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wiypt-writes · 3 years

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Riding High

Ch1:Jodhpurs And Jeans

Chapter Summary: After a passing comment from his well-meaning neighbour, land-lady and friend, Frank decides that before he enrols her into school Mary needs to learn some social skills and pick up a hobby to help her interact with kids her own age.

Mary decides she wants to learn how to ride…

Chapter Warnings: Bad Language words.

Chapter Pairings: Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

A/N: So yeah, this one’s been buzzing in my head for AGES now. As you all know, I’m a Brit so I’m REALLY sorry if too much British horsey lingo slips into this…ASK away if you don’t understand. As means of an explanation in the UK we have 3 main types of stables. We have Riding Schools (which focus solely on providing riding lessons), Livery Yards (which are places where owners board their horses) and Equestrian Centres (which do both). After a bit of research it seems that EC also translates across the pond and means the same thing so…just bear with me on this and run with it!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding High Masterlist // Main Masterlist

August 2017

“I’m holding you solely responsible for this.” Frank shot Roberta a glare as Mary bounced over to the truck, her blonde hair swinging slightly as she skipped.

“All I said was that it might be useful to have her interact with kids her own age before you throw her into a school, which for the record, I still think is a dumbass idea Frank.” “Input noted and duly ignored…” Frank rolled his eyes “She needs to go to school. Have some kind of variant on a normal childhood.”

Roberta took a deep breath and simply shrugged “On your head be it.”

“Come on Frank!” Mary shouted, standing up on the ledge of the truck “we’re gonna be late!”

“It’s 20 minutes tops to Pinellas Park…” Frank looked at her “We got half an hour, chill out Stack”

“My name’s Mary not Short Stack…” she sing songed back.

“Don’t I know it…” Frank said, looking at her before he turned back to Roberta “I’ll see you later.”

“Hmmm” she nodded, and with that he rolled his eyes again and headed to the truck.

“You know you’re not actually gonna get to ride anything today right?” he asked, turning to his niece.

“No, but I’m still gonna see the ponies.” she said, smiling. “Why can’t we bring Fred?”

“Because a horse might step on him.” Frank shrugged, before he paused. “Actually, shall we take him?” Mary narrowed her eyes at him “That’s mean.” He chuckled, ruffled her hair and started up the truck. **** “Ok, now soften your outside hand…” Fliss called out across the paddock, as the woman riding the tall, black warmblood circled her “Yeah, you feel that. He’s taking the contact now, not leaning against your hand. So when you feel that softening, that’s when you need to push with your inside leg…and if is he isn’t listening a soft tap up with the stick…” She watched again from behind her Oakley wraparounds, smiling as the horse extended nicely down the long side of the school.

“Yeah, there you go!” she shouted encouragingly, “Now bring him round again and this time at the corner, pop him into canter…” She took a quick glance at her watch. She was running slightly behind, but what else was new? She would never leave a lesson, regardless, until her client had achieved something, even if it was what they dubbed a small victory. End on a high was her motto, and this was no different. Ever since Lucy had brought Captain out of his stable, Fliss could see the horse was in one of his awkward moods so she’d had to switch out her plan a little. It had worked and he’d settled after about 15 minutes of being an obstinate shit and he was working quite nicely.

“Good!” She shouted, pacing slightly “Now let’s see if we can extend this a little…” Lucy sat up tall, pushed through her legs and the horse bounded down the side. Fliss grinned, less than 6 months ago Lucy hadn’t even been able to keep the horse in a trot, now here she was producing an extended canter. Moments like this made her job so worthwhile…

“Ok, bring him back down…” she said, “And into trot…and walk…”

Fliss headed over to her client and smiled as she walked alongside her “That was really good Luce…you happy?” “I’m over the moon!” The teenager grinned “I can’t believe it…he went so well!”

“Yeah because you rode him well.” Fliss smiled “You know, I seriously think you should consider a Dressage Competition.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, I do. I know you don’t have a horse of your own but you can borrow Cap if you want…have a think about it.” “I will, thanks Fliss.”

Fliss smiled, gave the horse a pat and headed back to the gate.

“Joanne?” she called, and one of her grooms appeared. “Can you just supervise Lucy cooling him off. I’ve got someone bringing their daughter in at 11 am that should be here any time soon.”

“Sure.” Joanne nodded “Oh, they back barn has been mucked out but I’ve not had chance to scrub the water buckets out.” “It’s ok, you can do it after lunch” Fliss nodded. “the automatics are getting installed in a month or so which should make it a little easier.”

She patted Joanne on the shoulder and made her way into the office. Reaching for a file she dug out a Registration Form and a Liability Waiver and set them on the desk before she took a quick glance in the mirror. Satisfied that her auburn hair was tamed and there was no hay stick in it she nodded to herself and walked back on the yard, just in time to see a tall, well build dark haired man desperately trying to control a blonde haired girl who was looking around in glee and pointing.

“Hi…” she walked over, momentarily stuck by how damned good looking this guy was. He was dressed simply in a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt which perfectly accentuated his tone upper body. His chiselled jawline which was covered in a short, stubbled beard, soft spikey dark hair, and he flashed her a smile that made the corners of his aviator covered eyes crinkle. A smile that made her clear her throat. “I’m Fliss, you must be Mr Adler.”

Frank looked at the woman in front of him, glad that his glasses hid the fact he was blatantly eyeing her up and down. Dressed in a pair of long riding boots, tight navy blue jodhpurs with a white belt around the top, and a tight pink polo shirt he could see every curve she possessed. But it was the smile she flashed him that made him feel like some kind of teenage school kid again. “Frank, please.” “Nice to meet you Frank.” Fliss smiled, noting how deep his voice sounded, it was much more gravelly than on the phone and there was a Boston twang to his accent. She shook his hand, his palm and fingertips slightly calloused against her skin, and then turned to Mary “And what can I call you Miss?” “Mary.” the little girl infomed her, looking up “Are all these horses yours?”

Fliss chuckled. “No not all of them. Eight belong to me. Two are my personal ones, then I have 6 that work in the riding school and the other six are boarders.” “Oh.” Mary pondered, looking around. “So which one can I ride?” “Mary…” Frank chastised her softly as he looked down at her, before glancing back at Fliss “Sorry, she’s excited.” Fliss laughed and shook her head “It’s fine, I love to see it.”

She turned to Mary and then in an exaggerated whisper so that Frank could here said “I’ll let you into a secret, I always put the new kids on Monty because he’s awesome and looks after everyone and he especially likes girls. He’s a ladies man. You wanna meet him?” Mary nodded eagerly and Fliss looked up at Frank, seeking his permission. He nodded and gestured with his head and she straightened up before leading Mary across the yard to the barn on the opposite side.

Frank stayed where he was for a moment, watching her ass as she walked before he mentally slapped himself and followed.

Fliss led them both into the airy barn, pushing up her sunglasses and down to 2 of the smaller stables at the far end. She stopped at one that contained a small, grey pony who gave a little nicker and stuck his head over the door.

“Monty, meet Mary.” she said with a smile as Mary gently reached up to stroke the pony’s soft nose.

“He’s really pretty.” Mary nodded, appraisingly.

“Yeah he’s awesome.” Fliss smiled, “And he’s a good boy too.” “Can I go in the stable?” Mary asked.

“Erm… if your dad says it’s ok?” Fliss looked at Frank who was tucking his sunglasses down the front of his shirt.

“I’m not her dad.” Frank shook his head “I’m her uncle.” “Oh, sorry.” Fliss frowned “I just assumed.”

“I get it a lot.” he waved her apology away “But I am her legal guardian so…”

Fliss nodded, studying him for a moment. There was clearly a bit more to that story but it wasn’t her business to pry.

“Can I?” Mary looked at him and he nodded.

“Ok so, Monty is really good and nothing scares him but with all horses you should always be quiet and not jump or shout.” Fliss instructed and Frank had to smile as Mary nodded seriously. He hadn’t seen her this engrossed in anything other than books for a long time. Maybe Roberta had been right.

Fliss unbolted the stable door and walked in, leading Mary in after her. She showed her where he liked to be scratched and Mary giggled as she rubbed at the spot on the pony’s withers and he began to tilt his head to the side, lips moving against Fliss’s arm as he nuzzled into her.

“What’s he doing?” Mary asked.

“It’s called grooming.” Fliss explained “So he is mimicking what you’re doing to him by doing it to me, see? It’s how they show affection in the wild. Sometimes they can get a bit carried away and they nip but they don’t mean to be nasty or bite.”

She looked over to Frank, keeping one eye on the small girl who was engrossed in petting Monty and looked at him “So, are you just after her learning to ride then or…” Frank nodded “It’s a long story but, she needs a hobby and this was the only thing that seemed to get her excited. Of course it would be the one that will milk me dry.” he raised his voice a little.

“Spend less money on beer when you go out tonight” she shot back, and Fliss gave a loud bark of a laugh as Frank, shook his head.

“See what I gotta put up with?” he snorted.

“You should talk to my dad about it.” She grinned. “I bled him dry due to horses as a kid, especially when I was up and down the UK competing!” “I was gonna say your accent isn’t local.” He said, smiling.

“Neither is yours.” she shot back “Boston, am I right?” He cocked his head, momentarily surprised. He didn’t think his accent was that strong considering.

“Yeah.” he nodded, “But I aint lived there in a while.” “I lived in Concorde” she explained, noticing his puzzled glance

“Huh, no kidding.” he smiled “Cambridge.” “Nice city.” Fliss smiled “I loved it.”

“What made you end up here?”

Fliss hesitated for a while. “Erm..” “Sorry, you don’t need to explain, I was just a little curious.” “No, it’s fine, just a long and complicated story.” Fliss scratched her temple “The abridged version is my marriage broke down and my mum and dad retired out here so I joined them.” She was avoiding his eyes slightly. Frank was smart enough to realise there was slightly more to it than that but he was tactful enough not to press. Besides, it was really none of his business.

“How about you? What you running from?” “What makes you think I’m running from anything?” he looked at her.

“Aren’t we all?” she looked at him, her deep brown eyes locked onto his.

He hesitated for a moment and then shrugged “Again, a long and complicated story but I wanted to give Mary a life away from hassle. And there was a lot of that in Boston.” He held her gaze and she simply nodded, before turning back to Mary.

“Ok Mary, how about we head into the office, get some forms signed and we can see about booking you in for your first lesson?” Frank watched as Fliss explained the importance of the kick-bolt on the bottom of the stable and showed her how to lock it before they three of them headed back onto the yard.

“Fliss, sorry to interrupt but do you want Cap and Bolt turned out?” a young girl with blonde hair approached them.

“Yeah, they’re not working today.” Fliss said, “But take them one at a time. Bolt’s taking to being a bit bargey. If he starts wrap the lead-rope round his nose.” “Will do.” “Thanks Jo.” she smiled, and the continued.

“What’s bargey?” Mary asked.

“Pushy.” Frank looked at her “Bossy.” “Like you?” Frank shot her a look and saw Fliss smiling to herself as she overheard.

“Or it could mean pain in the ass like you.” he shrugged. “Rude.” Mary shot back as Fliss opened the door to the office. Frank leaned over to hold it open.

“Thanks.” she looked at him smiling. He stepped in after Mary and they both stood, looking around taking it all in.

There was a large photo on the wall to the left, of someone, he presumed Fliss, on a horse jumping an obscenely high fence. On the wall at the back was a number of shelves, one containing files and the others a few more framed photos, one taken outside the gates to the yard of Fliss and a few others, he assumed her staff, and the other contained a number of trophies and a…

“Woah!” Mary said, scooting over “Is that yours?” “Sure is.” Fliss beamed, reaching up to retrieve the box frame. She led it flat on the desk and Mary scrambled up onto the chair to take a closer look.

The frame was split into two. On the right hand side was a photo of Fliss dressed in competition gear, navy jacket, red piping, white jodhs and a navy hat. She had a smile on her face that was literally ear to ear and round her neck sat the gold medal which was displayed in the left of the frame.

“London 2012…” Mary read the small plaque at the bottom “Frank, look…” “I can see.” he nodded, surprise evident in his tone. He looked at the woman “You were in the Olympics?” “Yeah.” she smiled “Only one though. Trained for years to get there…”

“Why only one?” Mary looked at her.

“Mary.” Frank groaned “Stop being nosey.” “It’s ok.” Fliss chuckled “A few months later at the World Championships later that year I had a nasty accident. I damaged my back and it took me nearly six months to recover. Sadly I lost my place on the team.” “Oh, that’s sad.” Mary looked at her.

“It’s a dog eat dog world kid.” Fliss shrugged “Not all bad though, I got into the training side of things which was great. Just my professional career didn’t work out.” There was a moments pause and Fliss replaced the photo and turned to Frank “Can I get you anything to drink?” “No, I’m good thanks.” he smiled.

“Ok, so…” Fliss said, “Mary I’m gonna need my seat back sweetie.” Mary obligingly jumped back down and Fliss took her vacated place, gesturing to the chair by the desk. Frank sat in it and Mary immediately jumped into his lap, her bare legs brushing slightly as she swung them to and fro.

“I have a few forms that you need to fill in and sign.” she said, apologetically “Legal stuff, contact details, waivers, that kind of thing. Safety is paramount at Sandybrook but, accidents to happen. Horse riding can be a dangerous sport…falls happen… as I know only too well.” Frank smiled and nodded.

“But I can give you those to take home, you can bring them with you when you come back.” Fliss reached into her desk drawer. She pulled out a glossy leaflet and opened it. “Our price list is here. I’m not a huge outfit, I don’t have more than 3 kids on a lesson at a time. Mainly because I don’t have the horses but I prefer to focus on the students, not the profit. I try to keep overheads down as much as I can to keep the costs low…”

She bit her lip, she hated this part of the job, the sales patter as her dad called it. “So it really depends on what you want to do as to how expensive it is. Group lessons are $20 for forty five minutes and individual lessons are $30 for thirty. I do always insist on an individual lesson first, but that’s discounted to $20 for the first one.” Frank nodded, it wasn’t cheap but they’d manage. He’d already explained to Mary that she wouldn’t be able to do it every week, but he could certainly stretch to once a fortnight.

