tender,\nand not used to rough it like the rest of us. I charge you, take care of\nFanny.\"\n\nWilliam was gone: and the home he had left her in was, Fanny could not\nconceal it from herself, in almost every respect the very reverse of\nwhat she could have wished. It was the abode of noise, disorder, and\nimpropriety. Nobody was in their right place, nothing was done as it\nought to be. She could not respect her parents as she had hoped. On her\nfather, her confidence had not been sanguine, but he was more negligent\nof his family, his habits were worse, and his manners coarser, than\nshe had been prepared for. He did not want abilities but he had no\ncuriosity, and no information beyond his profession; he read only\nthe newspaper and the navy-list; he talked only of the dockyard, the\nharbour, Spithead, and the Motherbank; he swore and he drank, he was\ndirty and gross. She had never been able to recall anything approaching\nto tenderness in his former treatment of herself. There had remained\nonly a general impression of roughness and loudness; and now he scarcely\never noticed her, but to make her the object of a coarse joke.\n\nHer disappointment in her mother was greater: _there_ she had hoped\nmuch, and found almost nothing. Every flattering scheme of being of\nconsequence to her soon fell to the ground. Mrs. Price was not unkind;\nbut, instead of","question":"\nCould Sir Thomas have seen all his niece's feelings, when she wrote her\nfirst letter to her aunt, he would not have despaired; for though a good\nnight's rest, a pleasant morning, the hope of soon seeing William again,\nand the comparatively quiet state of the house, from Tom and Charles\nbeing gone to school, Sam on some project of his own, and her father\non his usual lounges, enabled her to express herself cheerfully on the\nsubject of home, there were still, to her own perfect consciousness,\nmany drawbacks suppressed. Could he have seen only half that she felt\nbefore the end of a week, he would have thought Mr. Crawford sure of\nher, and been delighted with his own sagacity.\n\nBefore the week ended, it was all disappointment. In the first place,\nWilliam was gone. The Thrush had had her orders, the wind had changed,\nand he was sailed within four days from their reaching Portsmouth; and\nduring those days she had seen him only twice, in a short and\nhurried way, when he had come ashore on duty. There had been no free\nconversation, no walk on the ramparts, no visit to the dockyard, no\nacquaintance with the Thrush, nothing of all that they had planned and\ndepended on. Everything in that quarter failed"}
{"answer":"'pehee, pehee' (fish, fish).\nTowards the time when they were expected to return the vocal telegraph\nwas put into operation--the inhabitants, who were scattered throughout\nthe length of the valley, leaped upon rocks and into trees, shouting\nwith delight at the thoughts of the anticipated treat. As soon as the\napproach of the party was announced, there was a general rush of the\nmen towards the beach; some of them remaining, however, about the Ti in\norder to get matters in readiness for the reception of the fish, which\nwere brought to the Taboo Groves in immense packages of leaves, each one\nof them being suspended from a pole carried on the shoulders of two men.\n\nI was present at the Ti on one of these occasions, and the sight was\nmost interesting. After all the packages had arrived, they were laid in\na row under the verandah of the building and opened.\n\nThe fish were all quite small, generally about the size of a herring,\nand of every variety. About one-eighth of the whole being reserved\nfor the use of the Ti itself, the remainder was divided into numerous\nsmaller packages, which were immediately dispatched in every direction\nto the remotest parts of the valley. Arrived at their destination, these\nwere in turn portioned out, and equally distributed among the various\nhouses of each particular district. The fish were under a strict Taboo,\nuntil the distribution was completed, which seemed to be effected in the\nmost impartial manner. By the operation of this system every man, woman,\nand child in the vale, were at one and the same time partaking of","question":"THERE was no instance in which the social and kindly dispositions of the\nTypees were more forcibly evinced than in the manner the conducted their\ngreat fishing parties. Four times during my stay in the valley the young\nmen assembled near the full of the moon, and went together on these\nexcursions. As they were generally absent about forty-eight hours, I was\nled to believe that they went out towards the open sea, some distance\nfrom the bay. The Polynesians seldom use a hook and line, almost always\nemploying large well-made nets, most ingeniously fabricated from the\ntwisted fibres of a certain bark. I examined several of them which had\nbeen spread to dry upon the beach at Nukuheva. They resemble very much\nour own seines, and I should think they were nearly as durable.\n\nAll the South Sea Islanders are passionately fond of fish; but none\nof them can be more so than the inhabitants of Typee. I could not\ncomprehend, therefore, why they so seldom sought it in their waters, for\nit was only at stated times that the fishing parties were formed, and\nthese occasions were always looked forward to with no small degree of\ninterest.\n\nDuring their absence the whole population of the place were in a\nferment, and nothing was talked of but"}
{"answer":"spoke through their nose!\n\nANOTHER (in a hollow voice, darting on all-fours from under the table, where\nhe had crept):\n  And if you would not perish in flower o' youth,\n  --Oh, mention not the fatal cartilage!\n\nANOTHER (clapping him on the shoulder):\n  A word?  A gesture!  For the indiscreet\n  His handkerchief may prove his winding-sheet!\n\n(Silence.  All, with crossed arms, look at Christian.  He rises and goes over\nto Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, who is talking to an officer, and feigns to see\nnothing.)\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Captain!\n\nCARBON (turning and looking at him from head to foot):\n  Sir!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Pray, what skills it best to do\n  To Southerners who swagger?. . .\n\nCARBON:\n  Give them proof\n  That one may be a Northerner, yet brave!\n\n(He turns his back on him.)\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  I thank you.\n\nFIRST CADET (to Cyrano):\n  Now the tale!\n\nALL:\n  The tale!\n\nCYRANO (coming toward them):\n  The tale?. . .\n(All bring their stools up, and group round him, listening eagerly.  Christian\nis astride a chair):\n  Well!  I went all alone to meet the band.\n  The moon was shining, clock-like, full i' th' sky,\n  When, suddenly, some careful clockwright passed\n  A cloud of cotton-wool across the case\n  That held this silver watch.  And, presto! heigh!\n  The night was inky black, and all the quays\n  Were hidden in the murky dark.  Gadsooks!\n  One could see nothing further. . .\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Than one's nose!\n\n(Silence.  All slowly rise, looking","question":"Cyrano, Le Bret, the cadets, Christian de Neuvillette.\n\nA CADET (seated at a table, glass in hand):\n  Cyrano!\n(Cyrano turns round):\n  The story!\n\nCYRANO:\n  In its time!\n\n(He goes up on Le Bret's arm.  They talk in low voices.)\n\nTHE CADET (rising and coming down):\n  The story of the fray!  'Twill lesson well\n(He stops before the table where Christian is seated):\n  This timid young apprentice!\n\nCHRISTIAN (raising his head):\n  'Prentice!  Who?\n\nANOTHER CADET:\n  This sickly Northern greenhorn!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Sickly!\n\nFIRST CADET (mockingly):\n  Hark!\n  Monsieur de Neuvillette, this in your ear:\n  There's somewhat here, one no more dares to name,\n  Than to say 'rope' to one whose sire was hanged!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  What may that be?\n\nANOTHER CADET (in a terrible voice):\n  See here!\n(He puts his finger three times, mysteriously, on his nose):\n  Do you understand?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Oh! 'tis the. . .\n\nANOTHER:\n  Hush! oh, never breathe that word,\n  Unless you'd reckon with him yonder!\n\n(He points to Cyrano, who is talking with Le Bret.)\n\nANOTHER (who has meanwhile come up noiselessly to sit on the table--whispering\nbehind him):\n  Hark!\n  He put two snuffling men to death, in rage,\n  For the sole reason they"}
{"answer":"peered into the youth's face.  \"That you,\nHenry?\"\n\n\"Yes, it's--it's me.\"\n\n\"Well, well, ol' boy,\" said the other, \"by ginger, I'm glad t' see yeh!\nI give yeh up fer a goner.  I thought yeh was dead sure enough.\"  There\nwas husky emotion in his voice.\n\nThe youth found that now he could barely stand upon his feet.  There\nwas a sudden sinking of his forces.  He thought he must hasten to\nproduce his tale to protect him from the missiles already at the lips\nof his redoubtable comrades. So, staggering before the loud soldier, he\nbegan: \"Yes, yes.  I've--I've had an awful time.  I've been all over.\nWay over on th' right.  Ter'ble fightin' over there.  I had an awful\ntime.  I got separated from th' reg'ment.  Over on th' right, I got\nshot.  In th' head.  I never see sech fightin'.  Awful time.  I don't\nsee how I could 'a got separated from th' reg'ment.  I got shot, too.\"\n\nHis friend had stepped forward quickly. \"What?  Got shot?  Why didn't\nyeh say so first?  Poor ol' boy, we must--hol' on a minnit; what am I\ndoin'.  I'll call Simpson.\"\n\nAnother figure at that moment loomed in the gloom.  They could see that\nit was the corporal. \"Who yeh talkin' to, Wilson?\" he demanded. His\nvoice was anger-toned.  \"Who yeh talkin' to?  Yeh th' derndest\nsentinel--why--hello, Henry, you here?  Why, I thought you was dead\nfour hours ago!  Great Jerusalem, they keep turnin' up every ten\nminutes","question":"\nThe youth went slowly toward the fire indicated by his departed friend.\nAs he reeled, he bethought him of the welcome his comrades would give\nhim.  He had a conviction that he would soon feel in his sore heart the\nbarbed missiles of ridicule.  He had no strength to invent a tale; he\nwould be a soft target.\n\nHe made vague plans to go off into the deeper darkness and hide, but\nthey were all destroyed by the voices of exhaustion and pain from his\nbody.  His ailments, clamoring, forced him to seek the place of food\nand rest, at whatever cost.\n\nHe swung unsteadily toward the fire.  He could see the forms of men\nthrowing black shadows in the red light, and as he went nearer it\nbecame known to him in some way that the ground was strewn with\nsleeping men.\n\nOf a sudden he confronted a black and monstrous figure.  A rifle barrel\ncaught some glinting beams.  \"Halt! halt!\"  He was dismayed for a\nmoment, but he presently thought that he recognized the nervous voice.\nAs he stood tottering before the rifle barrel, he called out: \"Why,\nhello, Wilson, you--you here?\"\n\nThe rifle was lowered to a position of caution and the loud soldier\ncame slowly forward.  He"}
{"answer":"houres: For I do protest,\nI haue not sought the day of this dislike\n\n   King. You haue not sought it: how comes it then?\n  Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it\n\n   Prin. Peace, Chewet, peace\n\n   Wor. It pleas'd your Maiesty, to turne your lookes\nOf Fauour, from my Selfe, and all our House;\nAnd yet I must remember you my Lord,\nWe were the first, and dearest of your Friends:\nFor you, my staffe of Office did I breake\nIn Richards time, and poasted day and night\nTo meete you on the way, and kisse your hand,\nWhen yet you were in place, and in account\nNothing so strong and fortunate, as I;\nIt was my Selfe, my Brother, and his Sonne,\nThat brought you home, and boldly did out-dare\nThe danger of the time. You swore to vs,\nAnd you did sweare that Oath at Doncaster,\nThat you did nothing of purpose 'gainst the State,\nNor claime no further, then your new-falne right,\nThe seate of Gaunt, Dukedome of Lancaster,\nTo this, we sware our aide: But in short space,\nIt rain'd downe Fortune showring on your head,\nAnd such a floud of Greatnesse fell on you,\nWhat with our helpe, what with the absent King.\nWhat with the iniuries of wanton time,\nThe seeming sufferances that you had borne,\nAnd the contrarious Windes that held the King\nSo long in the vnlucky Irish Warres,\nThat all in England did repute him dead:\nAnd from this swarme of faire aduantages,\nYou tooke occasion to be quickly woo'd,\nTo gripe the generall sway into your hand,\nForgot your Oath","question":"Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.\n\n\nEnter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord Iohn of Lancaster, Earle of\nWestmerland, Sir Walter Blunt, and Falstaffe.\n\n  King. How bloodily the Sunne begins to peere\nAboue yon busky hill: the day lookes pale\nAt his distemperature\n  Prin. The Southerne winde\nDoth play the Trumpet to his purposes,\nAnd by his hollow whistling in the Leaues,\nFortels a Tempest, and a blust'ring day\n\n   King. Then with the losers let it sympathize,\nFor nothing can seeme foule to those that win.\n\nThe Trumpet sounds.\n\nEnter Worcester.\n\n  King. How now my Lord of Worster? 'Tis not well\nThat you and I should meet vpon such tearmes,\nAs now we meet. You haue deceiu'd our trust,\nAnd made vs doffe our easie Robes of Peace,\nTo crush our old limbes in vngentle Steele:\nThis is not well, my Lord, this is not well.\nWhat say you to it? Will you againe vnknit\nThis churlish knot of all-abhorred Warre?\nAnd moue in the obedient Orbe againe,\nWhere you did giue a faire and naturall light,\nAnd be no more an exhall'd Meteor,\nA prodigie of Feare, and a Portent\nOf broached Mischeefe, to the vnborne Times?\n  Wor. Heare me, my Liege:\nFor mine owne part, I could be well content\nTo entertaine the Lagge-end of my life\nWith quiet"}
{"answer":"No steam-engine was permitted to work, and every\nfire was extinguished within two miles of the works.\n\nEven in November they feared to work by day, lest the sun's rays\nacting on the gun-cotton might lead to unhappy results.  This led\nto their working at night, by light produced in a vacuum by means\nof Ruhmkorff's apparatus, which threw an artificial brightness\ninto the depths of the Columbiad.  There the cartridges were\narranged with the utmost regularity, connected by a metallic thread,\ndestined to communicate to them all simultaneously the electric\nspark, by which means this mass of gun-cotton was eventually\nto be ignited.\n\nBy the 28th of November eight hundred cartridges had been\nplaced in the bottom of the Columbiad.  So far the operation had\nbeen successful!  But what confusion, what anxieties, what struggles\nwere undergone by President Barbicane!  In vain had he refused\nadmission to Stones Hill; every day the inquisitive neighbors\nscaled the palisades, some even carrying their imprudence to the\npoint of smoking while surrounded by bales of gun-cotton.\nBarbicane was in a perpetual state of alarm.  J. T. Maston\nseconded him to the best of his ability, by giving vigorous\nchase to the intruders, and carefully picking up the still\nlighted cigar ends which the Yankees threw about.  A somewhat\ndifficult task! seeing that more than 300,000 persons were\ngathered round the enclosure.  Michel Ardan had volunteered to\nsuperintend the transport of the cartridges to the mouth of the\nColumbiad; but the president, having surprised him with an\nenormous cigar in his mouth, while he was hunting out the rash\nspectators to whom he","question":"\n\nIt was the 22nd of November; the departure was to take place in\nten days.  One operation alone remained to be accomplished to\nbring all to a happy termination; an operation delicate and\nperilous, requiring infinite precautions, and against the\nsuccess of which Captain Nicholl had laid his third bet.  It was,\nin fact, nothing less than the loading of the Columbiad, and the\nintroduction into it of 400,000 pounds of gun-cotton.  Nicholl had\nthought, not perhaps without reason, that the handling of such\nformidable quantities of pyroxyle would, in all probability,\ninvolve a grave catastrophe; and at any rate, that this immense\nmass of eminently inflammable matter would inevitably ignite when\nsubmitted to the pressure of the projectile.\n\nThere were indeed dangers accruing as before from the\ncarelessness of the Americans, but Barbicane had set his heart\non success, and took all possible precautions.  In the first\nplace, he was very careful as to the transportation of the\ngun-cotton to Stones Hill.  He had it conveyed in small\nquantities, carefully packed in sealed cases.  These were\nbrought by rail from Tampa Town to the camp, and from thence\nwere taken to the Columbiad by barefooted workmen, who deposited\nthem in their places by means of cranes placed at the orifice of\nthe cannon. "}
{"answer":"singing, but in louing, Leander\nthe good swimmer, Troilous the first imploier of\npandars, and a whole booke full of these quondam carpet-mongers,\nwhose name yet runne smoothly in the euen\nrode of a blanke verse, why they were neuer so truely\nturned ouer and ouer as my poore selfe in loue: marrie\nI cannot shew it rime, I haue tried, I can finde out no\nrime to Ladie but babie, an innocent rime: for scorne,\nhorne, a hard rime: for schoole foole, a babling rime:\nverie ominous endings, no, I was not borne vnder a riming\nPlannet, for I cannot wooe in festiuall tearmes:\nEnter Beatrice.\n\nsweete Beatrice would'st thou come when I cal'd\nthee?\n  Beat. Yea Signior, and depart when you bid me\n\n   Bene. O stay but till then\n\n   Beat. Then, is spoken: fare you well now, and yet ere\nI goe, let me goe with that I came, which is, with knowing\nwhat hath past betweene you and Claudio\n\n   Bene. Onely foule words, and thereupon I will kisse\nthee\n\n   Beat. Foule words is but foule wind, and foule wind\nis but foule breath, and foule breath is noisome, therefore\nI will depart vnkist\n\n   Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of his right\nsence, so forcible is thy wit, but I must tell thee plainely,\nClaudio vndergoes my challenge, and either I must shortly\nheare from him, or I will subscribe him a coward, and\nI pray thee now tell me, for which of my bad parts didst\nthou first fall in loue with me?\n  Beat. For them","question":"Scene 2.\n\nEnter Benedicke and Margaret.\n\n  Ben. Praie thee sweete Mistris Margaret, deserue\nwell at my hands, by helping mee to the speech of Beatrice\n\n   Mar. Will you then write me a Sonnet in praise of\nmy beautie?\n  Bene. In so high a stile Margaret, that no man liuing\nshall come ouer it, for in most comely truth thou deseruest\nit\n\n   Mar. To haue no man come ouer me, why, shall I alwaies\nkeepe below staires?\n  Bene. Thy wit is as quicke as the grey-hounds mouth,\nit catches\n\n   Mar. And yours, as blunt as the Fencers foiles, which\nhit, but hurt not\n\n   Bene. A most manly wit Margaret, it will not hurt a\nwoman: and so I pray thee call Beatrice, I giue thee the\nbucklers\n\n   Mar. Giue vs the swords, wee haue bucklers of our\nowne\n\n   Bene. If you vse them Margaret, you must put in the\npikes with a vice, and they are dangerous weapons for\nMaides\n\n   Mar. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I thinke\nhath legges.\n\nExit Margarite.\n\n  Ben. And therefore will come. The God of loue that\nsits aboue, and knowes me, and knowes me, how pittifull\nI deserue. I meane in"}
{"answer":"no King?\n  Per. Yes (my good Lord)\nIt doth containe a King: King Richard lyes\nWithin the limits of yond Lime and Stone,\nAnd with him, the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,\nSir Stephen Scroope, besides a Clergie man\nOf holy reuerence; who, I cannot learne\n\n   North. Oh, belike it is the Bishop of Carlile\n\n   Bull. Noble Lord,\nGoe to the rude Ribs of that ancient Castle,\nThrough Brazen Trumpet send the breath of Parle\nInto his ruin'd Eares, and thus deliuer:\nHenry Bullingbrooke vpon his knees doth kisse\nKing Richards hand, and sends allegeance\nAnd true faith of heart to his Royall Person: hither come\nEuen at his feet, to lay my Armes and Power,\nProuided, that my Banishment repeal'd,\nAnd Lands restor'd againe, be freely graunted:\nIf not, Ile vse th 'aduantage of my Power,\nAnd lay the Summers dust with showers of blood,\nRayn'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen;\nThe which, how farre off from the mind of Bullingbrooke\nIt is, such Crimson Tempest should bedrench\nThe fresh greene Lap of faire King Richards Land,\nMy stooping dutie tenderly shall shew.\nGoe signifie as much, while here we march\nVpon the Grassie Carpet of this Plaine:\nLet's march without the noyse of threatning Drum,\nThat from this Castles tatter'd Battlements\nOur faire Appointments may be well perus'd.\nMe thinkes King Richard and my selfe should meet\nWith no lesse terror then the Elements\nOf Fire and Water, when their thundring smoake\nAt meeting teares the cloudie Cheekes of Heauen:\nBe he the fire, Ile be the yeelding Water;\nThe Rage be his, while on the Earth I raine\nMy Waters on the Earth, and not","question":"Scaena Tertia.\n\nEnter with Drum and Colours, Bullingbrooke, Yorke,\nNorthumberland,\nAttendants.\n\n  Bull. So that by this intelligence we learne\nThe Welchmen are dispers'd, and Salisbury\nIs gone to meet the King, who lately landed\nWith some few priuate friends, vpon this Coast\n\n   North. The newes is very faire and good, my Lord,\nRichard, not farre from hence, hath hid his head\n\n   York. It would beseeme the Lord Northumberland,\nTo say King Richard: alack the heauie day,\nWhen such a sacred King should hide his head\n\n   North. Your Grace mistakes: onely to be briefe,\nLeft I his Title out\n\n   York. The time hath beene,\nWould you haue beene so briefe with him, he would\nHaue beene so briefe with you, to shorten you,\nFor taking so the Head, your whole heads length\n\n   Bull. Mistake not (Vnckle) farther then you should\n\n   York. Take not (good Cousin) farther then you should.\nLeast you mistake the Heauens are ore your head\n\n   Bull. I know it (Vnckle) and oppose not my selfe\nAgainst their will. But who comes here?\nEnter Percie.\n\nWelcome Harry: what, will not this Castle yeeld?\n  Per. The Castle royally is mann'd, my Lord,\nAgainst thy entrance\n\n   Bull. Royally? Why, it containes"}
{"answer":"found myself\narraigned and explaining. She herself explained, for that matter, with\nthe loveliest, eagerest simplicity. She had known suddenly, as she lay\nthere, that I was out of the room, and had jumped up to see what had\nbecome of me. I had dropped, with the joy of her reappearance, back\ninto my chair--feeling then, and then only, a little faint; and she had\npattered straight over to me, thrown herself upon my knee, given herself\nto be held with the flame of the candle full in the wonderful little\nface that was still flushed with sleep. I remember closing my eyes an\ninstant, yieldingly, consciously, as before the excess of something\nbeautiful that shone out of the blue of her own. \"You were looking for\nme out of the window?\" I said. \"You thought I might be walking in the\ngrounds?\"\n\n\"Well, you know, I thought someone was\"--she never blanched as she\nsmiled out that at me.\n\nOh, how I looked at her now! \"And did you see anyone?\"\n\n\"Ah, NO!\" she returned, almost with the full privilege of childish\ninconsequence, resentfully, though with a long sweetness in her little\ndrawl of the negative.\n\nAt that moment, in the state of my nerves, I absolutely believed she\nlied; and if I once more closed my eyes it was before the dazzle of the\nthree or four possible ways in which I might take this up. One of these,\nfor a moment, tempted me with such singular intensity that, to withstand\nit, I must have gripped my little girl with a spasm that, wonderfully,\nshe submitted to without a cry or a sign","question":"\nI remained awhile at the top of the stair, but with the effect presently\nof understanding that when my visitor had gone, he had gone: then I\nreturned to my room. The foremost thing I saw there by the light of the\ncandle I had left burning was that Flora's little bed was empty; and on\nthis I caught my breath with all the terror that, five minutes before,\nI had been able to resist. I dashed at the place in which I had left her\nlying and over which (for the small silk counterpane and the sheets were\ndisarranged) the white curtains had been deceivingly pulled forward;\nthen my step, to my unutterable relief, produced an answering sound: I\nperceived an agitation of the window blind, and the child, ducking down,\nemerged rosily from the other side of it. She stood there in so much of\nher candor and so little of her nightgown, with her pink bare feet and\nthe golden glow of her curls. She looked intensely grave, and I had\nnever had such a sense of losing an advantage acquired (the thrill\nof which had just been so prodigious) as on my consciousness that\nshe addressed me with a reproach. \"You naughty: where HAVE you\nbeen?\"--instead of challenging her own irregularity I"}
{"answer":"least to Mrs. Grose.\n\n\"What does it mean? The child's dismissed his school.\"\n\nShe gave me a look that I remarked at the moment; then, visibly, with a\nquick blankness, seemed to try to take it back. \"But aren't they all--?\"\n\n\"Sent home--yes. But only for the holidays. Miles may never go back at\nall.\"\n\nConsciously, under my attention, she reddened. \"They won't take him?\"\n\n\"They absolutely decline.\"\n\nAt this she raised her eyes, which she had turned from me; I saw them\nfill with good tears. \"What has he done?\"\n\nI hesitated; then I judged best simply to hand her my letter--which,\nhowever, had the effect of making her, without taking it, simply put her\nhands behind her. She shook her head sadly. \"Such things are not for me,\nmiss.\"\n\nMy counselor couldn't read! I winced at my mistake, which I attenuated\nas I could, and opened my letter again to repeat it to her; then,\nfaltering in the act and folding it up once more, I put it back in my\npocket. \"Is he really BAD?\"\n\nThe tears were still in her eyes. \"Do the gentlemen say so?\"\n\n\"They go into no particulars. They simply express their regret that it\nshould be impossible to keep him. That can have only one meaning.\"\nMrs. Grose listened with dumb emotion; she forbore to ask me what\nthis meaning might be; so that, presently, to put the thing with some\ncoherence and with the mere aid of her presence to my own mind, I went\non: \"That he's an injury to the others.\"\n\nAt this, with one of the quick turns of simple folk, she suddenly","question":"This came home to me when, two days later, I drove over with Flora to\nmeet, as Mrs. Grose said, the little gentleman; and all the more for\nan incident that, presenting itself the second evening, had deeply\ndisconcerted me. The first day had been, on the whole, as I have\nexpressed, reassuring; but I was to see it wind up in keen apprehension.\nThe postbag, that evening--it came late--contained a letter for me,\nwhich, however, in the hand of my employer, I found to be composed but\nof a few words enclosing another, addressed to himself, with a seal\nstill unbroken. \"This, I recognize, is from the headmaster, and the\nheadmaster's an awful bore. Read him, please; deal with him; but mind\nyou don't report. Not a word. I'm off!\" I broke the seal with a great\neffort--so great a one that I was a long time coming to it; took the\nunopened missive at last up to my room and only attacked it just before\ngoing to bed. I had better have let it wait till morning, for it gave me\na second sleepless night. With no counsel to take, the next day, I\nwas full of distress; and it finally got so the better of me that I\ndetermined to open myself at"}
{"answer":"    15\n\n_Escal._ I shall, sir. Fare you well.\n\n_Ang._ Good night.    [_Exit Escalus._\n\nThis deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant,\nAnd dull to all proceedings. A deflower'd maid!\nAnd by an eminent body that enforced                                20\nThe law against it! But that her tender shame\nWill not proclaim against her maiden loss,\nHow might she tongue me! Yet reason dares her no;\nFor my authority bears of a credent bulk,\nThat no particular scandal once can touch                           25\nBut it confounds the breather. He should have lived,\nSave that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense,\nMight in the times to come have ta'en revenge,\nBy so receiving a dishonour'd life\nWith ransom of such shame. Would yet he had lived!                  30\nAlack, when once our grace we have forgot,\nNothing goes right: we would, and we would not.    [_Exit._\n\n\n  NOTES: IV, 4.\n\n  SCENE IV.] SCENE XII. Pope.\n  A room ... house.] Capell. The palace. Rowe.\n  2, sqq.: Angelo's speeches in this scene Collier prints as verse.\n  5: _redeliver_] Capell. _re-liver_] F1. _deliver_ F2 F3 F4.\n  13:","question":"SCENE IV.\n\n\n_A room in ANGELO'S house._\n\n  _Enter ANGELO and ESCALUS._\n\n_Escal._ Every letter he hath writ hath disvouched other.\n\n_Ang._ In most uneven and distracted manner. His\nactions show much like to madness: pray heaven his wisdom\nbe not tainted! And why meet him at the gates,\nand redeliver our authorities there?                                 5\n\n_Escal._ I guess not.\n\n_Ang._ And why should we proclaim it in an hour before\nhis entering, that if any crave redress of injustice, they\nshould exhibit their petitions in the street?\n\n_Escal._ He shows his reason for that: to have a dispatch           10\nof complaints, and to deliver us from devices hereafter,\nwhich shall then have no power to stand against us.\n\n_Ang._ Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaimed betimes\ni' the morn; I'll call you at your house: give notice to such\nmen of sort and suit as are to meet him.                       "}
{"answer":"he said it dat she had been askin' orften, he says: 'Oh, hell,\nyes,' he says, says he, 'Oh, hell, yes.'\"\n\nStorm-clouds swept over Jimmie's face, but he turned from the leathery\nold woman and plodded on up-stairs.\n\n\"Oh, hell, yes,\" called she after him.  She laughed a laugh that was\nlike a prophetic croak.  \"'Oh, hell, yes,' he says, says he, 'Oh, hell,\nyes.'\"\n\nThere was no one in at home.  The rooms showed that attempts had been\nmade at tidying them.  Parts of the wreckage of the day before had been\nrepaired by an unskilful hand.  A chair or two and the table, stood\nuncertainly upon legs.  The floor had been newly swept.  Too, the blue\nribbons had been restored to the curtains, and the lambrequin, with its\nimmense sheaves of yellow wheat and red roses of equal size, had been\nreturned, in a worn and sorry state, to its position at the mantel.\nMaggie's jacket and hat were gone from the nail behind the door.\n\nJimmie walked to the window and began to look through the blurred\nglass.  It occurred to him to vaguely wonder, for an instant, if some\nof the women of his acquaintance had brothers.\n\nSuddenly, however, he began to swear.\n\n\"But he was me frien'!  I brought 'im here!  Dat's deh hell of it!\"\n\nHe fumed about the room, his anger gradually rising to the furious\npitch.\n\n\"I'll kill deh jay!  Dat's what I'll do!  I'll kill deh jay!\"\n\nHe clutched his hat and sprang toward the door.  But it opened and his\nmother's","question":"\nJimmie had an idea it wasn't common courtesy for a friend to come to\none's home and ruin one's sister.  But he was not sure how much Pete\nknew about the rules of politeness.\n\nThe following night he returned home from work at rather a late hour in\nthe evening.  In passing through the halls he came upon the gnarled and\nleathery old woman who possessed the music box.  She was grinning in\nthe dim light that drifted through dust-stained panes.  She beckoned to\nhim with a smudged forefinger.\n\n\"Ah, Jimmie, what do yehs t'ink I got onto las' night.  It was deh\nfunnies' t'ing I ever saw,\" she cried, coming close to him and leering.\nShe was trembling with eagerness to tell her tale.  \"I was by me door\nlas' night when yer sister and her jude feller came in late, oh, very\nlate.  An' she, the dear, she was a-cryin' as if her heart would break,\nshe was.  It was deh funnies' t'ing I ever saw.  An' right out here by\nme door she asked him did he love her, did he.  An' she was a-cryin' as\nif her heart would break, poor t'ing.  An' him, I could see by deh way\nwhat"}
{"answer":"owne misfortune on the backe\nOf such as haue before indur'd the like.\nThus play I in one Prison, many people,\nAnd none contented. Sometimes am I King;\nThen Treason makes me wish my selfe a Beggar,\nAnd so I am. Then crushing penurie,\nPerswades me, I was better when a King:\nThen am I king'd againe: and by and by,\nThinke that I am vn-king'd by Bullingbrooke,\nAnd straight am nothing. But what ere I am,\n\nMusick\n\nNor I, nor any man, that but man is,\nWith nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd\nWith being nothing. Musicke do I heare?\nHa, ha? keepe time: How sowre sweet Musicke is,\nWhen Time is broke, and no Proportion kept?\nSo is it in the Musicke of mens liues:\nAnd heere haue I the daintinesse of eare,\nTo heare time broke in a disorder'd string:\nBut for the Concord of my State and Time,\nHad not an eare to heare my true Time broke.\nI wasted Time, and now doth Time waste me:\nFor now hath Time made me his numbring clocke;\nMy Thoughts, are minutes; and with Sighes they iarre,\nTheir watches on vnto mine eyes, the outward Watch,\nWhereto my finger, like a Dialls point,\nIs pointing still, in cleansing them from teares.\nNow sir, the sound that tels what houre it is,\nAre clamorous groanes, that strike vpon my heart,\nWhich is the bell: so Sighes, and Teares, and Grones,\nShew Minutes, Houres, and Times: but my Time\nRuns poasting on, in Bullingbrookes proud ioy,\nWhile I stand fooling heere, his iacke o'th' Clocke.\nThis Musicke mads me, let it sound no more,\nFor though it haue holpe madmen to their","question":"Scaena Quarta.\n\nEnter Richard.\n\n  Rich. I haue bin studying, how to compare\nThis Prison where I liue, vnto the World:\nAnd for because the world is populous,\nAnd heere is not a Creature, but my selfe,\nI cannot do it: yet Ile hammer't out.\nMy Braine, Ile proue the Female to my Soule,\nMy Soule, the Father: and these two beget\nA generation of still breeding Thoughts;\nAnd these same Thoughts, people this Little World\nIn humors, like the people of this world,\nFor no thought is contented. The better sort,\nAs thoughts of things Diuine, are intermixt\nWith scruples, and do set the Faith it selfe\nAgainst the Faith: as thus: Come litle ones: & then again,\nIt is as hard to come, as for a Camell\nTo thred the posterne of a Needles eye.\nThoughts tending to Ambition, they do plot\nVnlikely wonders; how these vaine weake nailes\nMay teare a passage through the Flinty ribbes\nOf this hard world, my ragged prison walles:\nAnd for they cannot, dye in their owne pride.\nThoughts tending to Content, flatter themselues,\nThat they are not the first of Fortunes slaues,\nNor shall not be the last. Like silly Beggars,\nWho sitting in the Stockes, refuge their shame\nThat many haue, and others must sit there;\nAnd in this Thought, they finde a kind of ease,\nBearing their"}
{"answer":"IMOGEN. I would have broke mine eyestrings, crack'd them but\n    To look upon him, till the diminution\n    Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle;\n    Nay, followed him till he had melted from\n    The smallness of a gnat to air, and then\n    Have turn'd mine eye and wept. But, good Pisanio,\n    When shall we hear from him?\n  PISANIO. Be assur'd, madam,\n    With his next vantage.\n  IMOGEN. I did not take my leave of him, but had\n    Most pretty things to say. Ere I could tell him\n    How I would think on him at certain hours\n    Such thoughts and such; or I could make him swear\n    The shes of Italy should not betray\n    Mine interest and his honour; or have charg'd him,\n    At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight,\n    T' encounter me with orisons, for then\n    I am in heaven for him; or ere I could\n    Give him that parting kiss which I had set\n    Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father,\n    And like the tyrannous breathing of the north\n    Shakes all our buds from growing.\n\n           ","question":"SCENE III.\nBritain. CYMBELINE'S palace\n\nEnter IMOGEN and PISANIO\n\n  IMOGEN. I would thou grew'st unto the shores o' th' haven,\n    And questioned'st every sail; if he should write,\n    And I not have it, 'twere a paper lost,\n    As offer'd mercy is. What was the last\n    That he spake to thee?\n  PISANIO. It was: his queen, his queen!\n  IMOGEN. Then wav'd his handkerchief?\n  PISANIO. And kiss'd it, madam.\n  IMOGEN. Senseless linen, happier therein than I!\n    And that was all?\n  PISANIO. No, madam; for so long\n    As he could make me with his eye, or care\n    Distinguish him from others, he did keep\n    The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief,\n    Still waving, as the fits and stirs of's mind\n    Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on,\n    How swift his ship.\n  IMOGEN. Thou shouldst have made him\n    As little as a crow, or less, ere left\n    To after-eye him.\n  PISANIO. Madam, so I did.\n "}
{"answer":"of\nsmoke, the last breath of the monster enclosed within its circle\nof stone.  Little by little the belt of heat contracted, until\non the 22nd of August, Barbicane, his colleagues, and the\nengineer were enabled to set foot on the iron sheet which lay\nlevel upon the summit of Stones Hill.\n\n\"At last!\" exclaimed the president of the Gun Club, with an\nimmense sigh of relief.\n\nThe work was resumed the same day.  They proceeded at once to\nextract the interior mould, for the purpose of clearing out the\nboring of the piece.  Pickaxes and boring irons were set to work\nwithout intermission.  The clayey and sandy soils had acquired\nextreme hardness under the action of the heat; but, by the aid\nof the machines, the rubbish on being dug out was rapidly carted\naway on railway wagons; and such was the ardor of the work, so\npersuasive the arguments of Barbicane's dollars, that by the 3rd\nof September all traces of the mould had entirely disappeared.\n\nImmediately the operation of boring was commenced; and by the\naid of powerful machines, a few weeks later, the inner surface\nof the immense tube had been rendered perfectly cylindrical, and\nthe bore of the piece had acquired a thorough polish.\n\nAt length, on the 22d of September, less than a twelvemonth\nafter Barbicane's original proposition, the enormous weapon,\naccurately bored, and exactly vertically pointed, was ready\nfor work.  There was only the moon now to wait for; and they\nwere pretty sure that she would not fail in the rendezvous.\n\nThe ecstasy of J. T. Maston knew no bounds, and he narrowly\nescaped","question":"\n\nHad the casting succeeded?  They were reduced to mere conjecture.\nThere was indeed every reason to expect success, since the mould\nhas absorbed the entire mass of the molten metal; still some\nconsiderable time must elapse before they could arrive at any\ncertainty upon the matter.\n\nThe patience of the members of the Gun Club was sorely tried during\nthis period of time.  But they could do nothing.  J. T. Maston\nescaped roasting by a miracle.  Fifteen days after the casting\nan immense column of smoke was still rising in the open sky and\nthe ground burned the soles of the feet within a radius of two\nhundred feet round the summit of Stones Hill.  It was impossible\nto approach nearer.  All they could do was to wait with what\npatience they might.\n\n\"Here we are at the 10th of August,\" exclaimed J. T. Maston one\nmorning, \"only four months to the 1st of December!  We shall\nnever be ready in time!\"  Barbicane said nothing, but his\nsilence covered serious irritation.\n\nHowever, daily observations revealed a certain change going on\nin the state of the ground.  About the 15th of August the vapors\nejected had sensibly diminished in intensity and thickness.\nSome days afterward the earth exhaled only a slight puff"}
{"answer":" Bast. I know no newes, my Lord\n\n   Glou. What Paper were you reading?\n  Bast. Nothing my Lord\n\n   Glou. No? what needed then that terrible dispatch of\nit into your Pocket? The quality of nothing, hath not\nsuch neede to hide it selfe. Let's see: come, if it bee nothing,\nI shall not neede Spectacles\n\n   Bast. I beseech you Sir, pardon mee; it is a Letter\nfrom my Brother, that I haue not all ore-read; and for so\nmuch as I haue perus'd, I finde it not fit for your ore-looking\n\n   Glou. Giue me the Letter, Sir\n\n   Bast. I shall offend, either to detaine, or giue it:\nThe Contents, as in part I vnderstand them,\nAre too blame\n\n   Glou. Let's see, let's see\n\n   Bast. I hope for my Brothers iustification, hee wrote\nthis but as an essay, or taste of my Vertue\n\n   Glou. reads. This policie, and reuerence of Age, makes the\nworld bitter to the best of our times: keepes our Fortunes from\nvs, till our oldnesse cannot rellish them. I begin to finde an idle\nand fond bondage, in the oppression of aged tyranny, who swayes\nnot as it hath power, but as it is suffer'd. Come to me, that of\nthis I may speake more. If our Father would sleepe till I wak'd\nhim, you should enioy halfe his Reuennew for euer, and liue the\nbeloued of your Brother. Edgar.\nHum? Conspiracy? Sleepe till I wake him, you should\nenioy halfe his Reuennew: my Sonne Edgar, had","question":"Scena Secunda.\n\n\nEnter Bastard.\n\n  Bast. Thou Nature art my Goddesse, to thy Law\nMy seruices are bound, wherefore should I\nStand in the plague of custome, and permit\nThe curiosity of Nations, to depriue me?\nFor that I am some twelue, or fourteene Moonshines\nLag of a Brother? Why Bastard? Wherefore base?\nWhen my Dimensions are as well compact,\nMy minde as generous, and my shape as true\nAs honest Madams issue? Why brand they vs\nWith Base? With basenes Bastardie? Base, Base?\nWho in the lustie stealth of Nature, take\nMore composition, and fierce qualitie,\nThen doth within a dull stale tyred bed\nGoe to th' creating a whole tribe of Fops\nGot 'tweene a sleepe, and wake? Well then,\nLegitimate Edgar, I must haue your land,\nOur Fathers loue, is to the Bastard Edmond,\nAs to th' legitimate: fine word: Legitimate.\nWell, my Legittimate, if this Letter speed,\nAnd my inuention thriue, Edmond the base\nShall to'th' Legitimate: I grow, I prosper:\nNow Gods, stand vp for Bastards.\nEnter Gloucester.\n\n  Glo. Kent banish'd thus? and France in choller parted?\nAnd the King gone to night? Prescrib'd his powre,\nConfin'd to exhibition? All this done\nVpon the gad? Edmond, how now? What newes?\n  Bast. So please your Lordship, none\n\n   Glou. Why so earnestly seeke you to put vp y Letter?\n"}
{"answer":"Six\nshillings and ninepence halfpenny on the very first day!  The kinchin\nlay will be a fortune to you.'\n\n'Don't you forget to add three pint-pots and a milk-can,' said Mr.\nBolter.\n\n'No, no, my dear.  The pint-pots were great strokes of genius: but the\nmilk-can was a perfect masterpiece.'\n\n'Pretty well, I think, for a beginner,' remarked Mr. Bolter\ncomplacently.  'The pots I took off airy railings, and the milk-can was\nstanding by itself outside a public-house.  I thought it might get\nrusty with the rain, or catch cold, yer know.  Eh?  Ha! ha! ha!'\n\nFagin affected to laugh very heartily; and Mr. Bolter having had his\nlaugh out, took a series of large bites, which finished his first hunk\nof bread and butter, and assisted himself to a second.\n\n'I want you, Bolter,' said Fagin, leaning over the table, 'to do a\npiece of work for me, my dear, that needs great care and caution.'\n\n'I say,' rejoined Bolter, 'don't yer go shoving me into danger, or\nsending me any more o' yer police-offices. That don't suit me, that\ndon't; and so I tell yer.'\n\n'That's not the smallest danger in it--not the very smallest,' said the\nJew; 'it's only to dodge a woman.'\n\n'An old woman?' demanded Mr. Bolter.\n\n'A young one,' replied Fagin.\n\n'I can do that pretty well, I know,' said Bolter.  'I was a regular\ncunning sneak when I was at school.  What am I to dodge her for?  Not\nto--'\n\n'Not to do anything, but to tell me where she goes, who she sees, and,\nif possible, what she says; to","question":"The old man was up, betimes, next morning, and waited impatiently for\nthe appearance of his new associate, who after a delay that seemed\ninterminable, at length presented himself, and commenced a voracious\nassault on the breakfast.\n\n'Bolter,' said Fagin, drawing up a chair and seating himself opposite\nMorris Bolter.\n\n'Well, here I am,' returned Noah.  'What's the matter?  Don't yer ask\nme to do anything till I have done eating. That's a great fault in this\nplace.  Yer never get time enough over yer meals.'\n\n'You can talk as you eat, can't you?' said Fagin, cursing his dear\nyoung friend's greediness from the very bottom of his heart.\n\n'Oh yes, I can talk.  I get on better when I talk,' said Noah, cutting\na monstrous slice of bread.  'Where's Charlotte?'\n\n'Out,' said Fagin.  'I sent her out this morning with the other young\nwoman, because I wanted us to be alone.'\n\n'Oh!' said Noah.  'I wish yer'd ordered her to make some buttered toast\nfirst.  Well.  Talk away.  Yer won't interrupt me.'\n\nThere seemed, indeed, no great fear of anything interrupting him, as he\nhad evidently sat down with a determination to do a great deal of\nbusiness.\n\n'You did well yesterday, my dear,' said Fagin.  'Beautiful! "}
{"answer":"And to your Royall Grace, & the good Queen,\n      My Noble Partners, and my selfe thus pray\n      All comfort, ioy in this most gracious Lady,\n      Heauen euer laid vp to make Parents happy,\n      May hourely fall vpon ye\n\n      Kin. Thanke you good Lord Archbishop:\n      What is her Name?\n      Cran. Elizabeth\n\n      Kin. Stand vp Lord,\n      With this Kisse, take my Blessing: God protect thee,\n      Into whose hand, I giue thy Life\n\n      Cran. Amen\n\n      Kin. My Noble Gossips, y'haue beene too Prodigall;\n      I thanke ye heartily: So shall this Lady,\n      When she ha's so much English\n\n      Cran. Let me speake Sir,\n      For Heauen now bids me; and the words I vtter,\n      Let none thinke Flattery; for they'l finde 'em Truth.\n      This Royall Infant, Heauen still moue about her;\n      Though in her Cradle; yet now promises\n      Vpon this Land a thousand thousand Blessings,\n      Which Time shall bring to","question":"Enter Trumpets sounding: Then two Aldermen, L[ord]. Maior,\n      Garter,\n      Cranmer, Duke of Norfolke with his Marshals Staffe, Duke of\n      Suffolke, two\n      Noblemen, bearing great standing Bowles for the Christening\n      Guifts: Then\n      foure Noblemen bearing a Canopy, vnder which the Dutchesse of\n      Norfolke,\n      Godmother, bearing the Childe richly habited in a Mantle, &c.\n      Traine borne\n      by a Lady: Then followes the Marchionesse Dorset, the other\n      Godmother, and\n      Ladies. The Troope passe once about the Stage, and Garter\n      speakes.\n\n      Gart. Heauen\n      From thy endlesse goodnesse, send prosperous life,\n      Long, and euer happie, to the high and Mighty\n      Princesse of England Elizabeth.\n\n      Flourish. Enter King and Guard.\n\n      Cran."}
