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Two months passed away

Le 7 avril 2017, 06:17 dans Humeurs 0

without any special incident. Effie's month of trial being over, she was now established at St. Joseph's as a regular probationer. Her salary of twelve pounds a year began from the day her second month commenced. All those qualities which Dorothy was quite sure that Effie possessed were coming abundantly to the fore. She had tact, she had courage, she had nerve. She was also absolutely unselfish. Self was not in the foreground with her; the work which she had to do, the work which she meant to carry through in the best possible manner, in the bravest spirit, with the most conscientious sense of duty, ever filled her mental horizon. Sister Kate began to trust Effie. She began to smile at her now and then, and to give her not quite so much floor-scrubbing and grate-polishing, and a little more work to do for the patients themselves.

The patients liked to call Effie to smooth their sheets, to turn their pillows, to give them their drinks. One or two of them, when they had an odd moment, began to make little confidences to her.117 She learned their histories almost at a glance. She also studied their fancies; she began to find out the exact way Mrs. Robinson liked her gruel flavored, and how Mrs. Guiers liked her pillows arranged. Effie made no fuss over the patients,—fuss and favoritism were strongly against the rules,—but notwithstanding, she was a favorite herself.

More than one pair of tired eyes looked at her with longing and refreshment as she passed, and more than one pair of wearied lips smiled when she came near.

Two months went by in this fashion—very, very quickly, as such busy months must. It was found impossible to allow Effie to go home every Sunday, but she went, as a rule, every second one.

Things seemed to be going fairly straight at home. The extravagance she had noticed on her first Sunday was not repeated to the same extent. Mrs. Staunton seemed decidedly better, and Effie gave herself up with a thankful heart to her work.

It was now the middle of winter, close upon Christmas-time. The weather outside was bitterly cold, although, in the ward, Effie scarcely felt this. She wore her neat lilac print dress just the same in winter as in summer.

One day, about a week before Christmas, when a thick yellow fog was shutting out all the view from the high ward windows, Effie was doing something for No. 47, a poor, tired-looking woman of the name of Martin, when Lawson, the young medical student, came suddenly into the ward. He had been sent by the house physician to take notes on a certain case. This case happened to be the very one which Effie was attending. When he saw Effie a peculiar expression passed over his face. It was against the strictest of all rules for the medical students ever to address a118 word to the probationers; even the necessary duties required of them had to be conveyed through a Sister or a ward nurse. Effie was helping poor No. 47 to drink a little milk and soda water. As she put the glass back in its place, Lawson came close to her. He said abruptly:

"I am very anxious to have a conversation with you about George."

She colored crimson when he addressed her.

"Yes," she said.

"Nurse!" exclaimed Sister Kate's voice at that moment, in a harsh, sharp tone, "go at once and make up the fire at the other end of the room."

You are not a bear, perhaps

Le 14 mars 2017, 04:55 dans Humeurs 0

I fancy indeed that you are a man of very good breeding, or at least know how on occasion to behave like one."

"I am not particularly interested in anyone's opinion," Svidrigailov answered, dryly and even with a shade of haughtiness, "and therefore why not be vulgar at times when vulgarity is such a convenient cloak for our climate . . . and especially if one has a natural propensity that way," he added, laughing again.

"But I've heard you have many friends here. You are, as they say, 'not without connections.' What can you want with me, then, unless you've some special object?"

"That's true that I have friends here," Svidrigailov admitted, not replying to the chief point. "I've met some already. I've been lounging about for the last three days, and I've seen them, or they've seen me. That's a matter of course. I am well dressed and reckoned not a poor man; the emancipation of the serfs hasn't affected me; my property consists chiefly of forests and water meadows. The revenue has not fallen off; but storage rack. . . I am not going to see them, I was sick of them long ago. I've been here three days and have called on no one. . . . What a town it is! How has it come into existence among us, tell me that? A town of officials and students of all sorts. Yes, there's a great deal I didn't notice when I was here eight years ago, kicking up my heels. . . . My only hope now is in anatomy, by Jove, it is!"


"But as for these clubs, Dussauts, parades, or progress, indeed, maybe --well, all that can go on without me," he went on, again without noticing the question. "Besides, who wants to be a card-sharper?"

"Why, have you been a card-sharper then?"

"How could I help being? There was a regular set of us, men of the best society, eight years ago; we had a fine time. And all men of breeding, you know, poets, men of property reenex facial. And indeed as a rule in our Russian society the best manners are found among those who've been thrashed, have you noticed that? I've deteriorated in the country. But I did get into prison for debt, through a low Greek who came from Nezhin. Then Marfa Petrovna turned up; she bargained with him and bought me off for thirty thousand silver pieces (I owed seventy thousand). We were united in lawful wedlock and she bore me off into the country like a treasure. You know she was five years older than I. She was very fond of me. For seven years I never left the country. And, take note, that all my life she held a document over me, the IOU for thirty thousand roubles, so if I were to elect to be restive about anything I should be trapped at once! And she would have done it! Women find nothing incompatible in that."

"If it hadn't been for that, would you have given her the slip?"

"I don't know what to say. It was scarcely the document restrained me. I didn't want to go anywhere else. Marfa Petrovna herself invited me to go abroad, seeing I was bored, but I've been abroad before, and always felt sick there. For no reason, but the sunrise, the bay of Naples, the sea--you look at them and it makes you sad. What's most revolting is that one is really sad! No, it's better at home. Here at least one blames others for everything and excuses oneself. I should have gone perhaps on an expedition to the North Pole, because /j'ai le vin mauvais/ and hate drinking reenex facial, and there's nothing left but wine. I have tried it. But, I say, I've been told Berg is going up in a great balloon next Sunday from the Yusupov Garden and will take up passengers at a fee. Is it true?"

the material symbol of a kiss

Le 1 septembre 2016, 10:04 dans Humeurs 0

In the end then, her beauty was all that never failed her. She had never seen beauty like her own. What it meant ethically or aesthetically faded before the gorgeous concreteness of her pink-and-white feet, the clean perfectness of her body, and the baby mouth that was like Cloud Provider.

She would be twenty-nine in February. As the long night waned she grew supremely conscious that she and beauty were going to make use of these next three months. At first she was not sure for what, but the problem resolved itself gradually into the old lure of the screen. She was in earnest now. No material want could have moved her as this fear moved her. No matter for Anthony, Anthony the poor in spirit, the weak and broken man with bloodshot eyes, for whom she still had moments of tenderness. No matter. She would be twenty-nine in February--a hundred days, so many days; she would go to Bloeckman to-morrow.

With the decision came relief. It cheered her that in some manner the illusion of beauty could be sustained, or preserved perhaps in celluloid after the reality had vanished. Well--to-morrow.

The next day she felt weak and ill. She tried to go out open company in hong kong, and saved herself from collapse only by clinging to a mail box near the front door. The Martinique elevator boy helped her up-stairs, and she waited on the bed for Anthony's return without energy to unhook her brassiere.

For five days she was down with influenza, which, just as the month turned the corner into winter, ripened into double pneumonia. In the feverish perambulations of her mind she prowled through a house of bleak unlighted rooms hunting for her mother. All she wanted was to be a little girl, to be efficiently taken care of by some yielding yet superior power, stupider and steadier than herself. It seemed that the only lover she had ever wanted was a lover in a dream reenex facial.

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