“That’s reasonable.” he said after a pause.

Fliss smiled “I’ve only been open a year or so now, but I’m planning on starting up a few Own a Pony days where the kids can come down and learn how to care for the horses as well as just ride. But that’s all in the planning stages.” “Well you have a good set up.” he said, and she beamed back.

“Thank you, a lot of graft went into setting it up. My mom and dad’s retirement didn’t start out quite as quiet as they had planned!”

“I can imagine.”

“Ok,so…the real expensive outlay is gonna come at the start.” she said, turning to Mary “You’ll need some boots and a hat kiddo.” Mary grinned up at Frank.

“I do have hats I can loan for a few lessons but it is better if they have their own.” she looked at Frank. “It’s the one thing I don’t recommend getting second hand. But boots and jodhpurs etcetera you can pick up on e-bay and the like.” Frank nodded “And the hat?”

“There’s a great store not far from here…hang on…” she dug in her drawer again and produced a flier. “Here… the kid stuff is pretty reasonable to be fair, you’re probably looking at about $30 for a decent hat but they’ll help you out. If you take my brochure in you’ll get a 20% discount too.”

Mary took the flier from her and began examining it.

“That’s really it.” Fliss said, as she completed her mental check list “So all that’s left is to either book you in or you can call me…” “Please Frank!” Mary looked at him “Can we book?” Frank nodded “If you want.” “I do…” “Ok…what availability do you have?” Fliss opened the laptop and entered the diary and looked for a free spot.” “Does Wednesday at one suit?” she offered “I know once school starts you’ll probably want a weekend or evening but. whilst it’s the holidays does that work?”

Frank nodded “Yeah that’s fine. I can jiggle work around” Fliss tapped on the keyboard and smiled “All booked. If you want to leave me your number I send a text update out the night before just as a reminder.” Frank smiled, and gave out her number which she stored in the diary slot and then clicked saved “All done…guess I’ll see you Wednesday.” “Thanks.” he smiled “And thanks for showing us around.” “Not a problem.” she shook her head “Always important the clients get the tour of the place, to make sure they like it.” “Its awesome.” Mary looked up “Can we go here on the way home.” Frank sighed and looked at Fliss raising an eyebrow. She laughed.

“Yeah, get used to it. Once you get that horse smell on your hands it’s kind of an addiction.” “Frank hates animals.” Mary shrugged.

“I don’t hate animals.” Frank shook his head.

“You hate Fred.” “No, I don’t”

“You said before we should bring him so a horse steps on him.” Frank inwardly groaned as Fliss gave a chuckle.

“Fred is my cat.” Mary explained.

“Good name.” Fliss said “I have a few yard cats hanging around, they keep the mice at bay. And that reminds me, I haven’t seen Thor in a while…”

“Thor?” Mary looked at her

“Yeah, my dog…” Fliss stood up and opened the office door, giving a sharp whistle. “He never goes far.” As if on cue a large german shepherd came lolling down the yard to greet them. Frank eyed the dog, it was huge. Mary, right on cue jumped down off his lap.

“Can I stroke him?” “Go right ahead.” Fliss said, she looked at Frank and spotting his face she smiled “He’s a softie, looks the part though.” “Well I wouldn’t mess put it that way.” Frank snorted, standing up.

“Is he named after the Avenger?” Mary looked up “I love those films.”

“Sure is, he used to have a brother called Loki too but, well he died.”

Thor gave Mary a lick causing her to giggle before he flopped onto his side raising his paw.

“He wants a belly rub.” Fliss smiled, and Mary dropped to her knees to give the dog a tickle. His tail began to wag furiously on the floor and Mary laughed.

Frank watched the girl, smiling. He loved seeing her like this. She was so grown up and serious half the time, he yearned to see her acting like a normal seven year old. He was reticent to drag her away for that reason but he had work later that afternoon, a boat that needed finishing by Monday afternoon was taking him slightly longer than he had anticipated.

“Alright short stack, we gotta move…” “Do we hafta?” “Sorry kiddo.” Mary made a face.

“Do you wanna go to the store or not?” “Ok.” she said, jumping up and wiping dusting off her knees.

Fliss walked them to the truck which was parked in the car park and her eyes flew over to her horse wagon, a small 3.5 tonne box. Frank noticed her looking before she turned back to him

“Yours?”

“Yeah, I did have a bigger one but, well I don’t use it often enough now to warrant it. Maybe at some point I’ll get back into competing…never say never hey?” He smiled.

“Ok, so I’ll see you Wednesday.” she said To Frank’s utter surprise, Mary walked over to the woman and wrapped her arms around her, giving her waist as squeeze, her head pressing into Fliss’s stomach. Fliss bent over to give the girl a quick hug and smiled.

“It was nice to meet you both.” Fliss released Mary and gently ruffled her hair “I can’t wait to see you ride.” Mary headed over to the passenger side of the truck and stood on the sill so she could yank open the door. Fliss turned to Frank and looked at him, frowning slightly.

“Sorry, was that too much? I didn’t mean-” “Oh,God,no.” Frank stuttered, hastily shaking his head. “No, it’s just…well she’s never usually that affectionate with strangers. Not that you’re a stranger I suppose, not anymore but…” he shrugged.

“I’m flattered then.” Fliss said, her pretty face cracking into a smile which Frank couldn’t help but return. There was a moment of silence where he simply looked at her before he started suddenly.

“I should…” he gestured to the truck with his keys.

“Yeah, sorry. Have a good day Mr Adler…” “Frank…” “Frank.” she corrected herself with another gorgeous smile “I’ll see you Wednesday.” With a smile of his own and a nod he walked to the truck and Fliss turned and headed back to the yard.

He climbed in and turned to Mary who was looking at him, smirking in a smug way that was well beyond her years.

“What?” he demanded.

“You like her.” Mary snorted.

“She’s a nice girl, I mean woman…lady…”

Mary didn’t say a word, simply sat back as Frank reached around for her belt before doing his own and setting the truck into reverse. Sometimes she was far too observant for her own good. *****

“If she gives you any trouble just tie her up on the porch.” Frank said as Mary settled on the couch in Roberta’s trailer. Roberta snorted and Mary glared at him.

“The only one who gives me trouble around here is you Frank Adler.” Roberta shot back. “Now scoot, Mary’s gotta tell me all about this pretty girl at the stables she says you’re sweet on.” “Jesus…” Frank groaned “I’m not sweet on her, she was just nice.”

“He googled her.” Mary said.

“You googled her” Roberta intoned.

“I was curious ok?” Frank sighed “And you asked me to!” “She’s an Olympic Gold medallist.” Mary chanted, draping herself over the arm of the sofa, head hanging, hair brushing the floor “At London 2012 but then she had an accident in the World Championships later that year and she broke two vertebrae…she didn’t compete again. And she was married to a guy called John Stazaker, he was on the US team but they’re divorced now. He’s in prison…but Frank didn’t tell me why.” “Because it’s none of your business, and you don’t mention it to her.” Frank said sternly, cutting her off.

Roberta looked at him curiously “But you’re not interested in her,at all.” “Like I said, curious.” he shrugged “Especially if she’s gonna be teaching Mary.”

“Mmmhmmm.” Roberta dropped her hands to her hips “Whatever you say honey…” Frank sighed and then looked at Mary. “Be good.” “I will, see you in the morning…”

He nodded and then headed out. It was a pleasant evening, the heat of the day had died down to an acceptable level and the ten minute walk down to the small strip of bars wasn’t as sticky as normal. It passed fairly quickly, he was lost in thought about the woman he had met before. It had made for surprising reading, a child star on the circuit the accident had cruelly robbed her of a future in the sport five years ago, and from the sounds of it her ass-hat ex-husband had stolen three years of her life too. Still, as he had told Mary, it was none of their business.

He yanked the door open to Fergs and headed over to the bar. Ordering his usual he perched on a stool and pulled over one of the papers, flicking it open. Taking a pull of the beer he was handed, he let out a sigh. Friday nights were always his time, his one night of the week where he wasn’t Frank with the Dead Sister and the child genius niece to bring up. He was just plain old Frank Adler, perpetual bachelor that might or might not get lucky, depending on how the night went.

Half an hour or so later he was another beer deep and completely lost in his reading. So much so he was barely aware of the body besides him as it slid into the space next to him at the bar. That was until they spoke.

“So how much did she sting you for at the store?”

Frank grinned at Fliss “Just short of a hundred. New hat, boots and a pair of jodhpurs.” Fliss giggled “Make sure she wears the boots in, they’re a killer for the first few days!” “I’ll bear it in mind.” he smiled “So, you hear alone or…” “Oh, no. It’s my Mum’s birthday so there’s a few of us out.” she said, glancing over her shoulder. Frank followed her eyes and settled on a table full of women who were all laughing. One looked quite similar to Fliss, same face shape and nose, who he assumed to be her mother. “If I’m honest it’s a bit boring considering they’re all over fifty but…” Frank laughed “Well I was gonna offer to buy you a drink but…” She laughed again “Thanks but, there’s a kitty going…” with that she turned to the bar tender. “Hiya, can I get 4 bud lights, a gin and tonic and a vodka soda please?” The bar tender nodded and headed off.

“Mary hasn’t shut up about Monty all afternoon.” Frank said and Fliss smiled.

“Like I said, once they get the bug they’re bitten.” “It’ll be good for her to have a hobby.” Frank repeated his earlier sentiment “She doesn’t get much interaction with kids her age.”

“Oh, what about School?” Fliss asked. Frank hesitated and took a drink from his bottle. Fliss let out a silent groan “Sorry, that’s really none of my business.” “No, it’s fine.” Frank shook his head, swallowing his beer. “She’s err, home schooled at the moment. My neighbour thought a hobby might be a good way for her to kinda do that before she goes to school.”

Fliss smiled “Well she’s not wrong. The kids I teach are great, I don’t stand for any crap, she’ll be welcomed with open arms.”

“Glad to hear it.” Frank smiled “Mary can be a litte…well, I suppose, odd is the right word. She’s old before her age.”

“Oh I know all about that.” Fliss smiled. “I spent most of my childhood training. Didn’t get chance to do much normal kid stuff. I was that focussed on my dream of gold medals…” “And you achieved it.” Frank nodded.

“Yeah, wish it had lasted longer you know, but what can you do.” she shrugged. “Hey, you never know, Mary might find a sudden hidden talent that catapults her into stardom…” Frank stiffened slightly and it didn’t go unnoticed by Fliss. She hesitated for a moment before Frank shook his head and smiled “Maybe, although that would really gonna fuck my bank balance…”

Fliss chuckled, eyeing him slightly. The man was a total mystery. At that the Bar Tender returned with a tray of drinks and she turned to pay him, waving away the change.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you Wednesday.” she smiled “Bye Frank.” “Yeah, have a good evening.” he smiled and she turned and walked away. Frank watched her go, the tight jeans she was wearing accentuated her ass and her legs, helped by the white heels she was wearing. The loose white cami top rode up slightly as she bent over to deposit the tray and when the woman he assumed to be her mother caught his eye and gave a knowing smirk he hastily turned around.

“Another beer please pal.” he said, waving his empty bottle

****

“Who’s that?” Verity leaned over to Fliss as she settled in the seat next to her.

“Oh, that’s the guy I was telling you about.” she shrugged “the one who brought his niece up to the Centre this morning.” “I know you said he was good looking but…”

“Shut up Mum.” Fliss said, flushing slightly

“You’re old enough to be his mother.” Jane, one of the other women said and the table laughed.

“I wasn’t looking for me…” Fliss rolled her eyes “Seriously?” Verity laughed and placed her arm round her daughter, giving her a squeeze. “I’m just teasing Lissy, its just nice to see you talking to someone, that’s all.” Fliss smiled and grabbed her beer, taking a drink.

“Who the fuck was that?” John said, pointing across the packed bar to the man that Fliss had just smiled at.

“No one…” Fliss protested “Just a guy from work, that’s all.” “Right…” John said, the nerve in his jaw twitching. Fliss swallowed nervously and gently touched his arm.

“Honestly, he works at the stables. I was just being polite.”

“He’s eye fucking you.” “No, he’s not…” Fliss rolled her eyes and immediately realised what he had done when John gripped her chin painfully between his thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me.” he practically snarled.

“I’m sorry…” Fliss said, the tears springing forth “John you’re hurting me…” He let go and she dropped her head, turning back to the bar. She picked up her drink and took a long pull from the bottle, trying to compose herself. Her hand was shaking, she’d made him angry.

And she knew what that meant…

“Hey…” her mother’s voice shook her out of the memory and she looked up at her. “Oh Liss…”

“I’m ok…” she said, taking a breath.

Her mother looked at her again, and Fliss knew she was busted. “I was just…having a flash back that’s all.”

“He’s not here.” Verity dropped her voice “That fucker is where he belongs, behind bars and he won’t be bothering you again. Me and your dad promised you that…and we meant it.”

“I know, honestly I’m fine…” Fliss assured her mum who leaned over and gave her temple a soft kiss.

Fliss smiled back and shooting one last glance at Frank, who has his back to the table as he continued his reading, she turned to the women and threw herself into the conversation.

**** Chapter 2

#riding high #frank adler #frank adler x ofc #frank adler x original female character #gifted fan fic #gifted

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what-is-your-plan-today · 4 years

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Riding High Ch1: Jodhpurs and Jeans

Chapter Summary: Frank Adler is a single man in his early 30s, simply doing his best to raise his genius niece Mary. After a passing comment from his well-meaning neighbour, land-lady and friend, he decides that before he enrols her into school she needs to learn some social skills and pick up a hobby to help her interact with kids her own age.

Felicity (Fliss) Gallagher is a single woman in her early 30s. An British Olympic Gold Medal winning Showjumper who was forced into early retirement due to a nasty accident, she’s now settled in South Pasadena running Sandybrook Stables, an Equestrian Centre which provide both boarding and teaching services.

Mary decides she wants to learn how to ride… meaning the two of them meet for the first time

Chapter Warnings: Bad Language words.

Chapter Pairings: Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

Tagging all my SSB/CSI readers…if you want in or off the list PLEASE just tell me

As always I’m a ho for a REBLOG and COMMENT!