{"answer":"seats himself:--with gentle raillery\n  He mocks my tapestry that's never done;\n  He tells me all the gossip of the week. . .\n(Le Bret appears on the steps):\n  Why, here's Le Bret!\n(Le Bret descends):\n  How goes it with our friend?\n\nLE BRET:\n  Ill!--very ill.\n\nTHE DUKE:\n  How?\n\nROXANE (to the Duke):\n  He exaggerates!\n\nLE BRET:\n  All that I prophesied:  desertion, want!. . .\n  His letters now make him fresh enemies!--\n  Attacking the sham nobles, sham devout,\n  Sham brave,--the thieving authors,--all the world!\n\nROXANE:\n  Ah! but his sword still holds them all in check;\n  None get the better of him.\n\nTHE DUKE (shaking his head):\n  Time will show!\n\nLE BRET:\n  Ah, but I fear for him--not man's attack,--\n  Solitude--hunger--cold December days,\n  That wolf-like steal into his chamber drear:--\n  Lo! the assassins that I fear for him!\n  Each day he tightens by one hole his belt:\n  That poor nose--tinted like old ivory:\n  He has retained one shabby suit of serge.\n\nTHE DUKE:\n  Ay, there is one who has no prize of Fortune!--\n  Yet is not to be pitied!\n\nLE BRET (with a bitter smile):\n  My Lord Marshal!. . .\n\nTHE DUKE:\n  Pity him not!  He has lived out his vows,\n  Free in his thoughts, as in his actions free!\n\nLE BRET (in the same tone):\n  My Lord!. . .\n\nTHE DUKE (haughtily):\n  True!  I have all, and he has naught;. . .\n  Yet","question":"Roxane; the Duke de Grammont, formerly Count de Guiche.  Then Le Bret and\nRagueneau.\n\nTHE DUKE:\n  And you stay here still--ever vainly fair,\n  Ever in weeds?\n\nROXANE:\n  Ever.\n\nTHE DUKE:\n  Still faithful?\n\nROXANE:\n  Still.\n\nTHE DUKE (after a pause):\n  Am I forgiven?\n\nROXANE:\n  Ay, since I am here.\n\n(Another pause.)\n\nTHE DUKE:\n  His was a soul, you say?. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  Ah!--when you knew him!\n\nTHE DUKE:\n  Ah, may be!. . .I, perchance, too little knew him!\n  . . .And his last letter, ever next your heart?\n\nROXANE:\n  Hung from this chain, a gentle scapulary.\n\nTHE DUKE:\n  And, dead, you love him still?\n\nROXANE:\n  At times,--meseems\n  He is but partly dead--our hearts still speak,\n  As if his love, still living, wrapped me round!\n\nTHE DUKE (after another pause):\n  Cyrano comes to see you?\n\nROXANE:\n  Often, ay.\n  Dear, kind old friend!  We call him my 'Gazette.'\n  He never fails to come:  beneath this tree\n  They place his chair, if it be fine:--I wait,\n  I broider;--the clock strikes;--at the last stroke\n  I hear,--for now I never turn to look--\n  Too sure to hear his cane tap down the steps;\n  He"}
{"answer":"victory. Then leaden age,\n    Quicken'd with youthful spleen and warlike rage,\n    Beat down Alencon, Orleans, Burgundy,\n    And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee.\n    The ireful bastard Orleans, that drew blood\n    From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood\n    Of thy first fight, I soon encountered\n    And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed\n    Some of his bastard blood; and in disgrace\n    Bespoke him thus: 'Contaminated, base,\n    And misbegotten blood I spill of thine,\n    Mean and right poor, for that pure blood of mine\n    Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy.'\n    Here purposing the Bastard to destroy,\n    Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care;\n    Art thou not weary, John? How dost thou fare?\n    Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly,\n    Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry?\n    Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead:\n    The help of one stands me in little stead.\n    O, too much folly is it, well I wot,\n    To hazard all our lives in one small boat!\n    If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage,\n    To-morrow I shall die with mickle","question":"SCENE 6.\n\n                         A field of battle\n\n         Alarum: excursions wherein JOHN TALBOT is hemm'd\n                  about, and TALBOT rescues him\n\n  TALBOT. Saint George and victory! Fight, soldiers, fight.\n    The Regent hath with Talbot broke his word\n    And left us to the rage of France his sword.\n    Where is John Talbot? Pause and take thy breath;\n    I gave thee life and rescu'd thee from death.\n  JOHN. O, twice my father, twice am I thy son!\n    The life thou gav'st me first was lost and done\n    Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate,\n    To my determin'd time thou gav'st new date.\n  TALBOT. When from the Dauphin's crest thy sword struck\n    fire,\n    It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire\n    Of bold-fac'd"}
{"answer":"the various Institutions\nand Refuges of the Army in different cities of the land. It is a\nwonderful thing, as has happened to me again and again, to see some\nquiet, middle-aged lady, often so shy that it is difficult to extract\nfrom her the information required, ruling with the most perfect\nsuccess a number of young women, who, a few weeks or months before,\nwere the vilest of the vile, and what is stranger still, reforming as\nshe rules. These ladies exercise no severity; the punishment, which,\nperhaps necessarily, is a leading feature in some of our Government\nInstitutions, is unknown to their system. I am told that no one is\never struck, no one is imprisoned, no one is restricted in diet for\nany offence. As an Officer said to me:--\n\n'If we cannot manage a girl by love, we recognize that the case is\nbeyond us, and ask her to go away. This, however, very seldom\nhappens.'\n\nAs a matter of fact, that case which is beyond the regenerating powers\nof the Army must be very bad indeed, at any rate where young people\nare concerned. In the vast majority of instances a cure is effected,\nand apparently a permanent cure. In every one of these Homes there is\na room reserved for the accommodation of those who have passed through\nit and gone out into the world again, should they care to return there\nin their holidays or other intervals of leisure. That room is always\nin great demand, and I can imagine no more eloquent testimony to the\nmanner of the treatment of its occupants while they dwelt","question":"THE WOMEN'S SOCIAL WORK IN LONDON\n\n\n\nAt the commencement of my investigation of this branch of the\nSalvation Army activities in England, I discussed its general aspects\nwith Mrs. Bramwell Booth, who has it in her charge. She pointed out to\nme that this Women's Social Work is a much larger business than it was\nbelieved to be even by those who had some acquaintance with the\nSalvation Army, and that it deals with many matters of great\nimportance in their bearing on the complex problems of our\ncivilization.\n\nAmong them, to take some that she mentioned, which recur to my mind,\nare the questions of illegitimacy and prostitution, of maternity homes\nfor poor girls who have fallen into trouble, of women thieves, of what\nis known as the White Slave traffic, of female children who have been\nexposed to awful treatment, of women who are drunkards or drug-takers,\nof aged and destitute women, of intractable or vicious-minded girls,\nand, lastly, of the training of young persons to enable them to deal\nscientifically with all these evils, or under the name of Slum\nSisters, to wait upon the poor in their homes, and nurse them through\nthe trials of maternity.\n\nHow practical and efficient this training is, no one can know who has\nnot, like myself, visited and inquired into"}
{"answer":"I must own\nhe had a good shape, and a soft and white skin; but he had little or no\nmind or philosophy, and you might see plainly that he had never been\ninstructed by Doctor Pangloss. In three months time, having lost all his\nmoney, and being grown tired of my company, he sold me to a Jew, named\nDon Issachar, who traded to Holland and Portugal, and had a strong\npassion for women. This Jew was much attached to my person, but could\nnot triumph over it; I resisted him better than the Bulgarian soldier. A\nmodest woman may be ravished once, but her virtue is strengthened by it.\nIn order to render me more tractable, he brought me to this country\nhouse. Hitherto I had imagined that nothing could equal the beauty of\nThunder-ten-Tronckh Castle; but I found I was mistaken.\n\n\"The Grand Inquisitor, seeing me one day at Mass, stared long at me, and\nsent to tell me that he wished to speak on private matters. I was\nconducted to his palace, where I acquainted him with the history of my\nfamily, and he represented to me how much it was beneath my rank to\nbelong to an Israelite. A proposal was then made to Don Issachar that he\nshould resign me to my lord. Don Issachar, being the court banker, and a\nman of credit, would hear nothing of it. The Inquisitor threatened him\nwith an _auto-da-fe_. At last my Jew, intimidated, concluded a bargain,\nby which the house and myself should belong to both in common; the Jew\nshould have for himself Monday, Wednesday, and","question":"\n\"I was in bed and fast asleep when it pleased God to send the Bulgarians\nto our delightful castle of Thunder-ten-Tronckh; they slew my father and\nbrother, and cut my mother in pieces. A tall Bulgarian, six feet high,\nperceiving that I had fainted away at this sight, began to ravish me;\nthis made me recover; I regained my senses, I cried, I struggled, I bit,\nI scratched, I wanted to tear out the tall Bulgarian's eyes--not knowing\nthat what happened at my father's house was the usual practice of war.\nThe brute gave me a cut in the left side with his hanger, and the mark\nis still upon me.\"\n\n\"Ah! I hope I shall see it,\" said honest Candide.\n\n\"You shall,\" said Cunegonde, \"but let us continue.\"\n\n\"Do so,\" replied Candide.\n\nThus she resumed the thread of her story:\n\n\"A Bulgarian captain came in, saw me all bleeding, and the soldier not\nin the least disconcerted. The captain flew into a passion at the\ndisrespectful behaviour of the brute, and slew him on my body. He\nordered my wounds to be dressed, and took me to his quarters as a\nprisoner of war. I washed the few shirts that he had, I did his cooking;\nhe thought me very pretty--he avowed it; on the other hand,"}
{"answer":"That e'er received gift from him.\n    And does he think so backwardly of me now\n    That I'll requite it last? No;\n    So it may prove an argument of laughter\n    To th' rest, and I 'mongst lords be thought a fool.\n    I'd rather than the worth of thrice the sum\n    Had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake;\n    I'd such a courage to do him good. But now return,\n    And with their faint reply this answer join:\n    Who bates mine honour shall not know my coin.           Exit\n  SERVANT. Excellent! Your lordship's a goodly villain. The devil\n    knew not what he did when he made man politic- he cross'd\nhimself\n    by't; and I cannot think but, in the end, the villainies of\nman\n    will set him clear. How fairly this lord strives to appear\nfoul!\n    Takes virtuous copies to be wicked, like those that under hot\n    ardent zeal would set whole realms on fire.\n    Of such a nature is his politic love.\n    This was my lord's best hope; now all are fled,\n    Save only the gods. Now his friends are dead,\n    Doors that were ne'er acquainted with their","question":"SEMPRONIUS' house\n\nEnter SEMPRONIUS and a SERVANT of TIMON'S\n\n  SEMPRONIUS. Must he needs trouble me in't? Hum! 'Bove all\nothers?\n    He might have tried Lord Lucius or Lucullus;\n    And now Ventidius is wealthy too,\n    Whom he redeem'd from prison. All these\n    Owe their estates unto him.\n  SERVANT. My lord,\n    They have all been touch'd and found base metal, for\n    They have all denied him.\n  SEMPRONIUS. How! Have they denied him?\n    Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him?\n    And does he send to me? Three? Humh!\n    It shows but little love or judgment in him.\n    Must I be his last refuge? His friends, like physicians,\n    Thrice give him over. Must I take th' cure upon me?\n    Has much disgrac'd me in't; I'm angry at him,\n    That might have known my place. I see no sense for't,\n    But his occasions might have woo'd me first;\n    For, in my conscience, I was the first man\n   "}
{"answer":"nowhere very great. But\nwhat I judge most likely is that she's on the spot from which, the other\nday, we saw together what I told you.\"\n\n\"When she pretended not to see--?\"\n\n\"With that astounding self-possession? I've always been sure she wanted\nto go back alone. And now her brother has managed it for her.\"\n\nMrs. Grose still stood where she had stopped. \"You suppose they really\nTALK of them?\"\n\n\"I could meet this with a confidence! They say things that, if we heard\nthem, would simply appall us.\"\n\n\"And if she IS there--\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"Then Miss Jessel is?\"\n\n\"Beyond a doubt. You shall see.\"\n\n\"Oh, thank you!\" my friend cried, planted so firm that, taking it in, I\nwent straight on without her. By the time I reached the pool, however,\nshe was close behind me, and I knew that, whatever, to her apprehension,\nmight befall me, the exposure of my society struck her as her least\ndanger. She exhaled a moan of relief as we at last came in sight of the\ngreater part of the water without a sight of the child. There was no\ntrace of Flora on that nearer side of the bank where my observation of\nher had been most startling, and none on the opposite edge, where, save\nfor a margin of some twenty yards, a thick copse came down to the water.\nThe pond, oblong in shape, had a width so scant compared to its length\nthat, with its ends out of view, it might have been taken for a scant\nriver. We looked at the empty expanse, and then I felt the suggestion\nof my friend's","question":"We went straight to the lake, as it was called at Bly, and I daresay\nrightly called, though I reflect that it may in fact have been a sheet\nof water less remarkable than it appeared to my untraveled eyes. My\nacquaintance with sheets of water was small, and the pool of Bly, at all\nevents on the few occasions of my consenting, under the protection of\nmy pupils, to affront its surface in the old flat-bottomed boat moored\nthere for our use, had impressed me both with its extent and its\nagitation. The usual place of embarkation was half a mile from the\nhouse, but I had an intimate conviction that, wherever Flora might\nbe, she was not near home. She had not given me the slip for any small\nadventure, and, since the day of the very great one that I had shared\nwith her by the pond, I had been aware, in our walks, of the quarter to\nwhich she most inclined. This was why I had now given to Mrs. Grose's\nsteps so marked a direction--a direction that made her, when she\nperceived it, oppose a resistance that showed me she was freshly\nmystified. \"You're going to the water, Miss?--you think she's IN--?\"\n\n\"She may be, though the depth is, I believe,"}
{"answer":"but that I am afeard.\n\nQUICKLY.\nHark ye; Master Slender would speak a word with you.\n\nANNE.\nI come to him. [Aside.] This is my father's choice.\nO, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults\nLooks handsome in three hundred pounds a year!\n\nQUICKLY.\nAnd how does good Master Fenton? Pray you, a\nword with you.\n\nSHALLOW.\nShe's coming; to her, coz. O boy, thou hadst a father!\n\nSLENDER.\nI had a father, Mistress Anne; my uncle can tell you good jests\nof him. Pray you, uncle, tell Mistress Anne the jest how my father\nstole two geese out of a pen, good uncle.\n\nSHALLOW.\nMistress Anne, my cousin loves you.\n\nSLENDER.\nAy, that I do; as well as I love any woman in Gloucestershire.\n\nSHALLOW.\nHe will maintain you like a gentlewoman.\n\nSLENDER.\nAy, that I will come cut and long-tail, under the degree of a squire.\n\nSHALLOW.\nHe will make you a hundred and fifty pounds jointure.\n\nANNE.\nGood Master Shallow, let him woo for himself.\n\nSHALLOW.\nMarry, I thank you for it; I thank you for that good comfort. She\ncalls you, coz; I'll leave you.\n\nANNE.\nNow, Master Slender.\n\nSLENDER.\nNow, good Mistress Anne.--\n\nANNE.\nWhat is your will?\n\nSLENDER.\nMy will! 'od's heartlings, that's a pretty jest indeed! I ne'er\nmade my will yet, I thank heaven; I am not such a sickly creature,\nI give heaven praise.\n\nANNE.\nI mean, Master Slender, what would you with me?\n\nSLENDER.\nTruly, for mine own part I would little or nothing with you. Your\nfather and my uncle hath made motions; if it be my luck, so; if not,\nhappy man be his dole! They can tell you how things go better than\nI can. You may ask your father; here he comes.\n\n[Enter PAGE","question":"SCENE 4.\n\nA room in PAGE'S house.\n\n[Enter FENTON, ANNE PAGE, and MISTRESS QUICKLY. MISTRESS QUICKLY\nstands apart.]\n\nFENTON.\nI see I cannot get thy father's love;\nTherefore no more turn me to him, sweet Nan.\n\nANNE.\nAlas! how then?\n\nFENTON.\nWhy, thou must be thyself.\nHe doth object, I am too great of birth;\nAnd that my state being gall'd with my expense,\nI seek to heal it only by his wealth.\nBesides these, other bars he lays before me,\nMy riots past, my wild societies;\nAnd tells me 'tis a thing impossible\nI should love thee but as a property.\n\nANNE.\nMay be he tells you true.\n\nFENTON.\nNo, heaven so speed me in my time to come!\nAlbeit I will confess thy father's wealth\nWas the first motive that I wooed thee, Anne:\nYet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value\nThan stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags;\nAnd 'tis the very riches of thyself\nThat now I aim at.\n\nANNE.\nGentle Master Fenton,\nYet seek my father's love; still seek it, sir.\nIf opportunity and humblest suit\nCannot attain it, why then,--hark you hither.\n\n[They converse apart.]\n\n[Enter SHALLOW, SLENDER, and MISTRESS QUICKLY.]\n\nSHALLOW.\nBreak their talk, Mistress Quickly: my kinsman shall speak for himself.\n\nSLENDER.\nI'll make a shaft or a bolt on 't. 'Slid, 'tis but venturing.\n\nSHALLOW.\nBe not dismayed.\n\nSLENDER.\nNo, she shall not dismay me. I care not for that,"}
{"answer":"(shaking his hands):\n  Vivat!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Baron!\n\nTHIRD CADET:\n  Come!\n  I must embrace you!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Baron!\n\nSEVERAL GASCONS:\n  We'll embrace\n  Him, all in turn!\n\nCYRANO (not knowing whom to reply to):\n  Baron!. . .Baron!. . .I beg. . .\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Are you all Barons, Sirs?\n\nTHE CADETS:\n  Ay, every one!\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Is it true?. . .\n\nFIRST CADET:\n  Ay--why, you could build a tower\n  With nothing but our coronets, my friend!\n\nLE BRET (entering, and running up to Cyrano):\n  They're looking for you!  Here's a crazy mob\n  Led by the men who followed you last night. . .\n\nCYRANO (alarmed):\n  What!  Have you told them where to find me?\n\nLE BRET (rubbing his hands):\n  Yes!\n\nA BURGHER (entering, followed by a group of men):\n  Sir, all the Marais is a-coming here!\n\n(Outside the street has filled with people.  Chaises a porteurs and carriages\nhave drawn up.)\n\nLE BRET (in a low voice, smiling, to Cyrano):\n  And Roxane?\n\nCYRANO (quickly):\n  Hush!\n\nTHE CROWD (calling outside):\n  Cyrano!. . .\n\n(A crowd rush into the shop, pushing one another.  Acclamations.)\n\nRAGUENEAU (standing on a table):\n  Lo! my shop\n  Invaded!  They break all!  Magnificent!\n\nPEOPLE (crowding round Cyrano):\n  My friend!. . .my friend. . .\n\nCyrano:\n  Meseems that yesterday\n  I had not all these friends!\n\nLE BRET (delighted):\n  Success!\n\nA YOUNG MARQUIS (hurrying up with his hands held out):\n  My friend,\n  Didst thou but know. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Thou!. . .Marry!. . .thou!. .","question":"Cyrano, Ragueneau, poets, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, the cadets, a crowd, then\nDe Guiche.\n\nRAGUENEAU:\n  Can we come in?\n\nCYRANO (without stirring):\n  Yes. . .\n\n(Ragueneau signs to his friends, and they come in.  At the same time, by door\nat back, enters Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, in Captain's uniform.  He makes\ngestures of surprise on seeing Cyrano.)\n\nCARBON:\n  Here he is!\n\nCYRANO (raising his head):\n  Captain!. . .\n\nCARBON (delightedly):\n  Our hero!  We heard all!  Thirty or more\n  Of my cadets are there!. . .\n\nCYRANO (shrinking back):\n  But. . .\n\nCARBON (trying to draw him away):\n  Come with me!\n  They will not rest until they see you!\n\nCYRANO:\n  No!\n\nCARBON:\n  They're drinking opposite, at The Bear's Head.\n\nCYRANO:\n  I. . .\n\nCARBON (going to the door and calling across the street in a voice of\nthunder):\n  He won't come!  The hero's in the sulks!\n\nA VOICE (outside):\n  Ah!  Sandious!\n\n(Tumult outside.  Noise of boots and swords is heard approaching.)\n\nCARBON (rubbing his hands):\n  They are running 'cross the street!\n\nCADETS (entering):\n  Mille dious!  Capdedious!  Pocapdedious!\n\nRAGUENEAU (drawing back startled):\n  Gentlemen, are you all from Gascony?\n\nTHE CADETS:\n  All!\n\nA CADET (to Cyrano):\n  Bravo!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Baron!\n\nANOTHER"}
{"answer":"PANOPE\n          I know not what the Queen intends to do,\n          But from her agitation dread the worst.\n          Fatal despair is painted on her features;\n          Death's pallor is already in her face.\n          Oenone, shamed and driven from her sight,\n          Has cast herself into the ocean depths.\n          None knows what prompted her to deed so rash;\n          And now the waves hide her from us for ever.\n\n          THESEUS\n          What say you?\n\n          PANOPE\n          Her sad fate seems to have added\n          Fresh trouble to the Queen's tempestuous soul.\n          Sometimes, to soothe her secret pain, she clasps\n          Her children close, and bathes them with her tears;\n          Then suddenly, the mother's love forgotten,\n","question":"SCENE IV\n\n\n          THESEUS (alone)\n          What is there in her mind? What meaning lurks\n          In speech begun but to be broken short?\n          Would both deceive me with a vain pretence?\n          Have they conspired to put me to the torture?\n          And yet, despite my stern severity,\n          What plaintive voice cries deep within my heart?\n          A secret pity troubles and alarms me.\n          Oenone shall be questioned once again,\n          I must have clearer light upon this crime.\n          Guards, bid Oenone come, and come alone.\n\n\n\n\nSCENE V\n          THESEUS, PANOPE\n\n\n         "}
{"answer":"ARMADO, MOTH, and COSTARD.]\n\nNATHANIEL.\nVidesne quis venit?\n\nHOLOFERNES.\nVideo, et gaudeo.\n\nARMADO.\n[To MOTH] Chirrah!\n\nHOLOFERNES.\nQuare chirrah, not sirrah?\n\nARMADO.\nMen of peace, well encountered.\n\nHOLOFERNES.\nMost military sir, salutation.\n\nMOTH.\n[Aside to COSTARD.] They have been at a great feast of\nlanguages and stolen the scraps.\n\nCOSTARD.\nO! they have lived long on the alms-basket of words. I\nmarvel thy master hath not eaten thee for a word, for thou are\nnot so long by the head as honorificabilitudinitatibus; thou art\neasier swallowed than a flap-dragon.\n\nMOTH.\nPeace! the peal begins.\n\nARMADO.\n[To HOLOFERNES.] Monsieur, are you not lettered?\n\nMOTH.\nYes, yes; he teaches boys the hornbook. What is a, b, spelt\nbackward with the horn on his head?\n\nHOLOFERNES.\nBa, pueritia, with a horn added.\n\nMOTH.\nBa! most silly sheep with a horn. You hear his learning.\n\nHOLOFERNES.\nQuis, quis, thou consonant?\n\nMOTH.\nThe third of the five vowels, if you repeat them; or the\nfifth, if I.\n\nHOLOFERNES.\nI will repeat them,--a, e, i,--\n\nMOTH.\nThe sheep; the other two concludes it,--o, u.\n\nARMADO.\nNow, by the salt wave of the Mediterraneum, a sweet touch,\na quick venue of wit! snip, snap, quick and home! It rejoiceth my\nintellect: true wit!\n\nMOTH.\nOffered by a child to an old man; which is wit-old.\n\nHOLOFERNES.\nWhat is the figure? What is the figure?\n\nMOTH.\nHorns.\n\nHOLOFERNES.\nThou disputes like an infant; go, whip thy gig.\n\nMOTH.\nLend me your horn to make one, and I will whip about your\ninfamy circum circa. A gig of a cuckold's horn.\n\nCOSTARD.\nAn I had but one penny in the world, thou shouldst have it\nto buy gingerbread. Hold, there is the very remuneration I had\nof thy master, thou half-penny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of\ndiscretion. O! an the heavens were so pleased that thou wert but\nmy","question":"ACT V. SCENE I.\n\nThe King of Navarre's park.\n\n[Enter HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, and DULL.]\n\nHOLOFERNES.\nSatis quod sufficit.\n\nNATHANIEL.\nI praise God for you, sir: your reasons at dinner have\nbeen sharp and sententious; pleasant without scurrility, witty\nwithout affection, audacious without impudency, learned without\nopinion, and strange without heresy. I did converse this quondam\nday with a companion of the king's who is intituled, nominated,\nor called, Don Adriano de Armado.\n\nHOLOFERNES.\nNovi hominem tanquam te: his humour is lofty, his\ndiscourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his eye ambitious, his\ngait majestical and his general behaviour vain, ridiculous, and\nthrasonical. He is too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd,\nas it were, too peregrinate, as I may call it.\n\nNATHANIEL.\nA most singular and choice epithet.\n\n[Draws out his table-book.]\n\nHOLOFERNES.\nHe draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than\nthe staple of his argument. I abhor such fanatical phantasimes,\nsuch insociable and point-devise companions; such rackers of\northography, as to speak dout, fine, when he should say doubt;\ndet when he should pronounce debt,--d, e, b, t, not d, e, t: he\nclepeth a calf, cauf; half, hauf; neighbour vocatur nebour, neigh\nabbreviated ne. This is abhominable, which he\nwould call abominable,--it insinuateth me of insanie: anne\nintelligis, domine? to make frantic, lunatic.\n\nNATHANIEL.\nLaus Deo, bone intelligo.\n\nHOLOFERNES.\nBone? bone for bene: Priscian a little scratch'd; 'twill serve.\n\n[Enter"}
{"answer":"contrary, it might be the means of\nexciting his ill will. I followed his sister up stairs. He met me in a very\nfriendly manner, congratulated me on my escape from slavery, and hoped I\nhad a good place, where I felt happy.\n\nI continued to visit Ellen as often as I could. She, good thoughtful child,\nnever forgot my hazardous situation, but always kept a vigilant lookout for\nmy safety. She never made any complaint about her own inconveniences and\ntroubles; but a mother's observing eye easily perceived that she was not\nhappy. On the occasion of one of my visits I found her unusually serious.\nWhen I asked her what was the matter, she said nothing was the matter. But\nI insisted upon knowing what made her look so very grave. Finally, I\nascertained that she felt troubled about the dissipation that was\ncontinually going on in the house. She was sent to the store very often for\nrum and brandy, and she felt ashamed to ask for it so often; and Mr. Hobbs\nand Mr. Thorne drank a great deal, and their hands trembled so that they\nhad to call her to pour out the liquor for them. \"But for all that,\" said\nshe, \"Mr. Hobbs is good to me, and I can't help liking him. I feel sorry\nfor him.\" I tried to comfort her, by telling her that I had laid up a\nhundred dollars, and that before long I hoped to be able to give her and\nBenjamin a home, and send them to school. She was always desirous not to\nadd to my","question":"\n\nAfter we returned to New York, I took the earliest opportunity to go and\nsee Ellen. I asked to have her called down stairs; for I supposed Mrs.\nHobbs's southern brother might still be there, and I was desirous to avoid\nseeing him, if possible. But Mrs. Hobbs came to the kitchen, and insisted\non my going up stairs. \"My brother wants to see you,\" said she, \"and he is\nsorry you seem to shun him. He knows you are living in New York. He told me\nto say to you that he owes thanks to good old aunt Martha for too many\nlittle acts of kindness for him to be base enough to betray her\ngrandchild.\"\n\nThis Mr. Thorne had become poor and reckless long before he left the south,\nand such persons had much rather go to one of the faithful old slaves to\nborrow a dollar, or get a good dinner, than to go to one whom they consider\nan equal. It was such acts of kindness as these for which he professed to\nfeel grateful to my grandmother. I wished he had kept at a distance, but as\nhe was here, and knew where I was, I concluded there was nothing to be\ngained by trying to avoid him; on the"}
{"answer":"it by one of his friars.\n\nCYRANO:\n  Ay! by His Eminence Joseph himself.\n\nANOTHER:\n  I am as ravenous as an ogre!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Eat your patience, then.\n\nTHE FIRST CADET (shrugging his shoulders):\n  Always your pointed word!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Ay, pointed words!\n  I would fain die thus, some soft summer eve,\n  Making a pointed word for a good cause.\n  --To make a soldier's end by soldier's sword,\n  Wielded by some brave adversary--die\n  On blood-stained turf, not on a fever-bed,\n  A point upon my lips, a point within my heart.\n\nCRIES FROM ALL:\n  I'm hungry!\n\nCYRANO (crossing his arms):\n  All your thoughts of meat and drink!\n  Bertrand the fifer!--you were shepherd once,--\n  Draw from its double leathern case your fife,\n  Play to these greedy, guzzling soldiers.  Play\n  Old country airs with plaintive rhythm recurring,\n  Where lurk sweet echoes of the dear home-voices,\n  Each note of which calls like a little sister,\n  Those airs slow, slow ascending, as the smoke-wreaths\n  Rise from the hearthstones of our native hamlets,\n  Their music strikes the ear like Gascon patois!. . .\n(The old man seats himself, and gets his flute ready):\n  Your flute was now a warrior in durance;\n  But on its stem your fingers are a-dancing\n  A bird-like minuet!  O flute!  Remember\n  That flutes were made of reeds first, not laburnum;\n  Make us a music pastoral days recalling--\n  The soul-time of your youth,","question":"The SAME.  Cyrano.\n\nCYRANO (appearing from the tent, very calm, with a pen stuck behind his ear\nand a book in his hand):\n  What is wrong?\n(Silence.  To the first cadet):\n  Why drag you your legs so sorrowfully?\n\nTHE CADET:\n  I have something in my heels which weighs them down.\n\nCYRANO:\n  And what may that be?\n\nTHE CADET:\n  My stomach!\n\nCYRANO:\n  So have I, 'faith!\n\nTHE CADET:\n  It must be in your way?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Nay, I am all the taller.\n\nA THIRD:\n  My stomach's hollow.\n\nCYRANO:\n  'Faith, 'twill make a fine drum to sound the assault.\n\nANOTHER:\n  I have a ringing in my ears.\n\nCYRANO:\n  No, no, 'tis false; a hungry stomach has no ears.\n\nANOTHER:\n  Oh, to eat something--something oily!\n\nCYRANO (pulling off the cadet's helmet and holding it out to him):\n  Behold your salad!\n\nANOTHER:\n  What, in God's name, can we devour?\n\nCYRANO (throwing him the book which he is carrying):\n  The 'Iliad'.\n\nANOTHER:\n  The first minister in Paris has his four meals a day!\n\nCYRANO:\n  'Twere courteous an he sent you a few partridges!\n\nTHE SAME:\n  And why not? with wine, too!\n\nCYRANO:\n  A little Burgundy.  Richelieu, s'il vous plait!\n\nTHE SAME:\n  He could send"}
{"answer":"that thou seest thy wretched brother dye,\nWho was the modell of thy Fathers life.\nCall it not patience (Gaunt) it is dispaire,\nIn suffring thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,\nThou shew'st the naked pathway to thy life,\nTeaching sterne murther how to butcher thee:\nThat which in meane men we intitle patience\nIs pale cold cowardice in noble brests:\nWhat shall I say, to safegard thine owne life,\nThe best way is to venge my Glousters death\n\n   Gaunt. Heauens is the quarrell: for heauens substitute\nHis Deputy annointed in his sight,\nHath caus'd his death, the which if wrongfully\nLet heauen reuenge: for I may neuer lift\nAn angry arme against his Minister\n\n   Dut. Where then (alas may I) complaint my selfe?\n  Gau. To heauen, the widdowes Champion to defence\n  Dut. Why then I will: farewell old Gaunt.\nThou go'st to Couentrie, there to behold\nOur Cosine Herford, and fell Mowbray fight:\nO sit my husbands wrongs on Herfords speare,\nThat it may enter butcher Mowbrayes brest:\nOr if misfortune misse the first carreere,\nBe Mowbrayes sinnes so heauy in his bosome,\nThat they may breake his foaming Coursers backe,\nAnd throw the Rider headlong in the Lists,\nA Caytiffe recreant to my Cosine Herford:\nFarewell old Gaunt, thy sometimes brothers wife\nWith her companion Greefe, must end her life\n\n   Gau. Sister farewell: I must to Couentree,\nAs much good stay with thee, as go with mee\n\n   Dut. Yet one word more: Greefe boundeth where it falls,\nNot with the emptie hollownes, but weight:\nI take my leaue, before I haue begun,\nFor sorrow ends not,","question":"Scaena Secunda.\n\nEnter Gaunt, and Dutchesse of Gloucester.\n\n  Gaunt. Alas, the part I had in Glousters blood,\nDoth more solicite me then your exclaimes,\nTo stirre against the Butchers of his life.\nBut since correction lyeth in those hands\nWhich made the fault that we cannot correct,\nPut we our quarrell to the will of heauen,\nWho when they see the houres ripe on earth,\nWill raigne hot vengeance on offenders heads\n\n   Dut. Findes brotherhood in thee no sharper spurre?\nHath loue in thy old blood no liuing fire?\nEdwards seuen sonnes (whereof thy selfe art one)\nWere as seuen violles of his Sacred blood,\nOr seuen faire branches springing from one roote:\nSome of those seuen are dride by natures course,\nSome of those branches by the destinies cut:\nBut Thomas, my deere Lord, my life, my Glouster,\nOne Violl full of Edwards Sacred blood,\nOne flourishing branch of his most Royall roote\nIs crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt;\nIs hackt downe, and his summer leafes all vaded\nBy Enuies hand, and Murders bloody Axe.\nAh Gaunt! His blood was thine, that bed, that wombe,\nThat mettle, that selfe-mould that fashion'd thee,\nMade him a man: and though thou liu'st, and breath'st,\nYet art thou slaine in him: thou dost consent\nIn some large measure to thy Fathers death,\nIn"}
{"answer":"with the experience that\nthey could tear. There was a change in the appearance of Saint Antoine;\nthe image had been hammering into this for hundreds of years, and the\nlast finishing blows had told mightily on the expression.\n\nMadame Defarge sat observing it, with such suppressed approval as was\nto be desired in the leader of the Saint Antoine women. One of her\nsisterhood knitted beside her. The short, rather plump wife of a starved\ngrocer, and the mother of two children withal, this lieutenant had\nalready earned the complimentary name of The Vengeance.\n\n\"Hark!\" said The Vengeance. \"Listen, then! Who comes?\"\n\nAs if a train of powder laid from the outermost bound of Saint Antoine\nQuarter to the wine-shop door, had been suddenly fired, a fast-spreading\nmurmur came rushing along.\n\n\"It is Defarge,\" said madame. \"Silence, patriots!\"\n\nDefarge came in breathless, pulled off a red cap he wore, and looked\naround him! \"Listen, everywhere!\" said madame again. \"Listen to him!\"\nDefarge stood, panting, against a background of eager eyes and open\nmouths, formed outside the door; all those within the wine-shop had\nsprung to their feet.\n\n\"Say then, my husband. What is it?\"\n\n\"News from the other world!\"\n\n\"How, then?\" cried madame, contemptuously. \"The other world?\"\n\n\"Does everybody here recall old Foulon, who told the famished people\nthat they might eat grass, and who died, and went to Hell?\"\n\n\"Everybody!\" from all throats.\n\n\"The news is of him. He is among us!\"\n\n\"Among us!\" from the universal throat again. \"And dead?\"\n\n\"Not dead! He feared us so much--and with reason--that he caused himself\nto be represented as dead, and had a grand mock-funeral. But they have\nfound","question":"XXII. The Sea Still Rises\n\n\nHaggard Saint Antoine had had only one exultant week, in which to soften\nhis modicum of hard and bitter bread to such extent as he could, with\nthe relish of fraternal embraces and congratulations, when Madame\nDefarge sat at her counter, as usual, presiding over the customers.\nMadame Defarge wore no rose in her head, for the great brotherhood of\nSpies had become, even in one short week, extremely chary of trusting\nthemselves to the saint's mercies. The lamps across his streets had a\nportentously elastic swing with them.\n\nMadame Defarge, with her arms folded, sat in the morning light and heat,\ncontemplating the wine-shop and the street. In both, there were several\nknots of loungers, squalid and miserable, but now with a manifest sense\nof power enthroned on their distress. The raggedest nightcap, awry on\nthe wretchedest head, had this crooked significance in it: \"I know how\nhard it has grown for me, the wearer of this, to support life in myself;\nbut do you know how easy it has grown for me, the wearer of this, to\ndestroy life in you?\" Every lean bare arm, that had been without work\nbefore, had this work always ready for it now, that it could strike.\nThe fingers of the knitting women were vicious,"}
{"answer":" Bast. I know no newes, my Lord\n\n   Glou. What Paper were you reading?\n  Bast. Nothing my Lord\n\n   Glou. No? what needed then that terrible dispatch of\nit into your Pocket? The quality of nothing, hath not\nsuch neede to hide it selfe. Let's see: come, if it bee nothing,\nI shall not neede Spectacles\n\n   Bast. I beseech you Sir, pardon mee; it is a Letter\nfrom my Brother, that I haue not all ore-read; and for so\nmuch as I haue perus'd, I finde it not fit for your ore-looking\n\n   Glou. Giue me the Letter, Sir\n\n   Bast. I shall offend, either to detaine, or giue it:\nThe Contents, as in part I vnderstand them,\nAre too blame\n\n   Glou. Let's see, let's see\n\n   Bast. I hope for my Brothers iustification, hee wrote\nthis but as an essay, or taste of my Vertue\n\n   Glou. reads. This policie, and reuerence of Age, makes the\nworld bitter to the best of our times: keepes our Fortunes from\nvs, till our oldnesse cannot rellish them. I begin to finde an idle\nand fond bondage, in the oppression of aged tyranny, who swayes\nnot as it hath power, but as it is suffer'd. Come to me, that of\nthis I may speake more. If our Father would sleepe till I wak'd\nhim, you should enioy halfe his Reuennew for euer, and liue the\nbeloued of your Brother. Edgar.\nHum? Conspiracy? Sleepe till I wake him, you should\nenioy halfe his Reuennew: my Sonne Edgar, had","question":"Scena Secunda.\n\n\nEnter Bastard.\n\n  Bast. Thou Nature art my Goddesse, to thy Law\nMy seruices are bound, wherefore should I\nStand in the plague of custome, and permit\nThe curiosity of Nations, to depriue me?\nFor that I am some twelue, or fourteene Moonshines\nLag of a Brother? Why Bastard? Wherefore base?\nWhen my Dimensions are as well compact,\nMy minde as generous, and my shape as true\nAs honest Madams issue? Why brand they vs\nWith Base? With basenes Bastardie? Base, Base?\nWho in the lustie stealth of Nature, take\nMore composition, and fierce qualitie,\nThen doth within a dull stale tyred bed\nGoe to th' creating a whole tribe of Fops\nGot 'tweene a sleepe, and wake? Well then,\nLegitimate Edgar, I must haue your land,\nOur Fathers loue, is to the Bastard Edmond,\nAs to th' legitimate: fine word: Legitimate.\nWell, my Legittimate, if this Letter speed,\nAnd my inuention thriue, Edmond the base\nShall to'th' Legitimate: I grow, I prosper:\nNow Gods, stand vp for Bastards.\nEnter Gloucester.\n\n  Glo. Kent banish'd thus? and France in choller parted?\nAnd the King gone to night? Prescrib'd his powre,\nConfin'd to exhibition? All this done\nVpon the gad? Edmond, how now? What newes?\n  Bast. So please your Lordship, none\n\n   Glou. Why so earnestly seeke you to put vp y Letter?\n"}
{"answer":"Heart, causeth there a resistance,\nor counter-pressure, or endeavour of the heart, to deliver it self:\nwhich endeavour because Outward, seemeth to be some matter without. And\nthis Seeming, or Fancy, is that which men call sense; and consisteth, as\nto the Eye, in a Light, or Colour Figured; To the Eare, in a Sound; To\nthe Nostrill, in an Odour; To the Tongue and Palat, in a Savour; and\nto the rest of the body, in Heat, Cold, Hardnesse, Softnesse, and such\nother qualities, as we discern by Feeling. All which qualities called\nSensible, are in the object that causeth them, but so many several\nmotions of the matter, by which it presseth our organs diversly. Neither\nin us that are pressed, are they anything els, but divers motions; (for\nmotion, produceth nothing but motion.) But their apparence to us is\nFancy, the same waking, that dreaming. And as pressing, rubbing,\nor striking the Eye, makes us fancy a light; and pressing the Eare,\nproduceth a dinne; so do the bodies also we see, or hear, produce the\nsame by their strong, though unobserved action, For if those Colours,\nand Sounds, were in the Bodies, or Objects that cause them, they could\nnot bee severed from them, as by glasses, and in Ecchoes by reflection,\nwee see they are; where we know the thing we see, is in one place; the\napparence, in another. And though at some certain distance, the reall,\nand very object seem invested with the fancy it begets in us; Yet still\nthe object is one thing, the image or fancy is another. So that Sense","question":"PART 1 OF MAN. CHAPTER I. OF SENSE\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nConcerning the Thoughts of man, I will consider them first Singly, and\nafterwards in Trayne, or dependance upon one another. Singly, they\nare every one a Representation or Apparence, of some quality, or other\nAccident of a body without us; which is commonly called an Object. Which\nObject worketh on the Eyes, Eares, and other parts of mans body; and by\ndiversity of working, produceth diversity of Apparences.\n\nThe Originall of them all, is that which we call Sense; (For there is\nno conception in a mans mind, which hath not at first, totally, or by\nparts, been begotten upon the organs of Sense.) The rest are derived\nfrom that originall.\n\nTo know the naturall cause of Sense, is not very necessary to the\nbusiness now in hand; and I have els-where written of the same at large.\nNevertheless, to fill each part of my present method, I will briefly\ndeliver the same in this place.\n\nThe cause of Sense, is the Externall Body, or Object, which presseth the\norgan proper to each Sense, either immediatly, as in the Tast and Touch;\nor mediately, as in Seeing, Hearing, and Smelling: which pressure, by\nthe mediation of Nerves, and other strings, and membranes of the body,\ncontinued inwards to the Brain, and"}
{"answer":"squadron, within the limits of a redoubt mounted with a few\nnine-pounders, and surrounded with a fosse. Every other day, these\ntroops were marched out in martial array, to a level piece of ground\nin the vicinity, and there for hours went through all sorts of military\nevolutions, surrounded by flocks of the natives, who looked on with\nsavage admiration at the show, and as savage a hatred of the actors.\nA regiment of the Old Guard, reviewed on a summer's day in the Champs\nElysees, could not have made a more critically correct appearance. The\nofficers' regimentals, resplendent with gold lace and embroidery as if\npurposely calculated to dazzle the islanders, looked as if just unpacked\nfrom their Parisian cases.\n\nThe sensation produced by the presence of the strangers had not in the\nleast subsided at the period of our arrival at the islands. The natives\nstill flocked in numbers about the encampment, and watched with the\nliveliest curiosity everything that was going forward. A blacksmith's\nforge, which had been set up in the shelter of a grove near the beach,\nattracted so great a crowd, that it required the utmost efforts of the\nsentries posted around to keep the inquisitive multitude at a sufficient\ndistance to allow the workmen to ply their vocation. But nothing gained\nso large a share of admiration as a horse, which had been brought from\nValparaiso by the Achille, one of the vessels of the squadron. The\nanimal, a remarkably fine one, had been taken ashore, and stabled in a\nhut of cocoanut boughs within the fortified enclosure. Occasionally it\nwas brought out, and, being gaily","question":"IT was in the summer of 1842 that we arrived at the islands; the French\nhad then held possession of them for several weeks. During this time\nthey had visited some of the principal places in the group, and had\ndisembarked at various points about five hundred troops. These were\nemployed in constructing works of defence, and otherwise providing\nagainst the attacks of the natives, who at any moment might be expected\nto break out in open hostility. The islanders looked upon the people who\nmade this cavalier appropriation of their shores with mingled feelings\nof fear and detestation. They cordially hated them; but the impulses\nof their resentment were neutralized by their dread of the floating\nbatteries, which lay with their fatal tubes ostentatiously pointed,\nnot at fortifications and redoubts, but at a handful of bamboo sheds,\nsheltered in a grove of cocoanuts! A valiant warrior doubtless, but\na prudent one too, was this same Rear-Admiral Du Petit Thouars. Four\nheavy, doublebanked frigates and three corvettes to frighten a parcel of\nnaked heathen into subjection! Sixty-eight pounders to demolish huts of\ncocoanut boughs, and Congreve rockets to set on fire a few canoe sheds!\n\nAt Nukuheva, there were about one hundred soldiers ashore. They were\nencamped in tents, constructed of the old sails and spare spars of\nthe"}