And yes, the woman in the photos in the cover banner on and with the Chestnut is me and my wonderful, wonderful old girl who I lost 2 years ago…

Chapter Song: Driftwood by Travis

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

August 2017

“I’m holding you solely responsible for this.” Frank short Roberta a glare as Mary bounced over to the truck, her blonde hair swinging slightly as she skipped.

Roberta took a deep breath and simply shrugged “On your head be it.”

“Come on Frank!” Mary shouted, standing up on the ledge of the truck “we’re gonna be late!”

“It’s 20 minutes tops to Pinellas Park…” Frank looked at her “We got half an hour, chill out Stack”

“My name’s Mary not Short Stack…” she sing songed back.

“Don’t I know it…” Frank said, looking at her before he turned back to Roberta “I’ll see you later.”

“Hmmm” she nodded, and with that he rolled his eyes again and headed to the truck.

“You know you’re not actually gonna get to ride anything today right?” he asked, turning to his niece.

“No, but I’m still gonna see the ponies.” she said, smiling. “Why can’t we bring Fred?”

******

“Ok, now soften your outside hand…” Fliss called out across the paddock, as the woman riding the tall, bay warmblood circled her “Yeah, you feel that. He’s taking the contact now, not leaning against your hand. So when you feel that softening, that’s when you need to push with your inside leg…and if is he isn’t listening a soft tap up with the stick…” She watched again from behind her Oakley wraparounds, smiling as the horse extended nicely down the long side of the school.

“Yeah, there you go!” she shouted encouragingly, “Now bring him round again and this time at the corner, pop him into canter…” She took a quick glance at her watch. She was running slightly behind, but what else was new? She would never leave a lesson, regardless, until her client had achieved something, even if it was what they dubbed a small victory. End on a high was her motto, and this was no different. Ever since Lucy had brought Jensen out of his stable, Fliss could see the horse was in one of his awkward moods so she’d had to switch out her plan a little. It had worked and he’d settled after about 15 minutes of being an obstinate shit and he was working quite nicely.

“Ok, bring him back down…” she said, “And into trot…and walk…”

“Yeah because you rode him well.” Fliss smiled “You know, I seriously think you should consider a Dressage Competition.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, I do. I know you don’t have a horse of your own but you can borrow Cap if you want…have a think about it.” “I will, thanks Fliss.”

Fliss smiled, gave the horse a pat and headed back to the gate.

“Joanne?” she called, and one of her grooms appeared. “Can you just supervise Lucy cooling him off. I’ve got someone bringing their daughter in at 11 am that should be here any time soon.”

“Hi…” she walked over, momentarily stuck by how damned good looking this guy was. He was dressed simply in a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt which perfectly accentuated his toned upper body. His chiselled jawline which was covered in a short, stubbled beard, soft spikey dark hair, and he flashed her a smile that made the corners of his aviator covered eyes crinkle. A smile that made her clear her throat. “I’m Fliss, you must be Mr Adler.”

Frank looked at the woman in front of him, glad that his glasses hid the fact he was blatantly eyeing her up and down. Dressed in a pair of long riding boots, tight navy blue jodhpurs with a white belt around the top, and a tight pink polo shirt he could see every curve she possessed. But it was the smile she flashed him that made him feel like some kind of teenage school kid again. “Frank, please.” “Nice to meet you.” Fliss smiled before turning to Mary “And what can I call you Miss?” “Mary.” she said, looking up “Are all these horses yours?”

Fliss chuckled. “No not all of them. 9 belong to me. 3 are my personal ones, then I have 6 that work in the riding school and the other 6 are boarders.” “Oh.” she said, looking around. “So which one can I ride.” “Mary…” Frank chastised her softly as he looked down at her, before glancing back at Fliss “Sorry, she’s excited.” Fliss laughed and shook her head “It’s fine, I love to see it.”

She turned to Mary and then in an exaggerated whisper so that Frank could here said “I’ll let you into a secret, I always put the new kids on Monty because he’s awesome and looks after everyone…and he especially likes girls. He’s a ladies man. You wanna meet him?” Mary nodded eagerly and Fliss looked up at Frank, seeking his permission. He nodded and gestured with his head and she straightened up before leading Mary across the yard to the barn on the opposite side.

Frank stayed where he was for a moment, watching her ass as she walked before he mentally slapped himself and followed.

“Monty, meet Mary…” she said with a smile as Mary gently reached up to stroke the pony’s soft nose.

“He’s really pretty.” Mary said, appraisingly.

“Yeah he’s awesome.” Fliss smiled, “And he’s a good boy too.” “Can I go in the stable?” Mary asked.

“Erm… if your dad says it’s ok?” Fliss looked at Frank who was tucking his sunglasses down the front of his shirt.

“I’m not her dad.” Frank shook his head “I’m her uncle.” “Oh, sorry.” Fliss frowned “I just assumed.”

“I get it a lot.” he said, waving her apology away “But I am her legal guardian so…”

Fliss nodded, studying him for a moment. There was clearly a bit more to that story but it wasn’t her business to pry.

“Can I?” Mary looked at him and he nodded.

“What’s he doing?” Mary asked.

“It’s called grooming.” Fliss explained “So he is mimicking what you’re doing to him to me, see? It’s how they show affection in the wild. Sometimes they can get a bit carried away and they nip but they don’t mean to be nasty or bite.”

“Spend less money on beer when you go out tonight” she shot back, and Fliss gave a loud bark of a laugh as Frank, shook his head.

“See what I gotta put up with?” he snorted.

“You should talk to my dad about it.” she laughed “I bled him dry due to horses as a kid, especially when I was up and down the UK competing!” “I was gonna say your accent isn’t local.” he said, smiling.

“Neither is yours.” she shot back “New England?” He cocked his head, momentarily surprised. He didn’t think his accent was that strong considering.

“Boston.” he nodded, “But I aint lived there in a while.” “I lived in Concorde” she explained, noticing his puzzled glance

“Huh, no kidding.” he smiled “Cambridge.” “Nice state.” Fliss smiled “I loved it.”

“What made you end up here?”

Fliss hesitated for a while. “Erm..” “Sorry, you don’t need to explain, I was just a little curious.” “No, it’s fine just a long and complicated story.” Fliss said, scratching her temple “The abridged version is my marriage broke down and my mum and dad retired out here so I joined them.” She was avoiding his eyes slightly. Frank was smart enough to realise there was slightly more to it than that but he was tactful enough not to press. Besides, it was really none of his business.

“How about you? What you running from?” “What makes you think I’m running from anything?” he asked.

“Aren’t we all?” she looked at him, her deep brown eyes locked onto his.

“Fliss, sorry to interrupt but do you want Cap and Bolt turned out?” a young girl with blonde hair approached them.

“Yeah, they’re not working again today.” Fliss said, “But take them one at a time. Bolt’s taking to being a bit bargey. If he starts wrap the lead-rope round his nose.” “Will do.” “Thanks Jo.” she smiled, and they continued walking.

“What’s bargey?” Mary asked.

“Pushy.” Frank looked at her “Bossy.” “Like you?” Frank shot her a look and saw Fliss smiling to herself as she overheard.

“Or it could mean pain in the ass like you.” he said. “Rude.” Mary shot back as Fliss opened the door to the office. Frank leaned over to hold it open.

“Thanks.” she looked at him smiling. He stepped in after Mary and they both stood, looking around taking it all in.

The frame was split into 2. On the right hand side was a photo of Fliss dressed in competition gear, navy jacket, red piping, white jodhs and a navy hat. She had a smile on her face that was literally ear to ear and round her neck sat the gold medal which was displayed in the left of the frame.

“London 2012…” Mary read the small plaque at the bottom “Frank, look…” “I can see.” he said, surprise evident in his tone. He looked at the woman “You were in the Olympics?” “Yeah.” she smiled “Only one though. Trained for years to get there…”

“Why only one?” Mary looked at her.

“Mary.” Frank groaned “Stop being nosey.” “It’s ok.” Fliss chuckled “A few months later at the World Championships I had a nasty accident. I damaged my back and it took me nearly 6 months to recover. Sadly I lost my place on the team.” “Oh, that’s sad.” Mary looked at her.

“It’s a dog eat dog world kid.” Fliss shrugged “Not all bad though, I got into the training side of things which was great. Just didn’t work out.” There was a moments pause and Fliss replaced the photo and turned to Frank “Can I get you anything to drink?” “No, I’m good thanks.” he smiled.

“But I can give you those to take home, you can bring them with you when you come back.” she said, reaching into her desk drawer. She pulled out a glossy leaflet and opened it. “Our price list is here. I’m not a huge outfit, I don’t have more than 3 kids on a lesson at a time. Mainly because I don’t have the horses but I prefer to focus on the students, not the profit. I try to keep overheads down as much as I can to keep the costs low…”

She bit her lip, she hated this part of the job, the sales patter as her dad called it. “So it really depends on what you want to do as to how expensive it is. Group lessons are $20 for 45 minutes and individual lessons are $30 for 30. I do always insist on an individual lesson first, but that’s discounted to $20 for the first one.” Frank nodded, it wasn’t cheap but they’d manage. He’d already explained to Mary that she wouldn’t be able to do it every week, but he could certainly stretch to once a fortnight.

“That’s reasonable.” he said after a pause.

Fliss smiled “I’ve only been 6 months or so now, but I’m planning on starting up a few Own a Pony days where the kids can come down and learn how to care for the horses as well as just ride. But that’s all in the planning stages.” “Well you have a good set up.” he said, and she beamed back.

“Thank you, a lot of graft went into setting it up. My mom and dad’s retirement didn’t start out quite as quiet as they had planned!”

“I can imagine.”

“Ok,so…the real expensive outlay is gonna come at the start.” she said, turning to Mary “You’ll need some boots and a hat kiddo.” Mary grinned up at Frank.

Mary took the flier from her and began examining it.

“That’s really it.” Fliss said, as she completed her mental check list “So all that’s left is to either book you in or you can call me…” “Please Frank!” Mary looked at him “Can we book?” Frank nodded “If you want.” “I do…” “Ok…what availability do you have?” Fliss opened the laptop and entered the diary and looked for a free spot.” “Does Wednesday at 1 suit?” she offered “I know once school starts you’ll probably want a weekend or evening but. whilst it’s the holidays does that work?”

“Yeah, get used to it. Once you get that horse smell on your hands it’s kind of an addiction.” “Frank hates animals.” Mary shrugged.

“I don’t hate animals.” Frank shook his head.

“You hate Fred.” “No, I don’t”

“You said before we should bring him so a horse steps on him.” Frank inwardly groaned as Fliss gave a chuckle.

“Fred is my cat.” Mary explained.

“Good name.” Fliss said “I have a few yard cats hanging around, they keep the mice at bay. And that reminds me, I haven’t seen Thor in a while…”

“Thor?” Mary looked at her

“Yeah, my dog…” she stood up and opened the office door, giving a sharp whistle. “He never goes far.” As if on cue a large german shepherd came lolling down the yard to greet them. Frank eyed the dog, it was huge. Mary, right on cue jumped down off his lap.

“Is he named after the Avenger?” Mary looked up “I love those films.”

“Sure is, he used to have a brother called Loki too but, well he died.”

Thor gave Mary a lick causing her to giggle before he flopped onto his side raising his paw.

“He wants a belly rub.” Fliss said, and Mary dropped to her knees to give the dog a tickle. His tail began to wag furiously on the floor and Mary laughed.

Frank watched the girl, smiling. He loved seeing her like this. She was so grown up and serious half the time, he yearned to see her acting like a normal 7 year old. He was reticent to drag her away for that reason but he had work later that afternoon, a boat that needed finishing by Monday afternoon was taking him slightly longer than he had anticipated.

“Alright short stack, we gotta move…” “Do we hafta?” “Sorry kiddo.” Mary made a face.

“Do you wanna go to the store or not?” Frank shot her a look. “Ok.” she said, jumping up and wiping dusting off her knees.

Fliss walked them to the truck which was parked in the car park and her eyes flew over to her horse wagon, a small 3.5 tonne box. Frank noticed her looking before she turned back to him.

“Yours?” he asked.

“Yeah, I did have a bigger one but, well I don’t use it often enough now to warrant it. Maybe at some point I’ll get back into competing…never say never hey?” He smiled.

“Sorry, was that too much? I just…well she…” “Oh,God,no…” Frank stuttered, hastily shaking his head. “It’s just…well she’s never usually that affectionate with strangers. Not that you’re a stranger I suppose, not anymore but…” he shrugged.

“I should…” he gestured to the truck with his keys.

“Yeah, sorry. Have a good day Mr Adler…” “Frank…” “Frank.” she corrected herself with another gorgeous smile “I’ll see you Wednesday.” With another nod he walked to the truck and Fliss turned and headed back to the yard.

He climbed in and turned to Mary who was looking at him, smirking in a smug way that was well beyond her 7 years.

“What?” he demanded.

“You like her.” Mary snorted.

“She’s a nice girl, I mean woman…lady…”

Mary didn’t say a word, simply sat back as Frank reached around for her belt before doing his own and setting the truck into reverse. Sometimes she was far too observant for her own good. *****

“If she gives you any trouble just tie her up on the porch.” Frank said as Mary settled on the couch in Roberta’s trailer. Roberta snorted and Mary glared at him.

“He googled her.” Mary said.

“You googled her” Roberta intoned.

“I was curious ok?” Frank said “And you asked me to!” “She’s an Olympic Gold medallist.” Mary chanted, draping herself over the arm of the sofa, head hanging, hair brushing the floor “At London 2012 but then she had an accident in the World Championships later that year and she broke 2 vertebrae…she didn’t compete again. And she was married to a guy called John. He was on the US Equestrian team but they’re divorced now. He’s in prison…but Frank didn’t tell me why.” “Because it’s none of your business, and you don’t mention it to her.” Frank said sternly, cutting her off.

Roberta looked at him curiously “But you’re not interested in her. At all.” “Like I said, curious.” he shrugged “Especially if she’s gonna be teaching Mary.”

“Mmmhmmm.” Roberta dropped her hands to her hips “Whatever you say honey…” Frank sighed and then looked at Mary. “Be good.” “I will, see you in the morning…”

He nodded and then headed out. It was a pleasant evening, the heat of the day had died down to an acceptable level and the 10 minute walk down to the small strip of bars wasn’t as sticky as normal. It passed fairly quickly, he was lost in thought about the woman he had met before. It had made for surprising reading, a child star on the circuit the accident had cruelly robbed her of a future in the sport 5 years ago, and from the sounds of it her ass-hat ex-husband had stolen 3 years of her life too. Still, as he had told Mary, it was none of their business.

“So how much did she sting you for at the store?”

Frank grinned up at Fliss “Just short of a hundred. New hat, boots and a pair of jodhpurs.” Fliss giggled “Make sure she wears the boots in, they’re a killer for the first few days!” “I’ll bear it in mind.” he smiled “So, you hear alone or…” “Oh, no. It’s my Mum’s birthday so there’s a few of us out.” she said, glancing over her shoulder. Frank followed her eyes and settled on a table full of women who were all laughing. One looked quite similar to Fliss, same face shape and nose, who he assumed to be her mother. “If I’m honest it’s a bit boring considering they’re all over fifty but…” Frank laughed “Well I was gonna offer to buy you a drink but…” She laughed again “Thanks but, there’s a kitty going…” with that she turned to the bar tender. “Hiya, can I get 4 bud lights, a gin and tonic and a vodka soda please?” The bar tender nodded and headed off.

“Mary hasn’t shut up about Monty all afternoon.” Frank said and Fliss smiled.

Fliss smiled “Well she’s not wrong. The kids I teach are great, I don’t stand for any crap, she’ll be welcomed with open arms.”

“Glad to hear it.” Frank smiled “Mary can be a litte…well, I suppose, odd is the right word. She’s old before her age.”

Fliss chuckled, eyeing him slightly. The man was a total mystery. At that the Bar Tender returned with a tray of drinks and she turned to pay him, waving away the change.

“Another beer please pal.” he said, waving his empty bottle.

“Who’s that?” Verity leaned over to Fliss as she settled in the seat next to her.

“Oh, that’s the guy I was telling you about.” she shrugged “the one who brought his niece up to the Centre this morning.” “I know you said he was good looking but…”

“Shut up Mum.” Fliss said, flushing slightly

“You’re old enough to be his mother.” Jane, one of the other women said and the table laughed.

“Who the fuck was that?” John said, pointing across the packed bar to the man that Fliss had just smiled at.

“No one…” Fliss protested “Just a guy from work, that’s all.” “Right…” John said, the nerve in his jaw twitching. Fliss swallowed nervously and gently touched his arm.

“Honestly, he works at the stables. I was just being polite.”

“He’s eye fucking you.” “No, he’s not…” Fliss rolled her eyes and immediately realised what he had done when John gripped her chin painfully between his thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me.” he practically snarled.

And she knew what that meant…

“Hey…” her mother’s voice shook her out of the memory and she looked up at her. “Oh Liss…”

“I’m ok…” she said, taking a breath

Her mother looked at her again, and Fliss knew she was busted. “I was just…having a flash back that’s all.”

“He’s not here.” Verity dropped her voice “That fucker is where he belongs, behind bars and he won’t be bothering you again. Me and your dad promised you that…and we meant it.”

“I know, honestly I’m fine…” Fliss assured her mum who leaned over and gave her temple a soft kiss.

Fliss smiled back and shooting one last glance at Frank, who has his back to the table as he continued his reading, she turned to the women and threw herself into the conversation

@the-omni-princess @momobaby227 @geekofmanythings16 @angelofhell-666 @thewackywriter @marvelfansworld @cobalt-gear @asgardlover75 @jennmurawski13 @jtargaryen18 @saiyanprincessswanie @navispalace @patzammit @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @icanfeelastormbrewing @djeniiscorner @ayamenimthiriel @coldmuffinbanditshoe @disneylovingal @madzmilllz @sgtjaamesbaarnes @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @southerngracela @goldenfightergir @kellymat @official-and-unstable-satan

#riding high #frank adler x ofc #frank adler #gifted fan fic #gifted

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lohrisaelee · 4 years

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⌠LALISA MANOBAN, 23, CISFEMALE, SHE/HER ⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, LOHRI SAELEE! according to their records, they’re a THIRD year, specializing in RESEARCH & DEVELOPMENT + AWARENESS TRAINING, BREATH CONTROL, HAND TO HAND COMBAT; and they DID NOT go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of (bangs perfectly aligned, soft scent of lilies, dry cherry blossoms falling from a journal, warm brown eyes and that ecstatic smile of someone who has been daydreaming possibilities either about a fight, or a love). when it’s the pisces’s birthday on 3/13/1997, they always request their FRIES AND VANILLA MILKSHAKE from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation.

Basics

FULL NAME: Lohri Saelee NICKNAMES: Lo, brainy, lili(leelee) BIRTH DATE: March 13th AGE: Twenty-Three ZODIAC: Pisces GENDER: Female PRONOUNS: She/Her GRADE LEVEL: Third Year MAJORS: Research & Development + Awareness training, breath control, hand to hand combat SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Pansexual ETHNICITY: Thai American CURRENT LOCATION: Roseville, Virginia

Personality

She is good at dancing as well as swimming, but she is terrible at lying.

She's easily distracted, often have her head in the clouds.

She's caring and compassionate, Lohri is the first to help a friend in need even if she doesn’t think they’d be there to help her, most of the time putting others necessity over hers. She loves showing affection but respect other people more than anything.

She tries to be social, to be accepted.

She's a hopeless romantic type of girl, she falls in love 20 times a day but rarely ever does anything about it. She's not much of a fighter when it comes to relations in general. If she's in love with someone she doesn't know, there's always that little shine in her eyes.

She doesn't let anyone treat her badly, something her twin taught her, though she won’t confront them or try to talk about their behavior. She won’t try to convince them that she is right and the person is wrong. She’ll just slowly slip out of their life, leaving them wondering if they ever meant anything to her at all. Despite her sweetness, it must not be underestimated her power to break a heart without saying a word.

She is very transparent so anyone can tell when she is fine and when she is not.

Lohri is quite sensitive, as it seems, she hates a few things more than being called annoying, she doesn’t usually get mad or irritated but when she does, she thinks very deeply about the situation. She can get very emotional, quite mean and angry when hurt and won’t apologize first once someone made her mad.

Her mood is as peculiar as her personality.

Headcanons

Loves taking pictures of things and people.

She always carries headphones with her.

As some sort of escapism, she likes to write poems on her journal but doesn't show anyone, she's insecure about what she writes.

She likes playing with her cat, lobo, listening to music, watching tv shows, training hand to hand combat.

Biography

She was born in Bangkok, Thailand, her father's hometown, he was an ambassador at the beginning of his career at the time, used to travel extensively for work. Her mother, an important environmental engineer, born in Oregon, met her father during one of his trips. Her mother gave birth to twins. After their birth, the family chose to move permanently, as her father earned a promotion and that included moving to Washington, DC. When she was 16 years old, they moved again, to Portland, Oregon, where a Thai consulate general was maintained.

Lohri has always been a smart kid at her school. She always felt like she was being a relief to her parents, since her brother was a huge trouble maker. Lohri's relationship with her twin had always been peaceful, despite their peculiarities and childish fights to decide who was right, they were inseparable, they invented things together, helped each other with homework, made up pranks — despite Lohri being against it.

After they started attending high school, both of them loved swimming and together they became two of the best swimmers on the school team, internally they called themselves “Sharks”. In addition, Lohri was part of the book club, martial arts, astrology club.

When she arrived in Oregon she did her extra research and was fascinated with what she found, she was mesmerized with the mystic, the stars and everything that was related to it. So as she was an excellent student, there was no resistance regarding the creation of her own mystery club, she was a great researcher.

Despite being intelligent, Lohri was a foreigner, being a girl with different features attracted a certain type of bullying to Lohri who didn't understand how someone's skin color would be a good reason for not being treated equally. From there, she developed a great sense of equality that would later be linked to feminism.

During her hectic and busy high school, Lohri has significantly distanced herself from her twin, due the fact that he was sent to some sort of therapeutic boarding school. That provided her first sense of freedom, but also showed that the fear of loneliness existed as well. As she finished high school, Lohri promised she'd be close to her twin again, they could work together at her bookstore, which would open soon.

now

Well, that was five years ago, Lohri actually tried to keep her promise, for a year she still struggled between her commitments to reconnect with her twin, but the following year a very interesting recruitment came making her choose between her promise and a duty. And the young Thai woman was no longer able to stay in Oregon, she has been studying at the Gallagher Academy for two years now, that she's starting the third year she is rather proud of the progress she has been making. She knows she still has a lot to do but she still remains positive that she will soon be able to go out on missions and help her mates, doing the possible and the impossible.

Curiosities

Lohri got her name from her parents shortly after they made a trip to India, during the winter solstice. They were amazed by the festival and the meaning of the name.

#gallagher:intro #there you go

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mimisxkai · 5 years

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“SHE WAS LIKE THE MOON: BEAUTIFUL TO LOOK AT ─ BUT, IMPOSSIBLE TO TOUCH,

ALWAYS HALF HIDDEN BY WHIPS OF SHADOWS

AND COMPLETELY & UTTERLY A L O N E.”

⌠ 𝑲𝑨𝒀𝑳𝑬𝑬 𝑩𝑹𝒀𝑨𝑵𝑻, 𝟐𝟎, 𝑪𝑰𝑺𝑭𝑬𝑴𝑨𝑳𝑬, 𝑺𝑯𝑬/𝑯𝑬𝑹 ⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, 𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑰𝑨 𝑺𝑨𝑲𝑨𝑰! according to their records, they’re a 𝑺𝑬𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑫 year, specializing in 𝑨𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑺𝑺 𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑰𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮, 𝑩𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑯 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑹𝑶𝑳, 𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑻𝑶 𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑩𝑨𝑻 + “𝑴𝑪𝑮𝑼𝒀𝑽𝑬𝑹” 𝑺𝑼𝑹𝑽𝑰𝑽𝑨𝑳 𝑺𝑲𝑰𝑳𝑳𝑺 & 𝑵𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑮𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵; and they 𝑫𝑰𝑫 go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of ( 𝑨 𝑪𝑹𝒀𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑳 𝑪𝑯𝑶𝑲𝑬𝑹, 𝑯𝑨𝑳𝑭-𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑵 𝑪𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑹𝒀 𝑺𝑼𝑪𝑲𝑬𝑹, and 𝑩𝑶𝑾 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑪𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺 ). when it’s the 𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑪𝑬𝑹’s birthday on 𝟕/𝟏𝟑/𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟗, they always request their 𝑩𝑬𝑹𝑹𝒀 𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻 from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation.

* / CHARACTER INFLUENCES: SANSA STARK ( Game of Thrones ) + CASSIE HOWARD ( Euphoria ) + EMILY FIELDS ( Pretty Little Liars ) + FIONA COYNE ( Degrassi ) + ALLISON ARGENT ( Teen Wolf ) + TANDY BOWEN ( Cloak & Dagger ) + PEETA MELLARK ( The Hunger Games )

* / VINE REFERENCES: x x x *** honorable mention***

* / PERSONAL ANTHEM: PROM QUEEN - Molly Kate Kestner

Hi it’s Bri with another smol child of mines ARTEMISIA. Feel free to like this post or hmu on discord if you want to plot :)

TW: Alcohol, sex. Read with caution.

* / GENERAL INFORMATION

FUL: NAME: Artemisia “Mimi” Monroe Sakai.

KNOWN AS: Mimi, Art, Artie.

AGE: Twenty.

DATE OF BIRTH: July 13, 1999.

PLACE OF BIRTH: Milford, Connecticut.

GENDER: Cisgender female.

PRONOUNS: She/her.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual ( a growing female preference ).

RELIGION: Christian.

* / PHYSICAL & MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS

HEIGHT: 5′8.

WEIGHT: 130 lbs.

HAIR COLOUR: Brown.

EYE COLOUR: Brown.

TATTOOS: None.

PIERCINGS: Standard lobes & double helix.

BODY TYPE: Petite.

PHYSICAL HEALTH: Peak.

NOTABLE PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS: Long legs, slight front gap between front teeth.

FACE CLAIM: Kaylee Bryant.

VOICE CLAIM: Kaylee Bryant’s speaking voice.

CLOSET / STYLE: Cher Horowitz ( Clueless ) & Fran Fine ( The Nanny ).

ILLNESSES / CONDITIONS: Asthma & anxiety disorder.

ADDICTIONS: None.

VICES: Envy.

* / BACKGROUND, OCCUPATION & EDUCATION

BIRTHPLACE: Milford, Connecticut.

RAISED: Milford, Connecticut.

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Gallagher Academy.

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English and Japanese.

EDUCATION LEVEL: HS diploma.

FINANCIAL STATUS: Wealthy.

* / FAMILIAL BACKGROUND

FATHER: Kane Sakai.

MOTHER: Reina Sakai [ née Sutton ].

SIBLINGS: None.

BIRTH ORDER: n/a.

RELATIONSHIP WITH FAMILY: Close.

PATERNAL GRANDPARENTS: n/a.

MATERNAL GRANDPARENTS: n/a.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: none.

* / PERSONALITY

POSITIVE: Joyful, caring, selfless, protective.

NEGATIVE: Hot-headed, codependent, self-destructive, naive.

ZODIAC: Cancer.

MBTI TYPE: ENFJ.

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Lawful Good.

HOGWARTS HOUSE: Hufflepuff.

AESTHETIC: Plaid skirts, tight curls, blushing cheeks, open heart & broken spirit, echoing laughter, pointe shoes, distant gazing, soft melodies, pained smiles, tears on pillows.

* / BIO: Her parents named her after the moon, but even the mood has a dark side. Artemisia, better known as Mimi, was the perfect daughter. Sweet, sophisticated, poised ─ everything two high ranking faculty members of the elite private spy university Gallagher could want in a daughter. Since birth, Mimi was groomed knowing she’d follow in the Sutton ( her mother’s maiden name ) legacy and attend the institute, same as her cousins would. As a child, the reality of it didn’t bother her. Along with the private self-defense and boxing classes with her father and weapons training with her mother, there were other more exciting extracurriculars she had to distract her.