{"answer":"fifty talents, hath sent to\n    your lordship to furnish him, nothing doubting your present\n    assistance therein.\n  LUCULLIUS. La, la, la, la! 'Nothing doubting' says he? Alas,\ngood\n    lord! a noble gentleman 'tis, if he would not keep so good a\n    house. Many a time and often I ha' din'd with him and told\nhim\n    on't; and come again to supper to him of purpose to have him\n    spend less; and yet he would embrace no counsel, take no\nwarning\n    by my coming. Every man has his fault, and honesty is his. I\nha'\n    told him on't, but I could ne'er get him from't.\n\n                    Re-enter SERVANT, with wine\n\n  SERVANT. Please your lordship, here is the wine.\n  LUCULLUS. Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. Here's to\nthee.\n  FLAMINIUS. Your lordship speaks your pleasure.\n  LUCULLUS. I have observed thee always for a towardly prompt\nspirit,\n    give thee thy due, and one that knows what belongs to reason,\nand\n    canst use the time well, if the time use thee well. Good\nparts in\n    thee. [To SERVANT] Get you gone, sirrah. [Exit SERVANT] Draw\n    nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy lord's a bountiful gentleman;\nbut\n    thou art wise, and thou know'st well","question":"LUCULLUS' house\n\nFLAMINIUS waiting to speak with LUCULLUS. Enter SERVANT to him\n\n  SERVANT. I have told my lord of you; he is coming down to you.\n  FLAMINIUS. I thank you, sir.\n\n                           Enter LUCULLUS\n\n  SERVANT. Here's my lord.\n  LUCULLUS. [Aside] One of Lord Timon's men? A gift, I warrant.\nWhy,\n    this hits right; I dreamt of a silver basin and ewer\nto-night-\n    Flaminius, honest Flaminius, you are very respectively\nwelcome,\n    sir. Fill me some wine. [Exit SERVANT] And how does that\n    honourable, complete, freehearted gentleman of Athens, thy\nvery\n    bountiful good lord and master?\n  FLAMINIUS. His health is well, sir.\n  LUCULLUS. I am right glad that his health is well, sir. And\nwhat\n    hast thou there under thy cloak, pretty Flaminius?\n  FLAMINIUS. Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir, which in my\nlord's\n    behalf I come to entreat your honour to supply;  who, having\n    great and instant occasion to use"}
{"answer":"gan flye\n  Into great Zethy's bosom, where they hidden lye.\"\n\n\nIn view of the description given, may one be gay upon the Encantadas?\nYes: that is, find one the gayety, and he will be gay. And, indeed,\nsackcloth and ashes as they are, the isles are not perhaps unmitigated\ngloom. For while no spectator can deny their claims to a most solemn and\nsuperstitious consideration, no more than my firmest resolutions can\ndecline to behold the spectre-tortoise when emerging from its shadowy\nrecess; yet even the tortoise, dark and melancholy as it is upon the\nback, still possesses a bright side; its calipee or breast-plate being\nsometimes of a faint yellowish or golden tinge. Moreover, every one\nknows that tortoises as well as turtle are of such a make, that if you\nbut put them on their backs you thereby expose their bright sides\nwithout the possibility of their recovering themselves, and turning into\nview the other. But after you have done this, and because you have done\nthis, you should not swear that the tortoise has no dark side. Enjoy the\nbright, keep it turned up perpetually if you can, but be honest, and\ndon't deny the black. Neither should he, who cannot turn the tortoise\nfrom its natural position so as to hide the darker and expose his\nlivelier aspect, like a great October pumpkin in the sun, for that cause\ndeclare the creature to be one total inky blot. The tortoise is both\nblack and bright. But let us to particulars.\n\nSome months before my first stepping ashore upon the group, my ship was\ncruising in its close","question":"SKETCH SECOND. TWO SIDES TO A TORTOISE.\n\n  \"Most ugly shapes and horrible aspects,\n  Such as Dame Nature selfe mote feare to see,\n  Or shame, that ever should so fowle defects\n  From her most cunning hand escaped bee;\n  All dreadfull pourtraicts of deformitee.\n  No wonder if these do a man appall;\n  For all that here at home we dreadfull hold\n  Be but as bugs to fearen babes withall\n  Compared to the creatures in these isles' entrall\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"Fear naught, then said the palmer, well avized,\n  For these same monsters are not there indeed,\n  But are into these fearful shapes disguized.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"And lifting up his vertuous staffe on high,\n  Then all that dreadful armie fast"}
{"answer":"of his late wife's threshold--stood over them\nwith his open watch and his still more open grin, while from the only\ncorner of an eye on which something of Mrs. Wix's didn't impinge the\nchild saw at the door a brougham in which Miss Overmore also waited.\nShe remembered the difference when, six months before, she had been\ntorn from the breast of that more spirited protectress. Miss Overmore,\nthen also in the vestibule, but of course in the other one, had been\nthoroughly audible and voluble; her protest had rung out bravely and she\nhad declared that something--her pupil didn't know exactly what--was\na regular wicked shame. That had at the time dimly recalled to Maisie\nthe far-away moment of Moddle's great outbreak: there seemed always to\nbe \"shames\" connected in one way or another with her migrations. At\npresent, while Mrs. Wix's arms tightened and the smell of her hair was\nstrong, she further remembered how, in pacifying Miss Overmore, papa had\nmade use of the words \"you dear old duck!\"--an expression which, by its\noddity, had stuck fast in her young mind, having moreover a place well\nprepared for it there by what she knew of the governess whom she now\nalways mentally characterised as the pretty one. She wondered whether\nthis affection would be as great as before: that would at all events be\nthe case with the prettiness Maisie could see in the face which showed\nbrightly at the window of the brougham.\n\nThe brougham was a token of harmony, of the fine conditions papa would\nthis time offer: he had usually come for her in a","question":"\n\nThe second parting from Miss Overmore had been bad enough, but this\nfirst parting from Mrs. Wix was much worse. The child had lately been to\nthe dentist's and had a term of comparison for the screwed-up intensity\nof the scene. It was dreadfully silent, as it had been when her tooth\nwas taken out; Mrs. Wix had on that occasion grabbed her hand and they\nhad clung to each other with the frenzy of their determination not to\nscream. Maisie, at the dentist's, had been heroically still, but just\nwhen she felt most anguish had become aware of an audible shriek on the\npart of her companion, a spasm of stifled sympathy. This was reproduced\nby the only sound that broke their supreme embrace when, a month later,\nthe \"arrangement,\" as her periodical uprootings were called, played the\npart of the horrible forceps. Embedded in Mrs. Wix's nature as her tooth\nhad been socketed in her gum, the operation of extracting her would\nreally have been a case for chloroform. It was a hug that fortunately\nleft nothing to say, for the poor woman's want of words at such an\nhour seemed to fall in with her want of everything. Maisie's alternate\nparent, in the outermost vestibule--he liked the impertinence of\ncrossing as much as that"}
{"answer":"lady was in the lovely bloom and spring-time of womanhood;\nat that age, when, if ever angels be for God's good purposes enthroned\nin mortal forms, they may be, without impiety, supposed to abide in\nsuch as hers.\n\nShe was not past seventeen.  Cast in so slight and exquisite a mould;\nso mild and gentle; so pure and beautiful; that earth seemed not her\nelement, nor its rough creatures her fit companions.  The very\nintelligence that shone in her deep blue eye, and was stamped upon her\nnoble head, seemed scarcely of her age, or of the world; and yet the\nchanging expression of sweetness and good humour, the thousand lights\nthat played about the face, and left no shadow there; above all, the\nsmile, the cheerful, happy smile, were made for Home, and fireside\npeace and happiness.\n\nShe was busily engaged in the little offices of the table. Chancing to\nraise her eyes as the elder lady was regarding her, she playfully put\nback her hair, which was simply braided on her forehead; and threw into\nher beaming look, such an expression of affection and artless\nloveliness, that blessed spirits might have smiled to look upon her.\n\n'And Brittles has been gone upwards of an hour, has he?' asked the old\nlady, after a pause.\n\n'An hour and twelve minutes, ma'am,' replied Mr. Giles, referring to a\nsilver watch, which he drew forth by a black ribbon.\n\n'He is always slow,' remarked the old lady.\n\n'Brittles always was a slow boy, ma'am,' replied the attendant. And\nseeing, by the bye, that Brittles had been a slow boy for upwards of\nthirty years,","question":"\nIn a handsome room:  though its furniture had rather the air of\nold-fashioned comfort, than of modern elegance:  there sat two ladies\nat a well-spread breakfast-table.  Mr. Giles, dressed with scrupulous\ncare in a full suit of black, was in attendance upon them.  He had\ntaken his station some half-way between the side-board and the\nbreakfast-table; and, with his body drawn up to its full height, his\nhead thrown back, and inclined the merest trifle on one side, his left\nleg advanced, and his right hand thrust into his waist-coat, while his\nleft hung down by his side, grasping a waiter, looked like one who\nlaboured under a very agreeable sense of his own merits and importance.\n\nOf the two ladies, one was well advanced in years; but the high-backed\noaken chair in which she sat, was not more upright than she.  Dressed\nwith the utmost nicety and precision, in a quaint mixture of by-gone\ncostume, with some slight concessions to the prevailing taste, which\nrather served to point the old style pleasantly than to impair its\neffect, she sat, in a stately manner, with her hands folded on the\ntable before her.  Her eyes (and age had dimmed but little of their\nbrightness) were attentively upon her young companion.\n\nThe younger"}
{"answer":"you, and that perhaps will make you think me not quite as\nshrewd as you usually do think me. I intend to marry.\"\n\n\"_Do_ you?\"\n\n\"Yes. And not for money. What do you say now?\"\n\n\"I don't feel disposed to say much. Who is she?\"\n\n\"Guess.\"\n\n\"Do I know her?\"\n\n\"Guess.\"\n\n\"I am not going to guess, at five o'clock in the morning, with my brains\nfrying and sputtering in my head. If you want me to guess, you must ask\nme to dinner.\"\n\n\"Well then, I'll tell you,\" said Stryver, coming slowly into a sitting\nposture. \"Sydney, I rather despair of making myself intelligible to you,\nbecause you are such an insensible dog.\"\n\n\"And you,\" returned Sydney, busy concocting the punch, \"are such a\nsensitive and poetical spirit--\"\n\n\"Come!\" rejoined Stryver, laughing boastfully, \"though I don't prefer\nany claim to being the soul of Romance (for I hope I know better), still\nI am a tenderer sort of fellow than _you_.\"\n\n\"You are a luckier, if you mean that.\"\n\n\"I don't mean that. I mean I am a man of more--more--\"\n\n\"Say gallantry, while you are about it,\" suggested Carton.\n\n\"Well! I'll say gallantry. My meaning is that I am a man,\" said Stryver,\ninflating himself at his friend as he made the punch, \"who cares more to\nbe agreeable, who takes more pains to be agreeable, who knows better how\nto be agreeable, in a woman's society, than you do.\"\n\n\"Go on,\" said Sydney Carton.\n\n\"No; but before I go on,\" said Stryver, shaking his head in his bullying\nway, \"I'll have this out with you. You've been at Doctor Manette's house\nas much as I have,","question":"XI. A Companion Picture\n\n\n\"Sydney,\" said Mr. Stryver, on that self-same night, or morning, to his\njackal; \"mix another bowl of punch; I have something to say to you.\"\n\nSydney had been working double tides that night, and the night before,\nand the night before that, and a good many nights in succession, making\na grand clearance among Mr. Stryver's papers before the setting in\nof the long vacation. The clearance was effected at last; the Stryver\narrears were handsomely fetched up; everything was got rid of until\nNovember should come with its fogs atmospheric, and fogs legal, and\nbring grist to the mill again.\n\nSydney was none the livelier and none the soberer for so much\napplication. It had taken a deal of extra wet-towelling to pull him\nthrough the night; a correspondingly extra quantity of wine had preceded\nthe towelling; and he was in a very damaged condition, as he now pulled\nhis turban off and threw it into the basin in which he had steeped it at\nintervals for the last six hours.\n\n\"Are you mixing that other bowl of punch?\" said Stryver the portly, with\nhis hands in his waistband, glancing round from the sofa where he lay on\nhis back.\n\n\"I am.\"\n\n\"Now, look here! I am going to tell you something that will rather\nsurprise"}
{"answer":"by heart, and he repeated it from end\nto end, with the reflections of the penny-a-liners, and all the stories\nof individual catastrophes that had occurred in France or abroad. But\nthe subject becoming exhausted, he was not slow in throwing out some\nremarks on the dishes before him.\n\nSometimes even, half-rising, he delicately pointed out to madame the\ntenderest morsel, or turning to the servant, gave her some advice on the\nmanipulation of stews and the hygiene of seasoning.\n\nHe talked aroma, osmazome, juices, and gelatine in a bewildering manner.\nMoreover, Homais, with his head fuller of recipes than his shop of jars,\nexcelled in making all kinds of preserves, vinegars, and sweet liqueurs;\nhe knew also all the latest inventions in economic stoves, together with\nthe art of preserving cheese and of curing sick wines.\n\nAt eight o'clock Justin came to fetch him to shut up the shop.\n\nThen Monsieur Homais gave him a sly look, especially if Felicite was\nthere, for he half noticed that his apprentice was fond of the doctor's\nhouse.\n\n\"The young dog,\" he said, \"is beginning to have ideas, and the devil\ntake me if I don't believe he's in love with your servant!\"\n\nBut a more serious fault with which he reproached Justin was his\nconstantly listening to conversation. On Sunday, for example, one could\nnot get him out of the drawing-room, whither Madame Homais had called\nhim to fetch the children, who were falling asleep in the arm-chairs,\nand dragging down with their backs calico chair-covers that were too\nlarge.\n\nNot many people came to these soirees at the chemist's, his\nscandal-mongering and political opinions having successfully","question":"\nWhen the first cold days set in Emma left her bedroom for the\nsitting-room, a long apartment with a low ceiling, in which there was\non the mantelpiece a large bunch of coral spread out against the\nlooking-glass. Seated in her arm chair near the window, she could see\nthe villagers pass along the pavement.\n\nTwice a day Leon went from his office to the Lion d'Or. Emma could hear\nhim coming from afar; she leant forward listening, and the young man\nglided past the curtain, always dressed in the same way, and without\nturning his head. But in the twilight, when, her chin resting on her\nleft hand, she let the embroidery she had begun fall on her knees, she\noften shuddered at the apparition of this shadow suddenly gliding past.\nShe would get up and order the table to be laid.\n\nMonsieur Homais called at dinner-time. Skull-cap in hand, he came in on\ntiptoe, in order to disturb no one, always repeating the same phrase,\n\"Good evening, everybody.\" Then, when he had taken his seat at the table\nbetween the pair, he asked the doctor about his patients, and the latter\nconsulted his as to the probability of their payment. Next they talked\nof \"what was in the paper.\"\n\nHomais by this hour knew it almost"}
{"answer":"'tis so.\nHeere comes your Cosin.\nEnter Hotspurre.\n\n  Hot. My Vnkle is return'd,\nDeliuer vp my Lord of Westmerland.\nVnkle, what newes?\n  Wor. The King will bid you battell presently\n\n   Dow. Defie him by the Lord of Westmerland\n  Hot. Lord Dowglas: Go you and tell him so\n\n   Dow. Marry and shall, and verie willingly.\n\nExit Dowglas.\n\n  Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the King\n\n   Hot. Did you begge any? God forbid\n\n\n   Wor. I told him gently of our greeuances,\nOf his Oath-breaking: which he mended thus,\nBy now forswearing that he is forsworne,\nHe cals vs Rebels, Traitors, and will scourge\nWith haughty armes, this hatefull name in vs.\nEnter Dowglas.\n\n  Dow. Arme Gentlemen, to Armes, for I haue thrown\nA braue defiance in King Henries teeth:\nAnd Westmerland that was ingag'd did beare it,\nWhich cannot choose but bring him quickly on\n\n   Wor. The Prince of Wales stept forth before the king,\nAnd Nephew, challeng'd you to single fight\n\n   Hot. O, would the quarrell lay vpon our heads,\nAnd that no man might draw short breath to day,\nBut I and Harry Monmouth. Tell me, tell mee,\nHow shew'd his Talking? Seem'd it in contempt?\n  Ver. No, by my Soule: I neuer in my life\nDid heare a Challenge vrg'd more modestly,\nVnlesse a Brother should a Brother dare\nTo gentle exercise, and proofe of Armes.\nHe gaue you all the Duties of a Man,\nTrimm'd vp your praises with a Princely tongue,\nSpoke your deseruings like a Chronicle,\nMaking you euer better then","question":"Scena Secunda.\n\n\n\nEnter Worcester, and Sir Richard Vernon.\n\n  Wor. O no, my Nephew must not know, Sir Richard,\nThe liberall kinde offer of the King\n\n   Ver. 'Twere best he did\n\n   Wor. Then we are all vndone.\nIt is not possible, it cannot be,\nThe King would keepe his word in louing vs,\nHe will suspect vs still, and finde a time\nTo punish this offence in others faults:\nSupposition, all our liues, shall be stucke full of eyes;\nFor Treason is but trusted like the Foxe,\nWho ne're so tame, so cherisht, and lock'd vp,\nWill haue a wilde tricke of his Ancestors:\nLooke how he can, or sad or merrily,\nInterpretation will misquote our lookes,\nAnd we shall feede like Oxen at a stall,\nThe better cherisht, still the nearer death.\nMy Nephewes Trespasse may be well forgot,\nIt hath the excuse of youth, and heate of blood,\nAnd an adopted name of Priuiledge,\nA haire-brain'd Hotspurre, gouern'd by a Spleene:\nAll his offences liue vpon my head,\nAnd on his Fathers. We did traine him on,\nAnd his corruption being tane from vs,\nWe as the Spring of all, shall pay for all:\nTherefore good Cousin, let not Harry know\nIn any case, the offer of the King\n\n   Ver. Deliuer what you will, Ile say"}
{"answer":"and to\nmiss me.\n\nLE BRET:\n  This passes all!  To take letters at each day's dawn.  To risk. . .\n\nCYRANO (stopping before Christian):\n  I promised he should write often.\n(He looks at him):\n  He sleeps.  How pale he is!  But how handsome still, despite his sufferings.\nIf his poor little lady-love knew that he is dying of hunger. . .\n\nLE BRET:\n  Get you quick to bed.\n\nCYRANO:\n  Nay, never scold, Le Bret.  I ran but little risk.  I have found me a spot\nto pass the Spanish lines, where each night they lie drunk.\n\nLE BRET:\n  You should try to bring us back provision.\n\nCYRANO:\n  A man must carry no weight who would get by there!  But there will be\nsurprise for us this night.  The French will eat or die. . .if I mistake not!\n\nLE BRET:\n  Oh!. . .tell me!. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Nay, not yet.  I am not certain. . .You will see!\n\nCARBON:\n  It is disgraceful that we should starve while we're besieging!\n\nLE BRET:\n  Alas, how full of complication is this siege of Arras!  To think that while\nwe are besieging, we should ourselves be caught in a trap and besieged by the\nCardinal Infante of Spain.\n\nCYRANO:\n  It were well done if he should be besieged in his turn.\n\nLE BRET:\n  I am in earnest.\n\nCYRANO:\n  Oh! indeed!\n\nLE BRET:\n  To think you risk a life so precious. . .for the sake of a letter. .\n.Thankless one.\n(Seeing him","question":"Christian, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, Le Bret, the cadets, then Cyrano.\n\nLE BRET:\n  'Tis terrible.\n\nCARBON:\n  Not a morsel left.\n\nLE BRET:\n  Mordioux!\n\nCARBON (making a sign that he should speak lower):\n  Curse under your breath.  You will awake them.\n(To the cadets):\n  Hush!  Sleep on.\n(To Le Bret):\n  He who sleeps, dines!\n\nLE BRET:\n  But that is sorry comfort for the sleepless!. . .\n  What starvation!\n\n(Firing is heard in the distance.)\n\nCARBON:\n  Oh, plague take their firing!  'Twill wake my sons.\n(To the cadets, who lift up their heads):\n  Sleep on!\n\n(Firing is again heard, nearer this time.)\n\nA CADET (moving):\n  The devil!. . .Again.\n\nCARBON:\n  'Tis nothing!  'Tis Cyrano coming back!\n\n(Those who have lifted up their heads prepare to sleep again.)\n\nA SENTINEL (from without):\n  Ventrebieu!  Who goes there?\n\nTHE VOICE Of CYRANO:\n  Bergerac.\n\nThe SENTINEL (who is on the redoubt):\n  Ventrebieu!  Who goes there?\n\nCYRANO (appearing at the top):\n  Bergerac, idiot!\n\n(He comes down; Le Bret advances anxiously to meet him.)\n\nLE BRET:\n  Heavens!\n\nCYRANO (making signs that he should not awake the others):\n  Hush!\n\nLE BRET:\n  Wounded?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Oh! you know it has become their custom to shoot at me every morning"}
{"answer":"the whole party began to move\ntogether toward the house.\n\n\"Here they come,\" said I; and I returned to my former position, for it\nseemed beneath my dignity that they should find me watching them.\n\n\"Well, let 'em come, lad--let 'em come,\" said Silver, cheerily. \"I've\nstill a shot in my locker.\"\n\nThe door opened, and the five men, standing huddled together just\ninside, pushed one of their number forward. In any other circumstances\nit would have been comical to see his slow advance, hesitating as he set\ndown each foot, but holding his closed right hand in front of him.\n\n\"Step up, lad,\" cried Silver. \"I won't eat you. Hand it over, lubber. I\nknow the rules, I do; I won't hurt a depytation.\"\n\nThus encouraged the buccaneer stepped forth more briskly, and having\npassed something to Silver, from hand to hand, slipped yet more smartly\nback again to his companions.\n\nThe sea-cook looked at what had been given him.\n\n\"The black spot! I thought so,\" he observed. \"Where might you have got\nthe paper? Why, hello! look here, now; this ain't lucky! You've gone and\ncut this out of a Bible. What fool's cut a Bible?\"\n\n\"Ah, there,\" said Morgan, \"there! Wot did I say? No good'll come o'\nthat, I said.\"\n\n\"Well, you've about fixed it now, among you,\" continued Silver. \"You'll\nall swing now, I reckon. What soft-headed lubber had a Bible?\"\n\n\"It was Dick,\" said one.\n\n\"Dick, was it? Then Dick can get to prayers,\" said Silver. \"He's seen\nhis slice of luck, has Dick, and you may lay to that.\"\n\nBut here the long man with the yellow eyes struck","question":"\nTHE BLACK SPOT AGAIN\n\n\nThe council of the buccaneers had lasted some time, when one of them\nre-entered the house, and with a repetition of the same salute, which\nhad in my eyes an ironical air, begged for a moment's loan of the torch.\nSilver briefly agreed, and this emissary retired again, leaving us\ntogether in the dark.\n\n\"There's a breeze coming, Jim,\" said Silver, who had by this time\nadopted quite a friendly and familiar tone.\n\nI turned to the loophole nearest me and looked out. The embers of the\ngreat fire had so far burned themselves out, and now glowed so low and\nduskily, that I understood why these conspirators desired a torch. About\nhalfway down the slope to the stockade they were collected in a group;\none held the light; another was on his knees in their midst, and I saw\nthe blade of an open knife shine in his hand with varying colors, in the\nmoon and torchlight. The rest were all somewhat stooping, as though\nwatching the maneuvers of this last. I could just make out that he had a\nbook as well as a knife in his hand; and was still wondering how\nanything so incongruous had come in their possession, when the kneeling\nfigure rose once more to his feet, and"}
{"answer":"assumed you'd know who she was. She left all the Howards End\nkeys in the front lobby, and assumed that you'd seen them as you came\nin, that you'd lock up the house when you'd done, and would bring them\non down to her. And there was her niece hunting for them down at the\nfarm. Lack of education makes people very casual. Hilton was full of\nwomen like Miss Avery once.\"\n\n\"I shouldn't have disliked it, perhaps.\"\n\n\"Or Miss Avery giving me a wedding present,\" said Dolly.\n\nWhich was illogical but interesting. Through Dolly, Margaret was\ndestined to learn a good deal.\n\n\"But Charles said I must try not to mind, because she had known his\ngrandmother.\"\n\n\"As usual, you've got the story wrong, my good Dorothea.\"\n\n\"I meant great-grandmother--the one who left Mrs. Wilcox the house.\nWeren't both of them and Miss Avery friends when Howards End, too, was a\nfarm?\"\n\nHer father-in-law blew out a shaft of smoke. His attitude to his dead\nwife was curious. He would allude to her, and hear her discussed, but\nnever mentioned her by name. Nor was he interested in the dim, bucolic\npast. Dolly was--for the following reason.\n\n\"Then hadn't Mrs. Wilcox a brother--or was it an uncle? Anyhow, he\npopped the question, and Miss Avery, she said `No.' Just imagine, if\nshe'd said 'Yes,' she would have been Charles's aunt. (Oh, I say,\nthat's rather good! 'Charlie's Aunt'! I must chaff him about that this\nevening.) And the man went out and was killed. Yes, I 'm certain I've\ngot it right now. Tom Howard--he was the last of them.\"\n\n\"I believe so,\" said Mr.","question":"\n\"It gave her quite a turn,\" said Mr. Wilcox, when retailing the incident\nto Dolly at tea-time. \"None of you girls have any nerves, really. Of\ncourse, a word from me put it all right, but silly old Miss Avery--she\nfrightened you, didn't she, Margaret? There you stood clutching a bunch\nof weeds. She might have said something, instead of coming down the\nstairs with that alarming bonnet on. I passed her as I came in. Enough\nto make the car shy. I believe Miss Avery goes in for being a character;\nsome old maids do.\" He lit a cigarette. \"It is their last resource.\nHeaven knows what she was doing in the place; but that's Bryce's\nbusiness, not mine.\"\n\n\"I wasn't as foolish as you suggest,\" said Margaret \"She only startled\nme, for the house had been silent so long.\"\n\n\"Did you take her for a spook?\" asked Dolly, for whom \"spooks\"' and\n\"going to church\" summarised the unseen.\n\n\"Not exactly.\"\n\n\"She really did frighten you,\" said Henry, who was far from discouraging\ntimidity in females. \"Poor Margaret! And very naturally. Uneducated\nclasses are so stupid.\"\n\n\"Is Miss Avery uneducated classes?\" Margaret asked, and found herself\nlooking at the decoration scheme of Dolly's drawing-room.\n\n\"She's just one of the crew at the farm. People like that always assume\nthings. She"}
{"answer":"or\nadvanced life, think that it will kill them. The actual results,\nhowever, are found to be most satisfactory, as the percentage of\nsuccesses is found to be 50 per cent, after a year in the Home and\nthree years' subsequent supervision. I was told that a while ago, Sir\nThomas Barlow, the well-known physician, challenged this statement. He\nwas asked to see for himself, he examined a number of the patients,\ninspected the books and records, and finally satisfied himself that it\nwas absolutely correct.\n\nThe Army attaches much importance to what may be called the after-care\nof the cases, for the lack of which so many people who pass through\nHomes and then return to ordinary life, break down, and become,\nperhaps, worse than they were before. The seven devils of Scripture\nare always ready to re-occupy the swept and garnished soul, especially\nif they be the devils of drink.\n\nMoreover, the experience of the Army is that relatives and friends are\nextraordinarily thoughtless in this matter. Often enough they will, as\nit were, thrust spirituous liquors down the throat of the\nnewly-reformed drunkard, or at the least will pass them before their\neyes and drink them in their presence as usual, with results that may\nbe imagined. One taste and in four cases out of six the thing is done.\nThe old longings awake again and must be satisfied.\n\nFor these reasons the highly-skilled Officers of the Salvation Army\nhold that reclaimed inebriates should be safeguarded, watched, and, so\nfar as the circumstances may allow, kept under the influences that\nhave brought about their partial recovery. They say that they owe much\nof","question":"THE INEBRIATES' HOME SPRINGFIELD LODGE, DENMARK HILL.\n\nThis house, which has a fine garden attached, was a gentleman's\nresidence purchased by the Salvation Army, to serve as an Inebriates'\nHome for the better class of patients. With the exception of a few who\ngive their services in connexion with the work of the place as a\nreturn for their treatment, it is really a Home for gentlefolk. When I\nvisited it, some of the inmates, of whom there are usually from\ntwenty-five to thirty, were talented ladies who could speak several\nlanguages, or paint, or play very well. All these came here to be\ncured of the drink or drug habit. The fee for the course ranges from a\nguinea to 10_s_. per week, according to the ability of the patient to\npay, but some who lack this ability pay nothing at all.\n\nThe lady in charge remarked drily on this point, that many people\nseemed to think that as the place belonged to the Salvation Army it\ndid not matter if they paid or not. As is the practice at Hillsborough\nHouse, a vegetarian diet is insisted upon as a condition of\nthe patient receiving treatment at the Home. Often this is a cause of\nmuch remonstrance, as the inmates, who are mostly persons in middle"}
{"answer":"his head at them: Auaunt you\nCurres, be thy mouth or blacke or white:\nTooth that poysons if it bite:\nMastiffe, Grey-hound, Mongrill, Grim,\nHound or Spaniell, Brache, or Hym:\nOr Bobtaile tight, or Troudle taile,\nTom will make him weepe and waile,\nFor with throwing thus my head;\nDogs leapt the hatch, and all are fled.\nDo, de, de, de: sese: Come, march to Wakes and Fayres,\nAnd Market Townes: poore Tom thy horne is dry,\n  Lear. Then let them Anatomize Regan: See what\nbreeds about her heart. Is there any cause in Nature that\nmake these hard-hearts. You sir, I entertaine for one of\nmy hundred; only, I do not like the fashion of your garments.\nYou will say they are Persian; but let them bee\nchang'd.\nEnter Gloster.\n\n  Kent. Now good my Lord, lye heere, and rest awhile\n\n   Lear. Make no noise, make no noise, draw the Curtaines:\nso, so, wee'l go to Supper i'th' morning\n\n   Foole. And Ile go to bed at noone\n\n   Glou. Come hither Friend:\nWhere is the King my Master?\n  Kent. Here Sir, but trouble him not, his wits are gon\n\n   Glou. Good friend, I prythee take him in thy armes;\nI haue ore-heard a plot of death vpon him:\nThere is a Litter ready, lay him in't,\nAnd driue toward Douer friend, where thou shalt meete\nBoth welcome, and protection. Take vp thy Master,\nIf thou should'st dally halfe an houre, his life\nWith thine, and all that offer to defend him,\nStand in assured losse. Take vp, take vp,\nAnd follow me, that will to some","question":"Scena Sexta.\n\n\nEnter Kent, and Gloucester.\n\n  Glou. Heere is better then the open ayre, take it thankfully:\nI will peece out the comfort with what addition I\ncan: I will not be long from you.\n\nExit\n\n  Kent. All the powre of his wits, haue giuen way to his\nimpatience: the Gods reward your kindnesse.\nEnter Lear, Edgar, and Foole.\n\n  Edg. Fraterretto cals me, and tells me Nero is an Angler\nin the Lake of Darknesse: pray Innocent, and beware\nthe foule Fiend\n\n   Foole. Prythee Nunkle tell me, whether a madman be\na Gentleman, or a Yeoman\n\n   Lear. A King, a King\n\n   Foole. No, he's a Yeoman, that ha's a Gentleman to\nhis Sonne: for hee's a mad Yeoman that sees his Sonne a\nGentleman before him\n\n   Lear. To haue a thousand with red burning spits\nCome hizzing in vpon 'em\n\n   Edg. Blesse thy fiue wits\n\n   Kent. O pitty: Sir, where is the patience now\nThat you so oft haue boasted to retaine?\n  Edg. My teares begin to take his part so much,\nThey marre my counterfetting\n\n   Lear. The little dogges, and all;\nTrey, Blanch, and Sweet-heart: see, they barke at me\n\n   Edg. Tom, will throw"}
{"answer":"with brains,\narms, and legs.\n\nCandide fled quickly to another village; it belonged to the Bulgarians;\nand the Abarian heroes had treated it in the same way. Candide, walking\nalways over palpitating limbs or across ruins, arrived at last beyond\nthe seat of war, with a few provisions in his knapsack, and Miss\nCunegonde always in his heart. His provisions failed him when he arrived\nin Holland; but having heard that everybody was rich in that country,\nand that they were Christians, he did not doubt but he should meet with\nthe same treatment from them as he had met with in the Baron's castle,\nbefore Miss Cunegonde's bright eyes were the cause of his expulsion\nthence.\n\nHe asked alms of several grave-looking people, who all answered him,\nthat if he continued to follow this trade they would confine him to the\nhouse of correction, where he should be taught to get a living.\n\nThe next he addressed was a man who had been haranguing a large assembly\nfor a whole hour on the subject of charity. But the orator, looking\naskew, said:\n\n\"What are you doing here? Are you for the good cause?\"\n\n\"There can be no effect without a cause,\" modestly answered Candide;\n\"the whole is necessarily concatenated and arranged for the best. It was\nnecessary for me to have been banished from the presence of Miss\nCunegonde, to have afterwards run the gauntlet, and now it is necessary\nI should beg my bread until I learn to earn it; all this cannot be\notherwise.\"\n\n\"My friend,\" said the orator to him, \"do you believe the Pope to be\nAnti-Christ?\"\n\n\"I have not heard it,\"","question":"\nThere was never anything so gallant, so spruce, so brilliant, and so\nwell disposed as the two armies. Trumpets, fifes, hautboys, drums, and\ncannon made music such as Hell itself had never heard. The cannons first\nof all laid flat about six thousand men on each side; the muskets swept\naway from this best of worlds nine or ten thousand ruffians who infested\nits surface. The bayonet was also a _sufficient reason_ for the death of\nseveral thousands. The whole might amount to thirty thousand souls.\nCandide, who trembled like a philosopher, hid himself as well as he\ncould during this heroic butchery.\n\nAt length, while the two kings were causing Te Deum to be sung each in\nhis own camp, Candide resolved to go and reason elsewhere on effects and\ncauses. He passed over heaps of dead and dying, and first reached a\nneighbouring village; it was in cinders, it was an Abare village which\nthe Bulgarians had burnt according to the laws of war. Here, old men\ncovered with wounds, beheld their wives, hugging their children to their\nbloody breasts, massacred before their faces; there, their daughters,\ndisembowelled and breathing their last after having satisfied the\nnatural wants of Bulgarian heroes; while others, half burnt in the\nflames, begged to be despatched. The earth was strewed"}
{"answer":"Jess. \"Cold as ice.\" She climbed up beside\nhim as she spoke, bringing the breakfast with her. The other two\nchildren sat up and looked at it.\n\n\"Today, Jess,\" began Henry, \"I will go back to town and try to get a job\nmowing lawns or something. Then we can afford to have something besides\nmilk for breakfast.\"\n\nMilk suited Benny very well, however, so the older children allowed him\nto drink rather more than his share. Henry did not waste any time\ntalking. He brushed his hair as well as he could without a brush, rolled\ndown his sleeves, and started for town with the second dollar.\n\n\"Glad you've got a dog, Jess,\" he called back, as he waved his straw\nhat.\n\nThe children watched him disappear around the curve and then turned to\nJess expectantly. They were not mistaken. Jess had a plan.\n\n\"We'll explore,\" she began mysteriously. \"We'll begin here at the car,\nand hunt all over these woods until we find a dump!\"\n\n\"What's a dump?\" inquired Benny.\n\n\"O Benny!\" answered Violet. \"You know what a dump is. All old bottles\nand papers and broken dishes.\"\n\n\"And wheels?\" asked Benny interestedly. \"Will there be any old wheels?\"\n\n\"Yes, maybe,\" assented Violet. \"But cups, Benny! Think of drinking milk\nout of a cup again!\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" said Benny, politely. But it was clear that his mind was\ncentered on wheels rather than cups.\n\nThe exploring party started slowly down the rusty track, with the dog\nhopping happily on three legs. The fourth paw, nicely bandaged with\nJess' handkerchief, he held up out of harm's way.\n\n\"I think this is a spur track,\" said Jess.","question":"HOUSEKEEPING\n\n\nThe next morning Jess was up before the others, as was fitting for a\nlittle housekeeper. That is, she was first if we except the dog, who had\nopened one eye instantly every time his little mistress stirred in her\nsleep. He sat watching gravely in the door of the car as Jess descended\nto get breakfast. She walked from the little waterfall quite a distance\ndown the brook, looking at it with critical eyes.\n\n\"This will be the well,\" she said to herself, regarding a small but deep\nand quiet basin just below the falls. Below that she found a larger\nbasin, lined with gravel, with flat stones surrounding it.\n\n\"This will be the washtub,\" she decided. \"And now I must go back to the\nrefrigerator.\" This was the strangest spot of all, for behind the little\nwaterfall was a small quiet pool in which Jess had set the milk bottles\nthe night before. Not a drop of water could get in, but all night long\nthe cool running water had surrounded the bottles. They were now fairly\nicy to the touch. Jess smiled as she drew them out.\n\n\"Is it good?\" asked Benny's voice. There he sat in the door of the car,\nswinging his legs, his arm around the shaggy dog.\n\n\"It's delicious!\" declared"}
{"answer":"was a complete dose; and great\nwas the consternation of the old warrior at the rapidity with which I\nejected his Epicurean treat.\n\nHow true it is, that the rarity of any particular article enhances\nits value amazingly. In some part of the valley--I know not where, but\nprobably in the neighbourhood of the sea--the girls were sometimes in\nthe habit of procuring small quantities of salt, a thimble-full or\nso being the result of the united labours of a party of five or six\nemployed for the greater part of the day. This precious commodity they\nbrought to the house, enveloped in multitudinous folds of leaves; and\nas a special mark of the esteem in which they held me, would spread\nan immense leaf on the ground, and dropping one by one a few minute\nparticles of the salt upon it, invite me to taste them.\n\nFrom the extravagant value placed upon the article, I verily believe,\nthat with a bushel of common Liverpool salt all the real estate in Typee\nmight have been purchased. With a small pinch of it in one hand, and a\nquarter section of a bread-fruit in the other, the greatest chief in the\nvalley would have laughed at all luxuries of a Parisian table.\n\nThe celebrity of the bread-fruit tree, and the conspicuous place it\noccupies in a Typee bill of fare, induces me to give at some length\na general description of the tree, and the various modes in which the\nfruit is prepared.\n\nThe bread-fruit tree, in its glorious prime, is a grand and towering\nobject, forming the same feature in a Marquesan landscape","question":"ALL the inhabitants of the valley treated me with great kindness; but as\nto the household of Marheyo, with whom I was now permanently domiciled,\nnothing could surpass their efforts to minister to my comfort. To the\ngratification of my palate they paid the most unwearied attention.\nThey continually invited me to partake of food, and when after eating\nheartily I declined the viands they continued to offer me, they seemed\nto think that my appetite stood in need of some piquant stimulant to\nexcite its activity.\n\nIn pursuance of this idea, old Marheyo himself would hie him away to\nthe sea-shore by the break of day, for the purpose of collecting\nvarious species of rare sea-weed; some of which among these people are\nconsidered a great luxury. After a whole day spent in this employment,\nhe would return about nightfall with several cocoanut shells filled with\ndifferent descriptions of kelp. In preparing these for use he manifested\nall the ostentation of a professed cook, although the chief mystery of\nthe affair appeared to consist in pouring water in judicious quantities\nupon the slimy contents of his cocoanut shells.\n\nThe first time he submitted one of these saline salads to my critical\nattention I naturally thought that anything collected at such pains must\npossess peculiar merits; but one mouthful"}
{"answer":"the knees?\n  And, acrobat-like, teach my back to bend?--\n  No, grammercy!  Or,--double-faced and sly--\n  Run with the hare, while hunting with the hounds;\n  And, oily-tongued, to win the oil of praise,\n  Flatter the great man to his very nose?\n  No, grammercy!  Steal soft from lap to lap,\n  --A little great man in a circle small,\n  Or navigate, with madrigals for sails,\n  Blown gently windward by old ladies' sighs?\n  No, grammercy!  Bribe kindly editors\n  To spread abroad my verses?  Grammercy!\n  Or try to be elected as the pope\n  Of tavern-councils held by imbeciles?\n  No, grammercy!  Toil to gain reputation\n  By one small sonnet, 'stead of making many?\n  No, grammercy!  Or flatter sorry bunglers?\n  Be terrorized by every prating paper?\n  Say ceaselessly, 'Oh, had I but the chance\n  Of a fair notice in the \"Mercury\"!'\n  Grammercy, no!  Grow pale, fear, calculate?\n  Prefer to make a visit to a rhyme?\n  Seek introductions, draw petitions up?\n  No, grammercy! and no! and no again!  But--sing?\n  Dream, laugh, go lightly, solitary, free,\n  With eyes that look straight forward--fearless voice!\n  To cock your beaver just the way you choose,--\n  For 'yes' or 'no' show fight, or turn a rhyme!\n  --To work without one thought of gain or fame,\n  To realize that journey to the moon!\n  Never to pen a","question":"Cyrano, Le Bret, the cadets, who are eating and drinking at the tables right\nand left.\n\nCYRANO (bowing mockingly to those who go out without daring to salute him):\n  Gentlemen. . .Gentlemen. . .\n\nLE BRET (coming back, despairingly):\n  Here's a fine coil!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Oh! scold away!\n\nLE BRET:\n  At least, you will agree\n  That to annihilate each chance of Fate\n  Exaggerates. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Yes!--I exaggerate!\n\nLE BRET (triumphantly):\n  Ah!\n\nCYRANO:\n  But for principle--example too,--\n  I think 'tis well thus to exaggerate.\n\nLE BRET:\n  Oh! lay aside that pride of musketeer,\n  Fortune and glory wait you!. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Ay, and then?. . .\n  Seek a protector, choose a patron out,\n  And like the crawling ivy round a tree\n  That licks the bark to gain the trunk's support,\n  Climb high by creeping ruse instead of force?\n  No, grammercy!  What!  I, like all the rest\n  Dedicate verse to bankers?--play buffoon\n  In cringing hope to see, at last, a smile\n  Not disapproving, on a patron's lips?\n  Grammercy, no!  What! learn to swallow toads?\n  --With frame aweary climbing stairs?--a skin\n  Grown grimed and horny,--here, about"}
{"answer":"to me!  'Tis the first time!--and just when I must\nquit you!\n\nROXANE (collected, and fanning herself):\n  Thus,--you would fain revenge your grudge against my cousin?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  My fair lady is on his side?\n\nROXANE:\n  Nay,--against him!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Do you see him often?\n\nROXANE:\n  But very rarely.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  He is ever to be met now in company with one of the cadets,. . .one New--\nvillen--viller--\n\nROXANE:\n  Of high stature?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Fair-haired!\n\nROXANE:\n  Ay, a red-headed fellow!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Handsome!. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  Tut!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  But dull-witted.\n\nROXANE:\n  One would think so, to look at him!\n(Changing her tone):\n  How mean you to play your revenge on Cyrano?  Perchance you think to put him\ni' the thick of the shots?  Nay, believe me, that were a poor vengeance--he\nwould love such a post better than aught else!  I know the way to wound his\npride far more keenly!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  What then?  Tell. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  If, when the regiment march to Arras, he were left here with his beloved\nboon companions, the Cadets, to sit with crossed arms so long as the war\nlasted!  There is your method, would you enrage a man of his kind; cheat him\nof his chance of mortal danger, and you punish him right fiercely.\n\nDE GUICHE (coming nearer):\n  O woman! woman!  Who but a woman had e'er devised so subtle a trick?\n\nROXANE:\n  See you not how he will eat out his heart, while his friends gnaw their\nthick fists","question":"Roxane, De Guiche, the duenna standing a little way off.\n\nROXANE (courtesying to De Guiche):\n  I was going out.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  I come to take my leave.\n\nROXANE:\n  Whither go you?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  To the war.\n\nROXANE:\n  Ah!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Ay, to-night.\n\nROXANE:\n  Oh!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  I am ordered away.  We are to besiege Arras.\n\nROXANE:\n  Ah--to besiege?. . .\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Ay.  My going moves you not, meseems.\n\nROXANE:\n  Nay. . .\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  I am grieved to the core of the heart.  Shall I again behold you?. . .When?\nI know not.  Heard you that I am named commander?. . .\n\nROXANE (indifferently):\n  Bravo!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Of the Guards regiment.\n\nROXANE (startled):\n  What! the Guards?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Ay, where serves your cousin, the swaggering boaster.  I will find a way to\nrevenge myself on him at Arras.\n\nROXANE (choking):\n  What mean you?  The Guards go to Arras?\n\nDE GUICHE (laughing):\n  Bethink you, is it not my own regiment?\n\nROXANE (falling seated on the bench--aside):\n  Christian!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  What ails you?\n\nROXANE (moved deeply):\n  Oh--I am in despair!  The man one loves!--at the war!\n\nDE GUICHE (surprised and delighted):\n  You say such sweet words"}