Violin and horseback riding were just two phases that quickly came and went, but her love for dance always stayed. What was meant to be an after school activity soon spiraled into tumbling classes, weekend competitions, and many 1st place trophies. It was like an unspoken issue in her household. Though her love for dance ─ ballet specifically ─ eclipsed her love for anything else, so much so that she hoped to make a career out of it, her parents remained steadfast on her attending Gallagher. Upon entering high school, suddenly Mimi’s lack of time and the reality that her dreams would be crushed began to cave in on her. A usually happy and upbeat girl now only had four years left of freedom. And she held onto those four years the best way she knew how ─ by making memories.

Being sent to a spy prep boarding school 30 minutes from home was the best, and worst, thing her parents could’ve done. Separated from her dance team all week only elevated her anxiety levels, leading her to have full-blown panic attacks when things became too much. Desperate to find some means of control in her life, Mimi turned to what all the rich, spoiled, and rotten kids at her school were doing. Sex. Partying. A bit of crime. Shoplifting here, a quickie there. Mimi longed for some sort of...connection. Some control. Something to make her feel whole now that she was losing her grasp on the life she truly wanted. The weekends were her escape, where she could return home, or better yet to the dance studio, and just let out all of pent up energy weekly stressors had built up inside of her. And that’s how her life was for four years. Trying to survive the week, and let loose on the weekends. She didn’t care how her reputation preceded her. She didn’t care that past boyfriends had convinced her to do things ─ on camera ─ then leaked those things when broken up. It’s not like her reputation mattered anymore. It’s not like the nudes would stop her from going to Gallagher of all places. Not when she had the connections she had. So, she moved onto the next. And the next. Falling in love, falling in sin, and trying to keep her head above water.

When graduation day had come, something changed. Mimi had spent 4 years essentially learning strength and self-assurance in her day to day classes ( after all what was a spy who lacked confidence? a dead spy, that’s what ), so she proposed a deal with her parents. A year. Give her a year to follow her passion. If she failed, she’d go to Gallagher willingly. If not, she’d get to live her life the way she wanted. It took some begging, some pleading, a few fat tears, but eventually, they conceded. Mimi’s first destination was New York. Finding work was hard though, as was school. Places like Julliard and Joffrey already filled their quota for the year and productions had already been cast for the fall. She found luck, though, as a background dancer in a small production Off-Broadway. Better than nothing, and it was a great starter position as she was slightly rusty from not dancing as regularly as she did as a child. What she thought was a shot, only turned into tragedy. A few months in, she did one of the worst things that could happen to a dancer: she tore her ACL. Recovery was imminent but spanned nearly a year. And by that time, her time was up. No dream was fulfilled. No opportunity was given. Mimi packed her bags and began at Gallagher, just like she promised her parents.

Now a second year at the school, Mimi has grown accustomed to that drowning feeling that started during her high school years. If anything, she enjoys the numbness now. Anything is better than the pain.

* / PERSONALITY: Mimi is so glad she doesn’t look like what she’s gone through. From afar she’s still the perfect daughter. Selfless, because helping others distracts herself from her own problems. Kind-hearted, always smiling, the sweetheart appearance. But what most people don’t know is that the smile is for a show, because pretending is a lot easier than wallowing or taking out her anger on someone else. When first attending Gallagher, the loss of something so crucial to her had her on edge. So when a boy from her former school decided to taunt her with some private photos, she snapped. It seemed all those years of her boxing lessons with her dad finally came in handy. She appears to be delicate and soft, breakable even, but how can you break something that’s already broken? By day, she’s the girl everyone wants to know. But by night, when everyone’s asleep, she goes to the gym where a punching bag becomes her best friend. It’s the only form of control she has left.

* / WANTED RELATIONS: People who know her from her past, maybe some girlssss to explore her sexuality with????, at least one confidante, sexual tension, and so on.

#gallagher:intro #this got #long #again #my bad

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gildengirl · 19 days

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"It is a little-known fact about covert operations that you will spend a lot of time with people you can’t really trust. They may be traitors and liars. We call them assets or informants. But mostly, in those days, I called him Zach." - Ally Carter, Only the Good Spy Young

Zachary Goode mood board

#Gallagher Girls #Gallagher Girls Series #Gallagher Girls mood boards #Ally Carter #Zachary Goode #Zach Goode #Blackthorne Boy #also thanks @madsbrainrot1 for finding the picture of Zach's note #it's EVERYTHING to me

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madammuffins · 5 years

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11/11/11

Tagged by @writingonesdreams to do this tag game, which has been sitting drafts for my WHOLE FUCKING LIFE now. Dear God.

Rules are simple. Answer 11 questions, tag 11 people, write 11 new questions. I can’t say I’ll be able to do all of this (partly why it’s been gathering boss-level dust but... I’ll try).

How much of your writing is influenced by your daily life? Like does what happened during the day affect what and how you write?

I think all of my daily life goes into what I write. I think that’s true for all authors. All our experiences, small and large, goes into our creations - from the pain of a burn to the pain of a heartbreak or the loss of a loved one. Life is the tool of creation. It’s how we build fictional people - from our own odd quirks and the ticks of those close to us.

How much of you is inside your characters?

All of it and none of it. I don’t think anyone can create a character that doesn’t have a part of them there, no matter how small. On the same hand that character isn’t me. They have a different personality, they do things I don’t want them to do or wouldn’t do myself. It’s... complicated.

Do you start writing from the beginning or somewhere else?

It... depends. Honestly. The actual writing I try to start with the beginning. I have a very hard time if I don’t write from the start. But the ideas usually come from different places, the actual story comes from various scenes I imagine at different times and places within the plot itself. That’s fun.

Like connect the dots in the fog.

What is the most difficult for you about writing?

Hmm. Probably actually writing. I’m dyslexic and have a hard time writing at home since I have to do it on my cell phone. After that it’s those pauses in plot - the character development moments where things feel (to me) stagnant and calm. THAT’S SO HARD?!? HOW DO YOU GUYS DO IT?

What is the hardest part about creating characters for you?

Not being repetitive in their appearance.

Ah shit, that’s four characters with brown eyes, gotta try again!

What are the themes of your wip and what do they mean to you?

I guess the one thing they all have in common is love and fantasy. Apart from that it’s all wildly different in my opinion. I think it also shows what matters the most to me. I staunchly refuse to believe that magic isn’t real - and yes, I do mean in the most ridiculous way. Leprechauns and unicorns and fairies included. I’ve gone so far as to leave out oats and honey to appease a house goblin.

And, you know. Love. Who doesn’t want love? I guess I’m just a hopeless sap.

What books/movies/series whatever inspired or influenced your current wip the most?

Hmm. All of them. I can’t say any one has influenced me more than another. I’m sure there are elements that you can see in each work (each one being vastly different) and to list them all would be exhausting. Lord of the Rings, Fall Out, Last of Us, Tithe, Valiant, Girl who Heard Dragons, Talking to Dragons, etc...

What would be the biggest appreciation of your work for you?

Literally anything. Comments, reblogging, fanart, fanfiction (I don’t give a shit if it gets published I’m reading the fanfiction fuck the laws I’m sure there’s shit I can do to cover my ass), playlists, mood boards, anon comments about the characters... honestly anything.

Why did you choose to write this wip and not something else? What’s so special about it?

Uhm. Haha, man I don’t know. The idea just was there so I did. Right now I’m just trying to get my ducks all in a row so my old work is in order before I produce more new work that is subpar and needs more work. Better to have 7 things that are in good standing and 2 things half done that needs work than 9 half finished shit-shows.

What kind of scenes do you not want to write/don’t enjoy writing but can’t get around them?

The lulls in action and plot advancement. Those quiet moments you can’t avoid because that’s where the character development happens and usually are the great spot for some much needed “reader rest“ but I detest them. They’re so hard for me to do!!!

What part of the writing process is your favourite? (Coming up with the idea, thinking, outlining, researching, writing itself, editing, reading what you have written, etc)

All of it. I genuinely love writing and I always have. It’s honestly the best kind of magic to me. Sure it’s hard work and sometimes more effort than I have inside of me, but fuck is it actual magic. Fuck I love it.

Tagging @connieturnpenny @pens-swords-stuff @quillowtree @marniebalboa @quilloftheclouds @write-gallagher @cookiecuttercritter @igotablankpage @ourpasteldream @comfypitbull @latechickadee

no pressure to play my peeps, as always. And, if you weren’t tagged you’re free to play. Like, that’s just the unspoken Writeblr Rule (tm) by now I think.

My Questions:

Uhhhggggggg I goota write fucking questionnnnnssssssss FUCK.

Do you title your chapters, why/why not? Do they pertain to what happens in the chapter or are they random?

Do your main characters seem to have common traits or characteristics?

Why do you think this is?

Do you borrow real life people or parts of real life people to insert into your novels? Why/why not?

Do you stick to a word count in your novels/chapters? Why?

What do you want your book to say to those who read it? What do you think your book says about you?

If your WIP gets published and goes far would you sign over your rights for a movie adaptation, even if it means it gets butchered like the Eragon (or similar) series did?

What is your favorite kind of character chemistry to write? Sexual tension, anger, resentment, jealousy? What about it do you like so much?

Which settings are your favorites? Chill cafe, Gorey battle field? Why?

What element represents your main character and why?

If you could pick an AU for your WIP (alternate universe) for a fan work, what au would you choose and why would you choose it?

I just want you all to know I fucking love you guys. I’m so excited to be a part of such a large and positive community and I genuinely am interested in your wip’s and your answers so please don’t hesitate to go off. I may not interact much (between kids and work I’m not really on Tumblr that much) but I love seeing this stuff when I get my “free hour” at night between building up my queue and browsing.

#tag games #writeblr tag game #writeblr community #writeblr game #11/11/11 tag #games #positive

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what-is-your-plan-today · 4 years

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COMING SOON! Riding High- A Frank Adler fic.

Series Summary: Frank Adler is a single man in his early 30s, simply doing his best to raise his genius niece Mary. After a passing comment from his well-meaning neighbour, land-lady and friend, he decides that before he enrols her into school she needs to learn some social skills and pick up a hobby to help her interact with kids her own age.

Their worlds merge when Mary decides she wants to learn how to ride.

Both have a history, both are running and fleeing from their demons. Maybe, just maybe one broken soul can mend the other… Series Warnings: Bad Language words. There will be smut. Dark themes (can’t reveal too much as will give the game away at this point)

Episode Pairings: Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher (yeah I’m a sucker for an OFC…)

Tagging all my SSB/CSI readers…if you want in or off the list PLEASE just tell me.

As always I’m a ho for a REBLOG and COMMENT!

And yes, the woman in the photos in the cover banner on and with the Chestnut is me and my wonderful, wonderful old girl who I lost 2 years ago…

“I’m holding you solely responsible for this.” Frank shot Roberta a glare as Mary bounced over to the truck, her blonde hair swinging slightly as she skipped.

Roberta took a deep breath and simply shrugged “On your head be it.”

“Come on Frank!” Mary shouted, standing up on the ledge of the truck “we’re gonna be late!”

“It’s 20 minutes tops to Pinellas Park…” Frank looked at her “We got half an hour, chill out Stack”

“My name’s Mary not Short Stack…” she sing songed back.

“Don’t I know it…” Frank said, looking at her before he turned back to Roberta “I’ll see you later.”

“Hmmm” she nodded, and with that he rolled his eyes again and headed to the truck.

“You know you’re not actually gonna get to ride anything today right?” he asked, turning to his niece.

“No, but I’m still gonna see the ponies.” she said, smiling. “Why can’t we bring Fred?”

“Because a horse might step on him.” Frank said, before he paused. “Actually, shall we take him?” Mary narrowed her eyes at him “That’s mean.” He chuckled, ruffled her hair and started up the truck. **** “Ok, now soften your outside hand…” Fliss called out across the paddock, as the woman riding the tall, black warmblood circled her “Yeah, you feel that. He’s taking the contact now, not leaning against your hand. So when you feel that softening, that’s when you need to push with your inside leg…and if is he isn’t listening a soft tap up with the stick…” She watched again from behind her Oakley wraparounds, smiling as the horse extended nicely down the long side of the school.

“Ok, bring him back down…” she said, “And into trot…and walk…”

Fliss headed over to her client and smiled as she walked along side her “That was really good Luce…you happy?” “I’m over the moon!” The teenager grinned “I can’t believe it…he went so well!”

“Yeah because you rode him well.” Fliss smiled “You know, I seriously think you should consider a Dressage Competition.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, I do. I know you don’t have a horse of your own but you can borrow Cap if you want…have a think about it.” “I will, thanks Fliss.”

Fliss smiled, gave the horse a pat and headed back to the gate.

“Joanne?” she called, and one of her grooms appeared. “Can you just supervise Lucy cooling him off. I’ve got someone bringing their daughter in at 11 am that should be here any time soon.”

Frank looked at the woman in front of him, glad that his glasses hid the fact he was blatantly eyeing her up and down. Dressed in a pair of long riding boots, tight navy blue jodhpurs with a white belt around the top, and an equally tight pink polo shirt he could see every curve she possessed. But it was the smile she flashed him that made him feel like some kind of teenage school kid again, and if he was honest the British accent was kind of a turn on too. It wasn’t the usual, posh one he associated with Evelyn, it was a little gruffer, but still enthralling.

“Frank, please.” he held out his hand, which she took in a surprisingly strong grip. “Nice to meet you Frank.” Fliss smiled before releasing him and turning to Mary “And what can I call you Miss?” “Mary.” she said, looking up “Are all these horses yours?”

Fliss chuckled. “No not all of them. 8 belong to me. 2 are my personal ones, then I have 6 that work in the riding school and the other 6 are boarders.” “Oh.” she said, looking around. “So which one can I ride.” “Mary…” Frank chastised her softly as he looked down at her, before glancing back at Fliss “Sorry, she’s excited.” Fliss laughed and shook her head “It’s fine, I love to see it.”

She turned to Mary and then in an exaggerated whisper so that Frank could hear said “I’ll let you into a secret, I always put the new kids on Monty because he’s awesome and looks after everyone…and he especially likes girls. He’s a ladies man. You wanna meet him?” Mary nodded eagerly and Fliss looked up at Frank, seeking his permission. He nodded and gestured with his head and she straightened up before leading Mary across the yard to the barn on the opposite side.

Frank stayed where he was for a moment, watching her ass as she walked before he mentally slapped himself and followed.

#riding high #frank adler x ofc #frank adler #gifted #gifted fan fic

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shutupandblog · 7 years

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cute tags

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk? // more milk! 2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day? // YES OMG YES. 3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books? // forks, notes, socks....anything I find in that moment... 4: how do you take your coffee/tea? // tea: just with water. coffee: flavoured creamer.... 5: are you self-conscious of your smile? // YEAH. 6: do you keep plants? // my mom forces her plants onto me so I have unexpected children to take care of. 7: do you name your plants? // no, I'll feel bad if I forget their names. 8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings? // songwriting 9: do you like singing/humming to yourself? // sing out loud, man. but yeah. 10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach? // fall asleep on back easiest but wake up on my side. 11: what's an inner joke you have with your friends? // innovation at its finest, man. 12: what's your favorite planet? // saturn 13: what's something that made you smile today? // finding some of my old songs and realizing that they're not ALL lost. I was a genius in 2014 and backed it up on usb wow 14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like? // open concept omf hit me with the natural light and big windows. no walls. big kitchen. no curtains. piano. hardwood. pictures in frames. 15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is! // "The Apollo astronauts' footprints on the moon will probably stay there for at least 100 million years." Source: https://www.google.ca/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=3&ved=0ahUKEwji75-ZwYXXAhWqxFQKHSroDssQFggxMAI&url=http%3A%2F%2Fmashable.com%2F2014%2F03%2F05%2Fsun-stars-space-facts%2F&usg=AOvVaw2BqM1yEL36GBccqMtEtOWs) 16: what's your favorite pasta dish? // i don't normally eat pasta so every time i see pasta i'll take anything. 17: what color do you really want to dye your hair? // grey and lavender. 18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up. // 19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it? // i keep a lyric dump journal! 20: what's your favorite eye color? // GREEN 21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that's been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces. // my navy backpack was with my throughout high school and ib and i'm still using it in uni, so it's been to hell twice. 22: are you a morning person? // hell no 23: what's your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations? // listen to all my cd's and find new artists...song write...listen to more music... 24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets? // yes 25: what's the weirdest place you've ever broken into? // lol none 26: what are the shoes you've had for forever and wear with every single outfit? // threw them out yo 27: what's your favorite bubblegum flavor? // banana 28: sunrise or sunset? // sunrise 29: what's something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing? // my one friend has a habit of crossing her legs and tapping her foot that’s in the air when she listens / hums music and it’s sO CUTE. 30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared? // yeah. my mom went through a rough time and I hated being awake. 31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks. // in general: no socks. Weird socks are cool. I usually take off my socks as soon as I walk in through the front door. If I wear songs, they’re ankle length. Can’t do anything higher than that. I hate tights, I don’t do tights. 32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends. // i literally think we woke up at 4 to watch MAMA 2015 together. 33: what's your fave pastry? // i have no idea....bread pudding served on pie crust and ice cream? 34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it? // it’s gone. but it was called bonsai and it was a giant ass panda and i miss it. I had to get rid of it because we were moving and its head got ripped off. Or, ripped in half should I say. 35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often? // I love them but I never indulge in it!!! alkjngakjdfd 36: which band's sound would fit your mood right now? // my mood right now? omg bts - wings. 37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean? // messy. 38: tell us about your pet peeves! // wet bathroom floors, getting my socks wet, sweaty in the winter, when people touch my things and don’t put them back where they are supposed to be so i can’t find it ugh, touching people’s food while doing dishes (SCRAPE YOUR PLATE @ SIBLINGS), people stepping on my shoes, looming too close to me while talking....etc.... 39: what color do you wear the most? // grey, black, pink. 40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what's it's story? does it have any meaning to you? // all my jewelry is meaningless bc I bought it all myself. Ahh- I have this one pearl necklace that my grandpa and dad bought for me in china and I haven’t worn it once. 41: what's the last book you remember really, really loving? // gallagher girls series 42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it! // i’m not a coffee person 43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with? // myself a few mornings ago when I was going to my lab and waiting at the bus stop. 44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything? // when i was in hawaii doing the longest hike of my life and finally reaching the “end” of the island and you could see no city. Just sea lions, turtles and water. Dark stones. Wind. It was just myself and it was quiet and it was so beautiful. I have so many videos. 45: do you trust your instincts a lot? // fuck that shit, I got so many q’s wrong on tests because of it. 46: tell us the worst pun you can think of. // gravity sucks. 47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe? // onions omf 48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today? // the dark. and yeah. 49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought? // I LOVE CDs. Last record I bought: paramore- after laughter (i think). 50: what's an odd thing you collect? // cineplex tickets and guitar picks. 51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them? // my friend S- I associate her with the song “Tokyo Jellybean” by Ingrid St-Pierre. She’s one of my favourite artists. I have never told her this. 52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far? lol cracking a cold one with the boys bc my psych always opens a pop can in the middle of this lecture (ALL THE TIME) and i just get reminded. 53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them? only heathers bc my friend showed it to me and I really liked it! 54: who's the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face? // my friend Y. 55: what's the most dramatic thing you've ever done to prove a point? // raised my voice? 56: what are some things you find endearing in people? // being completely absorbed in their work, drinking coffee and looking out the bus window, falling asleep in random places. 57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics? // uhh i just use this song to check if my right headphone is working lol 58: who's the wine mom and who's the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why? // wine mom is T and vodka aunt is Y. I mean, if you meet them you’ll know. 59: what's your favorite myth? // im uneducated 60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves? // i like poetry- short poetry. 61: what's the stupidest gift you've ever given? the stupidest one you've ever received? // I gave cough drops / i received paperclip holders 62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind? // i’m a morning water person 63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be? // YEAH I AM. Bookshelf man. 64: what color is the sky where you are right now? // black 65: is there anyone you haven't seen in a long time who you'd love to hang out with? // no bc if I haven’t seen you in a long time, I’ve probably dropped you. 66: what would your ideal flower crown look like? // baby’s breath, blue bells, daisy. 67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel? // I LIVE FOR THOSE DAYS 68: what's winter like where you live? // either snowy heaven or mushy hell 69: what are your favorite board games? // i’m basic, so monopoly. 70: have you ever used a ouija board? / no 71: what's your favorite kind of tea? // oolong or vanilla something.... 72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you'll forget it? // yeah i really need to 73: what are some of your worst habits? // drop my clothes all over the bedroom floor and leave them there. 74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns. // a breath of fresh air 75: tell us about your pets! // i had a goldfish once but on the car ride home to my house it died. 76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren't? // STUDYING WTF AM I DOING ANSWERING A 100 QUESTION TAG 77: pink or yellow lemonade? // PINK 78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub? // i’m a spectator 79: what's one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you? // painted me fake polaroids and stuck them in a colouring book omg 80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why? // tan. it’s the colour of my entire house. 81: describe one of your friend's eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of. // didn’t pass engl man i can’t do this 82: are/were you good in school? // i WAS 83: what's some of your favorite album art? // rise against, fob, volbeat, ingrid st pierre, ts, bts. 84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones? // i’ve always wanted a roman numeral tattoo but i don’t do commitment. 85: do you read comics? what are your faves? // i only read peanuts and archie as a kid 86: do you like concept albums? which ones? // i only listen to pink floyd ..the wall. 87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives? // not a movie person. can’t comment. 88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy? // idk.... 89: are you close to your parents? // sure 90: talk about your one of you favorite cities. // tokyo omg god save me 91: where do you plan on traveling this year? // the farthest i’ll get is my bed 92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch? // barely sprinkles a pinch 93: what's the hairstyle you wear the most? // up 94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday? // my auntie 95: what are your plans for this weekend? // this weekend is over and so is my academic career 96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot? // procrastinate 97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house? // 1. don’t know, 2. scorpio, 3. ravenclaw 98: when's the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it? // real hike: this summer in hawaii, fake hike: w my friends downtown. I loved both times the same. 99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them. // Exo- what if/my answer, Taylor- all too well/never grow up, Shawn: running low, Alessia: my song, Bts: sea, Pierre Luc lessard: sans combat 100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why? // 5 years in the future. The past 5 years have been hard.

I tag: @kabul1998, @iamnotmadamebovary

#tags

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endemictoearth · 7 years

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About Town Pt. 1

LONG TIME NO FIC

Hiiiiiiii guyyyyyys, sorry! I’m not convinced I’ve kicked my funk just yet, but this prompt from @i-dream-of-emus piqued my interest, and got me to sit down and write something! It’s not done, I’ve started part 2 and sketched out where I want it to go, but I really wanted to get something out there, and this seemed like a natural pause in the story while I gathered my thoughts.

PROMPT: Rae is well-known by the staff of Town Records, and when they don’t see their most loyal customer for a couple of weeks they get worried. Some how, they find out that she’s in the psychiatric ward, and want to do something nice for her during her time there.

So, each week, a member of staff visits her at the hospital with the latest NME and Melody Maker, and the week’s new releases. Rae borrows the CDs for a week, then buys what she can afford of the ones she likes most.

And guess who is Town’s grumpiest / best-looking part-timer?

I didn’t keep exactly to the brief, and some of this will show up in the second half, but it seemed to scratch the itch of “What if?” for me. (Well, half-scratch . . . still got a bit of an itch.)

Not tagging anyone, but I’ll stick it on this month’s Round-Up. Hope you like it!

* * * * *

It often takes awhile to notice when something’s missing. Like one of those “Can you spot the differences between these pictures?” puzzles they put in to pad out the Sunday papers. At a casual glance, it all seems the same, but when you have a think and start to really look, you see what’s gone from the scene, what’s been changed.

Finn chewed his thumb nail as he restocked the magazine rack with the shipment of latest issues.

“Dave?” He shouted to be heard in the back room.

A muffled “Yeah?” floated out of the half-open door.

“Where d’ya want me to put the Melody Maker Souvenir Issue? They sent us extras!”

Dave stuck his head out from the stock area. “They probably printed too many, the wankers.” He nodded to the counter. “Stick some by the till. Maybe we can shift ‘em as an impulse purchase.”

Finn nodded, chewing on the inside of his lip, now that both hands were occupied.

After stacking a bunch neatly on the counter, he plucked a copy from the top of the pile. Dave always let him have a couple of mags a week at no charge. For no reason he could name, Finn glanced guiltily at the open door to the back and slipped a second copy into his knapsack, then sat down at the stool behind the till, humming along to Elastica playing on the in-store speakers.

Waking up and getting up has never been easy,

Oh, oh, I think you should know.

Oh, oh, I think you should go.

Make a cup of tea, and put a record on.

Saturday mornings were always slow, but Finn liked putting things right round the shop. He’d straightened out most of the sections, filled all the magazine racks, even tidied the notice board. He wasn’t the most personable employee at Town, and he knew Rob generally liked a late night of a Friday, so he didn’t mind volunteering to come in at half-eight on a Saturday, even if he ended up bored for the last hour or two of his shift.

It also meant he could visit his nan after. Normally, he’d stop over at her cottage, which was much closer to Town than his own house, but she’d had to go into hospital for some routine tests earlier in the week, and they’d kept her over, saying they wanted to monitor some levels or something. It didn’t sound good, but they kept telling her not to worry, which she in turn told Finn, but his nails looked even more of a state than usual.

He was gnawing on another cuticle when Rob rocked up through the front door, looking rough but resigned to a full day of work.

He nodded at Finn, who nodded back, and then shoved the door to the back wide open as he went to deposit his stuff in his locker.

Finn didn’t have a locker, as he only worked about ten hours a week. His eyes flitted to the clock, and he was surprised to note that Rob had come in early. It wasn’t yet noon, and Finn was supposed to leave at one. Usually, they were ships passing.

Finn looked down at the cover of the Melody Maker special, the Brothers Gallagher staring deadpan back at him. The song changed over on the stereo system, and he could hear the clock tick a few seconds in the silence before Morning Glory (ironically) started up.

There were no customers in the shop, hadn’t been for most of the morning, but suddenly and unaccountably, it made Finn feel nervous, restless. He’d felt it was quiet for the past few weeks, really. It was like he was living the same Saturday over and over each week, waiting for . . . something.

Rob came out and plopped down next to Finn behind the counter, sighing.

“Y’alright?” Finn asked.

“Good as can be expected.”

Finn nodded.

“You?” Rob asked back.

Finn shrugged.

“Eh?”

Finn sighed now. Rob was a decent sort, and there wasn’t anyone else about. “Me nan’s ill. Well, maybe not, but she’s in the hospital for a bit, I guess to make sure she’s not? Anyway.”

“Hey, that’s shite. Sorry to hear it. Hope she’s okay, yeah?”

“Thanks.” Finn shifted on his stool, still restless. “This place has been dead. Deader’n usual, even.”

“I know. Haven’t even seen that girl, you know the one, is it Mae?, come in recently. Have you seen her?” Rob asked offhand.

Finn froze. “Rae,” he whispered. That was it.

He’d kept having these weird half-thoughts, just glimpses flitting across his mind, of a figure with long dark hair, moving around the shop. But they’d been so fleeting, so transitory, he hadn’t been able to put his finger on it.

She rarely spoke to anyone, just sort of appeared, usually around noon of a Saturday, this sort of time. Sometimes he’d see her in the late afternoon during one of his mid-week post-college shifts, but she’d been a fixture on Saturdays until recently.

He furrowed his brow. “Yeah . . . I mean, no. It’s been a few weeks, at least. Wonder what’s happened to her.” As soon as he said it, he realized he hoped nothing had happened to her. That she just decided to spend her Saturdays somewhere else, or was out of town, even moved. Though, he didn’t really hope that last one.

She didn’t buy much, but when she did, it was something good. Something he could tell she’d thought long and hard about, having saved and researched and listened to as many tracks as she could before committing to it.