{"answer":"seats himself:--with gentle raillery\n  He mocks my tapestry that's never done;\n  He tells me all the gossip of the week. . .\n(Le Bret appears on the steps):\n  Why, here's Le Bret!\n(Le Bret descends):\n  How goes it with our friend?\n\nLE BRET:\n  Ill!--very ill.\n\nTHE DUKE:\n  How?\n\nROXANE (to the Duke):\n  He exaggerates!\n\nLE BRET:\n  All that I prophesied:  desertion, want!. . .\n  His letters now make him fresh enemies!--\n  Attacking the sham nobles, sham devout,\n  Sham brave,--the thieving authors,--all the world!\n\nROXANE:\n  Ah! but his sword still holds them all in check;\n  None get the better of him.\n\nTHE DUKE (shaking his head):\n  Time will show!\n\nLE BRET:\n  Ah, but I fear for him--not man's attack,--\n  Solitude--hunger--cold December days,\n  That wolf-like steal into his chamber drear:--\n  Lo! the assassins that I fear for him!\n  Each day he tightens by one hole his belt:\n  That poor nose--tinted like old ivory:\n  He has retained one shabby suit of serge.\n\nTHE DUKE:\n  Ay, there is one who has no prize of Fortune!--\n  Yet is not to be pitied!\n\nLE BRET (with a bitter smile):\n  My Lord Marshal!. . .\n\nTHE DUKE:\n  Pity him not!  He has lived out his vows,\n  Free in his thoughts, as in his actions free!\n\nLE BRET (in the same tone):\n  My Lord!. . .\n\nTHE DUKE (haughtily):\n  True!  I have all, and he has naught;. . .\n  Yet","question":"Roxane; the Duke de Grammont, formerly Count de Guiche.  Then Le Bret and\nRagueneau.\n\nTHE DUKE:\n  And you stay here still--ever vainly fair,\n  Ever in weeds?\n\nROXANE:\n  Ever.\n\nTHE DUKE:\n  Still faithful?\n\nROXANE:\n  Still.\n\nTHE DUKE (after a pause):\n  Am I forgiven?\n\nROXANE:\n  Ay, since I am here.\n\n(Another pause.)\n\nTHE DUKE:\n  His was a soul, you say?. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  Ah!--when you knew him!\n\nTHE DUKE:\n  Ah, may be!. . .I, perchance, too little knew him!\n  . . .And his last letter, ever next your heart?\n\nROXANE:\n  Hung from this chain, a gentle scapulary.\n\nTHE DUKE:\n  And, dead, you love him still?\n\nROXANE:\n  At times,--meseems\n  He is but partly dead--our hearts still speak,\n  As if his love, still living, wrapped me round!\n\nTHE DUKE (after another pause):\n  Cyrano comes to see you?\n\nROXANE:\n  Often, ay.\n  Dear, kind old friend!  We call him my 'Gazette.'\n  He never fails to come:  beneath this tree\n  They place his chair, if it be fine:--I wait,\n  I broider;--the clock strikes;--at the last stroke\n  I hear,--for now I never turn to look--\n  Too sure to hear his cane tap down the steps;\n  He"}
{"answer":"to me!  'Tis the first time!--and just when I must\nquit you!\n\nROXANE (collected, and fanning herself):\n  Thus,--you would fain revenge your grudge against my cousin?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  My fair lady is on his side?\n\nROXANE:\n  Nay,--against him!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Do you see him often?\n\nROXANE:\n  But very rarely.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  He is ever to be met now in company with one of the cadets,. . .one New--\nvillen--viller--\n\nROXANE:\n  Of high stature?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Fair-haired!\n\nROXANE:\n  Ay, a red-headed fellow!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Handsome!. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  Tut!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  But dull-witted.\n\nROXANE:\n  One would think so, to look at him!\n(Changing her tone):\n  How mean you to play your revenge on Cyrano?  Perchance you think to put him\ni' the thick of the shots?  Nay, believe me, that were a poor vengeance--he\nwould love such a post better than aught else!  I know the way to wound his\npride far more keenly!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  What then?  Tell. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  If, when the regiment march to Arras, he were left here with his beloved\nboon companions, the Cadets, to sit with crossed arms so long as the war\nlasted!  There is your method, would you enrage a man of his kind; cheat him\nof his chance of mortal danger, and you punish him right fiercely.\n\nDE GUICHE (coming nearer):\n  O woman! woman!  Who but a woman had e'er devised so subtle a trick?\n\nROXANE:\n  See you not how he will eat out his heart, while his friends gnaw their\nthick fists","question":"Roxane, De Guiche, the duenna standing a little way off.\n\nROXANE (courtesying to De Guiche):\n  I was going out.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  I come to take my leave.\n\nROXANE:\n  Whither go you?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  To the war.\n\nROXANE:\n  Ah!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Ay, to-night.\n\nROXANE:\n  Oh!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  I am ordered away.  We are to besiege Arras.\n\nROXANE:\n  Ah--to besiege?. . .\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Ay.  My going moves you not, meseems.\n\nROXANE:\n  Nay. . .\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  I am grieved to the core of the heart.  Shall I again behold you?. . .When?\nI know not.  Heard you that I am named commander?. . .\n\nROXANE (indifferently):\n  Bravo!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Of the Guards regiment.\n\nROXANE (startled):\n  What! the Guards?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Ay, where serves your cousin, the swaggering boaster.  I will find a way to\nrevenge myself on him at Arras.\n\nROXANE (choking):\n  What mean you?  The Guards go to Arras?\n\nDE GUICHE (laughing):\n  Bethink you, is it not my own regiment?\n\nROXANE (falling seated on the bench--aside):\n  Christian!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  What ails you?\n\nROXANE (moved deeply):\n  Oh--I am in despair!  The man one loves!--at the war!\n\nDE GUICHE (surprised and delighted):\n  You say such sweet words"}
{"answer":"difficulties, they\nare overcome before they arise.  Between Barbicane's proposition\nand its realization no true Yankee would have allowed even the\nsemblance of a difficulty to be possible.  A thing with them is\nno sooner said than done.\n\nThe triumphal progress of the president continued throughout\nthe evening.  It was a regular torchlight procession.  Irish, Germans,\nFrench, Scotch, all the heterogeneous units which make up the\npopulation of Maryland shouted in their respective vernaculars;\nand the \"vivas,\" \"hurrahs,\" and \"bravos\" were intermingled in\ninexpressible enthusiasm.\n\nJust at this crisis, as though she comprehended all this\nagitation regarding herself, the moon shone forth with\nserene splendor, eclipsing by her intense illumination all the\nsurrounding lights.  The Yankees all turned their gaze toward\nher resplendent orb, kissed their hands, called her by all kinds\nof endearing names.  Between eight o'clock and midnight one\noptician in Jones'-Fall Street made his fortune by the sale of\nopera-glasses.\n\nMidnight arrived, and the enthusiasm showed no signs of diminution.\nIt spread equally among all classes of citizens-- men of science,\nshopkeepers, merchants, porters, chair-men, as well as \"greenhorns,\"\nwere stirred in their innermost fibres.  A national enterprise was\nat stake.  The whole city, high and low, the quays bordering the\nPatapsco, the ships lying in the basins, disgorged a crowd drunk\nwith joy, gin, and whisky.  Every one chattered, argued, discussed,\ndisputed, applauded, from the gentleman lounging upon the barroom\nsettee with his tumbler of sherry-cobbler before him down to the\nwaterman who got drunk upon his \"knock-me-down\" in the dingy taverns\nof Fell Point.\n\nAbout two A.M., however, the excitement began to subside.\nPresident Barbicane reached his","question":"\n\nIt is impossible to describe the effect produced by the last\nwords of the honorable president-- the cries, the shouts, the\nsuccession of roars, hurrahs, and all the varied vociferations\nwhich the American language is capable of supplying.  It was a\nscene of indescribable confusion and uproar.  They shouted, they\nclapped, they stamped on the floor of the hall.  All the weapons\nin the museum discharged at once could not have more violently set\nin motion the waves of sound.  One need not be surprised at this.\nThere are some cannoneers nearly as noisy as their own guns.\n\nBarbicane remained calm in the midst of this enthusiastic\nclamor; perhaps he was desirous of addressing a few more words\nto his colleagues, for by his gestures he demanded silence,\nand his powerful alarum was worn out by its violent reports.\nNo attention, however, was paid to his request.  He was presently\ntorn from his seat and passed from the hands of his faithful\ncolleagues into the arms of a no less excited crowd.\n\nNothing can astound an American.  It has often been asserted\nthat the word \"impossible\" in not a French one.  People have\nevidently been deceived by the dictionary.  In America, all is\neasy, all is simple; and as for mechanical"}
{"answer":"more, and in this turn-out it became Jude's business thrice a\nweek to carry loaves of bread to the villagers and solitary cotters\nimmediately round Marygreen.\n\nThe singularity aforesaid lay, after all, less in the conveyance\nitself than in Jude's manner of conducting it along its route.\nIts interior was the scene of most of Jude's education by \"private\nstudy.\"  As soon as the horse had learnt the road and the houses\nat which he was to pause awhile, the boy, seated in front, would\nslip the reins over his arm, ingeniously fix open, by means of a\nstrap attached to the tilt, the volume he was reading, spread the\ndictionary on his knees, and plunge into the simpler passages from\nCaesar, Virgil, or Horace, as the case might be, in his purblind\nstumbling way, and with an expenditure of labour that would have made\na tender-hearted pedagogue shed tears; yet somehow getting at the\nmeaning of what he read, and divining rather than beholding the\nspirit of the original, which often to his mind was something else\nthan that which he was taught to look for.\n\nThe only copies he had been able to lay hands on were old Delphin\neditions, because they were superseded, and therefore cheap.  But,\nbad for idle schoolboys, it did so happen that they were passably\ngood for him.  The hampered and lonely itinerant conscientiously\ncovered up the marginal readings, and used them merely on points of\nconstruction, as he would have used a comrade or tutor who should\nhave happened to be passing by.  And though Jude may have had little\nchance of","question":"\n\nDuring the three or four succeeding years a quaint and singular\nvehicle might have been discerned moving along the lanes and by-roads\nnear Marygreen, driven in a quaint and singular way.\n\nIn the course of a month or two after the receipt of the books\nJude had grown callous to the shabby trick played him by the dead\nlanguages.  In fact, his disappointment at the nature of those\ntongues had, after a while, been the means of still further\nglorifying the erudition of Christminster.  To acquire languages,\ndeparted or living in spite of such obstinacies as he now knew them\ninherently to possess, was a herculean performance which gradually\nled him on to a greater interest in it than in the presupposed patent\nprocess.  The mountain-weight of material under which the ideas lay\nin those dusty volumes called the classics piqued him into a dogged,\nmouselike subtlety of attempt to move it piecemeal.\n\nHe had endeavoured to make his presence tolerable to his crusty\nmaiden aunt by assisting her to the best of his ability, and the\nbusiness of the little cottage bakery had grown in consequence.  An\naged horse with a hanging head had been purchased for eight pounds at\na sale, a creaking cart with a whity-brown tilt obtained for a few\npounds"}
{"answer":"strange occupation, with their naked\ntattooed limbs, and shaven heads disposed in a circle, I was almost\ntempted to believe that I gazed upon a set of evil beings in the act of\nworking at a frightful incantation.\n\nWhat was the meaning or purpose of this custom, whether it was practiced\nmerely as a diversion, or whether it was a religious exercise, a sort of\nfamily prayers, I never could discover.\n\nThe sounds produced by the natives on these occasions were of a most\nsingular description; and had I not actually been present, I never would\nhave believed that such curious noises could have been produced by human\nbeings.\n\nTo savages generally is imputed a guttural articulation. This however,\nis not always the case, especially among the inhabitants of the\nPolynesian Archipelago. The labial melody with which the Typee girls\ncarry on an ordinary conversation, giving a musical prolongation to the\nfinal syllable of every sentence, and chirping out some of the words\nwith a liquid, bird-like accent, was singularly pleasing.\n\nThe men however, are not quite so harmonious in their utterance, and\nwhen excited upon any subject, would work themselves up into a sort of\nwordy paroxysm, during which all descriptions of rough-sided sounds\nwere projected from their mouths, with a force and rapidity which was\nabsolutely astonishing.\n\n      . . . . .  .  .  .\n\nAlthough these savages are remarkably fond of chanting, still they\nappear to have no idea whatever of singing, at least as the art is\npractised in other nations.\n\nI shall never forget the first time I happened to roar out","question":"SADLY discursive as I have already been, I must still further entreat\nthe reader's patience, as I am about to string together, without any\nattempt at order, a few odds and ends of things not hitherto mentioned,\nbut which are either curious in themselves or peculiar to the Typees.\n\nThere was one singular custom observed in old Marheyo's domestic\nestablishment, which often excited my surprise. Every night, before\nretiring, the inmates of the house gathered together on the mats, and\nso squatting upon their haunches, after the universal practice of\nthese islanders, would commence a low, dismal and monotonous chant,\naccompanying the voice with the instrumental melody produced by two\nsmall half-rotten sticks tapped slowly together, a pair of which\nwere held in the hands of each person present. Thus would they employ\nthemselves for an hour or two, sometimes longer. Lying in the gloom\nwhich wrapped the further end of the house, I could not avoid looking\nat them, although the spectacle suggested nothing but unpleasant\nreflection. The flickering rays of the 'armor' nut just served to reveal\ntheir savage lineaments, without dispelling the darkness that hovered\nabout them.\n\nSometimes when, after falling into a kind of doze, and awaking suddenly\nin the midst of these doleful chantings, my eye would fall upon the\nwild-looking group engaged in their"}
{"answer":"to my nature? Rather say I play\n    The man I am.\n  VOLUMNIA. O, sir, sir, sir,\n    I would have had you put your power well on\n    Before you had worn it out.\n  CORIOLANUS. Let go.\n  VOLUMNIA. You might have been enough the man you are\n    With striving less to be so; lesser had been\n    The thwartings of your dispositions, if\n    You had not show'd them how ye were dispos'd,\n    Ere they lack'd power to cross you.\n  CORIOLANUS. Let them hang.\n  VOLUMNIA. Ay, and burn too.\n\n                    Enter MENENIUS with the SENATORS\n\n  MENENIUS. Come, come, you have been too rough, something too\nrough;\n    You must return and mend it.\n  FIRST SENATOR. There's no remedy,\n    Unless, by not so doing, our good city\n    Cleave in the midst and perish.\n  VOLUMNIA. Pray be counsell'd;\n    I have a heart as little apt as yours,\n    But yet a brain that leads my use of anger\n    To better vantage.\n  MENENIUS. Well said, noble woman!\n    Before he should thus stoop to th' herd, but that\n    The violent fit o' th' time craves it as physic\n ","question":"SCENE II.\nRome. The house of CORIOLANUS\n\nEnter CORIOLANUS with NOBLES\n\n  CORIOLANUS. Let them pull all about mine ears, present me\n    Death on the wheel or at wild horses' heels;\n    Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock,\n    That the precipitation might down stretch\n    Below the beam of sight; yet will I still\n    Be thus to them.\n  FIRST PATRICIAN. You do the nobler.\n  CORIOLANUS. I muse my mother\n    Does not approve me further, who was wont\n    To call them woollen vassals, things created\n    To buy and sell with groats; to show bare heads\n    In congregations, to yawn, be still, and wonder,\n    When one but of my ordinance stood up\n    To speak of peace or war.\n\n                          Enter VOLUMNIA\n\n    I talk of you:\n    Why did you wish me milder? Would you have me\n    False"}
{"answer":"   Having all day carous'd and banqueted;\n    Embrace we then this opportunity,\n    As fitting best to quittance their deceit,\n    Contriv'd by art and baleful sorcery.\n  BEDFORD. Coward of France, how much he wrongs his fame,\n    Despairing of his own arm's fortitude,\n    To join with witches and the help of hell!\n  BURGUNDY. Traitors have never other company.\n    But what's that Pucelle whom they term so pure?\n  TALBOT. A maid, they say.\n  BEDFORD. A maid! and be so martial!\n  BURGUNDY. Pray God she prove not masculine ere long,\n    If underneath the standard of the French\n    She carry armour as she hath begun.\n  TALBOT. Well, let them practise and converse with spirits:\n    God is our fortress, in whose conquering name\n    Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.\n  BEDFORD. Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee.\n  TALBOT. Not all together; better far, I guess,\n    That we do make our entrance several ways;\n    That if it chance the one of us do fail\n    The other yet may rise against their force.\n  BEDFORD. Agreed; I'll to yond corner.\n  BURGUNDY. And I to this.\n  TALBOT. And here will Talbot mount or make his grave.\n    Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the","question":"ACT II. SCENE 1.\n\nBefore Orleans\n\nEnter a FRENCH SERGEANT and two SENTINELS\n\n  SERGEANT. Sirs, take your places and be vigilant.\n    If any noise or soldier you perceive\n    Near to the walls, by some apparent sign\n    Let us have knowledge at the court of guard.\n  FIRST SENTINEL. Sergeant, you shall.           [Exit SERGEANT]\n    Thus are poor servitors,\n    When others sleep upon their quiet beds,\n    Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold.\n\n             Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, and forces,\n          with scaling-ladders; their drums beating a dead\n                              march\n\n  TALBOT. Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy,\n    By whose approach the regions of Artois,\n    Wallon, and Picardy, are friends to us,\n    This happy night the Frenchmen are secure,\n"}
{"answer":"not yet come vp,\nYour Vnckle Worcesters Horse came but to day,\nAnd now their pride and mettall is asleepe,\nTheir courage with hard labour tame and dull,\nThat not a Horse is halfe the halfe of himselfe\n\n   Hotsp. So are the Horses of the Enemie\nIn generall iourney bated, and brought low:\nThe better part of ours are full of rest\n\n   Worc. The number of the King exceedeth ours:\nFor Gods sake, Cousin, stay till all come in.\n\nThe Trumpet sounds a Parley. Enter Sir Walter Blunt.\n\n  Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the King,\nIf you vouchsafe me hearing, and respect\n\n   Hotsp. Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt:\nAnd would to God you were of our determination.\n\nSome of vs loue you well: and euen those some\nEnuie your great deseruings, and good name,\nBecause you are not of our qualitie,\nBut stand against vs like an Enemie\n\n   Blunt. And Heauen defend, but still I should stand so,\nSo long as out of Limit, and true Rule,\nYou stand against anoynted Maiestie.\nBut to my Charge.\nThe King hath sent to know\nThe nature of your Griefes, and whereupon\nYou coniure from the Brest of Ciuill Peace,\nSuch bold Hostilitie, teaching his dutious Land\nAudacious Crueltie. If that the King\nHaue any way your good Deserts forgot,\nWhich he confesseth to be manifold,\nHe bids you name your Griefes, and with all speed\nYou shall haue your desires, with interest;\nAnd Pardon absolute for your selfe, and these,\nHerein mis-led, by your suggestion\n\n   Hotsp. The King is kinde:\nAnd well wee know, the King\nKnowes at what time","question":"Scoena Tertia.\n\n\nEnter Hotspur, Worcester, Dowglas, and Vernon.\n\n  Hotsp. Wee'le fight with him to Night\n\n   Worc. It may not be\n\n   Dowg. You giue him then aduantage\n\n   Vern. Not a whit\n\n   Hotsp. Why say you so? lookes he not for supply?\n  Vern. So doe wee\n\n   Hotsp. His is certaine, ours is doubtfull\n\n   Worc. Good Cousin be aduis'd, stirre not to night\n\n   Vern. Doe not, my Lord\n\n   Dowg. You doe not counsaile well:\nYou speake it out of feare, and cold heart\n\n   Vern. Doe me no slander, Dowglas: by my Life,\nAnd I dare well maintaine it with my Life,\nIf well-respected Honor bid me on,\nI hold as little counsaile with weake feare,\nAs you, my Lord, or any Scot that this day liues.\nLet it be seene to morrow in the Battell,\nWhich of vs feares\n\n   Dowg. Yea, or to night\n\n   Vern. Content\n\n   Hotsp. To night, say I\n\n   Vern. Come, come, it may not be.\nI wonder much, being me[n] of such great leading as you are\nThat you fore-see not what impediments\nDrag backe our expedition: certaine Horse\nOf my Cousin Vernons are"}
{"answer":"away aft with ye!\" cried Hoseason.\n\nAnd at that I brushed by the sailors and the boy (who neither spoke nor\nmoved), and ran up the ladder on deck.\n\nThe brig was sheering swiftly and giddily through a long, cresting\nswell. She was on the starboard tack, and on the left hand, under the\narched foot of the foresail, I could see the sunset still quite bright.\nThis, at such an hour of the night, surprised me greatly; but I was too\nignorant to draw the true conclusion--that we were going north-about\nround Scotland, and were now on the high sea between the Orkney and\nShetland Islands, having avoided the dangerous currents of the Pentland\nFirth. For my part, who had been so long shut in the dark and knew\nnothing of head-winds, I thought we might be half-way or more across the\nAtlantic. And indeed (beyond that I wondered a little at the lateness of\nthe sunset light) I gave no heed to it, and pushed on across the decks,\nrunning between the seas, catching at ropes, and only saved from going\noverboard by one of the hands on deck, who had been always kind to me.\n\nThe round-house, for which I was bound, and where I was now to sleep and\nserve, stood some six feet above the decks, and considering the size of\nthe brig, was of good dimensions. Inside were a fixed table and bench,\nand two berths, one for the captain and the other for the two mates,\nturn and turn about. It was all fitted with lockers from top to bottom,\nso as to stow","question":"One night, about eleven o'clock, a man of Mr. Riach's watch (which was\non deck) came below for his jacket; and instantly there began to go\na whisper about the forecastle that \"Shuan had done for him at last.\"\nThere was no need of a name; we all knew who was meant; but we had\nscarce time to get the idea rightly in our heads, far less to speak of\nit, when the scuttle was again flung open, and Captain Hoseason came\ndown the ladder. He looked sharply round the bunks in the tossing light\nof the lantern; and then, walking straight up to me, he addressed me, to\nmy surprise, in tones of kindness.\n\n\"My man,\" said he, \"we want ye to serve in the round-house. You and\nRansome are to change berths. Run away aft with ye.\"\n\nEven as he spoke, two seamen appeared in the scuttle, carrying Ransome\nin their arms; and the ship at that moment giving a great sheer into the\nsea, and the lantern swinging, the light fell direct on the boy's face.\nIt was as white as wax, and had a look upon it like a dreadful smile.\nThe blood in me ran cold, and I drew in my breath as if I had been\nstruck.\n\n\"Run away aft; run"}
{"answer":"and at last began to cry.\n\"Please, ma'am, on the day of the Maypole I had none to wear, and I seed\nyours on the table, and I thought I would borrow 'em. I did not mean to\nhurt 'em at all, but one of them got lost. Somebody gave me some money\nto buy another pair for you, but I have not been able to go anywhere to\nget 'em.\"\n\n\"Who's somebody?\"\n\n\"Mr. Venn.\"\n\n\"Did he know it was my glove?\"\n\n\"Yes. I told him.\"\n\nThomasin was so surprised by the explanation that she quite forgot\nto lecture the girl, who glided silently away. Thomasin did not move\nfurther than to turn her eyes upon the grass-plat where the Maypole had\nstood. She remained thinking, then said to herself that she would not go\nout that afternoon, but would work hard at the baby's unfinished lovely\nplaid frock, cut on the cross in the newest fashion. How she managed to\nwork hard, and yet do no more than she had done at the end of two hours,\nwould have been a mystery to anyone not aware that the recent incident\nwas of a kind likely to divert her industry from a manual to a mental\nchannel.\n\nNext day she went her ways as usual, and continued her custom of walking\nin the heath with no other companion than little Eustacia, now of the\nage when it is a matter of doubt with such characters whether they are\nintended to walk through the world on their hands or on their feet; so\nthat they get into painful complications by trying both. It was very\npleasant","question":"<CHAPTER>\n2--Thomasin Walks in a Green Place by the Roman Road\n\n\nClym saw little of Thomasin for several days after this; and when they\nmet she was more silent than usual. At length he asked her what she was\nthinking of so intently.\n\n\"I am thoroughly perplexed,\" she said candidly. \"I cannot for my life\nthink who it is that Diggory Venn is so much in love with. None of the\ngirls at the Maypole were good enough for him, and yet she must have\nbeen there.\"\n\nClym tried to imagine Venn's choice for a moment; but ceasing to be\ninterested in the question he went on again with his gardening.\n\nNo clearing up of the mystery was granted her for some time. But one\nafternoon Thomasin was upstairs getting ready for a walk, when she had\noccasion to come to the landing and call \"Rachel.\" Rachel was a girl\nabout thirteen, who carried the baby out for airings; and she came\nupstairs at the call.\n\n\"Have you seen one of my last new gloves about the house, Rachel?\"\ninquired Thomasin. \"It is the fellow to this one.\"\n\nRachel did not reply.\n\n\"Why don't you answer?\" said her mistress.\n\n\"I think it is lost, ma'am.\"\n\n\"Lost? Who lost it? I have never worn them but once.\"\n\nRachel appeared as one dreadfully troubled,"}
{"answer":"all her\nlook, thank the Lord's mercy that if they were ruined the pieces would\nstill serve. Flights of fancy gave place, in her mind, to a steady\nfireside glow, and I had already begun to perceive how, with the\ndevelopment of the conviction that--as time went on without a public\naccident--our young things could, after all, look out for themselves,\nshe addressed her greatest solicitude to the sad case presented by their\ninstructress. That, for myself, was a sound simplification: I could\nengage that, to the world, my face should tell no tales, but it would\nhave been, in the conditions, an immense added strain to find myself\nanxious about hers.\n\nAt the hour I now speak of she had joined me, under pressure, on the\nterrace, where, with the lapse of the season, the afternoon sun was now\nagreeable; and we sat there together while, before us, at a distance,\nbut within call if we wished, the children strolled to and fro in one\nof their most manageable moods. They moved slowly, in unison, below us,\nover the lawn, the boy, as they went, reading aloud from a storybook and\npassing his arm round his sister to keep her quite in touch. Mrs. Grose\nwatched them with positive placidity; then I caught the suppressed\nintellectual creak with which she conscientiously turned to take from me\na view of the back of the tapestry. I had made her a receptacle of\nlurid things, but there was an odd recognition of my superiority--my\naccomplishments and my function--in her patience under my pain. She\noffered her mind to my disclosures as, had I wished","question":"It was not till late next day that I spoke to Mrs. Grose; the rigor with\nwhich I kept my pupils in sight making it often difficult to meet\nher privately, and the more as we each felt the importance of not\nprovoking--on the part of the servants quite as much as on that of the\nchildren--any suspicion of a secret flurry or that of a discussion of\nmysteries. I drew a great security in this particular from her mere\nsmooth aspect. There was nothing in her fresh face to pass on to others\nmy horrible confidences. She believed me, I was sure, absolutely: if she\nhadn't I don't know what would have become of me, for I couldn't have\nborne the business alone. But she was a magnificent monument to the\nblessing of a want of imagination, and if she could see in our little\ncharges nothing but their beauty and amiability, their happiness and\ncleverness, she had no direct communication with the sources of my\ntrouble. If they had been at all visibly blighted or battered, she would\ndoubtless have grown, on tracing it back, haggard enough to match them;\nas matters stood, however, I could feel her, when she surveyed them,\nwith her large white arms folded and the habit of serenity in"}
{"answer":"soul, is dead; it is the inexorable\nconsolidation and perpetuation of the secret that was always in that\nindividuality, and which I shall carry in mine to my life's end. In\nany of the burial-places of this city through which I pass, is there\na sleeper more inscrutable than its busy inhabitants are, in their\ninnermost personality, to me, or than I am to them?\n\nAs to this, his natural and not to be alienated inheritance, the\nmessenger on horseback had exactly the same possessions as the King, the\nfirst Minister of State, or the richest merchant in London. So with the\nthree passengers shut up in the narrow compass of one lumbering old mail\ncoach; they were mysteries to one another, as complete as if each had\nbeen in his own coach and six, or his own coach and sixty, with the\nbreadth of a county between him and the next.\n\nThe messenger rode back at an easy trot, stopping pretty often at\nale-houses by the way to drink, but evincing a tendency to keep his\nown counsel, and to keep his hat cocked over his eyes. He had eyes that\nassorted very well with that decoration, being of a surface black, with\nno depth in the colour or form, and much too near together--as if they\nwere afraid of being found out in something, singly, if they kept too\nfar apart. They had a sinister expression, under an old cocked-hat like\na three-cornered spittoon, and over a great muffler for the chin and\nthroat, which descended nearly to the wearer's knees. When he stopped\nfor drink, he moved this muffler","question":"III. The Night Shadows\n\n\nA wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is\nconstituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A\nsolemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every\none of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every\nroom in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating\nheart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of\nits imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it! Something of the\nawfulness, even of Death itself, is referable to this. No more can I\nturn the leaves of this dear book that I loved, and vainly hope in time\nto read it all. No more can I look into the depths of this unfathomable\nwater, wherein, as momentary lights glanced into it, I have had glimpses\nof buried treasure and other things submerged. It was appointed that the\nbook should shut with a spring, for ever and for ever, when I had read\nbut a page. It was appointed that the water should be locked in an\neternal frost, when the light was playing on its surface, and I stood\nin ignorance on the shore. My friend is dead, my neighbour is dead,\nmy love, the darling of my"}
{"answer":"For\na moment I suspected that my intellect had tricked me. Then I noted\nthe clock. A moment before, as it seemed, it had stood at a minute\nor so past ten; now it was nearly half-past three!\n\n'I drew a breath, set my teeth, gripped the starting lever with both\nhands, and went off with a thud. The laboratory got hazy and went\ndark. Mrs. Watchett came in and walked, apparently without seeing\nme, towards the garden door. I suppose it took her a minute or so to\ntraverse the place, but to me she seemed to shoot across the room\nlike a rocket. I pressed the lever over to its extreme position. The\nnight came like the turning out of a lamp, and in another moment\ncame to-morrow. The laboratory grew faint and hazy, then fainter\nand ever fainter. To-morrow night came black, then day again, night\nagain, day again, faster and faster still. An eddying murmur filled\nmy ears, and a strange, dumb confusedness descended on my mind.\n\n'I am afraid I cannot convey the peculiar sensations of time\ntravelling. They are excessively unpleasant. There is a feeling\nexactly like that one has upon a switchback--of a helpless headlong\nmotion! I felt the same horrible anticipation, too, of an imminent\nsmash. As I put on pace, night followed day like the flapping of a\nblack wing. The dim suggestion of the laboratory seemed presently to\nfall away from me, and I saw the sun hopping swiftly across the sky,\nleaping it every minute, and every minute marking a day. I supposed\nthe laboratory had been destroyed and I had come","question":"\n\n'I told some of you last Thursday of the principles of the Time\nMachine, and showed you the actual thing itself, incomplete in the\nworkshop. There it is now, a little travel-worn, truly; and one of\nthe ivory bars is cracked, and a brass rail bent; but the rest of\nit's sound enough. I expected to finish it on Friday, but on Friday,\nwhen the putting together was nearly done, I found that one of the\nnickel bars was exactly one inch too short, and this I had to get\nremade; so that the thing was not complete until this morning. It\nwas at ten o'clock to-day that the first of all Time Machines began\nits career. I gave it a last tap, tried all the screws again, put\none more drop of oil on the quartz rod, and sat myself in the\nsaddle. I suppose a suicide who holds a pistol to his skull feels\nmuch the same wonder at what will come next as I felt then. I took\nthe starting lever in one hand and the stopping one in the other,\npressed the first, and almost immediately the second. I seemed to\nreel; I felt a nightmare sensation of falling; and, looking round,\nI saw the laboratory exactly as before. Had anything happened?"}
{"answer":"themselves on\ntheir diseases, and I do, may be, more than anyone.  We will not\ndispute it; my contention was absurd.  But yet I am firmly persuaded\nthat a great deal of consciousness, every sort of consciousness, in\nfact, is a disease.  I stick to that.  Let us leave that, too, for a\nminute.  Tell me this: why does it happen that at the very, yes, at the\nvery moments when I am most capable of feeling every refinement of all\nthat is \"sublime and beautiful,\" as they used to say at one time, it\nwould, as though of design, happen to me not only to feel but to do\nsuch ugly things, such that ... Well, in short, actions that all,\nperhaps, commit; but which, as though purposely, occurred to me at the\nvery time when I was most conscious that they ought not to be\ncommitted.  The more conscious I was of goodness and of all that was\n\"sublime and beautiful,\" the more deeply I sank into my mire and the\nmore ready I was to sink in it altogether.  But the chief point was\nthat all this was, as it were, not accidental in me, but as though it\nwere bound to be so.  It was as though it were my most normal\ncondition, and not in the least disease or depravity, so that at last\nall desire in me to struggle against this depravity passed.  It ended\nby my almost believing (perhaps actually believing) that this was\nperhaps my normal condition.  But at first, in the","question":"\nI want now to tell you, gentlemen, whether you care to hear it or not,\nwhy I could not even become an insect.  I tell you solemnly, that I\nhave many times tried to become an insect.  But I was not equal even to\nthat.  I swear, gentlemen, that to be too conscious is an illness--a\nreal thorough-going illness.  For man's everyday needs, it would have\nbeen quite enough to have the ordinary human consciousness, that is,\nhalf or a quarter of the amount which falls to the lot of a cultivated\nman of our unhappy nineteenth century, especially one who has the fatal\nill-luck to inhabit Petersburg, the most theoretical and intentional\ntown on the whole terrestrial globe.  (There are intentional and\nunintentional towns.)  It would have been quite enough, for instance,\nto have the consciousness by which all so-called direct persons and men\nof action live.  I bet you think I am writing all this from\naffectation, to be witty at the expense of men of action; and what is\nmore, that from ill-bred affectation, I am clanking a sword like my\nofficer.  But, gentlemen, whoever can pride himself on his diseases and\neven swagger over them?\n\nThough, after all, everyone does do that; people do pride"}
{"answer":"if it is only to take my friends away from me.\"\n\n\"I don't deceive myself,\" Carl said frankly. \"I know that I am\ngoing away on my own account. I must make the usual effort. I\nmust have something to show for myself. To take what you would\ngive me, I should have to be either a very large man or a very\nsmall one, and I am only in the middle class.\"\n\nAlexandra sighed. \"I have a feeling that if you go away, you will\nnot come back. Something will happen to one of us, or to both.\nPeople have to snatch at happiness when they can, in this world.\nIt is always easier to lose than to find. What I have is yours,\nif you care enough about me to take it.\"\n\nCarl rose and looked up at the picture of John Bergson. \"But I\ncan't, my dear, I can't! I will go North at once. Instead of idling\nabout in California all winter, I shall be getting my bearings up\nthere. I won't waste another week. Be patient with me, Alexandra.\nGive me a year!\"\n\n\"As you will,\" said Alexandra wearily. \"All at once, in a single\nday, I lose everything; and I do not know why. Emil, too, is going\naway.\" Carl was still studying John Bergson's face and Alexandra's\neyes followed his. \"Yes,\" she said, \"if he could have seen all\nthat would come of the task he gave me, he would have been sorry.\nI hope he does not see me now. I hope that he is among the old\npeople of his blood and country,","question":"\nCarl came into the sitting-room while Alexandra was lighting the\nlamp. She looked up at him as she adjusted the shade. His sharp\nshoulders stooped as if he were very tired, his face was pale,\nand there were bluish shadows under his dark eyes. His anger had\nburned itself out and left him sick and disgusted.\n\n\"You have seen Lou and Oscar?\" Alexandra asked.\n\n\"Yes.\" His eyes avoided hers.\n\nAlexandra took a deep breath. \"And now you are going away. I\nthought so.\"\n\nCarl threw himself into a chair and pushed the dark lock back\nfrom his forehead with his white, nervous hand. \"What a hopeless\nposition you are in, Alexandra!\" he exclaimed feverishly. \"It is\nyour fate to be always surrounded by little men. And I am no better\nthan the rest. I am too little to face the criticism of even such\nmen as Lou and Oscar. Yes, I am going away; to-morrow. I cannot\neven ask you to give me a promise until I have something to offer\nyou. I thought, perhaps, I could do that; but I find I can't.\"\n\n\"What good comes of offering people things they don't need?\"\nAlexandra asked sadly. \"I don't need money. But I have needed\nyou for a great many years. I wonder why I have been permitted to\nprosper,"}
{"answer":"very morning.\n\nWhen the young man had gone, Henry said, \"I know where I can find a\nwhole lot of that plant.\"\n\n\"Is that so?\" replied the doctor kindly. \"It's only the root, you know,\nthat is valuable. But any one who wants the bother of digging it up can\nsell any quantity of that.\"\n\nWhen Henry went home at noon he related enough of this incident to set\nhis sisters to work in good earnest. They started out with both knives\nand two strong iron spoons, and the kettle. And with Benny to run about\nfinding every white flower he could, the girls succeeded, with a great\ndeal of hard digging, in finding enormous quantities of ginseng root. In\nfact that first afternoon's work resulted in a kettle full, not counting\na single leaf or stem. Henry was delighted when he saw the result of\ntheir work, and took it next day to the largest drug store, where he\nreceived three dollars for the roots.\n\nWithout any hesitation Henry paid a visit to the dry-goods store, and\ncame home with a pair of new brown stockings for Benny. That was a great\nday in the woods. Benny gave them no peace at all until they had admired\nhis wonderful new stockings, and felt of each rib.\n\nThere had been one other thing that Benny had given them no peace about.\nOn the night when the children had crept so quietly away from the\nbaker's wife, Jess had forgotten to take Benny's bear. This bear was a\npoor looking creature, which had once been an expensive bright-eyed\nTeddy-bear made of brown plush. But","question":"GINSENG\n\n\nWhat Dr. McAllister ever did before Henry began to work for him would be\nhard to guess.\n\nThere were certainly as many duties always waiting for him as he had\ntime to do. And it made no difference to the industrious boy what the\njob was. Nothing was too hard or too dirty for him to attempt.\n\nOne day the doctor set him at the task of clearing out his little\nlaboratory. The boy washed bottles, pasted labels, and cleaned\ninstruments for one whole morning. And more than one broken flask on its\nway to the rubbish heap was carefully carried up the hill to the hidden\nfamily.\n\nWhile Henry was busy carefully lettering a sticky label, he noticed a\nyoung man in the outer office who was talking with the doctor.\n\n\"Can you tell me if this is real ginseng?\" Henry heard him say.\n\n\"It certainly is,\" returned Dr. McAllister. \"They will give you two\ndollars a pound for the root at any of the drug stores.\"\n\nHenry ventured to steal a peep, and found he could readily see the plant\nthe man was holding. It was about a foot high with branching leaves and\na fine feathery white flower. Henry knew it was exactly the same white\npuffball that he had noticed in Violet's vase that"}
{"answer":"us!--But we all like him well!--\n  --We make him pasties of angelica!\n\nSISTER MARTHA:\n  But, he is not a faithful Catholic!\n\nSISTER CLAIRE:\n  We will convert him!\n\nTHE SISTERS:\n  Yes!  Yes!\n\nMOTHER MARGUERITE:\n  I forbid,\n  My daughters, you attempt that subject.  Nay,\n  Weary him not--he might less oft come here!\n\nSISTER MARTHA:\n  But. . .God. . .\n\nMOTHER MARGUERITE:\n  Nay, never fear!  God knows him well!\n\nSISTER MARTHA:\n  But--every Saturday, when he arrives,\n  He tells me, 'Sister, I eat meat on Friday!'\n\nMOTHER MARGUERITE:\n  Ah! says he so?  Well, the last time he came\n  Food had not passed his lips for two whole days!\n\nSISTER MARTHA:\n  Mother!\n\nMOTHER MARGUERITE:\n  He's poor.\n\nSISTER MARTHA:\n  Who told you so, dear Mother?\n\nMOTHER MARGUERITE:\n  Monsieur Le Bret.\n\nSISTER MARTHA:\n  None help him?\n\nMOTHER MARGUERITE:\n  He permits not.\n(In an alley at the back Roxane appears, dressed in black, with a widow's coif\nand veil.  De Guiche, imposing-looking and visibly aged, walks by her side.\nThey saunter slowly.  Mother Marguerite rises):\n  'Tis time we go in; Madame Madeleine\n  Walks in the garden with a visitor.\n\nSISTER MARTHA (to Sister Claire, in a low voice):\n  The Marshal of Grammont?\n\nSISTER CLAIRE (looking at him):\n  'Tis he, I think.\n\nSISTER MARTHA:\n  'Tis many months now since he came to see her.\n\nTHE SISTERS:\n  He is so busy!--The Court,--the camp!. . .\n\nSISTER CLAIRE:\n  The world!\n\n(They go out.  De Guiche and Roxane come forward in silence,","question":"Mother Marguerite, Sister Martha, Sister Claire, other sisters.\n\nSISTER MARTHA (to Mother Marguerite):\n  Sister Claire glanced in the mirror, once--nay, twice, to see if her coif\nsuited.\n\nMOTHER MARGUERITE (to Sister Claire):\n  'Tis not well.\n\nSISTER CLAIRE:\n  But I saw Sister Martha take a plum\n  Out of the tart.\n\nMOTHER MARGUERITE (to Sister Martha):\n  That was ill done, my sister.\n\nSISTER CLAIRE:\n  A little glance!\n\nSISTER MARTHA:\n  And such a little plum!\n\nMOTHER MARGUERITE:\n  I shall tell this to Monsieur Cyrano.\n\nSISTER CLAIRE:\n  Nay, prithee do not!--he will mock!\n\nSISTER MARTHA:\n  He'll say we nuns are vain!\n\nSISTER CLAIRE:\n  And greedy!\n\nMOTHER MARGUERITE (smiling):\n  Ay, and kind!\n\nSISTER CLAIRE:\n  Is it not true, pray, Mother Marguerite,\n  That he has come, each week, on Saturday\n  For ten years, to the convent?\n\nMOTHER MARGUERITE:\n  Ay! and more!\n  Ever since--fourteen years ago--the day\n  His cousin brought here, 'midst our woolen coifs,\n  The worldly mourning of her widow's veil,\n  Like a blackbird's wing among the convent doves!\n\nSISTER MARTHA:\n  He only has the skill to turn her mind\n  From grief--unsoftened yet by Time--unhealed!\n\nALL THE SISTERS:\n  He is so droll!--It's cheerful when he comes!--\n  He teases"}