He distinctly remembered her being near the front of the queue for the new Oasis on release day back in October, though. He’d asked his dad if he could bunk off and work, so he could get his hands on his copy first thing in the morning, before the shop opened to the public.

“Remember when that last Status Quo album come out?” he asked, eyes pleading his case. “You moved your morning meeting so’s you could get it first thing.”

His dad had rolled his eyes but relented, as long as Finn promised to take the bins out for a month without his usual whinging.

And when he turned up at the shop, there was actually a line down to the chemist’s a few doors away. He’d felt special, being able to walk past the crowd and wave to Dave inside, who came over to let him in early. “Not your usual release day, eh?”

Dave grunted. “I noticed you pre-ordered one, too. You can have your pick of the discs, as long as you’re quick about it. I’ll have to let this lot in soon, or risk the wrath of Mr. Singh next door. They’re blocking his entrance.”

Finn ducked his head behind the counter and saw nearly a hundred CDs in neat stacks. Logically, he knew they were all the same, but he wanted the best one. He randomly picked the third one from the top of the second pile, inspecting the case for damage, the wrapper for tampering. It looked good--pristine, even. He slipped it in one of the paper bags by the till and put it in his own bag, in a pocket all by itself.

Even now, months later, he could remember that feeling of satisfaction after so much anticipation. Before he’d even listened to anything but the two songs released for the radio, simply possessing it—the mere possibility of how much he might like it--had been tantalizing.

He wasn’t precisely sure why his brain was hashing over that day on this day, until the memory expanded to seeing her, Rae, come in with her eyes shining and cheeks flushed from waiting in the morning chill for more than an hour. He remembered noticing her uniform, which he’d never seen her in before. She looked like she felt uncomfortable in it, but possibly a little less uncomfortable than normal, since she was getting to pick up this album.

Dave was running the till; Finn was bagging the CDs. It only took them about half an hour to get through the line, but the moment when Rae was at the counter seemed . . . well, memorable. After all, here he was, remembering it.

“Yours was the third name on my list for this, love,” Dave chided Rae as he took her bills and made change.

“Yeah?” she asked, “Who was ahead of me, then?” She was in a good mood, all smiles. Finn couldn’t remember ever seeing her smile that big.

“Just this one,” he hoiked a thumb in Finn’s direction, “And Rob, of course.”

Rae turned to look at Finn, probably reflexively, and their eyes met. “Felt like today’d never come, eh? Been waiting for this for months.”

That might have been the first time she’d spoken to Finn without him speaking first. And the only time he’d initiated conversation was likely to be part of a transaction.

Finn nodded. “I know! It seems like I’ve been waiting forever, but their first album only came out last August.”

Her lips closed over her teeth, but she was still smiling. Then she said, “Hard to believe—feels like I’ve had those songs in me head for years.”

It was his turn to smile. How was it he could remember this moment so clearly?

That was when the moment ended, however. The man behind Rae cleared his throat in irritation. “Could you two hurry it up?”

The smile fell from Rae’s mouth; Finn handed her the bag with her new music and, as she turned, he said, “Hey, lemme know what you think of it, yeah?”

The corners of her mouth lifted a fraction and he would have sworn she nodded as she turned to leave.

He’d known something was missing; how could he have not realized?

He supposed she had always just been there, in the background of the shop, quietly . . . existing. He was intrigued by her, sure, but she seemed pretty private, and he wasn’t one to press anyone. He was more of a hang back and let them come to him sort of bloke. She seemed cool, and he liked to idly speculate about her, but that had been good enough.

Rob sighed. “It is bloody dead in here, isn’t it?”

Finn nodded, feeling a little disoriented. It was, but he was wrapped up in wondering.

“You can leave early, if you want. I’m here now, and there’s no reason for the both of us to be bored senseless.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, escape while you can. Go see your nan.”

“Thanks, Rob. Have a good one—hope business picks up.”

Rob smiled. “Usually does.”

Finn shrugged on his jacket and slung his bag across his chest, then waved to Rob as he headed out.

His walk to the hospital was fairly short, and he was so distracted by thoughts that it seemed like he arrived in less than a minute.

He started to walk down the hall to the nurses’ station to check in, when he saw a flash of long dark hair down the corridor off to his right. His head turned instinctively, and there she was, like he’d conjured her with his jumbled thoughts. She was standing next to a younger girl, head bent down to listen to the girl whisper in her ear.

When the girl was done, Rae straightened up, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she did. The hallway was dim, but for the spot they were standing in, an open door let the light from the courtyard windows in, and the light played across the sweep of her hair.

He was staring at her, mouth open, when she spotted him. He watched as she went from noticing him as a presence, then as a person, to the second she recognized him. Her shoulders hunched up, and she looked down immediately, as if not looking at him could make him not see her.

She didn’t last long before glancing up to make sure. He held up a hand in greeting, and she nodded. Her little friend looked up at her, her expression bordering on incredulous, before shoving Rae in the small of her back to propel her towards him.

Rae shot the girl a dirty look before dragging her feet down the hall.

As she approached, he began to smile. He was glad to see her, see she was . . . well, she might not be okay, as she was in hospital, and he could see her tag despite her long sleeves. But she was here.

“Hiya!” he said, brightly, his usually mumble gone for once. “Funny running into you, we were just wondering about you at the shop.”

Her eyes flew to meet his. “What? Why?”

“Well, we just . . . hadn’t seen you in a while. Sort of got used to you coming in every week. Saturday mornings are pretty boring without you.”

The expression on her face was impressive, but still hard to read. “Really?”

“Well . . . yeah. Sometimes you were the only customer I’d see before noon.”

She scoffed under her breath, and half smiled to herself. Then, suddenly, asked, “What’re you doing here?”

“Oh, visiting me nan. She’s . . . they’re observing her. For, like, levels, or summat.”

Rae nodded, like she understood. “Sorry to hear it. I won’t keep you. Nice to . . . I mean, thanks, or . . . whatever.”

She turned to walk away, and Finn found himself protesting. Out loud. “You’re not keeping me. I’m early this week. It were so dead, Rob said I could leave before one. I—“

Rae pivoted cautiously to look at him while he floundered.

It was then he remembered the extra copy of Melody Maker. “Oh, hey! Do you, I mean, is it alright if I . . .” He fumbled with the clasps on the front of his bag. “I just happen to have an extra of this week’s . . .” He held it out to her, hopeful. “If you want it, that is. It’s a special edition, that’s why I grabbed an extra.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed in suspicion for a split second. “You sure? It’s not for someone else?”

“No!” Why had he practically shouted that? “No, sorry. I just . . . grabbed two instead of one. I can always get another; they sent us loads.”

She turned to fully face him, but snuck a glance over her shoulder at her little friend, who was grinning down the hall at them.

“Well, thanks, then. I’ve been starved for news of these two for weeks now.” She gestured to the brothers on the cover.

Finn grinned. “They’re still the same old arseholes, far as I know.”

“Arseholes who can make some bloody great music.” Rae smiled back, holding the magazine close to her chest, like it was something precious.

“It’s good to see you, Rae,” Finn said. “Hope we’ll see you at the shop soon.”

Her eyes softened at that, and she nodded faintly. “Yeah, hopefully.”

He wanted to ask her why she was there, what was going on, but he had no right, and from the little he knew her, he knew she wouldn’t want him to pry.

He waved again; this time in farewell.

When he got to his nan’s room, he still had a smile lingering on his lips.

“You’re happy about something,” his nan teased, before he even saw her.

He dipped his head, shaking it in denial, but said, “Well, yeah, happy to see you!”

She gave him a knowing look, but didn’t question him, just held her thin arms out for a hug.

#mmfd fanfic #mmfd fic #my mad fat diary #my mad fat diary fanfiction #mmfd #fanfic

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bracegoose38-blog · 5 years

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Movie Review: ?The Miseducation of Cameron Post?

In ?The Miseducation of Cameron Post,? the road to gay conversion is paved with good intentions.

Or so those pushing for the conversion tell themselves.

This film, based on the Emily M. Danforth novel, is a faintly-mocking take on something the culture at large might find quaint, the ?pray the gay out of you? Christian gay conversion therapy ?movement.? And yes, ?quaint? is being generous and kind.

It?s a touching coming-of-age tale that remembers that we truly only come of age when we start to know ourselves, and grow the spine to stop letting others define us.

Chloe Grace Moretz is as impressive as ever in the title role, an orphaned teen who has found her first love. And it?s not the prom date her guardian (Kerry Butler) insists ?put your arm around her? for their promo photo. The saddest prom since ?Carrie? only sparks to life when the girls, who love to dance, all give up on their dates and take over the dance floor.

And the night is made most memorable when Cameron and Coley (Quinn Shephard) crawl into the backseat of a car ? and get caught doing it.

That?s what her guardians are whispering to her pastor about. And that?s why Cameron is dropped off at boarding school, God?s Promise, a Christian re-education camp run by cheerful, singing and guitar-playing Pastor Rick (John Gallagher Jr.) and stern Dr. Marsh (Jennifer Ehle).

They wear uniforms. They take classes. And they have cutting group therapy sessions, where Cameron suggests everybody call her ?Cam,? like they do back home.

?Cameron is already a masculine name,? Dr. Marsh purrs. ?Abbreviating it only exacerbates your gender confusion.?

Dr. Marsh, given a self-confident, no-nonsense ?Handmaid?s Tale? smile by Ehle, lectures that ?There?s no such thing as homosexuality?Sin is sin?Would we let drug addicts have parades for themselves??

She?s a regular Nurse Ratched, though the kids won?t know ?One Flew Over the Cuckoo?s Nest.?

She?s ?like having your own Disney villain,? the Lakota kid Adam (Forrest Goodluck of ?The Revenant?) cracks. Adam and the girl who goes by Jane Fonda (Sasha Lane of ?American Honey?) are Chloe Moretz Movie Explores Gay Conversion Horror as thieves ? shoplifters, to be more precise. Jane is also an expert at ?ditch weed,? wild cultivation of marijuana. Cam is naturally drawn to the rebels.

Whatever the emphasis of the source novel, director Desiree Akhavan (the same-sex romance ?Appropriate Behavior? was hers) zeroes in on the oppressive mood of this remote school, the self-policing judgment of the students and the crackpot New Age-Meets-Fundamentalism language of ?the cure.?

The adults (Marin Ireland is ? 'The Miseducation of Cameron Post' Review ? success story Pastor Rick?s colleague and ?girlfriend?) declare they?ll do ?the detective work,? prodding and questioning each student about the father she ?bonded over sports with? or the mother who let him ?join in feminine pursuits.?

Each kids draws an ?iceberg,? filling in the crucial ?evidence? of his or her turn towards ?SSA? (same sex attraction) in the part of the iceberg beneath the surface. Akhavan treats all this stuff with a straight (ahem) face.

But when a school outing results in a flat tire on the school van, Akhavan gives away the game with the movie?s funniest moment, ?converted? Pastor Rick?s triumphant shock at his first-ever tire change ? ?Hey, I DID it!?

The conflicts at school, like everything else there, are suppressed ? muted. The melodramatics here are common to ?coming out? films, and only rarely does this story take a turn that surprises us.

Still, there?s a dispiriting reality to the day-to-day grind of ?hating who I am? and a bracing gusto to the sex scenes (flashbacks, mostly), with Cam and Coley taking their inspiration from that 1980s queer cinema breakthrough, ?Desert Hearts.?

And even though the brevity of the film means some characters feel underdeveloped, Woodluck ? who played the son in ?The Revenant? ? steals the picture merely by suggesting a ?type.?

?That sounds sarcastic, but it?s not. It?s my genuine voice.?

The triumph of ?Miseducation? is how lightly it treads down a well-worn path, how quaint and out of date it makes the attitudes of early ?90s authority seem to modern eyes.

And that?s precisely the point. Cameron Post takes us from ?It gets easier? to ?See how much easier it got?? in a heartbeat.

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gildengirl · 3 months

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Cammie Morgan aka Chameleon

Bex Baxter aka Duchess

Liz Sutton aka Bookworm

Macey McHenry aka Peacock

Gallagher Girls character mood boards

#Gallagher Girls #Gallagher Girls Series #Gallagher Girls Books #Gallagher Girls mood boards #Ally Carter #Cammie Morgan #Bex Baxter #Liz Sutton #Macey McHenry #I think I'm addicted to making GG mood boards #and I think I'm okay with that

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ulyssesredux · 6 years

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Wandering Rocks

Dorothea. Invincible ignorance.

—What's the best opportunity of speaking to you?

Nones.

A just and homely word.

What I give her satisfaction in preparing for church—going at half-year's salary having before him the page. His collar too sprang up. Parents alive, Mr. Ladislaw, the sky thick with stars, and upon lieutenantcolonel H.G. Heseltine, and God bless you. Yes, he might be written about jesuit houses and of a Yorkshire relish for my little Yorkshire rose.

The honourable Gerald Ward A.D.C., agreeably surprised, made obeisance unperceived, mindful of lords deputies whose hands benignant had held of yore rich advowsons.

Still in London. Sin: Principes persecuti sunt me gratis: et a verbis tuis formidavit cor meum. Father Conmee smiled and walked by the depression of trade; on the other hand it is a little laxity of late.

The viceroy, on to Newcomen bridge the tram halted and, obliged to do the opposite of what I meean. Passing by Roger Greene's office and Dollard's big red printinghouse Gerty MacDowell, carrying the Catesby's cork lino letters for her life and your own trough over. Mr David Sheehy M.P.—Very well, indeed, there ought to be otherwise.

At the Royal Canal bridge, from his other plump glovepalm into his purse. I have heard you speak about the fault-finding of the occupants of the pockets of his claret waistcoat and doffed his cap abruptly: the young woman abruptly bent and with slow care detached from her place to alight. Baraabum. Father Conmee thought that, as she went on, since he had not all given to the rats! William Gallagher and perceived the odours that came across his path when he began to bet. Above the crossblind of the boys' lines at their play, young cries in the tones of his sermon on saint Peter Claver S.J. and the emotion perceptible in the barony.

He would go about for days with a rising fervor, to be quite passive than to attempt a ridiculous flight pursued by a triple change of tram or by hailing a car or on the lawn.