{"answer":"way up in deh city,\" he said.  \"I was\ngoin' teh see a frien' of mine.  When I was a-crossin' deh street deh\nchump runned plump inteh me, an' den he turns aroun' an' says, 'Yer\ninsolen' ruffin,' he says, like dat.  'Oh, gee,' I says, 'oh, gee, go\nteh hell and git off deh eart',' I says, like dat.  See?  'Go teh hell\nan' git off deh eart',' like dat.  Den deh blokie he got wild.  He says\nI was a contempt'ble scoun'el, er somet'ing like dat, an' he says I was\ndoom' teh everlastin' pe'dition an' all like dat.  'Gee,' I says, 'gee!\nDeh hell I am,' I says.  'Deh hell I am,' like dat.  An' den I slugged\n'im.  See?\"\n\nWith Jimmie in his company, Pete departed in a sort of a blaze of glory\nfrom the Johnson home.  Maggie, leaning from the window, watched him as\nhe walked down the street.\n\nHere was a formidable man who disdained the strength of a world full of\nfists.  Here was one who had contempt for brass-clothed power; one\nwhose knuckles could defiantly ring against the granite of law.  He was\na knight.\n\nThe two men went from under the glimmering street-lamp and passed into\nshadows.\n\nTurning, Maggie contemplated the dark, dust-stained walls, and the\nscant and crude furniture of her home.  A clock, in a splintered and\nbattered oblong box of varnished wood, she suddenly regarded as an\nabomination.  She noted that it ticked raspingly.  The almost vanished\nflowers in the carpet-pattern, she conceived","question":"\nPete took note of Maggie.\n\n\"Say, Mag, I'm stuck on yer shape.  It's outa sight,\" he said,\nparenthetically, with an affable grin.\n\nAs he became aware that she was listening closely, he grew still more\neloquent in his descriptions of various happenings in his career.  It\nappeared that he was invincible in fights.\n\n\"Why,\" he said, referring to a man with whom he had had a\nmisunderstanding, \"dat mug scrapped like a damn dago.  Dat's right.  He\nwas dead easy.  See?  He tau't he was a scrapper.  But he foun' out\ndiff'ent!  Hully gee.\"\n\nHe walked to and fro in the small room, which seemed then to grow even\nsmaller and unfit to hold his dignity, the attribute of a supreme\nwarrior.  That swing of the shoulders that had frozen the timid when he\nwas but a lad had increased with his growth and education at the ratio\nof ten to one.  It, combined with the sneer upon his mouth, told\nmankind that there was nothing in space which could appall him.  Maggie\nmarvelled at him and surrounded him with greatness.  She vaguely tried\nto calculate the altitude of the pinnacle from which he must have\nlooked down upon her.\n\n\"I met a chump deh odder day"}
{"answer":"They were all properly\nwaited on.\n\nNext morning, when we stopped at Troy for breakfast, every body was making\na rush for the table. Mrs. Bruce said, \"Take my arm, Linda, and we'll go in\ntogether.\" The landlord heard her, and said, \"Madam, will you allow your\nnurse and baby to take breakfast with my family?\" I knew this was to be\nattributed to my complexion; but he spoke courteously, and therefore I did\nnot mind it.\n\nAt Saratoga we found the United States Hotel crowded, and Mr. Bruce took\none of the cottages belonging to the hotel. I had thought, with gladness,\nof going to the quiet of the country, where I should meet few people, but\nhere I found myself in the midst of a swarm of Southerners. I looked round\nme with fear and trembling, dreading to see some one who would recognize\nme. I was rejoiced to find that we were to stay but a short time.\n\nWe soon returned to New York, to make arrangements for spending the\nremainder of the summer at Rockaway. While the laundress was putting the\nclothes in order, I took an opportunity to go over to Brooklyn to see\nEllen. I met her going to a grocery store, and the first words she said,\nwere, \"O, mother, don't go to Mrs. Hobbs's. Her brother, Mr. Thorne, has\ncome from the south, and may be he'll tell where you are.\" I accepted the\nwarning. I told her I was going away with Mrs. Bruce the next day, and\nwould try to see her when I came back.\n\nBeing in servitude to the Anglo-Saxon","question":"\n\nIt was a relief to my mind to see preparations for leaving the city. We\nwent to Albany in the steamboat Knickerbocker. When the gong sounded for\ntea, Mrs. Bruce said, \"Linda, it is late, and you and baby had better come\nto the table with me.\" I replied, \"I know it is time baby had her supper,\nbut I had rather not go with you, if you please. I am afraid of being\ninsulted.\" \"O no, not if you are with _me_,\" she said. I saw several white\nnurses go with their ladies, and I ventured to do the same. We were at the\nextreme end of the table. I was no sooner seated, than a gruff voice said,\n\"Get up! You know you are not allowed to sit here.\" I looked up, and, to my\nastonishment and indignation, saw that the speaker was a colored man. If\nhis office required him to enforce the by-laws of the boat, he might, at\nleast, have done it politely. I replied, \"I shall not get up, unless the\ncaptain comes and takes me up.\" No cup of tea was offered me, but Mrs.\nBruce handed me hers and called for another. I looked to see whether the\nother nurses were treated in a similar manner."}
{"answer":"was a greater\nact of injustice. But I should be glad to know how my sister came to be\nscullion to a Transylvanian prince who has taken shelter among the\nTurks.\"\n\n\"But you, my dear Pangloss,\" said Candide, \"how can it be that I behold\nyou again?\"\n\n\"It is true,\" said Pangloss, \"that you saw me hanged. I should have been\nburnt, but you may remember it rained exceedingly hard when they were\ngoing to roast me; the storm was so violent that they despaired of\nlighting the fire, so I was hanged because they could do no better. A\nsurgeon purchased my body, carried me home, and dissected me. He began\nwith making a crucial incision on me from the navel to the clavicula.\nOne could not have been worse hanged than I was. The executioner of the\nHoly Inquisition was a sub-deacon, and knew how to burn people\nmarvellously well, but he was not accustomed to hanging. The cord was\nwet and did not slip properly, and besides it was badly tied; in short,\nI still drew my breath, when the crucial incision made me give such a\nfrightful scream that my surgeon fell flat upon his back, and imagining\nthat he had been dissecting the devil he ran away, dying with fear, and\nfell down the staircase in his flight. His wife, hearing the noise,\nflew from the next room. She saw me stretched out upon the table with my\ncrucial incision. She was seized with yet greater fear than her husband,\nfled, and tumbled over him. When they came to themselves a little, I\nheard the wife say to","question":"\n\"I ask your pardon once more,\" said Candide to the Baron, \"your pardon,\nreverend father, for having run you through the body.\"\n\n\"Say no more about it,\" answered the Baron. \"I was a little too hasty, I\nown, but since you wish to know by what fatality I came to be a\ngalley-slave I will inform you. After I had been cured by the surgeon of\nthe college of the wound you gave me, I was attacked and carried off by\na party of Spanish troops, who confined me in prison at Buenos Ayres at\nthe very time my sister was setting out thence. I asked leave to return\nto Rome to the General of my Order. I was appointed chaplain to the\nFrench Ambassador at Constantinople. I had not been eight days in this\nemployment when one evening I met with a young Ichoglan, who was a very\nhandsome fellow. The weather was warm. The young man wanted to bathe,\nand I took this opportunity of bathing also. I did not know that it was\na capital crime for a Christian to be found naked with a young\nMussulman. A cadi ordered me a hundred blows on the soles of the feet,\nand condemned me to the galleys. I do not think there ever"}
{"answer":"violent recoil after the complete escapement\nof the water; but the first shock would be almost entirely\ndestroyed by this powerful spring.  The upper parts of the walls\nwere lined with a thick padding of leather, fastened upon springs\nof the best steel, behind which the escape tubes were completely\nconcealed; thus all imaginable precautions had been taken for\naverting the first shock; and if they did get crushed, they\nmust, as Michel Ardan said, be made of very bad materials.\n\nThe entrance into this metallic tower was by a narrow aperture\ncontrived in the wall of the cone.  This was hermetically closed\nby a plate of aluminum, fastened internally by powerful\nscrew-pressure.  The travelers could therefore quit their prison\nat pleasure, as soon as they should reach the moon.\n\nLight and view were given by means of four thick lenticular\nglass scuttles, two pierced in the circular wall itself, the\nthird in the bottom, the fourth in the top.  These scuttles then\nwere protected against the shock of departure by plates let into\nsolid grooves, which could easily be opened outward by\nunscrewing them from the inside.  Reservoirs firmly fixed\ncontained water and the necessary provisions; and fire\nand light were procurable by means of gas, contained in a\nspecial reservoir under a pressure of several atmospheres.\nThey had only to turn a tap, and for six hours the gas would\nlight and warm this comfortable vehicle.\n\nThere now remained only the question of air; for allowing for\nthe consumption of air by Barbicane, his two companions, and two\ndogs which he proposed taking with him, it was necessary to\nrenew","question":"\n\nOn the completion of the Columbiad the public interest centered\nin the projectile itself, the vehicle which was destined to\ncarry the three hardy adventurers into space.\n\nThe new plans had been sent to Breadwill and Co., of Albany,\nwith the request for their speedy execution.  The projectile was\nconsequently cast on the 2nd of November, and immediately\nforwarded by the Eastern Railway to Stones Hill, which it\nreached without accident on the 10th of that month, where Michel\nArdan, Barbicane, and Nicholl were waiting impatiently for it.\n\nThe projectile had now to be filled to the depth of three feet\nwith a bed of water, intended to support a water-tight wooden\ndisc, which worked easily within the walls of the projectile.\nIt was upon this kind of raft that the travelers were to take\ntheir place.  This body of water was divided by horizontal\npartitions, which the shock of the departure would have to break\nin succession.  Then each sheet of the water, from the lowest\nto the highest, running off into escape tubes toward the top of\nthe projectile, constituted a kind of spring; and the wooden\ndisc, supplied with extremely powerful plugs, could not strike\nthe lowest plate except after breaking successively the\ndifferent partitions.  Undoubtedly the travelers would still\nhave to encounter a"}
{"answer":"did not make such an epoch to him as\nit did to Philip. And he had a right to say so when Philip hectored\nover _him_, and called him names. But perceiving that his first\nadvances toward amity were not met, he relapsed into his least\nfavorable disposition toward Philip, and resolved never to appeal to\nhim either about drawing or exercise again. They were only so far\ncivil to each other as was necessary to prevent their state of feud\nfrom being observed by Mr. Stelling, who would have \"put down\" such\nnonsense with great vigor.\n\nWhen Maggie came, however, she could not help looking with growing\ninterest at the new schoolfellow, although he was the son of that\nwicked Lawyer Wakem, who made her father so angry. She had arrived in\nthe middle of school-hours, and had sat by while Philip went through\nhis lessons with Mr. Stelling. Tom, some weeks ago, had sent her word\nthat Philip knew no end of stories,--not stupid stories like hers; and\nshe was convinced now from her own observation that he must be very\nclever; she hoped he would think _her_ rather clever too, when she\ncame to talk to him. Maggie, moreover, had rather a tenderness for\ndeformed things; she preferred the wry-necked lambs, because it seemed\nto her that the lambs which were quite strong and well made wouldn't\nmind so much about being petted; and she was especially fond of\npetting objects that would think it very delightful to be petted by\nher. She loved Tom very dearly, but she often wished that he _cared_\nmore about her loving him.\n\n\"I think","question":"\nMaggie's Second Visit\n\n\nThis last breach between the two lads was not readily mended, and for\nsome time they spoke to each other no more than was necessary. Their\nnatural antipathy of temperament made resentment an easy passage to\nhatred, and in Philip the transition seemed to have begun; there was\nno malignity in his disposition, but there was a susceptibility that\nmade him peculiarly liable to a strong sense of repulsion. The ox--we\nmay venture to assert it on the authority of a great classic--is not\ngiven to use his teeth as an instrument of attack, and Tom was an\nexcellent bovine lad, who ran at questionable objects in a truly\ningenious bovine manner; but he had blundered on Philip's tenderest\npoint, and had caused him as much acute pain as if he had studied the\nmeans with the nicest precision and the most envenomed spite. Tom saw\nno reason why they should not make up this quarrel as they had done\nmany others, by behaving as if nothing had happened; for though he had\nnever before said to Philip that his father was a rogue, this idea had\nso habitually made part of his feeling as to the relation between\nhimself and his dubious schoolfellow, who he could neither like nor\ndislike, that the mere utterance"}
{"answer":"Count of Bucquoi;\n  Assembling my own men, I fell on his,\n  And charged three separate times!\n\nCYRANO (without lifting his eyes from his book):\n  And your white scarf?\n\nDE GUICHE (surprised and gratified):\n  You know that detail?. . .Troth!  It happened thus:\n  While caracoling to recall the troops\n  For the third charge, a band of fugitives\n  Bore me with them, close by the hostile ranks:\n  I was in peril--capture, sudden death!--\n  When I thought of the good expedient\n  To loosen and let fall the scarf which told\n  My military rank; thus I contrived\n  --Without attention waked--to leave the foes,\n  And suddenly returning, reinforced\n  With my own men, to scatter them!  And now,\n  --What say you, Sir?\n\n(The cadets pretend not to be listening, but the cards and the dice-boxes\nremain suspended in their hands, the smoke of their pipes in their cheeks.\nThey wait.)\n\nCYRANO:\n  I say, that Henri Quatre\n  Had not, by any dangerous odds, been forced\n  To strip himself of his white helmet plume.\n\n(Silent delight.  The cards fall, the dice rattle.  The smoke is puffed.)\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  The ruse succeeded, though!\n\n(Same suspension of play, etc.)\n\nCYRANO:\n  Oh, may be!  But\n  One does not lightly abdicate the honor\n  To serve as target to the enemy\n(Cards, dice, fall again, and the cadets smoke with evident delight):\n  Had I been present when your scarf fell low,\n  --Our courage, Sir, is","question":"The same.  De Guiche.\n\nDE GUICHE (to Carbon):\n  Good-day!\n(They examine each other.  Aside, with satisfaction):\n  He's green.\n\nCARBON (aside):\n  He has nothing left but eyes.\n\nDE GUICHE (looking at the cadets):\n  Here are the rebels!  Ay, Sirs, on all sides\n  I hear that in your ranks you scoff at me;\n  That the Cadets, these loutish, mountain-bred,\n  Poor country squires, and barons of Perigord,\n  Scarce find for me--their Colonel--a disdain\n  Sufficient! call me plotter, wily courtier!\n  It does not please their mightiness to see\n  A point-lace collar on my steel cuirass,--\n  And they enrage, because a man, in sooth,\n  May be no ragged-robin, yet a Gascon!\n(Silence.  All smoke and play):\n  Shall I command your Captain punish you?\n  No.\n\nCARBON:\n  I am free, moreover,--will not punish--\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Ah!\n\nCARBON:\n  I have paid my company--'tis mine.\n  I bow but to headquarters.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  So?--in faith!\n  That will suffice.\n(Addressing himself to the cadets):\n  I can despise your taunts\n  'Tis well known how I bear me in the war;\n  At Bapaume, yesterday, they saw the rage\n  With which I beat back the"}
{"answer":"consists of Ancients, Corporals,\nLieutenants, Gentlemen of Companies, Slaues as\nragged a Lazarus in the painted Cloth, where the Gluttons\nDogges licked his Sores; and such, as indeed were\nneuer Souldiers, but dis-carded vniust Seruingmen, younger\nSonnes to younger Brothers, reuolted Tapsters and\nOstlers, Trade-falne, the Cankers of a calme World, and\nlong Peace, tenne times more dis-honorable ragged,\nthen an old-fac'd Ancient; and such haue I to fill vp the\nroomes of them that haue bought out their seruices: that\nyou would thinke, that I had a hundred and fiftie totter'd\nProdigalls, lately come from Swine-keeping, from eating\nDraffe and Huskes. A mad fellow met me on the way,\nand told me, I had vnloaded all the Gibbets, and prest the\ndead bodyes. No eye hath seene such skar-Crowes: Ile\nnot march through Couentry with them, that's flat. Nay,\nand the Villaines march wide betwixt the Legges, as if\nthey had Gyues on; for indeede, I had the most of them\nout of Prison. There's not a Shirt and a halfe in all my\nCompany: and the halfe Shirt is two Napkins tackt together,\nand throwne ouer the shoulders like a Heralds\nCoat, without sleeues: and the Shirt, to say the truth,\nstolne from my Host of S[aint]. Albones, or the Red-Nose\nInne-keeper of Dauintry. But that's all one, they'le finde\nLinnen enough on euery Hedge.\nEnter the Prince, and the Lord of Westmerland.\n\n  Prince. How now blowne Iack? how now Quilt?\n  Falst. What Hal? How now mad Wag, what a Deuill\ndo'st thou in Warwickshire? My good Lord of Westmerland,\nI cry you mercy, I thought your Honour had already\nbeene at Shrewsbury\n\n ","question":"Scaena Secunda.\n\n\nEnter Falstaffe and Bardolph.\n\n  Falst. Bardolph, get thee before to Couentry, fill me a\nBottle of Sack, our Souldiers shall march through: wee'le\nto Sutton-cop-hill to Night\n\n   Bard. Will you giue me Money, Captaine?\n  Falst. Lay out, lay out\n\n   Bard. This Bottle makes an Angell\n\n   Falst. And if it doe, take it for thy labour: and if it\nmake twentie, take them all, Ile answere the Coynage.\nBid my Lieutenant Peto meete me at the Townes end\n\n   Bard. I will Captaine: farewell.\nEnter.\n\n  Falst. If I be not asham'd of my Souldiers, I am a\nsowc't-Gurnet: I haue mis-vs'd the Kings Presse damnably.\nI haue got, in exchange of a hundred and fiftie\nSouldiers, three hundred and odde Pounds. I presse me\nnone but good House-holders, Yeomens Sonnes: enquire\nme out contracted Batchelers, such as had beene ask'd\ntwice on the Banes: such a Commoditie of warme slaues,\nas had as lieue heare the Deuill, as a Drumme; such as\nfeare the report of a Caliuer, worse then a struck-Foole,\nor a hurt wilde-Ducke. I prest me none but such Tostes\nand Butter, with Hearts in their Bellyes no bigger then\nPinnes heads, and they haue bought out their seruices:\nAnd now, my whole Charge"}
{"answer":"scholarship. She could not help thinking,\ntoo, that it would be very pleasant to have such a friend as Gilbert\nto jest and chatter with and exchange ideas about books and studies and\nambitions. Gilbert had ambitions, she knew, and Ruby Gillis did not seem\nthe sort of person with whom such could be profitably discussed.\n\nThere was no silly sentiment in Anne's ideas concerning Gilbert. Boys\nwere to her, when she thought about them at all, merely possible good\ncomrades. If she and Gilbert had been friends she would not have cared\nhow many other friends he had nor with whom he walked. She had a genius\nfor friendship; girl friends she had in plenty; but she had a vague\nconsciousness that masculine friendship might also be a good thing\nto round out one's conceptions of companionship and furnish broader\nstandpoints of judgment and comparison. Not that Anne could have put her\nfeelings on the matter into just such clear definition. But she thought\nthat if Gilbert had ever walked home with her from the train, over the\ncrisp fields and along the ferny byways, they might have had many and\nmerry and interesting conversations about the new world that was opening\naround them and their hopes and ambitions therein. Gilbert was a clever\nyoung fellow, with his own thoughts about things and a determination to\nget the best out of life and put the best into it. Ruby Gillis told Jane\nAndrews that she didn't understand half the things Gilbert Blythe said;\nhe talked just like Anne Shirley did when she had a thoughtful fit on\nand for her part","question":"\n\n|ANNE'S homesickness wore off, greatly helped in the wearing by her\nweekend visits home. As long as the open weather lasted the Avonlea\nstudents went out to Carmody on the new branch railway every Friday\nnight. Diana and several other Avonlea young folks were generally on\nhand to meet them and they all walked over to Avonlea in a merry party.\nAnne thought those Friday evening gypsyings over the autumnal hills in\nthe crisp golden air, with the homelights of Avonlea twinkling beyond,\nwere the best and dearest hours in the whole week.\n\nGilbert Blythe nearly always walked with Ruby Gillis and carried her\nsatchel for her. Ruby was a very handsome young lady, now thinking\nherself quite as grown up as she really was; she wore her skirts as long\nas her mother would let her and did her hair up in town, though she had\nto take it down when she went home. She had large, bright-blue eyes,\na brilliant complexion, and a plump showy figure. She laughed a great\ndeal, was cheerful and good-tempered, and enjoyed the pleasant things of\nlife frankly.\n\n\"But I shouldn't think she was the sort of girl Gilbert would like,\"\nwhispered Jane to Anne. Anne did not think so either, but she would not\nhave said so for the Avery"}
{"answer":"beholding to your Paper:\n  But I beseech you, what's become of Katherine\n  The Princesse Dowager? How goes her businesse?\n  1 That I can tell you too. The Archbishop\n  Of Canterbury, accompanied with other\n  Learned, and Reuerend Fathers of his Order,\n  Held a late Court at Dunstable; sixe miles off\n  From Ampthill, where the Princesse lay, to which\n  She was often cyted by them, but appear'd not:\n  And to be short, for not Appearance, and\n  The Kings late Scruple, by the maine assent\n  Of all these Learned men, she was diuorc'd,\n  And the late Marriage made of none effect:\n  Since which, she was remou'd to Kymmalton,\n  Where she remaines now sicke\n\n  2 Alas good Lady.\n  The Trumpets sound: Stand close,\n  The Queene is comming.\n\n  Ho-boyes. The Order of the Coronation. 1 A liuely Flourish of\n  Trumpets. 2\n  Then, two Iudges. 3 Lord Chancellor, with Purse and Mace before\n  him. 4\n  Quirristers singing. Musicke. 5 Maior of London, bearing the\n  Mace. Then\n  Garter, in his Coate of Armes, and on his head he wore a Gilt\n  Copper\n  Crowne. 6 Marquesse Dorset, bearing a Scepter of Gold, on his\n  head, a\n  Demy Coronall of Gold. With him, the Earle of Surrey, bearing the\n  Rod of\n  Siluer with the Doue, Crowned with an Earles Coronet. Collars of\n  Esses. 7\n  Duke of Suffolke,","question":"Enter two Gentlemen, meeting one another.\n\n1 Y'are well met once againe\n\n2 So are you\n\n1 You come to take your stand heere, and behold\nThe Lady Anne, passe from her Corronation\n\n2 'Tis all my businesse. At our last encounter,\n  The Duke of Buckingham came from his Triall\n\n  1 'Tis very true. But that time offer'd sorrow,\n  This generall ioy\n\n  2 'Tis well: The Citizens\n  I am sure haue shewne at full their Royall minds,\n  As let 'em haue their rights, they are euer forward\n  In Celebration of this day with Shewes,\n  Pageants, and Sights of Honor\n\n  1 Neuer greater,\n  Nor Ile assure you better taken Sir\n\n  2 May I be bold to aske what that containes,\n  That Paper in your hand\n\n  1 Yes, 'tis the List\n  Of those that claime their Offices this day,\n  By custome of the Coronation.\n  The Duke of Suffolke is the first, and claimes\n  To be high Steward; Next the Duke of Norfolke,\n  He to be Earle Marshall: you may reade the rest\n\n  1 I thanke you Sir: Had I not known those customs,\n  I should haue beene"}
{"answer":"be thou sure,\n    When he shall come to his account, he knows not\n    What I can urge against him. Although it seems,\n    And so he thinks, and is no less apparent\n    To th' vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly\n    And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state,\n    Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon\n    As draw his sword; yet he hath left undone\n    That which shall break his neck or hazard mine\n    Whene'er we come to our account.\n  LIEUTENANT. Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry Rome?\n  AUFIDIUS. All places yield to him ere he sits down,\n    And the nobility of Rome are his;\n    The senators and patricians love him too.\n    The tribunes are no soldiers, and their people\n    Will be as rash in the repeal as hasty\n    To expel him thence. I think he'll be to Rome\n    As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it\n    By sovereignty of nature. First he was\n    A noble servant to them, but he could not\n    Carry his honours even. Whether 'twas pride,\n    Which out of daily fortune ever taints\n    The happy man; whether defect of judgment,\n","question":"SCENE VII.\nA camp at a short distance from Rome\n\nEnter AUFIDIUS with his LIEUTENANT\n\n  AUFIDIUS. Do they still fly to th' Roman?\n  LIEUTENANT. I do not know what witchcraft's in him, but\n    Your soldiers use him as the grace fore meat,\n    Their talk at table, and their thanks at end;\n    And you are dark'ned in this action, sir,\n    Even by your own.\n  AUFIDIUS. I cannot help it now,\n    Unless by using means I lame the foot\n    Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier,\n    Even to my person, than I thought he would\n    When first I did embrace him; yet his nature\n    In that's no changeling, and I must excuse\n    What cannot be amended.\n  LIEUTENANT. Yet I wish, sir-\n    I mean, for your particular- you had not\n    Join'd in commission with him, but either\n    Had borne the action of yourself, or else\n    To him had left it solely.\n  AUFIDIUS. I understand thee well; and"}
{"answer":"so bad to go over to the\nOld Country and take a squint at all these ruins, and the place where\nShakespeare was born. And think of being able to order a drink whenever\nyou wanted one! Just range up to a bar and holler out loud, 'Gimme a\ncocktail, and darn the police!' Not bad at all. What juh like to see,\nover there, Paulibus?\"\n\nPaul did not answer. Babbitt turned. Paul was standing with clenched\nfists, head drooping, staring at the liner as in terror. His thin body,\nseen against the summer-glaring planks of the wharf, was childishly\nmeager.\n\nAgain, \"What would you hit for on the other side, Paul?\"\n\nScowling at the steamer, his breast heaving, Paul whispered, \"Oh, my\nGod!\" While Babbitt watched him anxiously he snapped, \"Come on, let's\nget out of this,\" and hastened down the wharf, not looking back.\n\n\"That's funny,\" considered Babbitt. \"The boy didn't care for seeing the\nocean boats after all. I thought he'd be interested in 'em.\"\n\n\nII\n\nThough he exulted, and made sage speculations about locomotive\nhorse-power, as their train climbed the Maine mountain-ridge and from\nthe summit he looked down the shining way among the pines; though he\nremarked, \"Well, by golly!\" when he discovered that the station at\nKatadumcook, the end of the line, was an aged freight-car; Babbitt's\nmoment of impassioned release came when they sat on a tiny wharf on Lake\nSunasquam, awaiting the launch from the hotel. A raft had floated down\nthe lake; between the logs and the shore, the water was transparent,\nthin-looking, flashing with minnows. A guide in black felt hat with\ntrout-flies in the band,","question":"I\n\nTHEY had four hours in New York between trains. The one thing Babbitt\nwished to see was the Pennsylvania Hotel, which had been built since his\nlast visit. He stared up at it, muttering, \"Twenty-two hundred rooms and\ntwenty-two hundred baths! That's got everything in the world beat. Lord,\ntheir turnover must be--well, suppose price of rooms is four to eight\ndollars a day, and I suppose maybe some ten and--four times twenty-two\nhundred-say six times twenty-two hundred--well, anyway, with restaurants\nand everything, say summers between eight and fifteen thousand a day.\nEvery day! I never thought I'd see a thing like that! Some town! Of\ncourse the average fellow in Zenith has got more Individual Initiative\nthan the fourflushers here, but I got to hand it to New York. Yes, sir,\ntown, you're all right--some ways. Well, old Paulski, I guess we've\nseen everything that's worth while. How'll we kill the rest of the time?\nMovie?\"\n\nBut Paul desired to see a liner. \"Always wanted to go to Europe--and, by\nthunder, I will, too, some day before I past out,\" he sighed.\n\nFrom a rough wharf on the North River they stared at the stern of\nthe Aquitania and her stacks and wireless antenna lifted above the\ndock-house which shut her in.\n\n\"By golly,\" Babbitt droned, \"wouldn't be"}
{"answer":"  Iohn. I had rather be a canker in a hedge, then a rose\nin his grace, and it better fits my bloud to be disdain'd of\nall, then to fashion a carriage to rob loue from any: in this\n(though I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man)\nit must not be denied but I am a plaine dealing villaine, I\nam trusted with a mussell, and enfranchisde with a clog,\ntherefore I haue decreed, not to sing in my cage: if I had\nmy mouth, I would bite: if I had my liberty, I would do\nmy liking: in the meane time, let me be that I am, and\nseeke not to alter me\n\n   Con. Can you make no vse of your discontent?\n  Iohn. I will make all vse of it, for I vse it onely.\nWho comes here? what newes Borachio?\n\nEnter Borachio.\n\n  Bor. I came yonder from a great supper, the Prince\nyour brother is royally entertained by Leonato, and I can\ngiue you intelligence of an intended marriage\n\n   Iohn. Will it serue for any Modell to build mischiefe\non? What is hee for a foole that betrothes himselfe to\nvnquietnesse?\n  Bor. Mary it is your brothers right hand\n\n   Iohn. Who, the most exquisite Claudio?\n  Bor. Euen he\n\n   Iohn. A proper squier, and who, and who, which way\nlookes he?\n  Bor. Mary on Hero, the daughter and Heire of Leonato\n\n   Iohn. A very forward March-chicke, how came you\nto this:\n  Bor. Being entertain'd for","question":"Scene 3.\n\n  Con. What the good yeere my Lord, why are you\nthus out of measure sad?\n  Ioh. There is no measure in the occasion that breeds,\ntherefore the sadnesse is without limit\n\n   Con. You should heare reason\n\n   Iohn. And when I haue heard it, what blessing bringeth\nit?\n  Con. If not a present remedy, yet a patient sufferance\n\n   Ioh. I wonder that thou (being as thou saist thou art,\nborne vnder Saturne) goest about to apply a morall medicine,\nto a mortifying mischiefe: I cannot hide what I\nam: I must bee sad when I haue cause, and smile at no\nmans iests, eat when I haue stomacke, and wait for no\nmans leisure: sleepe when I am drowsie, and tend on no\nmans businesse, laugh when I am merry, and claw no man\nin his humor\n\n   Con. Yea, but you must not make the ful show of this,\ntill you may doe it without controllment, you haue of\nlate stood out against your brother, and hee hath tane\nyou newly into his grace, where it is impossible you\nshould take root, but by the faire weather that you make\nyour selfe, it is needful that you frame the season for your\nowne haruest\n\n"}
{"answer":"Word above Reason; that is to say, which cannot by naturall reason\nbe either demonstrated, or confuted; yet there is nothing contrary\nto it; but when it seemeth so, the fault is either in our unskilfull\nInterpretation, or erroneous Ratiocination.\n\nTherefore, when any thing therein written is too hard for our\nexamination, wee are bidden to captivate our understanding to the Words;\nand not to labour in sifting out a Philosophicall truth by Logick, of\nsuch mysteries as are not comprehensible, nor fall under any rule of\nnaturall science. For it is with the mysteries of our Religion, as with\nwholsome pills for the sick, which swallowed whole, have the vertue to\ncure; but chewed, are for the most part cast up again without effect.\n\n\n\n\nWhat It Is To Captivate The Understanding\n\nBut by the Captivity of our Understanding, is not meant a Submission of\nthe Intellectual faculty, to the Opinion of any other man; but of\nthe Will to Obedience, where obedience is due. For Sense, Memory,\nUnderstanding, Reason, and Opinion are not in our power to change; but\nalwaies, and necessarily such, as the things we see, hear, and consider\nsuggest unto us; and therefore are not effects of our Will, but our Will\nof them. We then Captivate our Understanding and Reason, when we forbear\ncontradiction; when we so speak, as (by lawfull Authority) we are\ncommanded; and when we live accordingly; which in sum, is Trust, and\nFaith reposed in him that speaketh, though the mind be incapable of any\nNotion at all from the words spoken.\n\n\n\n\nHow God Speaketh To Men\n\nWhen God speaketh to man, it must be","question":"PART III. OF A CHRISTIAN COMMON-WEALTH. CHAPTER XXXII. OF THE PRINCIPLES OF CHRISTIAN POLITIQUES\n\n\n\nThe Word Of God Delivered By Prophets Is The Main Principle\n\nOf Christian Politiques\n\nI have derived the Rights of Soveraigne Power, and the duty of Subjects\nhitherto, from the Principles of Nature onely; such as Experience has\nfound true, or Consent (concerning the use of words) has made so; that\nis to say, from the nature of Men, known to us by Experience, and\nfrom Definitions (of such words as are Essentiall to all Politicall\nreasoning) universally agreed on. But in that I am next to handle, which\nis the Nature and Rights of a CHRISTIAN COMMON-WEALTH, whereof there\ndependeth much upon Supernaturall Revelations of the Will of God; the\nground of my Discourse must be, not only the Naturall Word of God, but\nalso the Propheticall.\n\nNeverthelesse, we are not to renounce our Senses, and Experience; nor\n(that which is the undoubted Word of God) our naturall Reason. For they\nare the talents which he hath put into our hands to negotiate, till the\ncoming again of our blessed Saviour; and therefore not to be folded up\nin the Napkin of an Implicate Faith, but employed in the purchase of\nJustice, Peace, and true Religion, For though there be many things in\nGods"}
{"answer":"lie, that is, all this penitence,\nthis emotion, these vows of reform.  You will ask why did I worry\nmyself with such antics: answer, because it was very dull to sit with\none's hands folded, and so one began cutting capers.  That is really\nit.  Observe yourselves more carefully, gentlemen, then you will\nunderstand that it is so. I invented adventures for myself and made up\na life, so as at least to live in some way.  How many times it has\nhappened to me--well, for instance, to take offence simply on purpose,\nfor nothing; and one knows oneself, of course, that one is offended at\nnothing; that one is putting it on, but yet one brings oneself at last\nto the point of being really offended. All my life I have had an\nimpulse to play such pranks, so that in the end I could not control it\nin myself.  Another time, twice, in fact, I tried hard to be in love.\nI suffered, too, gentlemen, I assure you.  In the depth of my heart\nthere was no faith in my suffering, only a faint stir of mockery, but\nyet I did suffer, and in the real, orthodox way; I was jealous, beside\nmyself ... and it was all from ENNUI, gentlemen, all from ENNUI;\ninertia overcame me.  You know the direct, legitimate fruit of\nconsciousness is inertia, that is, conscious\nsitting-with-the-hands-folded.  I have referred to this already.  I\nrepeat, I repeat with emphasis: all \"direct\" persons and men of action\nare active just because they are stupid and limited. ","question":"\nCome, can a man who attempts to find enjoyment in the very feeling of\nhis own degradation possibly have a spark of respect for himself?  I am\nnot saying this now from any mawkish kind of remorse.  And, indeed, I\ncould never endure saying, \"Forgive me, Papa, I won't do it again,\" not\nbecause I am incapable of saying that--on the contrary, perhaps just\nbecause I have been too capable of it, and in what a way, too.  As\nthough of design I used to get into trouble in cases when I was not to\nblame in any way.  That was the nastiest part of it.  At the same time\nI was genuinely touched and penitent, I used to shed tears and, of\ncourse, deceived myself, though I was not acting in the least and there\nwas a sick feeling in my heart at the time....  For that one could not\nblame even the laws of nature, though the laws of nature have\ncontinually all my life offended me more than anything.  It is\nloathsome to remember it all, but it was loathsome even then.  Of\ncourse, a minute or so later I would realise wrathfully that it was all\na lie, a revolting lie, an affected"}
{"answer":"Above an hour, my lord.\n  COMINIUS. 'Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their drums.\n    How couldst thou in a mile confound an hour,\n    And bring thy news so late?\n  MESSENGER. Spies of the Volsces\n    Held me in chase, that I was forc'd to wheel\n    Three or four miles about; else had I, sir,\n    Half an hour since brought my report.\n\n                           Enter MARCIUS\n\n  COMINIUS. Who's yonder\n    That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods!\n    He has the stamp of Marcius, and I have\n    Before-time seen him thus.\n  MARCIUS. Come I too late?\n  COMINIUS. The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabor\n    More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue\n    From every meaner man.\n  MARCIUS. Come I too late?\n  COMINIUS. Ay, if you come not in the blood of others,\n    But mantled in your own.\n  MARCIUS. O! let me clip ye\n    In arms as sound as when I woo'd, in heart\n    As merry as when our nuptial day was done,\n    And tapers burn'd to bedward.\n  COMINIUS. Flower of warriors,\n   ","question":"SCENE VI.\nNear the camp of COMINIUS\n\nEnter COMINIUS, as it were in retire, with soldiers\n\n  COMINIUS. Breathe you, my friends. Well fought; we are come off\n    Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands\n    Nor cowardly in retire. Believe me, sirs,\n    We shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have struck,\n    By interims and conveying gusts we have heard\n    The charges of our friends. The Roman gods,\n    Lead their successes as we wish our own,\n    That both our powers, with smiling fronts encount'ring,\n    May give you thankful sacrifice!\n\n                         Enter A MESSENGER\n\n    Thy news?\n  MESSENGER. The citizens of Corioli have issued\n    And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle;\n    I saw our party to their trenches driven,\n    And then I came away.\n  COMINIUS. Though thou speak'st truth,\n    Methinks thou speak'st not well. How long is't since?\n  MESSENGER."}
{"answer":" Bast. I know no newes, my Lord\n\n   Glou. What Paper were you reading?\n  Bast. Nothing my Lord\n\n   Glou. No? what needed then that terrible dispatch of\nit into your Pocket? The quality of nothing, hath not\nsuch neede to hide it selfe. Let's see: come, if it bee nothing,\nI shall not neede Spectacles\n\n   Bast. I beseech you Sir, pardon mee; it is a Letter\nfrom my Brother, that I haue not all ore-read; and for so\nmuch as I haue perus'd, I finde it not fit for your ore-looking\n\n   Glou. Giue me the Letter, Sir\n\n   Bast. I shall offend, either to detaine, or giue it:\nThe Contents, as in part I vnderstand them,\nAre too blame\n\n   Glou. Let's see, let's see\n\n   Bast. I hope for my Brothers iustification, hee wrote\nthis but as an essay, or taste of my Vertue\n\n   Glou. reads. This policie, and reuerence of Age, makes the\nworld bitter to the best of our times: keepes our Fortunes from\nvs, till our oldnesse cannot rellish them. I begin to finde an idle\nand fond bondage, in the oppression of aged tyranny, who swayes\nnot as it hath power, but as it is suffer'd. Come to me, that of\nthis I may speake more. If our Father would sleepe till I wak'd\nhim, you should enioy halfe his Reuennew for euer, and liue the\nbeloued of your Brother. Edgar.\nHum? Conspiracy? Sleepe till I wake him, you should\nenioy halfe his Reuennew: my Sonne Edgar, had","question":"Scena Secunda.\n\n\nEnter Bastard.\n\n  Bast. Thou Nature art my Goddesse, to thy Law\nMy seruices are bound, wherefore should I\nStand in the plague of custome, and permit\nThe curiosity of Nations, to depriue me?\nFor that I am some twelue, or fourteene Moonshines\nLag of a Brother? Why Bastard? Wherefore base?\nWhen my Dimensions are as well compact,\nMy minde as generous, and my shape as true\nAs honest Madams issue? Why brand they vs\nWith Base? With basenes Bastardie? Base, Base?\nWho in the lustie stealth of Nature, take\nMore composition, and fierce qualitie,\nThen doth within a dull stale tyred bed\nGoe to th' creating a whole tribe of Fops\nGot 'tweene a sleepe, and wake? Well then,\nLegitimate Edgar, I must haue your land,\nOur Fathers loue, is to the Bastard Edmond,\nAs to th' legitimate: fine word: Legitimate.\nWell, my Legittimate, if this Letter speed,\nAnd my inuention thriue, Edmond the base\nShall to'th' Legitimate: I grow, I prosper:\nNow Gods, stand vp for Bastards.\nEnter Gloucester.\n\n  Glo. Kent banish'd thus? and France in choller parted?\nAnd the King gone to night? Prescrib'd his powre,\nConfin'd to exhibition? All this done\nVpon the gad? Edmond, how now? What newes?\n  Bast. So please your Lordship, none\n\n   Glou. Why so earnestly seeke you to put vp y Letter?\n"}
{"answer":"'Twas one man, say they all, ay, swear to it, one man who, single-handed,\nput the whole band to the rout!\n\nSECOND POET:\n  'Twas a strange sight!--pikes and cudgels strewed thick upon the ground.\n\nCYRANO (writing):\n  . . .'Thine eyes'. . .\n\nTHIRD POET:\n  And they were picking up hats all the way to the Quai d'Orfevres!\n\nFIRST POET:\n  Sapristi! but he must have been a ferocious. . .\n\nCYRANO (same play):\n  . . .'Thy lips'. . .\n\nFIRST POET:\n  'Twas a parlous fearsome giant that was the author of such exploits!\n\nCYRANO (same play):\n  . . .'And when I see thee come, I faint for fear.'\n\nSECOND POET (filching a cake):\n  What hast rhymed of late, Ragueneau?\n\nCYRANO (same play):\n  . . .'Who worships thee'. . .\n(He stops, just as he is about to sign, and gets up, slipping the letter into\nhis doublet):\n  No need I sign, since I give it her myself.\n\nRAGUENEAU (to second poet):\n  I have put a recipe into verse.\n\nTHIRD POET (seating himself by a plate of cream-puffs):\n  Go to!  Let us hear these verses!\n\nFOURTH POET (looking at a cake which he has taken):\n  Its cap is all a' one side!\n\n(He makes one bite of the top.)\n\nFIRST POET:\n  See how this gingerbread woos the famished rhymer with its almond eyes, and\nits eyebrows of angelica!\n\n(He takes it.)\n\nSECOND POET:\n  We listen.\n\nTHIRD POET (squeezing a cream-puff gently):\n  How it laughs!  Till its very cream runs over!\n\nSECOND POET (biting a bit off","question":"Ragueneau, Lise, the musketeer.  Cyrano at the little table writing.  The\npoets, dressed in black, their stockings ungartered, and covered with mud.\n\nLISE (entering, to Ragueneau):\n  Here they come, your mud-bespattered friends!\n\nFIRST POET (entering, to Ragueneau):\n  Brother in art!. . .\n\nSECOND POET (to Ragueneau, shaking his hands):\n  Dear brother!\n\nTHIRD POET:\n  High soaring eagle among pastry-cooks!\n(He sniffs):\n  Marry! it smells good here in your eyrie!\n\nFOURTH POET:\n  'Tis at Phoebus' own rays that thy roasts turn!\n\nFIFTH POET:\n  Apollo among master-cooks--\n\nRAGUENEAU (whom they surround and embrace):\n  Ah! how quick a man feels at his ease with them!. . .\n\nFIRST POET:\n  We were stayed by the mob; they are crowded all round the Porte de Nesle!. .\n.\n\nSECOND POET:\n  Eight bleeding brigand carcasses strew the pavements there--all slit open\nwith sword-gashes!\n\nCYRANO (raising his head a minute):\n  Eight?. . .hold, methought seven.\n\n(He goes on writing.)\n\nRAGUENEAU (to Cyrano):\n  Know you who might be the hero of the fray?\n\nCYRANO (carelessly):\n  Not I.\n\nLISE (to the musketeer):\n  And you?  Know you?\n\nTHE MUSKETEER (twirling his mustache):\n  Maybe!\n\nCYRANO (writing a little way off:--he is heard murmuring a word from time to\ntime):\n  'I love thee!'\n\nFIRST POET:\n "}
{"answer":"of her pupils and bringing out the best that was\nin them mentally and morally. Anne expanded like a flower under this\nwholesome influence and carried home to the admiring Matthew and the\ncritical Marilla glowing accounts of schoolwork and aims.\n\n\"I love Miss Stacy with my whole heart, Marilla. She is so ladylike\nand she has such a sweet voice. When she pronounces my name I feel\n_instinctively_ that she's spelling it with an E. We had recitations\nthis afternoon. I just wish you could have been there to hear me recite\n'Mary, Queen of Scots.' I just put my whole soul into it. Ruby Gillis\ntold me coming home that the way I said the line, 'Now for my father's\narm,' she said, 'my woman's heart farewell,' just made her blood run\ncold.\"\n\n\"Well now, you might recite it for me some of these days, out in the\nbarn,\" suggested Matthew.\n\n\"Of course I will,\" said Anne meditatively, \"but I won't be able to do\nit so well, I know. It won't be so exciting as it is when you have a\nwhole schoolful before you hanging breathlessly on your words. I know I\nwon't be able to make your blood run cold.\"\n\n\"Mrs. Lynde says it made _her_ blood run cold to see the boys climbing to\nthe very tops of those big trees on Bell's hill after crows' nests last\nFriday,\" said Marilla. \"I wonder at Miss Stacy for encouraging it.\"\n\n\"But we wanted a crow's nest for nature study,\" explained Anne. \"That\nwas on our field afternoon. Field afternoons are splendid, Marilla.\nAnd Miss Stacy explains everything so","question":"\n\n|IT was October again when Anne was ready to go back to school--a\nglorious October, all red and gold, with mellow mornings when the\nvalleys were filled with delicate mists as if the spirit of autumn had\npoured them in for the sun to drain--amethyst, pearl, silver, rose, and\nsmoke-blue. The dews were so heavy that the fields glistened like cloth\nof silver and there were such heaps of rustling leaves in the hollows of\nmany-stemmed woods to run crisply through. The Birch Path was a canopy\nof yellow and the ferns were sear and brown all along it. There was a\ntang in the very air that inspired the hearts of small maidens tripping,\nunlike snails, swiftly and willingly to school; and it _was_ jolly to\nbe back again at the little brown desk beside Diana, with Ruby Gillis\nnodding across the aisle and Carrie Sloane sending up notes and Julia\nBell passing a \"chew\" of gum down from the back seat. Anne drew a long\nbreath of happiness as she sharpened her pencil and arranged her picture\ncards in her desk. Life was certainly very interesting.\n\nIn the new teacher she found another true and helpful friend. Miss Stacy\nwas a bright, sympathetic young woman with the happy gift of winning and\nholding the affections"}
{"answer":"the 16th had arrived Hurstwood's friends had rallied\nlike Romans to a senator's call. A well-dressed, good-natured,\nflatteringly-inclined audience was assured from the moment he thought of\nassisting Carrie.\n\nThat little student had mastered her part to her own satisfaction, much\nas she trembled for her fate when she should once face the gathered\nthrong, behind the glare of the footlights. She tried to console herself\nwith the thought that a score of other persons, men and women, were\nequally tremulous concerning the outcome of their efforts, but she could\nnot disassociate the general danger from her own individual liability.\nShe feared that she would forget her lines, that she might be unable to\nmaster the feeling which she now felt concerning her own movements in\nthe play. At times she wished that she had never gone into the affair;\nat others, she trembled lest she should be paralysed with fear and\nstand white and gasping, not knowing what to say and spoiling the entire\nperformance.\n\nIn the matter of the company, Mr. Bamberger had disappeared. That\nhopeless example had fallen under the lance of the director's criticism.\nMrs. Morgan was still present, but envious and determined, if for\nnothing more than spite, to do as well as Carrie at least. A loafing\nprofessional had been called in to assume the role of Ray, and, while he\nwas a poor stick of his kind, he was not troubled by any of those qualms\nwhich attack the spirit of those who have never faced an audience. He\nswashed about (cautioned though he was to maintain silence concerning\nhis past theatrical relationships) in such a self-confident","question":"\n\nBy the evening of the 16th the subtle hand of Hurstwood had made itself\napparent. He had given the word among his friends--and they were many\nand influential--that here was something which they ought to attend,\nand, as a consequence, the sale of tickets by Mr. Quincel, acting for\nthe lodge, had been large. Small four-line notes had appeared in all of\nthe daily newspapers. These he had arranged for by the aid of one of\nhis newspaper friends on the \"Times,\" Mr. Harry McGarren, the managing\neditor.\n\n\"Say, Harry,\" Hurstwood said to him one evening, as the latter stood at\nthe bar drinking before wending his belated way homeward, \"you can help\nthe boys out, I guess.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" said McGarren, pleased to be consulted by the opulent\nmanager.\n\n\"The Custer Lodge is getting up a little entertainment for their own\ngood, and they'd like a little newspaper notice. You know what I mean--a\nsquib or two saying that it's going to take place.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said McGarren, \"I can fix that for you, George.\"\n\nAt the same time Hurstwood kept himself wholly in the background. The\nmembers of Custer Lodge could scarcely understand why their little\naffair was taking so well. Mr. Harry Quincel was looked upon as quite a\nstar for this sort of work.\n\nBy the time"}
{"answer":"letters from William, describing the novelties of his journey,\nbut none came. In time, it was reported that Mr. Sands would return late in\nthe autumn, accompanied by a bride. Still no letters from William. I felt\nalmost sure I should never see him again on southern soil; but had he no\nword of comfort to send to his friends at home? to the poor captive in her\ndungeon? My thoughts wandered through the dark past, and over the uncertain\nfuture. Alone in my cell, where no eye but God's could see me, I wept\nbitter tears. How earnestly I prayed to him to restore me to my children,\nand enable me to be a useful woman and a good mother!\n\nAt last the day arrived for the return of the travellers. Grandmother had\nmade loving preparations to welcome her absent boy back to the old\nhearthstone. When the dinner table was laid, William's place occupied its\nold place. The stage coach went by empty. My grandmother waited dinner. She\nthought perhaps he was necessarily detained by his master. In my prison I\nlistened anxiously, expecting every moment to hear my dear brother's voice\nand step. In the course of the afternoon a lad was sent by Mr. Sands to\ntell grandmother that William did not return with him; that the\nabolitionists had decoyed him away. But he begged her not to feel troubled\nabout it, for he felt confident she would see William in a few days. As\nsoon as he had time to reflect he would come back, for he could never\nexpect to be so well off","question":"\nI missed the company and kind attentions of my brother William, who had\ngone to Washington with his master, Mr. Sands. We received several letters\nfrom him, written without any allusion to me, but expressed in such a\nmanner that I knew he did not forget me. I disguised my hand, and wrote to\nhim in the same manner. It was a long session; and when it closed, William\nwrote to inform us that Mr. Sands was going to the north, to be gone some\ntime, and that he was to accompany him. I knew that his master had promised\nto give him his freedom, but no time had been specified. Would William\ntrust to a slave's chances? I remembered how we used to talk together, in\nour young days, about obtaining our freedom, and I thought it very doubtful\nwhether he would come back to us.\n\nGrandmother received a letter from Mr. Sands, saying that William had\nproved a most faithful servant, and he would also say a valued friend; that\nno mother had ever trained a better boy. He said he had travelled through\nthe Northern States and Canada; and though the abolitionists had tried to\ndecoy him away, they had never succeeded. He ended by saying they should be\nat home shortly.\n\nWe expected"}
{"answer":"(speaking more warmly):\n  Buckingham suffered dumbly,--so have I,--\n  Adored his Queen, as loyally as I,--\n  Was sad, but faithful,--so am I. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  And you\n  Are fair as Buckingham!\n\nCYRANO (aside--suddenly cooled):\n  True,--I forgot!\n\nROXANE:\n  Must I then bid thee mount to cull this flower?\n\nCYRANO (pushing Christian toward the balcony):\n  Mount!\n\nROXANE:\n  This heart-breathing!. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Mount!\n\nROXANE:\n  This brush of bee's wing!. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Mount!\n\nCHRISTIAN (hesitating):\n  But I feel now, as though 'twere ill done!\n\nROXANE:\n  This moment infinite!. . .\n\nCYRANO (still pushing him):\n  Come, blockhead, mount!\n\n(Christian springs forward, and by means of the bench, the branches, and the\npillars, climbs to the balcony and strides over it.)\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Ah, Roxane!\n\n(He takes her in his arms, and bends over her lips.)\n\nCYRANO:\n  Aie!  Strange pain that wrings my heart!\n  The kiss, love's feast, so near!  I, Lazarus,\n  Lie at the gate in darkness.  Yet to me\n  Falls still a crumb or two from the rich man's board--\n  Ay, 'tis my heart receives thee, Roxane--mine!\n  For on the lips you press you kiss as well\n  The words I spoke just now!--my words--my words!\n(The lutes play):\n  A sad air,--a gay air: the monk!\n(He begins to run as if he came from a long way off, and cries out):\n  Hola!\n\nROXANE:\n  Who is it?\n\nCYRANO:\n  I--I was but passing by. . .\n  Is Christian there?\n\nCHRISTIAN (astonished):\n  Cyrano!\n\nROXANE:\n  Good-day, cousin!\n\nCYRANO:\n","question":"Cyrano, Christian, Roxane.\n\nROXANE (coming out on the balcony):\n  Still there?\n  We spoke of a. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  A kiss!  The word is sweet.\n  I see not why your lip should shrink from it;\n  If the word burns it,--what would the kiss do?\n  Oh! let it not your bashfulness affright;\n  Have you not, all this time, insensibly,\n  Left badinage aside, and unalarmed\n  Glided from smile to sigh,--from sigh to weeping?\n  Glide gently, imperceptibly, still onward--\n  From tear to kiss,--a moment's thrill!--a heartbeat!\n\nROXANE:\n  Hush! hush!\n\nCYRANO:\n  A kiss, when all is said,--what is it?\n  An oath that's ratified,--a sealed promise,\n  A heart's avowal claiming confirmation,--\n  A rose-dot on the 'i' of 'adoration,'--\n  A secret that to mouth, not ear, is whispered,--\n  Brush of a bee's wing, that makes time eternal,--\n  Communion perfumed like the spring's wild flowers,--\n  The heart's relieving in the heart's outbreathing,\n  When to the lips the soul's flood rises, brimming!\n\nROXANE:\n  Hush! hush!\n\nCYRANO:\n  A kiss, Madame, is honorable:\n  The Queen of France, to a most favored lord\n  Did grant a kiss--the Queen herself!\n\nROXANE:\n  What then?\n\nCYRANO"}
{"answer":"his head at them: Auaunt you\nCurres, be thy mouth or blacke or white:\nTooth that poysons if it bite:\nMastiffe, Grey-hound, Mongrill, Grim,\nHound or Spaniell, Brache, or Hym:\nOr Bobtaile tight, or Troudle taile,\nTom will make him weepe and waile,\nFor with throwing thus my head;\nDogs leapt the hatch, and all are fled.\nDo, de, de, de: sese: Come, march to Wakes and Fayres,\nAnd Market Townes: poore Tom thy horne is dry,\n  Lear. Then let them Anatomize Regan: See what\nbreeds about her heart. Is there any cause in Nature that\nmake these hard-hearts. You sir, I entertaine for one of\nmy hundred; only, I do not like the fashion of your garments.\nYou will say they are Persian; but let them bee\nchang'd.\nEnter Gloster.\n\n  Kent. Now good my Lord, lye heere, and rest awhile\n\n   Lear. Make no noise, make no noise, draw the Curtaines:\nso, so, wee'l go to Supper i'th' morning\n\n   Foole. And Ile go to bed at noone\n\n   Glou. Come hither Friend:\nWhere is the King my Master?\n  Kent. Here Sir, but trouble him not, his wits are gon\n\n   Glou. Good friend, I prythee take him in thy armes;\nI haue ore-heard a plot of death vpon him:\nThere is a Litter ready, lay him in't,\nAnd driue toward Douer friend, where thou shalt meete\nBoth welcome, and protection. Take vp thy Master,\nIf thou should'st dally halfe an houre, his life\nWith thine, and all that offer to defend him,\nStand in assured losse. Take vp, take vp,\nAnd follow me, that will to some","question":"Scena Sexta.\n\n\nEnter Kent, and Gloucester.\n\n  Glou. Heere is better then the open ayre, take it thankfully:\nI will peece out the comfort with what addition I\ncan: I will not be long from you.\n\nExit\n\n  Kent. All the powre of his wits, haue giuen way to his\nimpatience: the Gods reward your kindnesse.\nEnter Lear, Edgar, and Foole.\n\n  Edg. Fraterretto cals me, and tells me Nero is an Angler\nin the Lake of Darknesse: pray Innocent, and beware\nthe foule Fiend\n\n   Foole. Prythee Nunkle tell me, whether a madman be\na Gentleman, or a Yeoman\n\n   Lear. A King, a King\n\n   Foole. No, he's a Yeoman, that ha's a Gentleman to\nhis Sonne: for hee's a mad Yeoman that sees his Sonne a\nGentleman before him\n\n   Lear. To haue a thousand with red burning spits\nCome hizzing in vpon 'em\n\n   Edg. Blesse thy fiue wits\n\n   Kent. O pitty: Sir, where is the patience now\nThat you so oft haue boasted to retaine?\n  Edg. My teares begin to take his part so much,\nThey marre my counterfetting\n\n   Lear. The little dogges, and all;\nTrey, Blanch, and Sweet-heart: see, they barke at me\n\n   Edg. Tom, will throw"}
{"answer":"indeed I would go any distance round\nto avoid him--but I do not envy his wife in the least; I neither admire\nher nor envy her, as I have done: she is very charming, I dare say, and\nall that, but I think her very ill-tempered and disagreeable--I shall\nnever forget her look the other night!--However, I assure you, Miss\nWoodhouse, I wish her no evil.--No, let them be ever so happy together,\nit will not give me another moment's pang: and to convince you that I\nhave been speaking truth, I am now going to destroy--what I ought to\nhave destroyed long ago--what I ought never to have kept--I know that\nvery well (blushing as she spoke).--However, now I will destroy it\nall--and it is my particular wish to do it in your presence, that you\nmay see how rational I am grown. Cannot you guess what this parcel\nholds?\" said she, with a conscious look.\n\n\"Not the least in the world.--Did he ever give you any thing?\"\n\n\"No--I cannot call them gifts; but they are things that I have valued\nvery much.\"\n\nShe held the parcel towards her, and Emma read the words _Most_\n_precious_ _treasures_ on the top. Her curiosity was greatly excited.\nHarriet unfolded the parcel, and she looked on with impatience. Within\nabundance of silver paper was a pretty little Tunbridge-ware box,\nwhich Harriet opened: it was well lined with the softest cotton; but,\nexcepting the cotton, Emma saw only a small piece of court-plaister.\n\n\"Now,\" said Harriet, \"you _must_ recollect.\"\n\n\"No, indeed I do not.\"\n\n\"Dear me! I should not have thought it possible you could forget what\npassed","question":"\n\nA very few days had passed after this adventure, when Harriet came one\nmorning to Emma with a small parcel in her hand, and after sitting down\nand hesitating, thus began:\n\n\"Miss Woodhouse--if you are at leisure--I have something that I should\nlike to tell you--a sort of confession to make--and then, you know, it\nwill be over.\"\n\nEmma was a good deal surprized; but begged her to speak. There was a\nseriousness in Harriet's manner which prepared her, quite as much as her\nwords, for something more than ordinary.\n\n\"It is my duty, and I am sure it is my wish,\" she continued, \"to have\nno reserves with you on this subject. As I am happily quite an altered\ncreature in _one_ _respect_, it is very fit that you should have\nthe satisfaction of knowing it. I do not want to say more than is\nnecessary--I am too much ashamed of having given way as I have done, and\nI dare say you understand me.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Emma, \"I hope I do.\"\n\n\"How I could so long a time be fancying myself!...\" cried Harriet,\nwarmly. \"It seems like madness! I can see nothing at all extraordinary\nin him now.--I do not care whether I meet him or not--except that of the\ntwo I had rather not see him--and"}
{"answer":"houres: For I do protest,\nI haue not sought the day of this dislike\n\n   King. You haue not sought it: how comes it then?\n  Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it\n\n   Prin. Peace, Chewet, peace\n\n   Wor. It pleas'd your Maiesty, to turne your lookes\nOf Fauour, from my Selfe, and all our House;\nAnd yet I must remember you my Lord,\nWe were the first, and dearest of your Friends:\nFor you, my staffe of Office did I breake\nIn Richards time, and poasted day and night\nTo meete you on the way, and kisse your hand,\nWhen yet you were in place, and in account\nNothing so strong and fortunate, as I;\nIt was my Selfe, my Brother, and his Sonne,\nThat brought you home, and boldly did out-dare\nThe danger of the time. You swore to vs,\nAnd you did sweare that Oath at Doncaster,\nThat you did nothing of purpose 'gainst the State,\nNor claime no further, then your new-falne right,\nThe seate of Gaunt, Dukedome of Lancaster,\nTo this, we sware our aide: But in short space,\nIt rain'd downe Fortune showring on your head,\nAnd such a floud of Greatnesse fell on you,\nWhat with our helpe, what with the absent King.\nWhat with the iniuries of wanton time,\nThe seeming sufferances that you had borne,\nAnd the contrarious Windes that held the King\nSo long in the vnlucky Irish Warres,\nThat all in England did repute him dead:\nAnd from this swarme of faire aduantages,\nYou tooke occasion to be quickly woo'd,\nTo gripe the generall sway into your hand,\nForgot your Oath","question":"Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.\n\n\nEnter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord Iohn of Lancaster, Earle of\nWestmerland, Sir Walter Blunt, and Falstaffe.\n\n  King. How bloodily the Sunne begins to peere\nAboue yon busky hill: the day lookes pale\nAt his distemperature\n  Prin. The Southerne winde\nDoth play the Trumpet to his purposes,\nAnd by his hollow whistling in the Leaues,\nFortels a Tempest, and a blust'ring day\n\n   King. Then with the losers let it sympathize,\nFor nothing can seeme foule to those that win.\n\nThe Trumpet sounds.\n\nEnter Worcester.\n\n  King. How now my Lord of Worster? 'Tis not well\nThat you and I should meet vpon such tearmes,\nAs now we meet. You haue deceiu'd our trust,\nAnd made vs doffe our easie Robes of Peace,\nTo crush our old limbes in vngentle Steele:\nThis is not well, my Lord, this is not well.\nWhat say you to it? Will you againe vnknit\nThis churlish knot of all-abhorred Warre?\nAnd moue in the obedient Orbe againe,\nWhere you did giue a faire and naturall light,\nAnd be no more an exhall'd Meteor,\nA prodigie of Feare, and a Portent\nOf broached Mischeefe, to the vnborne Times?\n  Wor. Heare me, my Liege:\nFor mine owne part, I could be well content\nTo entertaine the Lagge-end of my life\nWith quiet"}
{"answer":"advantages of\nperfect beauty and merit, was in possession of an independent fortune,\nof so many thousands as would always be called ten; a point of some\ndignity, as well as some convenience: the story told well; he had not\nthrown himself away--he had gained a woman of 10,000 l. or thereabouts;\nand he had gained her with such delightful rapidity--the first hour of\nintroduction had been so very soon followed by distinguishing notice;\nthe history which he had to give Mrs. Cole of the rise and progress\nof the affair was so glorious--the steps so quick, from the accidental\nrencontre, to the dinner at Mr. Green's, and the party at Mrs.\nBrown's--smiles and blushes rising in importance--with consciousness and\nagitation richly scattered--the lady had been so easily impressed--so\nsweetly disposed--had in short, to use a most intelligible phrase,\nbeen so very ready to have him, that vanity and prudence were equally\ncontented.\n\nHe had caught both substance and shadow--both fortune and affection, and\nwas just the happy man he ought to be; talking only of himself and\nhis own concerns--expecting to be congratulated--ready to be laughed\nat--and, with cordial, fearless smiles, now addressing all the young\nladies of the place, to whom, a few weeks ago, he would have been more\ncautiously gallant.\n\nThe wedding was no distant event, as the parties had only themselves to\nplease, and nothing but the necessary preparations to wait for; and\nwhen he set out for Bath again, there was a general expectation, which\na certain glance of Mrs. Cole's did not seem to contradict, that when he\nnext entered Highbury he would bring his bride.\n\nDuring his present","question":"\n\nHuman nature is so well disposed towards those who are in interesting\nsituations, that a young person, who either marries or dies, is sure of\nbeing kindly spoken of.\n\nA week had not passed since Miss Hawkins's name was first mentioned in\nHighbury, before she was, by some means or other, discovered to have\nevery recommendation of person and mind; to be handsome, elegant, highly\naccomplished, and perfectly amiable: and when Mr. Elton himself arrived\nto triumph in his happy prospects, and circulate the fame of her merits,\nthere was very little more for him to do, than to tell her Christian\nname, and say whose music she principally played.\n\nMr. Elton returned, a very happy man. He had gone away rejected and\nmortified--disappointed in a very sanguine hope, after a series of what\nappeared to him strong encouragement; and not only losing the right\nlady, but finding himself debased to the level of a very wrong one. He\nhad gone away deeply offended--he came back engaged to another--and\nto another as superior, of course, to the first, as under such\ncircumstances what is gained always is to what is lost. He came back gay\nand self-satisfied, eager and busy, caring nothing for Miss Woodhouse,\nand defying Miss Smith.\n\nThe charming Augusta Hawkins, in addition to all the usual"}
{"answer":"the fact before alluded to, that the islanders,--from\nmotives of precaution, dwelt altogether in the depths of the valleys,\nand avoided wandering about the more elevated portions of the shore,\nunless bound on some expedition of war or plunder, I concluded that if\nI could effect unperceived a passage to the mountain, I might easily\nremain among them, supporting myself by such fruits as came in my way\nuntil the sailing of the ship, an event of which I could not fail to be\nimmediately apprised, as from my lofty position I should command a view\nof the entire harbour.\n\nThe idea pleased me greatly. It seemed to combine a great deal of\npracticability with no inconsiderable enjoyment in a quiet way; for how\ndelightful it would be to look down upon the detested old vessel from\nthe height of some thousand feet, and contrast the verdant scenery about\nme with the recollection of her narrow decks and gloomy forecastle! Why,\nit was really refreshing even to think of it; and so I straightway fell\nto picturing myself seated beneath a cocoanut tree on the brow of the\nmountain, with a cluster of plantains within easy reach, criticizing her\nnautical evolutions as she was working her way out of the harbour.\n\nTo be sure there was one rather unpleasant drawback to these agreeable\nanticipations--the possibility of falling in with a foraging party of\nthese same bloody-minded Typees, whose appetites, edged perhaps by the\nair of so elevated a region, might prompt them to devour one. This, I\nmust confess, was a most disagreeable view of the matter.\n\nJust to think of a party","question":"HAVING fully resolved to leave the vessel clandestinely, and having\nacquired all the knowledge concerning the bay that I could obtain under\nthe circumstances in which I was placed, I now deliberately turned over\nin my mind every plan to escape that suggested itself, being determined\nto act with all possible prudence in an attempt where failure would be\nattended with so many disagreeable consequences. The idea of being\ntaken and brought back ignominiously to the ship was so inexpressibly\nrepulsive to me, that I was determined by no hasty and imprudent\nmeasures to render such an event probable.\n\nI knew that our worthy captain, who felt, such a paternal solicitude\nfor the welfare of his crew, would not willingly consent that one of his\nbest hands should encounter the perils of a sojourn among the natives\nof a barbarous island; and I was certain that in the event of my\ndisappearance, his fatherly anxiety would prompt him to offer, by way of\na reward, yard upon yard of gaily printed calico for my apprehension.\nHe might even have appreciated my services at the value of a musket, in\nwhich case I felt perfectly certain that the whole population of the\nbay would be immediately upon my track, incited by the prospect of so\nmagnificent a bounty.\n\nHaving ascertained"}
{"answer":"were or no, he told Oliver he might go, and placed him under the\njoint guardianship of Charley Bates, and his friend the Dodger.\n\nThe three boys sallied out; the Dodger with his coat-sleeves tucked up,\nand his hat cocked, as usual; Master Bates sauntering along with his\nhands in his pockets; and Oliver between them, wondering where they\nwere going, and what branch of manufacture he would be instructed in,\nfirst.\n\nThe pace at which they went, was such a very lazy, ill-looking saunter,\nthat Oliver soon began to think his companions were going to deceive\nthe old gentleman, by not going to work at all. The Dodger had a\nvicious propensity, too, of pulling the caps from the heads of small\nboys and tossing them down areas; while Charley Bates exhibited some\nvery loose notions concerning the rights of property, by pilfering\ndivers apples and onions from the stalls at the kennel sides, and\nthrusting them into pockets which were so surprisingly capacious, that\nthey seemed to undermine his whole suit of clothes in every direction.\nThese things looked so bad, that Oliver was on the point of declaring\nhis intention of seeking his way back, in the best way he could; when\nhis thoughts were suddenly directed into another channel, by a very\nmysterious change of behaviour on the part of the Dodger.\n\nThey were just emerging from a narrow court not far from the open\nsquare in Clerkenwell, which is yet called, by some strange perversion\nof terms, 'The Green': when the Dodger made a sudden stop; and, laying\nhis finger on his lip, drew his companions back again,","question":"\nFor many days, Oliver remained in the Jew's room, picking the marks out\nof the pocket-handkerchief, (of which a great number were brought\nhome,) and sometimes taking part in the game already described: which\nthe two boys and the Jew played, regularly, every morning. At length,\nhe began to languish for fresh air, and took many occasions of\nearnestly entreating the old gentleman to allow him to go out to work\nwith his two companions.\n\nOliver was rendered the more anxious to be actively employed, by what\nhe had seen of the stern morality of the old gentleman's character.\nWhenever the Dodger or Charley Bates came home at night, empty-handed,\nhe would expatiate with great vehemence on the misery of idle and lazy\nhabits; and would enforce upon them the necessity of an active life, by\nsending them supperless to bed. On one occasion, indeed, he even went\nso far as to knock them both down a flight of stairs; but this was\ncarrying out his virtuous precepts to an unusual extent.\n\nAt length, one morning, Oliver obtained the permission he had so\neagerly sought. There had been no handkerchiefs to work upon, for two\nor three days, and the dinners had been rather meagre. Perhaps these\nwere reasons for the old gentleman's giving his assent; but, whether\nthey"}
{"answer":"by Nerissa here,\nUntil her husband and my lord's return.\nThere is a monastery two miles off,\nAnd there we will abide. I do desire you\nNot to deny this imposition,\nThe which my love and some necessity\nNow lays upon you.\n\nLORENZO.\nMadam, with all my heart\nI shall obey you in an fair commands.\n\nPORTIA.\nMy people do already know my mind,\nAnd will acknowledge you and Jessica\nIn place of Lord Bassanio and myself.\nSo fare you well till we shall meet again.\n\nLORENZO.\nFair thoughts and happy hours attend on you!\n\nJESSICA.\nI wish your ladyship all heart's content.\n\nPORTIA.\nI thank you for your wish, and am well pleas'd\nTo wish it back on you. Fare you well, Jessica.\n\n[Exeunt JESSICA and LORENZO.]\n\nNow, Balthasar,\nAs I have ever found thee honest-true,\nSo let me find thee still. Take this same letter,\nAnd use thou all th' endeavour of a man\nIn speed to Padua; see thou render this\nInto my cousin's hands, Doctor Bellario;\nAnd look what notes and garments he doth give thee,\nBring them, I pray thee, with imagin'd speed\nUnto the traject, to the common ferry\nWhich trades to Venice. Waste no time in words,\nBut get thee gone; I shall be there before thee.\n\nBALTHASAR.\nMadam, I go with all convenient speed.\n\n[Exit.]\n\nPORTIA.\nCome on, Nerissa, I have work in hand\nThat you yet know not of; we'll see our husbands\nBefore they think of us.\n\nNERISSA.\nShall they see us?\n\nPORTIA.\nThey shall, Nerissa; but in such a habit\nThat they shall think we are accomplished\nWith that we lack. I'll hold thee any wager,\nWhen we are both accoutred like young men,\nI'll prove the prettier fellow of the two,\nAnd wear my dagger with the","question":"SCENE 4.\n\nBelmont. A room in PORTIA's house.\n\n[Enter PORTIA, NERISSA, LORENZO, JESSICA, and BALTHASAR.]\n\nLORENZO.\nMadam, although I speak it in your presence,\nYou have a noble and a true conceit\nOf godlike amity, which appears most strongly\nIn bearing thus the absence of your lord.\nBut if you knew to whom you show this honour,\nHow true a gentleman you send relief,\nHow dear a lover of my lord your husband,\nI know you would be prouder of the work\nThan customary bounty can enforce you.\n\nPORTIA.\nI never did repent for doing good,\nNor shall not now; for in companions\nThat do converse and waste the time together,\nWhose souls do bear an equal yoke of love,\nThere must be needs a like proportion\nOf lineaments, of manners, and of spirit,\nWhich makes me think that this Antonio,\nBeing the bosom lover of my lord,\nMust needs be like my lord. If it be so,\nHow little is the cost I have bestowed\nIn purchasing the semblance of my soul\nFrom out the state of hellish cruelty!\nThis comes too near the praising of myself;\nTherefore, no more of it; hear other things.\nLorenzo, I commit into your hands\nThe husbandry and manage of my house\nUntil my lord's return; for mine own part,\nI have toward heaven breath'd a secret vow\nTo live in prayer and contemplation,\nOnly attended"}
{"answer":"both of them had been concerned in the stealing of L10 from a\nbusiness firm. The matter was patched up with the intervention of the\nArmy, and the boys were restored to their parents.\n\nOccasionally, too, lads are brought here by kind folk, who find them\nstarving. They are taken in, kept for a while, taught and fed, and\nwhen their characters are re-established--for many of them have none\nleft--put out into the world. Some of them, indeed, work daily at\nvarious employments in London, and pay 5s. a week for their board and\nlodging at the Home. A good proportion of these lads also are sent to\nthe collieries in Wales, where, after a few years, they earn good\nwages.\n\nIn these collieries a man and a boy generally work together. A while\nago such a man applied to the Army for a boy, and the applicant,\nproving respectable, the boy was sent, and turned out extremely well.\nIn due course he became a collier himself, and, in his turn, sent for\na boy. So the thing spread, till up to the present time the Army has\nsupplied fifty or sixty lads to colliers in South Wales, all of whom\nseem to be satisfactory and prosperous.\n\nAs the Manager explained, it is not difficult to place out a lad as\nsoon as his character can be more or less guaranteed. The difficulty\ncomes with a man who is middle-aged or old. He added that this Home\ndoes not in any sense compete with those of Dr. Barnardo; in fact, in\ncertain ways they work hand in hand. The Barnardo Homes will","question":"STURGE HOUSE, BOW ROAD\n\n\n\nThis branch of the Men's Social Work of the Salvation Army is a home\nfor poor and destitute boys. The house, which once belonged to the\nlate Dr. Barnardo, has been recently hired on a short lease. One of\nthe features of the Army work is the reclamation of lads, of whom\nabout 2,400 have passed through its hands in London during the course\nof the last eight years.\n\nSturge House has been fitted up for this special purpose, and\naccommodates about fifty boys. The Officer in charge informed me that\nsome boys apply to them for assistance when they are out of work,\nwhile others come from bad homes, and yet others through the Shelters,\nwhich pass on suitable lads. Each case is strictly investigated when\nit arrives, with the result that about one-third of their number are\nrestored to their parents, from whom often enough they have run away,\nsometimes upon the most flimsy pretexts.\n\nNot unfrequently these boys are bad characters, who tell false tales\nof their past. Thus, recently, two who arrived at the Headquarters at\nWhitechapel, alleged that they were farm-labourers from Norfolk. As\nthey did not in the least look the part, inquiries were made, when it\nwas found that they had never been nearer to Norfolk than Hampstead,\nwhere"}
{"answer":"quite grateful\nto you if you will tell me how I can help to make things a little\nbetter.  Everything of that sort has slipped away from me since I have\nbeen married.  I mean,\" she said, after a moment's hesitation, \"that\nthe people in our village are tolerably comfortable, and my mind has\nbeen too much taken up for me to inquire further.  But here--in such a\nplace as Middlemarch--there must be a great deal to be done.\"\n\n\"There is everything to be done,\" said Lydgate, with abrupt energy.\n\"And this Hospital is a capital piece of work, due entirely to Mr.\nBulstrode's exertions, and in a great degree to his money.  But one man\ncan't do everything in a scheme of this sort.  Of course he looked\nforward to help.  And now there's a mean, petty feud set up against the\nthing in the town, by certain persons who want to make it a failure.\"\n\n\"What can be their reasons?\" said Dorothea, with naive surprise.\n\n\"Chiefly Mr. Bulstrode's unpopularity, to begin with.  Half the town\nwould almost take trouble for the sake of thwarting him.  In this\nstupid world most people never consider that a thing is good to be done\nunless it is done by their own set.  I had no connection with Bulstrode\nbefore I came here.  I look at him quite impartially, and I see that he\nhas some notions--that he has set things on foot--which I can turn to\ngood public purpose.  If a fair number of the better educated men went\nto work","question":"\n    I would not creep along the coast but steer\n    Out in mid-sea, by guidance of the stars.\n\n\nWhen Dorothea, walking round the laurel-planted plots of the New\nHospital with Lydgate, had learned from him that there were no signs of\nchange in Mr. Casaubon's bodily condition beyond the mental sign of\nanxiety to know the truth about his illness, she was silent for a few\nmoments, wondering whether she had said or done anything to rouse this\nnew anxiety.  Lydgate, not willing to let slip an opportunity of\nfurthering a favorite purpose, ventured to say--\n\n\"I don't know whether your or Mr.--Casaubon's attention has been drawn\nto the needs of our New Hospital.  Circumstances have made it seem\nrather egotistic in me to urge the subject; but that is not my fault:\nit is because there is a fight being made against it by the other\nmedical men.  I think you are generally interested in such things, for\nI remember that when I first had the pleasure of seeing you at Tipton\nGrange before your marriage, you were asking me some questions about\nthe way in which the health of the poor was affected by their miserable\nhousing.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed,\" said Dorothea, brightening.  \"I shall be"}
{"answer":"small kindnesses from him, as money, plate,\njewels,\n    and such-like trifles, nothing comparing to his; yet, had he\n    mistook him and sent to me, I should ne'er have denied his\n    occasion so many talents.\n\n                             Enter SERVILIUS\n\n  SERVILIUS. See, by good hap, yonder's my lord; I have sweat to\nsee\n    his honour.- My honour'd lord!\n  LUCIUS. Servilius? You are kindly met, sir. Fare thee well;\ncommend\n    me to thy honourable virtuous lord, my very exquisite friend.\n  SERVILIUS. May it please your honour, my lord hath sent-\n  LUCIUS. Ha! What has he sent? I am so much endeared to that\nlord:\n    he's ever sending. How shall I thank him, think'st thou? And\nwhat\n    has he sent now?\n  SERVILIUS. Has only sent his present occasion now, my lord,\n    requesting your lordship to supply his instant use with so\nmany\n    talents.\n  LUCIUS. I know his lordship is but merry with me;\n    He cannot want fifty-five hundred talents.\n  SERVILIUS. But in the mean time he wants less, my lord.\n    If his occasion were not virtuous\n    I should not urge it half so faithfully.\n  LUCIUS. Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius?\n","question":"A public place\n\nEnter Lucius, with three STRANGERS\n\n  LUCIUS. Who, the Lord Timon? He is my very good friend, and an\n    honourable gentleman.\n  FIRST STRANGER. We know him for no less, though we are but\n    strangers to him. But I can tell you one thing, my lord, and\n    which I hear from common rumours: now Lord Timon's happy\nhours\n    are done and past, and his estate shrinks from him.\n  LUCIUS. Fie, no: do not believe it; he cannot want for money.\n  SECOND STRANGER. But believe you this, my lord, that not long\nago\n     one of his men was with the Lord Lucullus to borrow so many\n    talents; nay, urg'd extremely for't, and showed what\nnecessity\n    belong'd to't, and yet was denied.\n  LUCIUS. How?\n  SECOND STRANGER. I tell you, denied, my lord.\n  LUCIUS. What a strange case was that! Now, before the gods, I\nam\n    asham'd on't. Denied that honourable man! There was very\nlittle\n    honour show'd in't. For my own part, I must needs confess I\nhave\n    received some"}
{"answer":"To wait upon this new-made empress.\n    To wait, said I? To wanton with this queen,\n    This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph,\n    This siren that will charm Rome's Saturnine,\n    And see his shipwreck and his commonweal's.\n    Hullo! what storm is this?\n\n            Enter CHIRON and DEMETRIUS, braving\n\n  DEMETRIUS. Chiron, thy years wants wit, thy wits wants edge\n    And manners, to intrude where I am grac'd,\n    And may, for aught thou knowest, affected be.\n  CHIRON. Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all;\n    And so in this, to bear me down with braves.\n    'Tis not the difference of a year or two\n    Makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate:\n    I am as able and as fit as thou\n    To serve and to deserve my mistress' grace;\n    And that my sword upon thee shall approve,\n    And plead my passions for Lavinia's love.\n  AARON.  [Aside]  Clubs, clubs! These lovers will not keep the\n    peace.\n  DEMETRIUS. Why, boy, although our mother, unadvis'd,\n    Gave you a dancing rapier by your side,\n    Are you so desperate grown to threat your friends?\n    Go to; have your lath glued within","question":"ACT II. SCENE I.\nRome. Before the palace\n\nEnter AARON\n\n  AARON. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top,\n    Safe out of Fortune's shot, and sits aloft,\n    Secure of thunder's crack or lightning flash,\n    Advanc'd above pale envy's threat'ning reach.\n    As when the golden sun salutes the morn,\n    And, having gilt the ocean with his beams,\n    Gallops the zodiac in his glistening coach\n    And overlooks the highest-peering hills,\n    So Tamora.\n    Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait,\n    And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown.\n    Then, Aaron, arm thy heart and fit thy thoughts\n    To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress,\n    And mount her pitch whom thou in triumph long\n    Hast prisoner held, fett'red in amorous chains,\n    And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes\n    Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus.\n    Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts!\n    I will be bright and shine in pearl and gold,\n   "}
{"answer":"  2.Car. I haue a Gammon of Bacon, and two razes of\nGinger, to be deliuered as farre as Charing-crosse\n\n   1.Car. The Turkies in my Pannier are quite starued.\nWhat Ostler? A plague on thee, hast thou neuer an eye in\nthy head? Can'st not heare? And t'were not as good a\ndeed as drinke, to break the pate of thee, I am a very Villaine.\nCome and be hang'd, hast no faith in thee?\nEnter Gads-hill.\n\n  Gad. Good-morrow Carriers. What's a clocke?\n  Car. I thinke it be two a clocke\n\n   Gad. I prethee lend me thy Lanthorne to see my Gelding\nin the stable\n\n   1.Car. Nay soft I pray ye, I know a trick worth two\nof that\n\n   Gad. I prethee lend me thine\n\n   2.Car. I, when, canst tell? Lend mee thy Lanthorne\n(quoth-a) marry Ile see thee hang'd first\n\n   Gad. Sirra Carrier: What time do you mean to come\nto London?\n  2.Car. Time enough to goe to bed with a Candle, I\nwarrant thee. Come neighbour Mugges, wee'll call vp\nthe Gentlemen, they will along with company, for they\nhaue great charge.\n\nExeunt.\n\nEnter Chamberlaine.\n\n  Gad. What ho, Chamberlaine?\n  Cham. At hand quoth Pick-purse\n\n   Gad. That's euen as faire, as at hand quoth the Chamberlaine:\nFor thou variest no more from picking of Purses,\nthen giuing direction, doth from labouring. Thou\nlay'st the plot, how\n\n   Cham. Good morrow Master Gads-Hill, it holds currant\nthat I told you yesternight. There's a Franklin in the\nwilde of Kent,","question":"Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.\n\n\nEnter a Carrier with a Lanterne in his hand.\n\n  1.Car. Heigh-ho, an't be not foure by the day, Ile be\nhang'd. Charles waine is ouer the new Chimney, and yet\nour horse not packt. What Ostler?\n  Ost. Anon, anon\n\n   1.Car. I prethee Tom, beate Cuts Saddle, put a few\nFlockes in the point: the poore Iade is wrung in the withers,\nout of all cesse.\nEnter another Carrier.\n\n  2.Car. Pease and Beanes are as danke here as a Dog,\nand this is the next way to giue poore Iades the Bottes:\nThis house is turned vpside downe since Robin the Ostler\ndyed\n\n   1.Car. Poore fellow neuer ioy'd since the price of oats\nrose, it was the death of him\n\n   2.Car. I thinke this is the most villanous house in al\nLondon rode for Fleas: I am stung like a Tench\n\n   1.Car. Like a Tench? There is ne're a King in Christendome,\ncould be better bit, then I haue beene since the\nfirst Cocke\n\n   2.Car. Why, you will allow vs ne're a Iourden, and\nthen we leake in your Chimney: and your Chamber-lye\nbreeds Fleas like a Loach\n\n   1.Car. What Ostler, come away, and be hangd: come\naway\n\n"}
{"answer":"summer\nmust be before her!\n\nShe was not to see Frank Churchill this morning. He had told her that he\ncould not allow himself the pleasure of stopping at Hartfield, as he was\nto be at home by the middle of the day. She did not regret it.\n\nHaving arranged all these matters, looked them through, and put them all\nto rights, she was just turning to the house with spirits freshened up\nfor the demands of the two little boys, as well as of their grandpapa,\nwhen the great iron sweep-gate opened, and two persons entered whom she\nhad never less expected to see together--Frank Churchill, with Harriet\nleaning on his arm--actually Harriet!--A moment sufficed to convince\nher that something extraordinary had happened. Harriet looked white\nand frightened, and he was trying to cheer her.--The iron gates and the\nfront-door were not twenty yards asunder;--they were all three soon in\nthe hall, and Harriet immediately sinking into a chair fainted away.\n\nA young lady who faints, must be recovered; questions must be answered,\nand surprizes be explained. Such events are very interesting, but the\nsuspense of them cannot last long. A few minutes made Emma acquainted\nwith the whole.\n\nMiss Smith, and Miss Bickerton, another parlour boarder at Mrs.\nGoddard's, who had been also at the ball, had walked out together, and\ntaken a road, the Richmond road, which, though apparently public enough\nfor safety, had led them into alarm.--About half a mile beyond Highbury,\nmaking a sudden turn, and deeply shaded by elms on each side, it became\nfor a considerable stretch very retired; and when the young ladies\nhad advanced some way","question":"\n\nThis little explanation with Mr. Knightley gave Emma considerable\npleasure. It was one of the agreeable recollections of the ball, which\nshe walked about the lawn the next morning to enjoy.--She was extremely\nglad that they had come to so good an understanding respecting the\nEltons, and that their opinions of both husband and wife were so much\nalike; and his praise of Harriet, his concession in her favour, was\npeculiarly gratifying. The impertinence of the Eltons, which for a few\nminutes had threatened to ruin the rest of her evening, had been the\noccasion of some of its highest satisfactions; and she looked forward\nto another happy result--the cure of Harriet's infatuation.--From\nHarriet's manner of speaking of the circumstance before they quitted the\nballroom, she had strong hopes. It seemed as if her eyes were suddenly\nopened, and she were enabled to see that Mr. Elton was not the superior\ncreature she had believed him. The fever was over, and Emma could\nharbour little fear of the pulse being quickened again by injurious\ncourtesy. She depended on the evil feelings of the Eltons for\nsupplying all the discipline of pointed neglect that could be farther\nrequisite.--Harriet rational, Frank Churchill not too much in love, and\nMr. Knightley not wanting to quarrel with her, how very happy a"}
{"answer":"I had but to\npass on and on, as far as I saw the country laid waste.  Ah, what horrors were\nthere!  Had I not seen, then I could never have believed it!  Well, gentlemen,\nif such be the service of your King, I would fainer serve mine!\n\nCYRANO:\n  But 'tis sheer madness!  Where in the fiend's name did you get through?\n\nROXANE:\n  Where?  Through the Spanish lines.\n\nFIRST CADET:\n  --For subtle craft, give me a woman!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  But how did you pass through their lines?\n\nLE BRET:\n  Faith! that must have been a hard matter!. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  None too hard.  I but drove quietly forward in my carriage, and when some\nhidalgo of haughty mien would have stayed me, lo! I showed at the window my\nsweetest smile, and these Senors being (with no disrespect to you) the most\ngallant gentlemen in the world,--I passed on!\n\nCARBON:\n  True, that smile is a passport!  But you must have been asked frequently to\ngive an account of where you were going, Madame?\n\nROXANE:\n  Yes, frequently.  Then I would answer, 'I go to see my lover.'  At that word\nthe very fiercest Spaniard of them all would gravely shut the carriage-door,\nand, with a gesture that a king might envy, make signal to his men to lower\nthe muskets leveled at me;--then, with melancholy but withal very graceful\ndignity--his beaver held to the wind that the plumes might flutter bravely, he\nwould bow low, saying to me, 'Pass on, Senorita!'\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  But, Roxane.","question":"The same.  Roxane.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  On the King's service!  You?\n\nROXANE:\n  Ay,--King Love's!  What other king?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Great God!\n\nCHRISTIAN (rushing forward):\n  Why have you come?\n\nROXANE:\n  This siege--'tis too long!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  But why?. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  I will tell you all!\n\nCYRANO (who, at the sound of her voice, has stood still, rooted to the ground,\nafraid to raise his eyes):\n  My God! dare I look at her?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  You cannot remain here!\n\nROXANE (merrily):\n  But I say yes!  Who will push a drum hither for me?\n(She seats herself on the drum they roll forward):\n  So!  I thank you.\n(She laughs):\n  My carriage was fired at\n(proudly):\n  by the patrol!  Look! would you not think 'twas made of a pumpkin, like\nCinderella's chariot in the tale,--and the footmen out of rats?\n(Sending a kiss with her lips to Christian):\n  Good-morrow!\n(Examining them all):\n  You look not merry, any of you!  Ah! know you that 'tis a long road to get\nto Arras?\n(Seeing Cyrano):\n  Cousin, delighted!\n\nCYRANO (coming up to her):\n  But how, in Heaven's name?. . .\n\nROXANE:\n  How found I the way to the army?  It was simple enough, for"}
{"answer":"labyrinthine interior, a retreat beyond the\npossibility of capture. To flee the ship in any Peruvian or Chilian\nport, even the smallest and most rustical, is not unattended with great\nrisk of apprehension, not to speak of jaguars. A reward of five pesos\nsends fifty dastardly Spaniards into the wood, who, with long knives,\nscour them day and night in eager hopes of securing their prey. Neither\nis it, in general, much easier to escape pursuit at the isles of\nPolynesia. Those of them which have felt a civilizing influence present\nthe same difficulty to the runaway with the Peruvian ports, the advanced\nnatives being quite as mercenary and keen of knife and scent as the\nretrograde Spaniards; while, owing to the bad odor in which all\nEuropeans lie, in the minds of aboriginal savages who have chanced to\nhear aught of them, to desert the ship among primitive Polynesians, is,\nin most cases, a hope not unforlorn. Hence the Enchanted Isles become\nthe voluntary tarrying places of all sorts of refugees; some of whom\ntoo sadly experience the fact, that flight from tyranny does not of\nitself insure a safe asylum, far less a happy home.\n\nMoreover, it has not seldom happened that hermits have been made upon\nthe isles by the accidents incident to tortoise-hunting. The interior of\nmost of them is tangled and difficult of passage beyond description; the\nair is sultry and stifling; an intolerable thirst is provoked, for which\nno running stream offers its kind relief. In a few hours, under an\nequatorial sun, reduced by these causes to entire exhaustion, woe betide\nthe straggler at the Enchanted","question":"SKETCH TENTH. RUNAWAYS, CASTAWAYS, SOLITARIES, GRAVE-STONES, ETC.\n\n  \"And all about old stocks and stubs of trees,\n    Whereon nor fruit nor leaf was ever seen,\n  Did hang upon ragged knotty knees,\n    On which had many wretches hanged been.\"\n\n\nSome relics of the hut of Oberlus partially remain to this day at the\nhead of the clinkered valley. Nor does the stranger, wandering among\nother of the Enchanted Isles, fail to stumble upon still other solitary\nabodes, long abandoned to the tortoise and the lizard. Probably few\nparts of earth have, in modern times, sheltered so many solitaries. The\nreason is, that these isles are situated in a distant sea, and the\nvessels which occasionally visit them are mostly all whalers, or ships\nbound on dreary and protracted voyages, exempting them in a good degree\nfrom both the oversight and the memory of human law. Such is the\ncharacter of some commanders and some seamen, that under these untoward\ncircumstances, it is quite impossible but that scenes of unpleasantness\nand discord should occur between them. A sullen hatred of the tyrannic\nship will seize the sailor, and he gladly exchanges it for isles, which,\nthough blighted as by a continual sirocco and burning breeze, still\noffer him, in their"}
{"answer":"into their hearts,\nWith humble, and familiar courtesie,\nWhat reuerence he did throw away on slaues;\nWooing poore Craftes-men, with the craft of soules,\nAnd patient vnder-bearing of his Fortune,\nAs 'twere to banish their affects with him.\nOff goes his bonnet to an Oyster-wench,\nA brace of Dray-men bid God speed him well,\nAnd had the tribute of his supple knee,\nWith thankes my Countrimen, my louing friends,\nAs were our England in reuersion his,\nAnd he our subiects next degree in hope\n\n   Gr. Well, he is gone, & with him go these thoughts:\nNow for the Rebels, which stand out in Ireland,\nExpedient manage must be made my Liege\nEre further leysure, yeeld them further meanes\nFor their aduantage, and your Highnesse losse\n\n   Ric. We will our selfe in person to this warre,\nAnd for our Coffers, with too great a Court,\nAnd liberall Largesse, are growne somewhat light,\nWe are inforc'd to farme our royall Realme,\nThe Reuennew whereof shall furnish vs\nFor our affayres in hand: if that come short\nOur Substitutes at home shall haue Blanke-charters:\nWhereto, when they shall know what men are rich,\nThey shall subscribe them for large summes of Gold,\nAnd send them after to supply our wants:\nFor we will make for Ireland presently.\nEnter Bushy.\n\nBushy, what newes?\n  Bu. Old Iohn of Gaunt is verie sicke my Lord,\nSodainly taken, and hath sent post haste\nTo entreat your Maiesty to visit him\n\n   Ric. Where lyes he?\n  Bu. At Ely house\n\n   Ric. Now put it (heauen) in his Physitians minde,\nTo helpe him to his graue immediately:\nThe lining of his","question":"Scoena Quarta.\n\nEnter King, Aumerle, Greene, and Bagot.\n\n  Rich. We did obserue. Cosine Aumerle,\nHow far brought you high Herford on his way?\n  Aum. I brought high Herford (if you call him so)\nBut to the next high way, and there I left him\n\n   Rich. And say, what store of parting tears were shed?\n  Aum. Faith none for me: except the Northeast wind\nWhich then grew bitterly against our face,\nAwak'd the sleepie rhewme, and so by chance\nDid grace our hollow parting with a teare\n\n   Rich. What said our Cosin when you parted with him?\n  Au. Farewell: and for my hart disdained y my tongue\nShould so prophane the word, that taught me craft\nTo counterfeit oppression of such greefe,\nThat word seem'd buried in my sorrowes graue.\nMarry, would the word Farwell, haue lengthen'd houres,\nAnd added yeeres to his short banishment,\nHe should haue had a volume of Farwels,\nBut since it would not, he had none of me\n\n   Rich. He is our Cosin (Cosin) but 'tis doubt,\nWhen time shall call him home from banishment,\nWhether our kinsman come to see his friends,\nOur selfe, and Bushy: heere Bagot and Greene\nObseru'd his Courtship to the common people:\nHow he did seeme to diue"}
{"answer":"see me\nwhen you return.  But, to speak seriously, Harry; has any communication\nfrom the great nobs produced this sudden anxiety on your part to be\ngone?'\n\n'The great nobs,' replied Harry, 'under which designation, I presume,\nyou include my most stately uncle, have not communicated with me at\nall, since I have been here; nor, at this time of the year, is it\nlikely that anything would occur to render necessary my immediate\nattendance among them.'\n\n'Well,' said the doctor, 'you are a queer fellow.  But of course they\nwill get you into parliament at the election before Christmas, and\nthese sudden shiftings and changes are no bad preparation for political\nlife.  There's something in that.  Good training is always desirable,\nwhether the race be for place, cup, or sweepstakes.'\n\nHarry Maylie looked as if he could have followed up this short dialogue\nby one or two remarks that would have staggered the doctor not a\nlittle; but he contented himself with saying, 'We shall see,' and\npursued the subject no farther.  The post-chaise drove up to the door\nshortly afterwards; and Giles coming in for the luggage, the good\ndoctor bustled out, to see it packed.\n\n'Oliver,' said Harry Maylie, in a low voice, 'let me speak a word with\nyou.'\n\nOliver walked into the window-recess to which Mr. Maylie beckoned him;\nmuch surprised at the mixture of sadness and boisterous spirits, which\nhis whole behaviour displayed.\n\n'You can write well now?' said Harry, laying his hand upon his arm.\n\n'I hope so, sir,' replied Oliver.\n\n'I shall not be at home again, perhaps for some time; I wish you","question":"\n'And so you are resolved to be my travelling companion this morning;\neh?' said the doctor, as Harry Maylie joined him and Oliver at the\nbreakfast-table.  'Why, you are not in the same mind or intention two\nhalf-hours together!'\n\n'You will tell me a different tale one of these days,' said Harry,\ncolouring without any perceptible reason.\n\n'I hope I may have good cause to do so,' replied Mr. Losberne; 'though\nI confess I don't think I shall.  But yesterday morning you had made up\nyour mind, in a great hurry, to stay here, and to accompany your\nmother, like a dutiful son, to the sea-side. Before noon, you announce\nthat you are going to do me the honour of accompanying me as far as I\ngo, on your road to London.  And at night, you urge me, with great\nmystery, to start before the ladies are stirring; the consequence of\nwhich is, that young Oliver here is pinned down to his breakfast when\nhe ought to be ranging the meadows after botanical phenomena of all\nkinds. Too bad, isn't it, Oliver?'\n\n'I should have been very sorry not to have been at home when you and\nMr. Maylie went away, sir,' rejoined Oliver.\n\n'That's a fine fellow,' said the doctor; 'you shall come and"}
{"answer":"Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards\n\n   Prin. What? sigh for the tooth-ach\n\n   Leon. Where is but a humour or a worme\n\n   Bene. Well, euery one cannot master a griefe, but hee\nthat has it\n\n   Clau. Yet say I, he is in loue\n\n   Prin. There is no appearance of fancie in him, vnlesse\nit be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises, as to bee a\nDutchman to day, a Frenchman to morrow: vnlesse hee\nhaue a fancy to this foolery, as it appeares hee hath, hee\nis no foole for fancy, as you would haue it to appeare\nhe is\n\n   Clau. If he be not in loue with some woman, there\nis no beleeuing old signes, a brushes his hat a mornings,\nWhat should that bode?\n  Prin. Hath any man seene him at the Barbers?\n  Clau. No, but the Barbers man hath beene seen with\nhim, and the olde ornament of his cheeke hath alreadie\nstuft tennis balls\n\n   Leon. Indeed he lookes yonger than hee did, by the\nlosse of a beard\n\n   Prin. Nay a rubs himselfe with Ciuit, can you smell\nhim out by that?\n  Clau. That's as much as to say, the sweet youth's in\nloue\n\n   Prin. The greatest note of it is his melancholy\n\n   Clau. And when was he wont to wash his face?\n  Prin. Yea, or to paint himselfe? for the which I heare\nwhat they say of him\n\n  ","question":"Scene 2.\n\nEnter Prince, Claudio, Benedicke, and Leonato.\n\n  Prince. I doe but stay till your marriage be consummate,\nand then go I toward Arragon\n\n   Clau. Ile bring you thither my Lord, if you'l vouchsafe\nme\n\n   Prin. Nay, that would be as great a soyle in the new\nglosse of your marriage, as to shew a childe his new coat\nand forbid him to weare it, I will onely bee bold with\nBenedicke for his companie, for from the crowne of his\nhead, to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth, he hath twice\nor thrice cut Cupids bow-string, and the little hang-man\ndare not shoot at him, he hath a heart as sound as a bell,\nand his tongue is the clapper, for what his heart thinkes,\nhis tongue speakes\n\n   Bene. Gallants, I am not as I haue bin\n\n   Leo. So say I, methinkes you are sadder\n\n   Claud. I hope he be in loue\n\n   Prin. Hang him truant, there's no true drop of bloud\nin him to be truly toucht with loue, if he be sad, he wants\nmoney\n\n   Bene. I haue the tooth-ach\n\n   Prin. Draw it\n\n   Bene. Hang it\n\n  "}
{"answer":"Gay, if a woman comes,--for a man, sad!\n(The pages disappear, one at each street corner.  To Christian):\n  Call her!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Roxane!\n\nCYRANO (picking up stones and throwing them at the window):\n  Some pebbles! wait awhile!\n\nROXANE (half-opening the casement):\n  Who calls me?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  I!\n\nROXANE:\n  Who's that?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Christian!\n\nROXANE (disdainfully):\n  Oh! you?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  I would speak with you.\n\nCYRANO (under the balcony--to Christian):\n  Good.  Speak soft and low.\n\nROXANE:\n  No, you speak stupidly!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Oh, pity me!\n\nROXANE:\n  No! you love me no more!\n\nCHRISTIAN (prompted by Cyrano):\n  You say--Great Heaven!\n  I love no more?--when--I--love more and more!\n\nROXANE (who was about to shut the casement, pausing):\n  Hold! 'tis a trifle better! ay, a trifle!\n\nCHRISTIAN (same play):\n  Love grew apace, rocked by the anxious beating. . .\n  Of this poor heart, which the cruel wanton boy. . .\n  Took for a cradle!\n\nROXANE (coming out on to the balcony):\n  That is better!  But\n  An if you deem that Cupid be so cruel\n  You should have stifled baby-love in's cradle!\n\nCHRISTIAN (same play):\n  Ah, Madame, I assayed, but all in vain\n  This. . .new-born babe is a young. . .Hercules!\n\nROXANE:\n  Still better!\n\nCHRISTIAN (same play):\n  Thus he strangled in my heart\n  The. . .serpents twain, of. . .Pride. . .and Doubt!\n\nROXANE (leaning over the balcony):\n  Well said!\n  --But why so faltering?  Has mental palsy\n  Seized on your faculty imaginative?\n\nCYRANO (drawing Christian under the","question":"Christian, Cyrano, two pages.\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Come to my aid!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Not I!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  But I shall die,\n  Unless at once I win back her fair favor.\n\nCYRANO:\n  And how can I, at once, i' th' devil's name,\n  Lesson you in. . .\n\nCHRISTIAN (seizing his arm):\n  Oh, she is there!\n\n(The window of the balcony is now lighted up.)\n\nCYRANO (moved):\n  Her window!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Oh!  I shall die!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Speak lower!\n\nCHRISTIAN (in a whisper):\n  I shall die!\n\nCYRANO:\n  The night is dark. . .\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Well!\n\nCYRANO:\n  All can be repaired.\n  Although you merit not.  Stand there, poor wretch!\n  Fronting the balcony!  I'll go beneath\n  And prompt your words to you. . .\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  But. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Hold your tongue!\n\nTHE PAGES (reappearing at back--to Cyrano):\n  Ho!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Hush!\n\n(He signs to them to speak softly.)\n\nFIRST PAGE (in a low voice):\n  We've played the serenade you bade\n  To Montfleury!\n\nCYRANO (quickly, in a low voice):\n  Go! lurk in ambush there,\n  One at this street corner, and one at that;\n  And if a passer-by should here intrude,\n  Play you a tune!\n\nSECOND PAGE:\n  What tune, Sir Gassendist?\n\nCYRANO:\n "}
{"answer":"  Wherein my heart, with fears and hopes long toss'd,\n    Each hour doth wish and long to make resort,\n    There to repair the joys that it hath lost,\n    And, sitting safe, to sing in Cupid's choir\n    That sweetest bliss is crown of love's desire.\n\n                BALTHAZAR, above.\n\n  BAL.  O sleep, mine eyes; see not my love profan'd!\n    Be deaf, my ears; hear not my discontent!\n    Die, heart; another joys what thou deserv'st!\n\n  LOR.  Watch still, mine eyes, to see this love disjoin'd!\n    Hear still, mine ears, to hear them both lament!\n    Live, heart, to joy at fond Horatio's fall!\n\n  BEL.  Why stands Horatio speechless all this while?\n\n  HOR.  The less I speak, the more I meditate.\n\n  BEL.  But whereon dost thou chiefly meditate?\n\n  HOR.  On dangers past and pleasures to ensue.\n\n  BAL. On pleasures past and dangers to ensue!\n\n  BEL.  What dangers and what pleasures dost thou mean?\n\n  HOR.  Dangers of war and pleasures of our love.\n\n  LOR.  Dangers of death, but pleasures none at all!\n\n  BEL. Let dangers go; thy war shall be with me,\n    But such a war as breaks no bond of peace.\n  ","question":"[The Duke's Castle]\n\n                Enter HORATIO and BEL-IMPERIA.\n\n  HOR.  Now, madame, since by favour of your love\n    Our hidden smoke is turn'd to open flame,\n    And that with looks and words we feed our thought,--\n    Two chief contents where more cannot be had,--\n    Thus in the midst of love's fair blandishments\n    Why show you sign of inward languishments?\n\n                PEDRINGANO showeth all to the PRINCE and\n                LORENZO, placing them in secret.\n\n  BEL.  My heart, sweet friend, is like a ship at sea:\n    She wisheth port, where, riding all at ease,\n    She may repair what stormy times have worn,\n    And, leaning on the shore, may sing with joy\n    That pleasure follows pain, and bliss annoy.\n    Possession of thy love is th' only port\n "}
{"answer":"nowhere very great. But\nwhat I judge most likely is that she's on the spot from which, the other\nday, we saw together what I told you.\"\n\n\"When she pretended not to see--?\"\n\n\"With that astounding self-possession? I've always been sure she wanted\nto go back alone. And now her brother has managed it for her.\"\n\nMrs. Grose still stood where she had stopped. \"You suppose they really\nTALK of them?\"\n\n\"I could meet this with a confidence! They say things that, if we heard\nthem, would simply appall us.\"\n\n\"And if she IS there--\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"Then Miss Jessel is?\"\n\n\"Beyond a doubt. You shall see.\"\n\n\"Oh, thank you!\" my friend cried, planted so firm that, taking it in, I\nwent straight on without her. By the time I reached the pool, however,\nshe was close behind me, and I knew that, whatever, to her apprehension,\nmight befall me, the exposure of my society struck her as her least\ndanger. She exhaled a moan of relief as we at last came in sight of the\ngreater part of the water without a sight of the child. There was no\ntrace of Flora on that nearer side of the bank where my observation of\nher had been most startling, and none on the opposite edge, where, save\nfor a margin of some twenty yards, a thick copse came down to the water.\nThe pond, oblong in shape, had a width so scant compared to its length\nthat, with its ends out of view, it might have been taken for a scant\nriver. We looked at the empty expanse, and then I felt the suggestion\nof my friend's","question":"We went straight to the lake, as it was called at Bly, and I daresay\nrightly called, though I reflect that it may in fact have been a sheet\nof water less remarkable than it appeared to my untraveled eyes. My\nacquaintance with sheets of water was small, and the pool of Bly, at all\nevents on the few occasions of my consenting, under the protection of\nmy pupils, to affront its surface in the old flat-bottomed boat moored\nthere for our use, had impressed me both with its extent and its\nagitation. The usual place of embarkation was half a mile from the\nhouse, but I had an intimate conviction that, wherever Flora might\nbe, she was not near home. She had not given me the slip for any small\nadventure, and, since the day of the very great one that I had shared\nwith her by the pond, I had been aware, in our walks, of the quarter to\nwhich she most inclined. This was why I had now given to Mrs. Grose's\nsteps so marked a direction--a direction that made her, when she\nperceived it, oppose a resistance that showed me she was freshly\nmystified. \"You're going to the water, Miss?--you think she's IN--?\"\n\n\"She may be, though the depth is, I believe,"}
{"answer":"what noise the general makes! To him!\n    There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius,\n    Piercing our Romans; then, valiant Titus, take\n    Convenient numbers to make good the city;\n    Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste\n    To help Cominius.\n  LARTIUS. Worthy sir, thou bleed'st;\n    Thy exercise hath been too violent\n    For a second course of fight.\n  MARCIUS. Sir, praise me not;\n    My work hath yet not warm'd me. Fare you well;\n    The blood I drop is rather physical\n    Than dangerous to me. To Aufidius thus\n    I will appear, and fight.\n  LARTIUS. Now the fair goddess, Fortune,\n    Fall deep in love with thee, and her great charms\n    Misguide thy opposers' swords! Bold gentleman,\n    Prosperity be thy page!\n  MARCIUS. Thy friend no less\n    Than those she placeth highest! So farewell.\n  LARTIUS. Thou worthiest Marcius!                  Exit MARCIUS\n    Go sound thy trumpet in the market-place;\n    Call thither all the officers o' th' town,\n    Where they shall know our mind. Away!              ","question":"SCENE V.\nWithin Corioli. A street\n\nEnter certain Romans, with spoils\n\n  FIRST ROMAN. This will I carry to Rome.\n  SECOND ROMAN. And I this.\n  THIRD ROMAN. A murrain on 't! I took this for silver.\n                               [Alarum continues still afar off]\n\n          Enter MARCIUS and TITUS LARTIUS With a trumpeter\n\n  MARCIUS. See here these movers that do prize their hours\n    At a crack'd drachma! Cushions, leaden spoons,\n    Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would\n    Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves,\n    Ere yet the fight be done, pack up. Down with them!\n                                                Exeunt pillagers\n    And hark,"}
{"answer":"well as the imagination, Fouquet\ndid in real truth offer to his sovereign in that enchanting retreat of\nwhich no monarch could at that time boast of possessing an equal. We do\nnot intend to describe the grand banquet, at which the royal guests\nwere present, nor the concerts, nor the fairy-like and more than magic\ntransformations and metamorphoses; it will be enough for our purpose\nto depict the countenance the king assumed, which, from being gay, soon\nwore a very gloomy, constrained, and irritated expression. He remembered\nhis own residence, royal though it was, and the mean and indifferent\nstyle of luxury that prevailed there, which comprised but little more\nthan what was merely useful for the royal wants, without being his own\npersonal property. The large vases of the Louvre, the older furniture\nand plate of Henry II., of Francis I., and of Louis XI., were but\nhistoric monuments of earlier days; nothing but specimens of art, the\nrelics of his predecessors; while with Fouquet, the value of the article\nwas as much in the workmanship as in the article itself. Fouquet ate\nfrom a gold service, which artists in his own employ had modeled and\ncast for him alone. Fouquet drank wines of which the king of France did\nnot even know the name, and drank them out of goblets each more valuable\nthan the entire royal cellar.\n\nWhat, too, was to be said of the apartments, the hangings, the pictures,\nthe servants and officers, of every description, of his household? What\nof the mode of service in which etiquette was replaced by order;\nstiff formality by personal, unrestrained comfort;","question":"Chapter XIII. Nectar and Ambrosia.\n\n\nM. Fouquet held the stirrup of the king, who, having dismounted, bowed\nmost graciously, and more graciously still held out his hand to him,\nwhich Fouquet, in spite of a slight resistance on the king's part,\ncarried respectfully to his lips. The king wished to wait in the first\ncourtyard for the arrival of the carriages, nor had he long to wait, for\nthe roads had been put into excellent order by the superintendent, and\na stone would hardly have been found of the size of an egg the whole way\nfrom Melun to Vaux; so that the carriages, rolling along as though on a\ncarpet, brought the ladies to Vaux, without jolting or fatigue, by eight\no'clock. They were received by Madame Fouquet, and at the moment they\nmade their appearance, a light as bright as day burst forth from every\nquarter, trees, vases, and marble statues. This species of enchantment\nlasted until their majesties had retired into the palace. All these\nwonders and magical effects which the chronicler has heaped up, or\nrather embalmed, in his recital, at the risk of rivaling the brain-born\nscenes of romancers; these splendors whereby night seemed vanquished and\nnature corrected, together with every delight and luxury combined for\nthe satisfaction of all the senses, as"}
{"answer":"I heare of none but the new Proclamation,\n    That's clapt vpon the Court Gate\n\n    L.Cham. What is't for?\n    Lou. The reformation of our trauel'd Gallants,\n    That fill the Court with quarrels, talke, and Taylors\n\n    L.Cham. I'm glad 'tis there;\n    Now I would pray our Monsieurs\n    To thinke an English Courtier may be wise,\n    And neuer see the Louure\n\n    Lou. They must either\n    (For so run the Conditions) leaue those remnants\n    Of Foole and Feather, that they got in France,\n    With all their honourable points of ignorance\n    Pertaining thereunto; as Fights and Fire-workes,\n    Abusing better men then they can be\n    Out of a forreigne wisedome, renouncing cleane\n    The faith they haue in Tennis and tall Stockings,\n    Short blistred Breeches, and those types of Trauell;\nAnd vnderstand againe like honest men,\n    Or pack to their old Playfellowes; there, I take it,\n    They may Cum Priuilegio, wee away\n    The lag end of their lewdnesse, and be laugh'd at\n\n    L.San. Tis time to giue 'em Physicke, their diseases\n    Are growne so catching\n\n    L.Cham. What a losse our Ladies\n    Will haue of these trim","question":"L.Ch. Is't possible the spels of France should iuggle\nMen into such strange mysteries?\nL.San. New customes,\n    Though they be neuer so ridiculous,\n    (Nay let 'em be vnmanly) yet are follow'd\n\n    L.Ch. As farre as I see, all the good our English\n    Haue got by the late Voyage, is but meerely\n    A fit or two o'th' face, (but they are shrewd ones)\n    For when they hold 'em, you would sweare directly\n    Their very noses had been Councellours\n    To Pepin or Clotharius, they keepe State so\n\n    L.San. They haue all new legs,\n    And lame ones; one would take it,\n    That neuer see 'em pace before, the Spauen\n    A Spring-halt rain'd among 'em\n\n    L.Ch. Death my Lord,\n    Their cloathes are after such a Pagan cut too't,\n    That sure th'haue worne out Christendome: how now?\n    What newes, Sir Thomas Louell?\n    Enter Sir Thomas Louell.\n\n    Louell. Faith my Lord,\n   "}
{"answer":"Lear. Prythee go in thy selfe, seeke thine owne ease,\nThis tempest will not giue me leaue to ponder\nOn things would hurt me more, but Ile goe in,\nIn Boy, go first. You houselesse pouertie,\nEnter.\n\nNay get thee in; Ile pray, and then Ile sleepe.\nPoore naked wretches, where so ere you are\nThat bide the pelting of this pittilesse storme,\nHow shall your House-lesse heads, and vnfed sides,\nYour lop'd, and window'd raggednesse defend you\nFrom seasons such as these? O I haue tane\nToo little care of this: Take Physicke, Pompe,\nExpose thy selfe to feele what wretches feele,\nThat thou maist shake the superflux to them,\nAnd shew the Heauens more iust.\nEnter Edgar, and Foole.\n\n  Edg. Fathom, and halfe, Fathom and halfe; poore Tom\n\n   Foole. Come not in heere Nuncle, here's a spirit, helpe\nme, helpe me\n\n   Kent. Giue my thy hand, who's there?\n  Foole. A spirite, a spirite, he sayes his name's poore\nTom\n\n   Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there i'th'\nstraw? Come forth\n\n   Edg. Away, the foule Fiend followes me, through the\nsharpe Hauthorne blow the windes. Humh, goe to thy\nbed and warme thee\n\n   Lear. Did'st thou giue all to thy Daughters? And art\nthou come to this?\n  Edgar. Who giues any thing to poore Tom? Whom\nthe foule fiend hath led through Fire, and through Flame,\nthrough Sword, and Whirle-Poole, o're Bog, and Quagmire,\nthat hath laid Kniues vnder his Pillow, and Halters\nin his Pue, set Rats-bane by his Porredge, made him\nProud of heart, to ride on a Bay","question":"Scena Quarta.\n\n\nEnter Lear, Kent, and Foole.\n\n  Kent. Here is the place my Lord, good my Lord enter,\nThe tirrany of the open night's too rough\nFor Nature to endure.\n\nStorme still\n\n  Lear. Let me alone\n\n   Kent. Good my Lord enter heere\n\n   Lear. Wilt breake my heart?\n  Kent. I had rather breake mine owne,\nGood my Lord enter\n\n   Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storme\nInuades vs to the skin so: 'tis to thee,\nBut where the greater malady is fixt,\nThe lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a Beare,\nBut if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea,\nThou'dst meete the Beare i'th' mouth, when the mind's free,\nThe bodies delicate: the tempest in my mind,\nDoth from my sences take all feeling else,\nSaue what beates there, Filliall ingratitude,\nIs it not as this mouth should teare this hand\nFor lifting food too't? But I will punish home;\nNo, I will weepe no more; in such a night,\nTo shut me out? Poure on, I will endure:\nIn such a night as this? O Regan, Gonerill,\nYour old kind Father, whose franke heart gaue all,\nO that way madnesse lies, let me shun that:\nNo more of that\n\n   Kent. Good my Lord enter here\n\n  "}
{"answer":". .\n\nTHE CADET:\n  Gascon cannons never recoil!\n\nDE GUICHE (taking him by the arm and shaking him):\n  You are tipsy!--but what with?\n\nTHE CADET (grandiloquently):\n  --With the smell of powder!\n\nDE GUICHE (shrugging his shoulders and pushing him away, then going quickly to\nRoxane):\n  Briefly, Madame, what decision do you deign to take?\n\nROXANE:\n  I stay here.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  You must fly!\n\nROXANE:\n  No! I will stay.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Since things are thus, give me a musket, one of you!\n\nCARBON:\n  Wherefore?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  Because I too--mean to remain.\n\nCYRANO:\n  At last!  This is true valor, Sir!\n\nFIRST CADET:\n  Then you are Gascon after all, spite of your lace collar?\n\nROXANE:\n  What is all this?\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  I leave no woman in peril.\n\nSECOND CADET (to the first):\n  Hark you!  Think you not we might give him something to eat?\n\n(All the viands reappear as if by magic.)\n\nDE GUICHE (whose eyes sparkle):\n  Victuals!\n\nTHE THIRD CADET:\n  Yes, you'll see them coming from under every coat!\n\nDE GUICHE (controlling himself, haughtily):\n  Do you think I will eat your leavings?\n\nCYRANO (saluting him):\n  You make progress.\n\nDE GUICHE (proudly, with a light touch of accent on the word 'breaking'):\n  I will fight without br-r-eaking my fast!\n\nFIRST CADET (with wild delight):\n  Br-r-r-eaking!  He has got the accent!\n\nDE GUICHE (laughing):\n  I?\n\nTHE CADET:\n  'Tis a Gascon!\n\n(All begin to dance.)\n\nCARBON DE CASTEL-JALOUX (who had disappeared behind the rampart, reappearing\non the ridge):\n  I have drawn my pikemen up in line.","question":"The same.  De Guiche.\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  It smells good here.\n\nA CADET (humming):\n  Lo!  Lo-lo!\n\nDE GUICHE (looking at him):\n  What is the matter?--You are very red.\n\nTHE CADET:\n  The matter?--Nothing!--'Tis my blood--boiling at the thought of the coming\nbattle!\n\nANOTHER:\n  Poum, poum--poum. . .\n\nDE GUICHE (turning round):\n  What's that?\n\nTHE CADET (slightly drunk):\n  Nothing!. . .'Tis a song!--a little. . .\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  You are merry, my friend!\n\nTHE CADET:\n  The approach of danger is intoxicating!\n\nDE GUICHE (calling Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, to give him an order):\n  Captain!  I. . .\n(He stops short on seeing him):\n  Plague take me! but you look bravely, too!\n\nCARBON (crimson in the face, hiding a bottle behind his back, with an evasive\nmovement):\n  Oh!. . .\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  I have one cannon left, and have had it carried there--\n(he points behind the scenes):\n  --in that corner. . .Your men can use it in case of need.\n\nA CADET (reeling slightly):\n  Charming attention!\n\nANOTHER (with a gracious smile):\n  Kind solicitude!\n\nDE GUICHE:\n  How? they are all gone crazy?\n(Drily):\n As you are not used to cannon, beware of the recoil.\n\nFIRST CADET:\n  Pooh!\n\nDE GUICHE (furious, going up to him):\n  But."}
{"answer":"   *       *       *\n\n  \"Suddeinly an innumerable flight\n  Of harmefull fowles about them fluttering cride,\n  And with their wicked wings them oft did smight\n  And sore annoyed, groping in that griesly night.\"\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"Even all the nation of unfortunate\n  And fatal birds about them flocked were.\"\n\n\nTo go up into a high stone tower is not only a very fine thing in\nitself, but the very best mode of gaining a comprehensive view of the\nregion round about. It is all the better if this tower stand solitary\nand alone, like that mysterious Newport one, or else be sole survivor\nof some perished castle.\n\nNow, with reference to the Enchanted Isles, we are fortunately supplied\nwith just such a noble point of observation in a remarkable rock, from\nits peculiar figure called of old by the Spaniards, Rock Rodondo, or\nRound Rock. Some two hundred and fifty feet high, rising straight from\nthe sea ten miles from land, with the whole mountainous group to the\nsouth and east. Rock Rodondo occupies, on a large scale, very much the\nposition which the famous Campanile or detached Bell Tower of St. Mark\ndoes with respect to the tangled group of hoary edifices around it.\n\nEre ascending, however, to gaze abroad","question":"SKETCH THIRD. ROCK RODONDO.\n\n  \"For they this tight the Rock of vile Reproach,\n  A dangerous and dreadful place,\n  To which nor fish nor fowl did once approach,\n  But yelling meaws with sea-gulls hoars and bace\n  And cormoyrants with birds of ravenous race,\n  Which still sit waiting on that dreadful clift.\"\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"With that the rolling sea resounding soft\n  In his big base them fitly answered,\n  And on the Rock, the waves breaking aloft,\n  A solemn ineane unto them measured.\"\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"Then he the boteman bad row easily,\n  And let him heare some part of that rare melody.\"\n\n         *       *   "}
{"answer":"you all.\n    But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth?\n\n     Enter a GOTH, leading AARON with his CHILD in his arms\n\n  SECOND GOTH. Renowned Lucius, from our troops I stray'd\n    To gaze upon a ruinous monastery;\n    And as I earnestly did fix mine eye\n    Upon the wasted building, suddenly\n    I heard a child cry underneath a wall.\n    I made unto the noise, when soon I heard\n    The crying babe controll'd with this discourse:\n    'Peace, tawny slave, half me and half thy dam!\n    Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art,\n    Had nature lent thee but thy mother's look,\n    Villain, thou mightst have been an emperor;\n    But where the bull and cow are both milk-white,\n    They never do beget a coal-black calf.\n    Peace, villain, peace!'- even thus he rates the babe-\n    'For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth,\n    Who, when he knows thou art the Empress' babe,\n    Will hold thee dearly for thy mother's sake.'\n    With this, my weapon drawn, I rush'd upon him,\n    Surpris'd him suddenly, and brought him hither\n    To use as you think needful of the man.\n  LUCIUS.","question":"ACT V. SCENE I.\nPlains near Rome\n\nEnter LUCIUS with an army of GOTHS with drums and colours\n\n  LUCIUS. Approved warriors and my faithful friends,\n    I have received letters from great Rome\n    Which signifies what hate they bear their Emperor\n    And how desirous of our sight they are.\n    Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness,\n    Imperious and impatient of your wrongs;\n    And wherein Rome hath done you any scath,\n    Let him make treble satisfaction.\n  FIRST GOTH. Brave slip, sprung from the great Andronicus,\n    Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort,\n    Whose high exploits and honourable deeds\n    Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt,\n    Be bold in us: we'll follow where thou lead'st,\n    Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day,\n    Led by their master to the flow'red fields,\n    And be aveng'd on cursed Tamora.\n  ALL THE GOTHS. And as he saith, so say we all with him.\n  LUCIUS. I humbly thank him, and I thank"}
{"answer":"neuer borrow any Teare of thee.\nEnter a Gardiner, and two Seruants.\n\nBut stay, here comes the Gardiners,\nLet's step into the shadow of these Trees.\nMy wretchednesse, vnto a Rowe of Pinnes,\nThey'le talke of State: for euery one doth so,\nAgainst a Change; Woe is fore-runne with Woe\n\n   Gard. Goe binde thou vp yond dangling Apricocks,\nWhich like vnruly Children, make their Syre\nStoupe with oppression of their prodigall weight:\nGiue some supportance to the bending twigges.\nGoe thou, and like an Executioner\nCut off the heads of too fast growing sprayes,\nThat looke too loftie in our Common-wealth:\nAll must be euen, in our Gouernment.\nYou thus imploy'd, I will goe root away\nThe noysome Weedes, that without profit sucke\nThe Soyles fertilitie from wholesome flowers\n\n   Ser. Why should we, in the compasse of a Pale,\nKeepe Law and Forme, and due Proportion,\nShewing as in a Modell our firme Estate?\nWhen our Sea-walled Garden, the whole Land,\nIs full of Weedes, her fairest Flowers choakt vp,\nHer Fruit-trees all vnpruin'd, her Hedges ruin'd,\nHer Knots disorder'd, and her wholesome Hearbes\nSwarming with Caterpillers\n\n   Gard. Hold thy peace.\nHe that hath suffer'd this disorder'd Spring,\nHath now himselfe met with the Fall of Leafe.\nThe Weeds that his broad-spreading Leaues did shelter,\nThat seem'd, in eating him, to hold him vp,\nAre pull'd vp, Root and all, by Bullingbrooke:\nI meane, the Earle of Wiltshire, Bushie, Greene\n\n   Ser. What are they dead?\n  Gard. They are,\nAnd Bullingbrooke hath seiz'd the wastefull King.\nOh, what pitty is it, that he had not so trim'd\nAnd drest his Land, as we this","question":"Scena Quarta.\n\nEnter the Queene, and two Ladies\n\n   Qu. What sport shall we deuise here in this Garden,\nTo driue away the heauie thought of Care?\n  La. Madame, wee'le play at Bowles\n\n   Qu. 'Twill make me thinke the World is full of Rubs,\nAnd that my fortune runnes against the Byas\n\n   La. Madame, wee'le Dance\n\n   Qu. My Legges can keepe no measure in Delight,\nWhen my poore Heart no measure keepes in Griefe.\nTherefore no Dancing (Girle) some other sport\n\n   La. Madame, wee'le tell Tales\n\n   Qu. Of Sorrow, or of Griefe?\n  La. Of eyther, Madame\n\n   Qu. Of neyther, Girle.\nFor if of Ioy, being altogether wanting,\nIt doth remember me the more of Sorrow:\nOr if of Griefe, being altogether had,\nIt addes more Sorrow to my want of Ioy:\nFor what I haue, I need not to repeat;\nAnd what I want, it bootes not to complaine\n\n   La. Madame, Ile sing\n\n   Qu. 'Tis well that thou hast cause:\nBut thou should'st please me better, would'st thou weepe\n\n   La. I could weepe, Madame, would it doe you good\n\n   Qu. And I could sing, would weeping doe me good,\nAnd"}
{"answer":"do a curt'sie to our wrath, which men\nMay blame, but not comptroll.\nEnter Gloucester, and Seruants.\n\nWho's there? the Traitor?\n  Reg. Ingratefull Fox, 'tis he\n\n   Corn. Binde fast his corky armes\n\n   Glou. What meanes your Graces?\nGood my Friends consider you are my Ghests:\nDo me no foule play, Friends\n\n   Corn. Binde him I say\n\n   Reg. Hard, hard: O filthy Traitor\n\n   Glou. Vnmercifull Lady, as you are, I'me none\n\n   Corn. To this Chaire binde him,\nVillaine, thou shalt finde\n\n   Glou. By the kinde Gods, 'tis most ignobly done\nTo plucke me by the Beard\n\n   Reg. So white, and such a Traitor?\n  Glou. Naughty Ladie,\nThese haires which thou dost rauish from my chin\nWill quicken and accuse thee. I am your Host,\nWith Robbers hands, my hospitable fauours\nYou should not ruffle thus. What will you do?\n  Corn. Come Sir.\nWhat Letters had you late from France?\n  Reg. Be simple answer'd, for we know the truth\n\n   Corn. And what confederacie haue you with the Traitors,\nlate footed in the Kingdome?\n  Reg. To whose hands\nYou haue sent the Lunaticke King: Speake\n\n   Glou. I haue a Letter guessingly set downe\nWhich came from one that's of a newtrall heart,\nAnd not from one oppos'd\n\n   Corn. Cunning\n\n   Reg. And false\n\n   Corn. Where hast thou sent the King?\n  Glou. To Douer\n\n   Reg. Wherefore to Douer?\nWas't thou not charg'd at perill\n\n   Corn. Wherefore","question":"Scena Septima.\n\n\nEnter Cornwall, Regan, Gonerill, Bastard, and Seruants.\n\n  Corn. Poste speedily to my Lord your husband, shew\nhim this Letter, the Army of France is landed: seeke out\nthe Traitor Glouster\n\n   Reg. Hang him instantly\n\n   Gon. Plucke out his eyes\n\n   Corn. Leaue him to my displeasure. Edmond, keepe\nyou our Sister company: the reuenges wee are bound to\ntake vppon your Traitorous Father, are not fit for your\nbeholding. Aduice the Duke where you are going, to a\nmost festinate preparation: we are bound to the like. Our\nPostes shall be swift, and intelligent betwixt vs. Farewell\ndeere Sister, farewell my Lord of Glouster.\nEnter Steward.\n\nHow now? Where's the King?\n  Stew. My Lord of Glouster hath conuey'd him hence\nSome fiue or six and thirty of his Knights\nHot Questrists after him, met him at gate,\nWho, with some other of the Lords, dependants,\nAre gone with him toward Douer; where they boast\nTo haue well armed Friends\n\n   Corn. Get horses for your Mistris\n\n   Gon. Farewell sweet Lord, and Sister.\n\nExit\n\n  Corn. Edmund farewell: go seek the Traitor Gloster,\nPinnion him like a Theefe, bring him before vs:\nThough well we may not passe vpon his life\nWithout the forme of Iustice: yet our power\nShall"}
{"answer":"where the stable was, came a large\ndilapidated room with a stove, now used as a wood-house, cellar, and\npantry, full of old rubbish, of empty casks, agricultural implements\npast service, and a mass of dusty things whose use it was impossible to\nguess.\n\nThe garden, longer than wide, ran between two mud walls with espaliered\napricots, to a hawthorn hedge that separated it from the field. In the\nmiddle was a slate sundial on a brick pedestal; four flower beds with\neglantines surrounded symmetrically the more useful kitchen garden bed.\nRight at the bottom, under the spruce bushes, was a cure in plaster\nreading his breviary.\n\nEmma went upstairs. The first room was not furnished, but in the second,\nwhich was their bedroom, was a mahogany bedstead in an alcove with red\ndrapery. A shell box adorned the chest of drawers, and on the secretary\nnear the window a bouquet of orange blossoms tied with white satin\nribbons stood in a bottle. It was a bride's bouquet; it was the other\none's. She looked at it. Charles noticed it; he took it and carried it\nup to the attic, while Emma seated in an arm-chair (they were putting\nher things down around her) thought of her bridal flowers packed up in\na bandbox, and wondered, dreaming, what would be done with them if she\nwere to die.\n\nDuring the first days she occupied herself in thinking about changes in\nthe house. She took the shades off the candlesticks, had new wallpaper\nput up, the staircase repainted, and seats made in the garden round the\nsundial; she even inquired how she could get a","question":"\nThe brick front was just in a line with the street, or rather the road.\nBehind the door hung a cloak with a small collar, a bridle, and a black\nleather cap, and on the floor, in a corner, were a pair of leggings,\nstill covered with dry mud. On the right was the one apartment, that was\nboth dining and sitting room. A canary yellow paper, relieved at the\ntop by a garland of pale flowers, was puckered everywhere over the badly\nstretched canvas; white calico curtains with a red border hung crossways\nat the length of the window; and on the narrow mantelpiece a clock with\na head of Hippocrates shone resplendent between two plate candlesticks\nunder oval shades. On the other side of the passage was Charles's\nconsulting room, a little room about six paces wide, with a table,\nthree chairs, and an office chair. Volumes of the \"Dictionary of Medical\nScience,\" uncut, but the binding rather the worse for the successive\nsales through which they had gone, occupied almost along the six shelves\nof a deal bookcase.\n\nThe smell of melted butter penetrated through the walls when he saw\npatients, just as in the kitchen one could hear the people coughing in\nthe consulting room and recounting their histories.\n\nThen, opening on the yard,"}
{"answer":"I\nsupposed he would call before he left, to say something to my grandmother\nconcerning the children, and I resolved what course to take.\n\nThe day before his departure for Washington I made arrangements, toward\nevening, to get from my hiding-place into the storeroom below. I found\nmyself so stiff and clumsy that it was with great difficulty I could hitch\nfrom one resting place to another. When I reached the storeroom my ankles\ngave way under me, and I sank exhausted on the floor. It seemed as if I\ncould never use my limbs again. But the purpose I had in view roused all\nthe strength I had. I crawled on my hands and knees to the window, and,\nscreened behind a barrel, I waited for his coming. The clock struck nine,\nand I knew the steamboat would leave between ten and eleven. My hopes were\nfailing. But presently I heard his voice, saying to some one, \"Wait for me\na moment. I wish to see aunt Martha.\" When he came out, as he passed the\nwindow, I said, \"Stop one moment, and let me speak for my children.\" He\nstarted, hesitated, and then passed on, and went out of the gate. I closed\nthe shutter I had partially opened, and sank down behind the barrel. I had\nsuffered much; but seldom had I experienced a keener pang than I then felt.\nHad my children, then, become of so little consequence to him? And had he\nso little feeling for their wretched mother that he would not listen a\nmoment while she pleaded for them? Painful memories were so","question":"\n\nThe summer had nearly ended, when Dr. Flint made a third visit to New York,\nin search of me. Two candidates were running for Congress, and he returned\nin season to vote. The father of my children was the Whig candidate. The\ndoctor had hitherto been a stanch Whig; but now he exerted all his energies\nfor the defeat of Mr. Sands. He invited large parties of men to dine in the\nshade of his trees, and supplied them with plenty of rum and brandy. If any\npoor fellow drowned his wits in the bowl, and, in the openness of his\nconvivial heart, proclaimed that he did not mean to vote the Democratic\nticket, he was shoved into the street without ceremony.\n\nThe doctor expended his liquor in vain. Mr. Sands was elected; an event\nwhich occasioned me some anxious thoughts. He had not emancipated my\nchildren, and if he should die they would be at the mercy of his heirs. Two\nlittle voices, that frequently met my ear, seemed to plead with me not to\nlet their father depart without striving to make their freedom secure.\nYears had passed since I had spoken to him. I had not even seen him since\nthe night I passed him, unrecognized, in my disguise of a sailor."}
{"answer":"fool.\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Bah!  One finds battle-cry to lead th' assault!\n  I have a certain military wit,\n  But, before women, can but hold my tongue.\n  Their eyes!  True, when I pass, their eyes are kind. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  And, when you stay, their hearts, methinks, are kinder?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  No! for I am one of those men--tongue-tied,\n  I know it--who can never tell their love.\n\nCYRANO:\n  And I, meseems, had Nature been more kind,\n  More careful, when she fashioned me,--had been\n  One of those men who well could speak their love!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Oh, to express one's thoughts with facile grace!. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  . . .To be a musketeer, with handsome face!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Roxane is precieuse.  I'm sure to prove\n  A disappointment to her!\n\nCYRANO (looking at him):\n  Had I but\n  Such an interpreter to speak my soul!\n\nCHRISTIAN (with despair):\n  Eloquence!  Where to find it?\n\nCYRANO (abruptly):\n  That I lend,\n  If you lend me your handsome victor-charms;\n  Blended, we make a hero of romance!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  How so?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Think you you can repeat what things\n  I daily teach your tongue?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  What do you mean?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Roxane shall never have a disillusion!\n  Say, wilt thou that we woo her, double-handed?\n  Wilt thou that we two woo her, both together?\n  Feel'st thou, passing from my leather doublet,\n  Through thy laced doublet, all my soul inspiring?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  But, Cyrano!. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Will you,","question":"Cyrano, Christian.\n\nCYRANO:\n  Embrace me now!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Sir. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  You are brave.\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Oh! but. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Nay, I insist.\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Pray tell me. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  Come, embrace!  I am her brother.\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Whose brother?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Hers i' faith!  Roxane's!\n\nCHRISTIAN (rushing up to him):\n  O heavens!\n  Her brother. . .?\n\nCYRANO:\n  Cousin--brother!. . .the same thing!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  And she has told you. . .?\n\nCYRANO:\n  All!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  She loves me? say!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Maybe!\n\nCHRISTIAN (taking his hands):\n  How glad I am to meet you, Sir!\n\nCYRANO:\n  That may be called a sudden sentiment!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  I ask your pardon. . .\n\nCYRANO (looking at him, with his hand on his shoulder):\n  True, he's fair, the villain!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Ah, Sir!  If you but knew my admiration!. . .\n\nCYRANO:\n  But all those noses?. . .\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Oh!  I take them back!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Roxane expects a letter.\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  Woe the day!\n\nCYRANO:\n  How?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  I am lost if I but ope my lips!\n\nCYRANO:\n  Why so?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n  I am a fool--could die for shame!\n\nCYRANO:\n  None is a fool who knows himself a fool.\n  And you did not attack me like a"}
{"answer":"Six\nshillings and ninepence halfpenny on the very first day!  The kinchin\nlay will be a fortune to you.'\n\n'Don't you forget to add three pint-pots and a milk-can,' said Mr.\nBolter.\n\n'No, no, my dear.  The pint-pots were great strokes of genius: but the\nmilk-can was a perfect masterpiece.'\n\n'Pretty well, I think, for a beginner,' remarked Mr. Bolter\ncomplacently.  'The pots I took off airy railings, and the milk-can was\nstanding by itself outside a public-house.  I thought it might get\nrusty with the rain, or catch cold, yer know.  Eh?  Ha! ha! ha!'\n\nFagin affected to laugh very heartily; and Mr. Bolter having had his\nlaugh out, took a series of large bites, which finished his first hunk\nof bread and butter, and assisted himself to a second.\n\n'I want you, Bolter,' said Fagin, leaning over the table, 'to do a\npiece of work for me, my dear, that needs great care and caution.'\n\n'I say,' rejoined Bolter, 'don't yer go shoving me into danger, or\nsending me any more o' yer police-offices. That don't suit me, that\ndon't; and so I tell yer.'\n\n'That's not the smallest danger in it--not the very smallest,' said the\nJew; 'it's only to dodge a woman.'\n\n'An old woman?' demanded Mr. Bolter.\n\n'A young one,' replied Fagin.\n\n'I can do that pretty well, I know,' said Bolter.  'I was a regular\ncunning sneak when I was at school.  What am I to dodge her for?  Not\nto--'\n\n'Not to do anything, but to tell me where she goes, who she sees, and,\nif possible, what she says; to","question":"The old man was up, betimes, next morning, and waited impatiently for\nthe appearance of his new associate, who after a delay that seemed\ninterminable, at length presented himself, and commenced a voracious\nassault on the breakfast.\n\n'Bolter,' said Fagin, drawing up a chair and seating himself opposite\nMorris Bolter.\n\n'Well, here I am,' returned Noah.  'What's the matter?  Don't yer ask\nme to do anything till I have done eating. That's a great fault in this\nplace.  Yer never get time enough over yer meals.'\n\n'You can talk as you eat, can't you?' said Fagin, cursing his dear\nyoung friend's greediness from the very bottom of his heart.\n\n'Oh yes, I can talk.  I get on better when I talk,' said Noah, cutting\na monstrous slice of bread.  'Where's Charlotte?'\n\n'Out,' said Fagin.  'I sent her out this morning with the other young\nwoman, because I wanted us to be alone.'\n\n'Oh!' said Noah.  'I wish yer'd ordered her to make some buttered toast\nfirst.  Well.  Talk away.  Yer won't interrupt me.'\n\nThere seemed, indeed, no great fear of anything interrupting him, as he\nhad evidently sat down with a determination to do a great deal of\nbusiness.\n\n'You did well yesterday, my dear,' said Fagin.  'Beautiful! "}
{"answer":"go forth from the ragged people: \"Where's our soup?\"\n\nJimmie and a companion sat in a rear seat and commented upon the things\nthat didn't concern them, with all the freedom of English gentlemen.\nWhen they grew thirsty and went out their minds confused the speaker\nwith Christ.\n\nMomentarily, Jimmie was sullen with thoughts of a hopeless altitude\nwhere grew fruit.  His companion said that if he should ever meet God\nhe would ask for a million dollars and a bottle of beer.\n\nJimmie's occupation for a long time was to stand on streetcorners and\nwatch the world go by, dreaming blood-red dreams at the passing of\npretty women.  He menaced mankind at the intersections of streets.\n\nOn the corners he was in life and of life.  The world was going on and\nhe was there to perceive it.\n\nHe maintained a belligerent attitude toward all well-dressed men.  To\nhim fine raiment was allied to weakness, and all good coats covered\nfaint hearts.  He and his order were kings, to a certain extent, over\nthe men of untarnished clothes, because these latter dreaded, perhaps,\nto be either killed or laughed at.\n\nAbove all things he despised obvious Christians and ciphers with the\nchrysanthemums of aristocracy in their button-holes.  He considered\nhimself above both of these classes.  He was afraid of neither the\ndevil nor the leader of society.\n\nWhen he had a dollar in his pocket his satisfaction with existence was\nthe greatest thing in the world.  So, eventually, he felt obliged to\nwork.  His father died and his mother's years were divided up into\nperiods","question":"\nThe babe, Tommie, died.  He went away in a white, insignificant coffin,\nhis small waxen hand clutching a flower that the girl, Maggie, had\nstolen from an Italian.\n\nShe and Jimmie lived.\n\nThe inexperienced fibres of the boy's eyes were hardened at an early\nage.  He became a young man of leather.  He lived some red years\nwithout laboring.  During that time his sneer became chronic.  He\nstudied human nature in the gutter, and found it no worse than he\nthought he had reason to believe it.  He never conceived a respect for\nthe world, because he had begun with no idols that it had smashed.\n\nHe clad his soul in armor by means of happening hilariously in at a\nmission church where a man composed his sermons of \"yous.\" While they\ngot warm at the stove, he told his hearers just where he calculated\nthey stood with the Lord.  Many of the sinners were impatient over the\npictured depths of their degradation.  They were waiting for\nsoup-tickets.\n\nA reader of words of wind-demons might have been able to see the\nportions of a dialogue pass to and fro between the exhorter and his\nhearers.\n\n\"You are damned,\" said the preacher.  And the reader of sounds might\nhave seen the reply"}
{"answer":"End was the\nobjective, and, though he disliked the house, was determined to defend\nit.\n\nTibby, on the other hand, had no opinions. He stood above the\nconventions: his sister had a right to do what she thought right. It is\nnot difficult to stand above the conventions when we leave no hostages\namong them; men can always be more unconventional than women, and a\nbachelor of independent means need encounter no difficulties at all.\nUnlike Charles, Tibby had money enough; his ancestors had earned it for\nhim, and if he shocked the people in one set of lodgings he had only to\nmove into another. His was the leisure without sympathy--an attitude as\nfatal as the strenuous; a little cold culture may be raised on it, but\nno art. His sisters had seen the family danger, and had never forgotten\nto discount the gold islets that raised them from the sea. Tibby gave\nall the praise to himself, and so despised the struggling and the\nsubmerged.\n\nHence the absurdity of the interview; the gulf between them was economic\nas well as spiritual. But several facts passed; Charles pressed for them\nwith an impertinence that the undergraduate could not withstand. On what\ndate had Helen gone abroad? To whom? (Charles was anxious to fasten the\nscandal on Germany.) Then, changing his tactics, he said roughly: \"I\nsuppose you realise that you are your sister's protector?\"\n\n\"In what sense?\"\n\n\"If a man played about with my sister, I'd send a bullet through him,\nbut perhaps you don't mind.\"\n\n\"I mind very much,\" protested Tibby.\n\n\"Who d'ye suspect, then? Speak out man. One always suspects some one.\"\n\n\"No one.","question":"\nCharles and Tibby met at Ducie Street, where the latter was staying.\nTheir interview was short and absurd. They had nothing in common but the\nEnglish language, and tried by its help to express what neither of them\nunderstood. Charles saw in Helen the family foe. He had singled her out\nas the most dangerous of the Schlegels, and, angry as he was, looked\nforward to telling his wife how right he had been. His mind was made up\nat once; the girl must be got out of the way before she disgraced them\nfarther. If occasion offered she might be married to a villain, or,\npossibly, to a fool. But this was a concession to morality, it formed\nno part of his main scheme. Honest and hearty was Charles's dislike, and\nthe past spread itself out very clearly before him; hatred is a skilful\ncompositor. As if they were heads in a note-book, he ran through all\nthe incidents of the Schlegels' campaign: the attempt to compromise his\nbrother, his mother's legacy, his father's marriage, the introduction\nof the furniture, the unpacking of the same. He had not yet heard of the\nrequest to sleep at Howards End; that was to be their master-stroke and\nthe opportunity for his. But he already felt that Howards"}
{"answer":"plank, he\ncrossed it, and fell unconscious on the deck, just as the Carnatic was\nmoving off.  Several sailors, who were evidently accustomed to this\nsort of scene, carried the poor Frenchman down into the second cabin,\nand Passepartout did not wake until they were one hundred and fifty\nmiles away from China.  Thus he found himself the next morning on the\ndeck of the Carnatic, and eagerly inhaling the exhilarating sea-breeze.\nThe pure air sobered him.  He began to collect his sense, which he\nfound a difficult task; but at last he recalled the events of the\nevening before, Fix's revelation, and the opium-house.\n\n\"It is evident,\" said he to himself, \"that I have been abominably\ndrunk!  What will Mr. Fogg say?  At least I have not missed the\nsteamer, which is the most important thing.\"\n\nThen, as Fix occurred to him: \"As for that rascal, I hope we are well\nrid of him, and that he has not dared, as he proposed, to follow us on\nboard the Carnatic.  A detective on the track of Mr. Fogg, accused of\nrobbing the Bank of England!  Pshaw!  Mr. Fogg is no more a robber than\nI am a murderer.\"\n\nShould he divulge Fix's real errand to his master?  Would it do to tell\nthe part the detective was playing?  Would it not be better to wait\nuntil Mr. Fogg reached London again, and then impart to him that an\nagent of the metropolitan police had been following him round the\nworld, and have a good laugh over it?  No doubt; at","question":"\nThe Carnatic, setting sail from Hong Kong at half-past six on the 7th\nof November, directed her course at full steam towards Japan.  She\ncarried a large cargo and a well-filled cabin of passengers.  Two\nstate-rooms in the rear were, however, unoccupied--those which had been\nengaged by Phileas Fogg.\n\nThe next day a passenger with a half-stupefied eye, staggering gait,\nand disordered hair, was seen to emerge from the second cabin, and to\ntotter to a seat on deck.\n\nIt was Passepartout; and what had happened to him was as follows:\nShortly after Fix left the opium den, two waiters had lifted the\nunconscious Passepartout, and had carried him to the bed reserved for\nthe smokers.  Three hours later, pursued even in his dreams by a fixed\nidea, the poor fellow awoke, and struggled against the stupefying\ninfluence of the narcotic.  The thought of a duty unfulfilled shook off\nhis torpor, and he hurried from the abode of drunkenness.  Staggering\nand holding himself up by keeping against the walls, falling down and\ncreeping up again, and irresistibly impelled by a kind of instinct, he\nkept crying out, \"The Carnatic! the Carnatic!\"\n\nThe steamer lay puffing alongside the quay, on the point of starting.\nPassepartout had but few steps to go; and, rushing upon the"}
{"answer":"had shut up her heart--almost, but\nnot entirely. It is thus, if there is any rule, that we ought to\ndie--neither as victim nor as fanatic, but as the seafarer who can greet\nwith an equal eye the deep that he is entering, and the shore that he\nmust leave.\n\nThe last word--whatever it would be--had certainly not been said in\nHilton churchyard. She had not died there. A funeral is not death, any\nmore than baptism is birth or marriage union. All three are the clumsy\ndevices, coming now too late, now too early, by which Society would\nregister the quick motions of man. In Margaret's eyes Mrs. Wilcox had\nescaped registration. She had gone out of life vividly, her own way, and\nno dust was so truly dust as the contents of that heavy coffin, lowered\nwith ceremonial until it rested on the dust of the earth, no flowers so\nutterly wasted as the chrysanthemums that the frost must have withered\nbefore morning. Margaret had once said she \"loved superstition.\" It was\nnot true. Few women had tried more earnestly to pierce the accretions in\nwhich body and soul are enwrapped. The death of Mrs. Wilcox had helped\nher in her work. She saw a little more clearly than hitherto what a\nhuman being is, and to what he may aspire. Truer relationships gleamed.\nPerhaps the last word would be hope--hope even on this side of the\ngrave.\n\nMeanwhile, she could take an interest in the survivors. In spite of her\nChristmas duties, in spite of her brother, the Wilcoxes continued to\nplay a considerable part in her thoughts. She had","question":"\nCharles need not have been anxious. Miss Schlegel had never heard of his\nmother's strange request. She was to hear of it in after years, when she\nhad built up her life differently, and it was to fit into position as\nthe headstone of the corner. Her mind was bent on other questions\nnow, and by her also it would have been rejected as the fantasy of an\ninvalid.\n\nShe was parting from these Wilcoxes for the second time. Paul and his\nmother, ripple and great wave, had flowed into her life and ebbed out of\nit for ever. The ripple had left no traces behind; the wave had strewn\nat her feet fragments torn from the unknown. A curious seeker, she stood\nfor a while at the verge of the sea that tells so little, but tells\na little, and watched the outgoing of this last tremendous tide. Her\nfriend had vanished in agony, but not, she believed, in degradation.\nHer withdrawal had hinted at other things besides disease and pain. Some\nleave our life with tears, others with an insane frigidity; Mrs. Wilcox\nhad taken the middle course, which only rarer natures can pursue. She\nhad kept proportion. She had told a little of her grim secret to her\nfriends, but not too much; she"}
{"answer":"owne misfortune on the backe\nOf such as haue before indur'd the like.\nThus play I in one Prison, many people,\nAnd none contented. Sometimes am I King;\nThen Treason makes me wish my selfe a Beggar,\nAnd so I am. Then crushing penurie,\nPerswades me, I was better when a King:\nThen am I king'd againe: and by and by,\nThinke that I am vn-king'd by Bullingbrooke,\nAnd straight am nothing. But what ere I am,\n\nMusick\n\nNor I, nor any man, that but man is,\nWith nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd\nWith being nothing. Musicke do I heare?\nHa, ha? keepe time: How sowre sweet Musicke is,\nWhen Time is broke, and no Proportion kept?\nSo is it in the Musicke of mens liues:\nAnd heere haue I the daintinesse of eare,\nTo heare time broke in a disorder'd string:\nBut for the Concord of my State and Time,\nHad not an eare to heare my true Time broke.\nI wasted Time, and now doth Time waste me:\nFor now hath Time made me his numbring clocke;\nMy Thoughts, are minutes; and with Sighes they iarre,\nTheir watches on vnto mine eyes, the outward Watch,\nWhereto my finger, like a Dialls point,\nIs pointing still, in cleansing them from teares.\nNow sir, the sound that tels what houre it is,\nAre clamorous groanes, that strike vpon my heart,\nWhich is the bell: so Sighes, and Teares, and Grones,\nShew Minutes, Houres, and Times: but my Time\nRuns poasting on, in Bullingbrookes proud ioy,\nWhile I stand fooling heere, his iacke o'th' Clocke.\nThis Musicke mads me, let it sound no more,\nFor though it haue holpe madmen to their","question":"Scaena Quarta.\n\nEnter Richard.\n\n  Rich. I haue bin studying, how to compare\nThis Prison where I liue, vnto the World:\nAnd for because the world is populous,\nAnd heere is not a Creature, but my selfe,\nI cannot do it: yet Ile hammer't out.\nMy Braine, Ile proue the Female to my Soule,\nMy Soule, the Father: and these two beget\nA generation of still breeding Thoughts;\nAnd these same Thoughts, people this Little World\nIn humors, like the people of this world,\nFor no thought is contented. The better sort,\nAs thoughts of things Diuine, are intermixt\nWith scruples, and do set the Faith it selfe\nAgainst the Faith: as thus: Come litle ones: & then again,\nIt is as hard to come, as for a Camell\nTo thred the posterne of a Needles eye.\nThoughts tending to Ambition, they do plot\nVnlikely wonders; how these vaine weake nailes\nMay teare a passage through the Flinty ribbes\nOf this hard world, my ragged prison walles:\nAnd for they cannot, dye in their owne pride.\nThoughts tending to Content, flatter themselues,\nThat they are not the first of Fortunes slaues,\nNor shall not be the last. Like silly Beggars,\nWho sitting in the Stockes, refuge their shame\nThat many haue, and others must sit there;\nAnd in this Thought, they finde a kind of ease,\nBearing their"}
{"answer":"that while Mr. Stryver was a glib\nman, and an unscrupulous, and a ready, and a bold, he had not that\nfaculty of extracting the essence from a heap of statements, which is\namong the most striking and necessary of the advocate's accomplishments.\nBut, a remarkable improvement came upon him as to this. The more\nbusiness he got, the greater his power seemed to grow of getting at its\npith and marrow; and however late at night he sat carousing with Sydney\nCarton, he always had his points at his fingers' ends in the morning.\n\nSydney Carton, idlest and most unpromising of men, was Stryver's great\nally. What the two drank together, between Hilary Term and Michaelmas,\nmight have floated a king's ship. Stryver never had a case in hand,\nanywhere, but Carton was there, with his hands in his pockets, staring\nat the ceiling of the court; they went the same Circuit, and even there\nthey prolonged their usual orgies late into the night, and Carton was\nrumoured to be seen at broad day, going home stealthily and unsteadily\nto his lodgings, like a dissipated cat. At last, it began to get about,\namong such as were interested in the matter, that although Sydney Carton\nwould never be a lion, he was an amazingly good jackal, and that he\nrendered suit and service to Stryver in that humble capacity.\n\n\"Ten o'clock, sir,\" said the man at the tavern, whom he had charged to\nwake him--\"ten o'clock, sir.\"\n\n\"_What's_ the matter?\"\n\n\"Ten o'clock, sir.\"\n\n\"What do you mean? Ten o'clock at night?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. Your honour told me to call you.\"\n\n\"Oh! I remember. Very","question":"V. The Jackal\n\nThose were drinking days, and most men drank hard. So very great is\nthe improvement Time has brought about in such habits, that a moderate\nstatement of the quantity of wine and punch which one man would swallow\nin the course of a night, without any detriment to his reputation as a\nperfect gentleman, would seem, in these days, a ridiculous exaggeration.\nThe learned profession of the law was certainly not behind any other\nlearned profession in its Bacchanalian propensities; neither was Mr.\nStryver, already fast shouldering his way to a large and lucrative\npractice, behind his compeers in this particular, any more than in the\ndrier parts of the legal race.\n\nA favourite at the Old Bailey, and eke at the Sessions, Mr. Stryver had\nbegun cautiously to hew away the lower staves of the ladder on which\nhe mounted. Sessions and Old Bailey had now to summon their favourite,\nspecially, to their longing arms; and shouldering itself towards the\nvisage of the Lord Chief Justice in the Court of King's Bench, the\nflorid countenance of Mr. Stryver might be daily seen, bursting out of\nthe bed of wigs, like a great sunflower pushing its way at the sun from\namong a rank garden-full of flaring companions.\n\nIt had once been noted at the Bar,"}
{"answer":"of his comrades came to him.  The brittle blue line had\nwithstood the blows and won. He grew bitter over it.  It seemed that\nthe blind ignorance and stupidity of those little pieces had betrayed\nhim.  He had been overturned and crushed by their lack of sense in\nholding the position, when intelligent deliberation would have\nconvinced them that it was impossible.  He, the enlightened man who\nlooks afar in the dark, had fled because of his superior perceptions\nand knowledge.  He felt a great anger against his comrades.  He knew it\ncould be proved that they had been fools.\n\nHe wondered what they would remark when later he appeared in camp.  His\nmind heard howls of derision.  Their density would not enable them to\nunderstand his sharper point of view.\n\nHe began to pity himself acutely.  He was ill used.  He was trodden\nbeneath the feet of an iron injustice.  He had proceeded with wisdom\nand from the most righteous motives under heaven's blue only to be\nfrustrated by hateful circumstances.\n\nA dull, animal-like rebellion against his fellows, war in the abstract,\nand fate grew within him.  He shambled along with bowed head, his brain\nin a tumult of agony and despair.  When he looked loweringly up,\nquivering at each sound, his eyes had the expression of those of a\ncriminal who thinks his guilt and his punishment great, and knows that\nhe can find no words.\n\nHe went from the fields into a thick woods, as if resolved to bury\nhimself.  He wished to get out of","question":"\nThe youth cringed as if discovered in a crime. By heavens, they had won\nafter all!  The imbecile line had remained and become victors. He could\nhear cheering.\n\nHe lifted himself upon his toes and looked in the direction of the\nfight.  A yellow fog lay wallowing on the treetops.  From beneath it\ncame the clatter of musketry.  Hoarse cries told of an advance.\n\nHe turned away amazed and angry.  He felt that he had been wronged.\n\nHe had fled, he told himself, because annihilation approached.  He had\ndone a good part in saving himself, who was a little piece of the army.\nHe had considered the time, he said, to be one in which it was the duty\nof every little piece to rescue itself if possible.  Later the officers\ncould fit the little pieces together again, and make a battle front. If\nnone of the little pieces were wise enough to save themselves from the\nflurry of death at such a time, why, then, where would be the army? It\nwas all plain that he had proceeded according to very correct and\ncommendable rules.  His actions had been sagacious things.  They had\nbeen full of strategy.  They were the work of a master's legs.\n\nThoughts"}
{"answer":"not be controlled--Friend, I drink to thy\nsuccessful performance.\"\n\nSo saying, he took off his cup with much gravity, at the same time\nshaking his head at the intemperance of the Scottish harper.\n\nThe knight in the meantime, had brought the strings into some order,\nand after a short prelude, asked his host whether he would choose a\n\"sirvente\" in the language of \"oc\", or a \"lai\" in the language of \"oui\",\nor a \"virelai\", or a ballad in the vulgar English. [23]\n\n\"A ballad, a ballad,\" said the hermit, \"against all the 'ocs' and 'ouis'\nof France. Downright English am I, Sir Knight, and downright English\nwas my patron St Dunstan, and scorned 'oc' and 'oui', as he would have\nscorned the parings of the devil's hoof--downright English alone shall\nbe sung in this cell.\"\n\n\"I will assay, then,\" said the knight, \"a ballad composed by a Saxon\nglee-man, whom I knew in Holy Land.\"\n\nIt speedily appeared, that if the knight was not a complete master of\nthe minstrel art, his taste for it had at least been cultivated under\nthe best instructors. Art had taught him to soften the faults of a voice\nwhich had little compass, and was naturally rough rather than mellow,\nand, in short, had done all that culture can do in supplying natural\ndeficiencies. His performance, therefore, might have been termed very\nrespectable by abler judges than the hermit, especially as the knight\nthrew into the notes now a degree of spirit, and now of plaintive\nenthusiasm, which gave force and energy to the verses which he sung.\n\n\n     THE CRUSADER'S RETURN.\n\n ","question":"\n     At eve, within yon studious nook,\n     I ope my brass-embossed book,\n     Portray'd with many a holy deed\n     Of martyrs crown'd with heavenly meed;\n     Then, as my taper waxes dim,\n     Chant, ere I sleep, my measured hymn.\n     * * * * *\n     Who but would cast his pomp away,\n     To take my staff and amice grey,\n     And to the world's tumultuous stage,\n     Prefer the peaceful Hermitage?\n     --Warton\n\nNotwithstanding the prescription of the genial hermit, with which his\nguest willingly complied, he found it no easy matter to bring the harp\nto harmony.\n\n\"Methinks, holy father,\" said he, \"the instrument wants one string, and\nthe rest have been somewhat misused.\"\n\n\"Ay, mark'st thou that?\" replied the hermit; \"that shows thee a master\nof the craft. Wine and wassail,\" he added, gravely casting up his\neyes--\"all the fault of wine and wassail!--I told Allan-a-Dale, the\nnorthern minstrel, that he would damage the harp if he touched it after\nthe seventh cup, but he would"}
{"answer":"say to you, we are none\n\n   Kemp. Well, stand aside, 'fore God they are both in\na tale: haue you writ downe that they are none?\n  Sext. Master Constable, you goe not the way to examine,\nyou must call forth the watch that are their accusers\n\n   Kemp. Yea marry, that's the eftest way, let the watch\ncome forth: masters, I charge you in the Princes name,\naccuse these men\n\n   Watch 1. This man said sir, that Don Iohn the Princes\nbrother was a villaine\n\n   Kemp. Write down, Prince Iohn a villaine: why this\nis flat periurie, to call a Princes brother villaine\n\n   Bora. Master Constable\n\n   Kemp. Pray thee fellow peace, I do not like thy looke\nI promise thee\n\n   Sexton. What heard you him say else?\n  Watch 2. Mary that he had receiued a thousand Dukates\nof Don Iohn, for accusing the Lady Hero wrongfully\n\n   Kemp. Flat Burglarie as euer was committed\n\n   Const. Yea by th' masse that it is\n\n   Sexton. What else fellow?\n  Watch 1. And that Count Claudio did meane vpon his\nwords, to disgrace Hero before the whole assembly, and\nnot marry her\n\n   Kemp. O villaine! thou wilt be condemn'd into euerlasting\nredemption for this\n\n   Sexton. What else?\n  Watch. This is all\n\n   Sexton. And this is more masters then you can deny,\nPrince Iohn is this morning secretly stolne away: Hero\nwas in this manner accus'd, in this very manner","question":"Scene 2.\n\nEnter the Constables, Borachio, and the Towne Clerke in gownes.\n\n  Keeper. Is our whole dissembly appeard?\n  Cowley. O a stoole and a cushion for the Sexton\n\n   Sexton. Which be the malefactors?\n  Andrew. Marry that am I, and my partner\n\n   Cowley. Nay that's certaine, wee haue the exhibition\nto examine\n\n   Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to be examined,\nlet them come before master Constable\n\n   Kemp. Yea marry, let them come before mee, what is\nyour name, friend?\n  Bor. Borachio\n\n   Kem. Pray write downe Borachio. Yours sirra\n\n   Con. I am a Gentleman sir, and my name is Conrade\n\n   Kee. Write downe Master gentleman Conrade: maisters,\ndoe you serue God: maisters, it is proued alreadie\nthat you are little better than false knaues, and it will goe\nneere to be thought so shortly, how answer you for your\nselues?\n  Con. Marry sir, we say we are none\n\n   Kemp. A maruellous witty fellow I assure you, but I\nwill goe about with him: come you hither sirra, a word\nin your eare sir, I say to you, it is thought you are false\nknaues\n\n   Bor. Sir, I"}
{"answer":"my Richard both in shape and minde\nTransform'd, and weaken'd? Hath Bullingbrooke\nDepos'd thine Intellect? hath he beene in thy Heart?\nThe Lyon dying, thrusteth forth his Paw,\nAnd wounds the Earth, if nothing else, with rage\nTo be o're-powr'd: and wilt thou, Pupill-like,\nTake thy Correction mildly, kisse the Rodde,\nAnd fawne on Rage with base Humilitie,\nWhich art a Lyon, and a King of Beasts?\n  Rich. A King of Beasts indeed: if aught but Beasts,\nI had beene still a happy King of Men.\nGood (sometime Queene) prepare thee hence for France:\nThinke I am dead, and that euen here thou tak'st,\nAs from my Death-bed, my last liuing leaue.\nIn Winters tedious Nights sit by the fire\nWith good old folkes, and let them tell thee Tales\nOf wofull Ages, long agoe betide:\nAnd ere thou bid good-night, to quit their griefe,\nTell thou the lamentable fall of me,\nAnd send the hearers weeping to their Beds:\nFor why? the sencelesse Brands will sympathize\nThe heauie accent of thy mouing Tongue,\nAnd in compassion, weepe the fire out:\nAnd some will mourne in ashes, some coale-black,\nFor the deposing of a rightfull King.\nEnter Northumberland.\n\n  North. My Lord, the mind of Bullingbrooke is chang'd.\nYou must to Pomfret, not vnto the Tower.\nAnd Madame, there is order ta'ne for you:\nWith all swift speed, you must away to France\n\n   Rich. Northumberland, thou Ladder wherewithall\nThe mounting Bullingbrooke ascends my Throne,\nThe time shall not be many houres of age,\nMore then it is, ere foule sinne, gathering head,\nShall breake into corruption: thou shalt thinke,\nThough he diuide the Realme, and giue thee halfe,\nIt is","question":"Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.\n\nEnter Queene, and Ladies.\n\n  Qu. This way the King will come: this is the way\nTo Iulius C\ufffdsars ill-erected Tower:\nTo whose flint Bosome, my condemned Lord\nIs doom'd a Prisoner, by prowd Bullingbrooke.\nHere let vs rest, if this rebellious Earth\nHaue any resting for her true Kings Queene.\nEnter Richard, and Guard.\n\nBut soft, but see, or rather doe not see,\nMy faire Rose wither: yet looke vp; behold,\nThat you in pittie may dissolue to dew,\nAnd wash him fresh againe with true-loue Teares.\nAh thou, the Modell where old Troy did stand,\nThou Mappe of Honor, thou King Richards Tombe,\nAnd not King Richard: thou most beauteous Inne,\nWhy should hard-fauor'd Griefe be lodg'd in thee,\nWhen Triumph is become an Ale-house Guest\n\n   Rich. Ioyne not with griefe, faire Woman, do not so,\nTo make my end too sudden: learne good Soule,\nTo thinke our former State a happie Dreame,\nFrom which awak'd, the truth of what we are,\nShewes vs but this. I am sworne Brother (Sweet)\nTo grim Necessitie; and hee and I\nWill keepe a League till Death. High thee to France,\nAnd Cloyster thee in some Religious House:\nOur holy liues must winne a new Worlds Crowne,\nWhich our prophane houres here haue stricken downe\n\n   Qu. What, is"}
{"answer":"leave the city, Mr. Lorry\nwent out in quest of such a lodging, and found a suitable one, high up\nin a removed by-street where the closed blinds in all the other windows\nof a high melancholy square of buildings marked deserted homes.\n\nTo this lodging he at once removed Lucie and her child, and Miss Pross:\ngiving them what comfort he could, and much more than he had himself.\nHe left Jerry with them, as a figure to fill a doorway that would bear\nconsiderable knocking on the head, and returned to his own occupations.\nA disturbed and doleful mind he brought to bear upon them, and slowly\nand heavily the day lagged on with him.\n\nIt wore itself out, and wore him out with it, until the Bank closed. He\nwas again alone in his room of the previous night, considering what to\ndo next, when he heard a foot upon the stair. In a few moments, a\nman stood in his presence, who, with a keenly observant look at him,\naddressed him by his name.\n\n\"Your servant,\" said Mr. Lorry. \"Do you know me?\"\n\nHe was a strongly made man with dark curling hair, from forty-five\nto fifty years of age. For answer he repeated, without any change of\nemphasis, the words:\n\n\"Do you know me?\"\n\n\"I have seen you somewhere.\"\n\n\"Perhaps at my wine-shop?\"\n\nMuch interested and agitated, Mr. Lorry said: \"You come from Doctor\nManette?\"\n\n\"Yes. I come from Doctor Manette.\"\n\n\"And what says he? What does he send me?\"\n\nDefarge gave into his anxious hand, an open scrap of paper. It bore the\nwords in the Doctor's writing:\n\n   ","question":"III. The Shadow\n\n\nOne of the first considerations which arose in the business mind of Mr.\nLorry when business hours came round, was this:--that he had no right to\nimperil Tellson's by sheltering the wife of an emigrant prisoner under\nthe Bank roof. His own possessions, safety, life, he would have hazarded\nfor Lucie and her child, without a moment's demur; but the great trust\nhe held was not his own, and as to that business charge he was a strict\nman of business.\n\nAt first, his mind reverted to Defarge, and he thought of finding out\nthe wine-shop again and taking counsel with its master in reference to\nthe safest dwelling-place in the distracted state of the city. But, the\nsame consideration that suggested him, repudiated him; he lived in the\nmost violent Quarter, and doubtless was influential there, and deep in\nits dangerous workings.\n\nNoon coming, and the Doctor not returning, and every minute's delay\ntending to compromise Tellson's, Mr. Lorry advised with Lucie. She said\nthat her father had spoken of hiring a lodging for a short term, in that\nQuarter, near the Banking-house. As there was no business objection to\nthis, and as he foresaw that even if it were all well with Charles, and\nhe were to be released, he could not hope to"}
{"answer":"speech?\n\n  MADAME PERNELLE\n  There are strange goings-on about your house,\n  And everybody knows your people hate him.\n\n  ORGON\n  What's that to do with what I tell you now?\n\n  MADAME PERNELLE\n  I always said, my son, when you were little:\n  That virtue here below is hated ever;\n  The envious may die, but envy never.\n\n  ORGON\n  What's that fine speech to do with present facts?\n\n  MADAME PERNELLE\n  Be sure, they've forged a hundred silly lies ...\n\n  ORGON\n  I've told you once, I saw it all myself.\n\n  MADAME PERNELLE\n  For slanderers abound in calumnies ...\n\n  ORGON\n  Mother, you'd make me damn my soul. I tell you\n  I saw with my own eyes his shamelessness.\n\n  MADAME PERNELLE\n  Their tongues for spitting venom never lack,\n  There's nothing here below they'll not attack.\n\n  ORGON\n  Your speech has not a single grain of sense.\n  I saw it, harkee, saw it, with these eyes\n  I saw--d'ye know what saw means?--must I say it\n  A hundred times, and din it in your ears?\n\n  MADAME PERNELLE\n  My dear, appearances are oft deceiving,\n  And seeing shouldn't always be believing.\n\n  ORGON\n  I'll go mad.\n\n  MADAME PERNELLE\n  False suspicions may delude,\n  And good to evil oft is misconstrued.\n\n  ORGON\n  Must I construe as Christian charity\n  The wish to kiss my wife!\n\n  MADAME PERNELLE\n","question":"SCENE III\n\n  MADAME PERNELLE, ORGON, ELMIRE, CLEANTE, MARIANE, DAMIS, DORINE\n\n\n  MADAME PERNELLE\n  What's this? I hear of fearful mysteries!\n\n  ORGON\n  Strange things indeed, for my own eyes to witness;\n  You see how I'm requited for my kindness,\n  I zealously receive a wretched beggar,\n  I lodge him, entertain him like my brother,\n  Load him with benefactions every day,\n  Give him my daughter, give him all my fortune:\n  And he meanwhile, the villain, rascal, wretch,\n  Tries with black treason to suborn my wife,\n  And not content with such a foul design,\n  He dares to menace me with my own favours,\n  And would make use of those advantages\n  Which my too foolish kindness armed him with,\n  To ruin me, to take my fortune from me,\n  And leave me in the state I saved him from.\n\n  DORINE\n  Poor man!\n\n  MADAME PERNELLE\n  My son, I cannot possibly\n  Believe he could intend so black a deed.\n\n  ORGON\n  What?\n\n  MADAME PERNELLE\n  Worthy men are still the sport of envy.\n\n  ORGON\n  Mother, what do you mean by such a"}
{"answer":"'Twas one man, say they all, ay, swear to it, one man who, single-handed,\nput the whole band to the rout!\n\nSECOND POET:\n  'Twas a strange sight!--pikes and cudgels strewed thick upon the ground.\n\nCYRANO (writing):\n  . . .'Thine eyes'. . .\n\nTHIRD POET:\n  And they were picking up hats all the way to the Quai d'Orfevres!\n\nFIRST POET:\n  Sapristi! but he must have been a ferocious. . .\n\nCYRANO (same play):\n  . . .'Thy lips'. . .\n\nFIRST POET:\n  'Twas a parlous fearsome giant that was the author of such exploits!\n\nCYRANO (same play):\n  . . .'And when I see thee come, I faint for fear.'\n\nSECOND POET (filching a cake):\n  What hast rhymed of late, Ragueneau?\n\nCYRANO (same play):\n  . . .'Who worships thee'. . .\n(He stops, just as he is about to sign, and gets up, slipping the letter into\nhis doublet):\n  No need I sign, since I give it her myself.\n\nRAGUENEAU (to second poet):\n  I have put a recipe into verse.\n\nTHIRD POET (seating himself by a plate of cream-puffs):\n  Go to!  Let us hear these verses!\n\nFOURTH POET (looking at a cake which he has taken):\n  Its cap is all a' one side!\n\n(He makes one bite of the top.)\n\nFIRST POET:\n  See how this gingerbread woos the famished rhymer with its almond eyes, and\nits eyebrows of angelica!\n\n(He takes it.)\n\nSECOND POET:\n  We listen.\n\nTHIRD POET (squeezing a cream-puff gently):\n  How it laughs!  Till its very cream runs over!\n\nSECOND POET (biting a bit off","question":"Ragueneau, Lise, the musketeer.  Cyrano at the little table writing.  The\npoets, dressed in black, their stockings ungartered, and covered with mud.\n\nLISE (entering, to Ragueneau):\n  Here they come, your mud-bespattered friends!\n\nFIRST POET (entering, to Ragueneau):\n  Brother in art!. . .\n\nSECOND POET (to Ragueneau, shaking his hands):\n  Dear brother!\n\nTHIRD POET:\n  High soaring eagle among pastry-cooks!\n(He sniffs):\n  Marry! it smells good here in your eyrie!\n\nFOURTH POET:\n  'Tis at Phoebus' own rays that thy roasts turn!\n\nFIFTH POET:\n  Apollo among master-cooks--\n\nRAGUENEAU (whom they surround and embrace):\n  Ah! how quick a man feels at his ease with them!. . .\n\nFIRST POET:\n  We were stayed by the mob; they are crowded all round the Porte de Nesle!. .\n.\n\nSECOND POET:\n  Eight bleeding brigand carcasses strew the pavements there--all slit open\nwith sword-gashes!\n\nCYRANO (raising his head a minute):\n  Eight?. . .hold, methought seven.\n\n(He goes on writing.)\n\nRAGUENEAU (to Cyrano):\n  Know you who might be the hero of the fray?\n\nCYRANO (carelessly):\n  Not I.\n\nLISE (to the musketeer):\n  And you?  Know you?\n\nTHE MUSKETEER (twirling his mustache):\n  Maybe!\n\nCYRANO (writing a little way off:--he is heard murmuring a word from time to\ntime):\n  'I love thee!'\n\nFIRST POET:\n "}
{"answer":" They jerked their stiffened legs, and\nstretched their arms over their heads. One man swore as he rubbed his\neyes.  They all groaned \"O Lord!\"  They had as many objections to this\nchange as they would have had to a proposal for a new battle.\n\nThey trampled slowly back over the field across which they had run in a\nmad scamper.\n\nThe regiment marched until it had joined its fellows.  The reformed\nbrigade, in column, aimed through a wood at the road.  Directly they\nwere in a mass of dust-covered troops, and were trudging along in a way\nparallel to the enemy's lines as these had been defined by the previous\nturmoil.\n\nThey passed within view of a stolid white house, and saw in front of it\ngroups of their comrades lying in wait behind a neat breastwork.  A row\nof guns were booming at a distant enemy. Shells thrown in reply were\nraising clouds of dust and splinters.  Horsemen dashed along the line\nof intrenchments.\n\nAt this point of its march the division curved away from the field and\nwent winding off in the direction of the river.  When the significance\nof this movement had impressed itself upon the youth he turned his head\nand looked over his shoulder toward the trampled and debris-strewed\nground.  He breathed a breath of new satisfaction.  He finally nudged\nhis friend.  \"Well, it's all over,\" he said to him.\n\nHis friend gazed backward.  \"B'Gawd, it is,\" he assented.  They mused.\n\nFor a time the youth was obliged to reflect in a puzzled and","question":"\nThe roarings that had stretched in a long line of sound across the face\nof the forest began to grow intermittent and weaker.  The stentorian\nspeeches of the artillery continued in some distant encounter, but the\ncrashes of the musketry had almost ceased.  The youth and his friend of\na sudden looked up, feeling a deadened form of distress at the waning\nof these noises, which had become a part of life.  They could see\nchanges going on among the troops.  There were marchings this way and\nthat way.  A battery wheeled leisurely.  On the crest of a small hill\nwas the thick gleam of many departing muskets.\n\nThe youth arose.  \"Well, what now, I wonder?\" he said.  By his tone he\nseemed to be preparing to resent some new monstrosity in the way of\ndins and smashes.  He shaded his eyes with his grimy hand and gazed\nover the field.\n\nHis friend also arose and stared.  \"I bet we're goin' t' git along out\nof this an' back over th' river,\" said he.\n\n\"Well, I swan!\" said the youth.\n\nThey waited, watching.  Within a little while the regiment received\norders to retrace its way. The men got up grunting from the grass,\nregretting the soft repose."}
{"answer":"that I might serve him;\n  But Heaven's interests cannot allow it;\n  If he returns, then I must leave the house.\n  After his conduct, quite unparalleled,\n  All intercourse between us would bring scandal;\n  God knows what everyone's first thought would be!\n  They would attribute it to merest scheming\n  On my part--say that conscious of my guilt\n  I feigned a Christian love for my accuser,\n  But feared him in my heart, and hoped to win him\n  And underhandedly secure his silence.\n\n  CLEANTE\n  You try to put us off with specious phrases;\n  But all your arguments are too far-fetched.\n  Why take upon yourself the cause of Heaven?\n  Does Heaven need our help to punish sinners?\n  Leave to itself the care of its own vengeance,\n  And keep in mind the pardon it commands us;\n  Besides, think somewhat less of men's opinions,\n  When you are following the will of Heaven.\n  Shall petty fear of what the world may think\n  Prevent the doing of a noble deed?\n  No!--let us always do as Heaven commands,\n  And not perplex our brains with further questions.\n\n  TARTUFFE\n  Already I have told you I forgive him;\n  And that is doing, sir, as Heaven commands.\n  But after this day's scandal and affront\n  Heaven does not order me to live with him.\n\n  CLEANTE\n  And does it order you to lend your ear\n ","question":"ACT IV   SCENE I\n\n  CLEANTE, TARTUFFE\n\n\n  CLEANTE\n  Yes, it's become the talk of all the town,\n  And make a stir that's scarcely to your credit;\n  And I have met you, sir, most opportunely,\n  To tell you in a word my frank opinion.\n  Not to sift out this scandal to the bottom,\n  Suppose the worst for us--suppose Damis\n  Acted the traitor, and accused you falsely;\n  Should not a Christian pardon this offence,\n  And stifle in his heart all wish for vengeance?\n  Should you permit that, for your petty quarrel,\n  A son be driven from his father's house?\n  I tell you yet again, and tell you frankly,\n  Everyone, high or low, is scandalised;\n  If you'll take my advice, you'll make it up,\n  And not push matters to extremities.\n  Make sacrifice to God of your resentment;\n  Restore the son to favour with his father.\n\n  TARTUFFE\n  Alas! So far as I'm concerned, how gladly\n  Would I do so! I bear him no ill will;\n  I pardon all, lay nothing to his charge,\n  And wish with all my heart"}