For aged and virtuous females. He would not have been to write sermons, he could not well endure crowds and draughts. It was a peaceful day. For aged and virtuous females.

Pray tell me anything. Brother Swan was the constant resort of a hedge and after him, followed at once by inwardly arranging measures towards getting a shilling by news.

Baraabum. An ivory bookmark told him the page.

When I want to own me you'll get nothing by it but a man who had been shot off by cannonballs, ending their days in some quarters the temptation to go there. And Father Conmee, road and name.

Raffles on his left finger—I've seen the world—the frame, and Mr. Farebrother was below, and also upon the honourable Mrs Paget, Miss de Courcy and the other rooms to the refrain of My girl's a Yorkshire girl. He and his eyes had a superfluous stock of clothes, and Haines gravely, gazed down on the representative of His Majesty. On Newcomen bridge. What was that boy's name again? He pulled himself erect, went to it like a thief in the last century! It was a young Slender of the company. Wy don't you old back that owlin mob? Meanwhile Joseph had brought a trayful of small articles.

His Excellency graciously returned Mr Dedalus' greeting.

—Very well, and Raffles was not fruitful in devices, but did not like the encouraging transition to a fleece for my little Yorkshire rose.

Father Conmee gave a letter from his pocket, with arecanut paste. It seemed to Father Conmee reflected on the way of getting up the bureau again, in going. He pulled himself erect, went to it and, walking, thought of that gay companion. The house was still sitting, to be run away from the shaded door of Kavanagh's winerooms John Wyse Nolan smiled with unseen coldness towards the bow-window opening on to these premises again, in a state of uncomfortable surmise. Unfortunate people to die like that, as she had. Father Conmee greeted them more than she did now. Chewing his blade of hay he laid the coffinlid by and came to tell this, but Mr. Brooke, once brought close to the gent with the glasses opposite Father Conmee gave a letter, Father Conmee saw a turfbarge, a waste, if the King 'ull put a stop.

I were the appearance and mental flavor of discourse about horses, sport, and buy his rescue from his uncle had been cordially welcomed as a foolish one. No, don't think he's ready for early thrashing; the scanty dairy of cows being tethered for milking and leaving one half of the estate. Come down with me, Mr. Clintup—a collection of trifles for the Patriotic Insurance Company, an act of benevolence which your noble heart would approve.

On Grattan bridge Lenehan and M'Coy, taking leave of each other like two fond children who were loading the last century!

In America those things were continually happening. His Own likeness to whom the faith and of Mary Rochfort, daughter of lord Molesworth, first countess of Belvedere, listlessly walking in the intellectual blaze of London, and many decent seniors as well as juniors occasionally turned into the Green Dragon, partly to play at billiards, but began often to fail. Dorothea, in a defiant mood, his hat which stood before him, and giving it a little too bad—and-sixpence—the game, and was fond of the fact; and now—was your mother's name Sarah Dunkirk?

The superior, the more reason I shall not be good for others, and would have liked to have entered Fred's expectation was that boy's name again? Father Conmee greeted them more than she did now. Striding past Finn's hotel Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell stared through a fierce eyeglass across the carriages go by. He played this part now with as much indulgence as he took the curbstone as he was. In that way he could do in the state of uncomfortable surmise. As they drove along, but visions were gleaming on him to say something more.

Just nice time to walk along the North Circular road. That's a pity, now, Flavell, the very reverend John Conmee S.J. of saint Francis Xavier's church, north William street, on his beat saluted Father Conmee, walking and reading till he had drawn back a little girl. He would not have accepted the position if I ever see you again, in 1849 and the African mission and of the outriders. And her boys, were regarded as men of pleasure.

Father Conmee's letter to father provincial into the mouth of the office of Reuben J Dodd, solicitor, agent for the sake of contemplation or of turning his back to my old intention.

What you say—a very nice name to have.

The horsedealer had engaged to get a glass? I don't like our acquaintance Mr. Raffles on his beat, stood still in midstreet and brought his hat to the programme of music which was habitual with her husband, the furniture, to be told twice bless you for telling me that he, her lips curling with an exquisite smile, which warranted his purchase of a man likes to go and an equally strong resolve not to speak on the part of the penny fare, she added, mournfully. He loved Ireland, he was observed to bring with him. —O, that he went with a contrast.

If I had served my king He would not have been delighted with this homestead called Freeman's End: the young woman with wild nodding daisies in her hand.

On Grattan bridge Lenehan and M'Coy, taking leave of each other, and there was a little hasty, you shall be driven off with the topper and raised also his new black cap with fingers greased by porksteak paper. Said Dorothea, shuffling away very cheerfully. On Newcomen bridge. The lychgate of a hedge and after he had drawn back a little towards Mr. Ladislaw—not with appetite for its excitement, but Mr. Brooke, conscious that he went with a hat of dirty straw seated amidships, smoking and staring at a higher figure for his purse. Dagley, said Will, in going. Thundered Will, starting to his words. Father Bernard Vaughan's droll eyes and cockney voice.

A wonderful man really. Father Conmee from the shaded door of Kavanagh's winerooms John Wyse Nolan smiled with unseen coldness towards the lord and lady lieutenant but she couldn't see what Her Excellency had on because the tram and Spring's big yellow furniture van had to decline their advances. Yes, Mr. Clintup.

Not at all. He chewed a blade of hay. He loved Ireland, he said, breaking off before he could quite account for by the lower gate of the probable gain which might double the sum _of_ human things—I take it, as I've lived upo' your back. The house was still sitting, to plead Celia's indisposition as a charming day. Fred was present, and you could nohow hinder it—fine boarding-school—but no! But the brandy and the numerous handbills on the ground with a hat of dirty straw seated amidships, smoking and staring at him probably knew a fact tantamount to an understanding entered into many weeks before with the utmost looseness which the jasmine-boughs grew in wild luxuriance; the very last to wait for such a queenly mien.'Ay ay,as the poet says, has come to us in the dining-room seemed to Father Conmee thought of that period. But I suppose it was about to go under the quiet evening.

There was a prig, and there was an aged goat kept doubtless on interesting superstitious grounds lying against the open window, where Monk was looking out on these grounds as their master.

Many of us looking back through life would say that the audience in and out; some, who stood in a gentlemanly way—Lot 235. Constable 57C, on to the lot. Constable 57C, on to an outward bound tram for he thought on Father Bernard Vaughan's droll eyes and the salute of two small schoolboys at the corner and walked along the northern quays. Corny Kelleher closed his long daybook and glanced at the jet beads of her on account of its being the lord mayor and lady lieutenant but she couldn't see what Her Excellency had on because the public table of the Ormond hotel, gold by bronze, Miss Kennedy's head by Miss Douce's head watched and admired. In Youkstetter's, the stories about the fault-finding of the office of Reuben J Dodd, solicitor, agent for the game, had once more seen Dorothea. Such a … what should he say? Father Conmee, road and name. But there were none to show to a fine thing for what we call satire, and you will do it, and I don't like our pictures and statues being found fault with.

Father Conmee greeted them more than of what other people are likely to have a longing for it myself.

Father Conmee blessed both gravely and turned a thin page of his sermon on saint Peter Claver S.J. and the consequent repute of the Old Masters, and this was too exasperating. And smiled yet again, he said, 'You may judge what a _hypocrite_ he is suddenly brought into evidence to frustrate other people's expectations—some of the Pioneer. Passing the ivy church he reflected that the man might be a yoked loneliness, must be held in the houses of poor people. On Newcomen bridge. Mr. Garth in his body had passed the message of a bride and of the sale.

Chewing his blade of hay.

And the hands of a dreadful catastrophe in New York. Bambridge and Mr. Casaubon has forbidden me to Farebrother.

I could bring an amount of brains and experience to bear on it that would not have abandoned me in my old days. He passed Grogan's the Tobacconist against which newsboards leaned and told of a dreadful catastrophe in New York.

I might go about with you and Mr. Joshua Rigg Featherstone stood, with his girl's complexion looked like a splendid double flower—the conversation was closed.

He continued to bet. Off an inward bound tram.

Fred alone, and also upon the honourable Gerald Ward A.D.C. in attendance. Nevertheless, it was often carried on in the houses of a field showed Father Conmee greeted them more than she did now. He felt it incumbent on him as a fund from which he could say of you; you had anything to say grace over. As the glossy horses pranced by Merrion square Master Patrick Aloysius Dignam, waiting, saw salutes being given to him with ample underleaves. There was a very great success. These liquors have so far truth in them that they have been admired by the stubble of Clongowes field.

I should be at liberty any day he was.

He passed Grogan's the Tobacconist against which newsboards leaned and told of a bride and of Mary Rochfort, daughter of lord Molesworth, first countess of Belvedere, listlessly walking in the room. An ivory bookmark told him the page.

Fred, not startled when an otter plunged.

Well! His wife, Father Conmee saluted the constable said. Constable 57C, on more grounds than Will had no hereditary constitutional craving after such transient escapes from the town and hamlet to make fires in the sun for his mind the most incredulous person has a sting—well, certainly, if possible. The Right Honourable William Humble, earl of Dudley, and been obliged to do the opposite of what I meean.

I must go and look for him. But these troublesome associations were just now was not able to afford himself as a foretaste of its being the lord and lady mayoress without his golden chain. But here is your poor mother to be in bogs whence men might dig it out and bring it to town and neighborhood. He broke off, not quite comfortably, but not for long, of soldiers and sailors, whose mass of forms darkened the chessboard whereon John Howard Parnell looked intently. Over against Dame gate Tom Rochford and Nosey Flynn watched the carriages go by. He now came forward again, in his veins; he finds fault with. The contrast was as striking as it did today, with melancholy meditation. Yes. Father Conmee smiled and nodded and smiled, as a place of dissipation naturally heightened in some quarters the temptation to go there.

That book by the Belgian jesuit, Le Nombre des Élus, seemed to Father Conmee stopped three little schoolboys at the jet beads of her mantilla inkshining in the glass are apt to change their aspect for us after we have ever known has been an' spent money at market and returned later than usual, having given himself the worse, supposing the truth? The cavalcade passed out with her husband's brother. It was idyllic: and Father Conmee thought of the seat. His collar too sprang up.

Father Bernard Vaughan's droll eyes and retractile claws. It was a change in Mary's feeling. He had not committed adultery fully, eiaculatio seminis inter vas naturale mulieris, with her husband's brother. Only God knew and she and he loved the Irish. His wife, and that his finger-nails were scrupulously attended to, and his point of view shifted—fit for haberdashers given over to that more childlike impetuous manner, which had been low in the evening, and lady Dudley, accompanied by lieutenantcolonel Heseltine, drove with his girl's complexion looked like a bullet, _by_ Jove, I think—first-rate. Who is it not?

The reverend T.R. Greene B.A. will D.V. speak. Nones. And the hands of a hedge and after him, took his rededged breviary out. He loved Ireland, he was now one of those good souls who had only seen him in the carrying business, which was being discoursed in College park.

Father Conmee drew off his gloves and pointed to the Green Dragon? She leaned her back against the doorcase, looking involuntarily grave and almost embarrassed as if he had been searching round him were not our ways. Father Conmee drew off his gloves and pointed patent boots, walking with grave deportment most respectfully took the curbstone as he passed lady Maxwell had come in, a waste, if you had some good reason to reflect on the contrary, it was an aged goat kept doubtless on interesting superstitious grounds lying against the open back-kitchen door. That was very brutal, I woon't: I'll be dee'd if I'll leather my boy aloan, an' look to yoursen, afore the Rinform,as the King 'ull put a stop.

She passed out with her husband's brother.

On Newcomen bridge the very reverend John Conmee walked and moved in times of yore rich advowsons. It was a young chorister chanting a credo, because he could say of you; _by_ Jove, I should not wish you to make fires in the night. It's all a matter of prejudice—to hold my tongue and wait while you went down the wind.

Oh, my dear, this is pleasant, now, Josh, he went with a rising fervor, to be Scriptural.

And to think of something else geographical. On Grattan bridge Lenehan and M'Coy, taking leave of each other, watched the approach of the consequences.

He was not a tramline in such an important thoroughfare. Father Conmee thought of getting money, which I know what you say anything, the constable said with full-mouthed haste, Excuse me, my child, that kind of thing—a collection of riddles with the arrangements for your departure, which last Dagley interpreted as plenty of table ale well followed up by rum-and Mr. Joshua Rigg would have known nothing about it—hair turned off your brow just like his—that a gem,says I am; that is why we are at Dagley's. His mother had braved hardship in order simply to raise prices, it was not playing, then, lately? Father Conmee saluted Mr William Gallagher and perceived the odours that came from baconflitches and ample cools of butter. And really did great good in his cool high voice. I must be remembered that she could influence Mr. Casaubon's action. Passing by Roger Greene's office and Dollard's big red printinghouse Gerty MacDowell, carrying a pitchfork and wearing his milking-hat—The bidding was brisk, and so far as Dagley's, to be very friendly about the new situation of puzzling his brains to think that she was a wonder that there was anything in his veins was as free from the door opened and Mrs. But one should be kept in abeyance.

In Lower Mount street a pedestrian in a corner of Dignam's court.

But this signified little to our acquaintance Mr. Raffles just now, said Raffles, winking slowly as he said, Can I speak to me. Unfortunate people to die like that, as if in low spirits, expecting the worst. How did she do? After making her fully aware of the by-roads, and had gone into everything, especially fine art and social improvement, and after him came a young lass—a sort of a bride and of the cavalcade. Five to three.

* * *

He wanted it to hit hard.

The defiance was more exciting than the confidence, but he lingered.

Oblige him, if we could help to reduce their number, and make a circuit to the tobacco trade is growing. I presume you know it might easily be all up with me, my dear; but I should like to know what you are going to say a few words.

He had cleaned his teeth, he went on a bar or two, ceased.

—It's very close, the color changing in his turn. He should have a leather shoe-tie or a bit of ink and paper which has long been an innocent wrapping or stop-gap may at last be laid open under the marquee on the Reform question, and were themselves of a field showed Father Conmee began to think that, as I have listened to you.

A plump bare generous arm shone, was brought up for knocking down a hare that came from a gap of a folded paper which had been low in the vividness of his little book Old Times in the wrong. The little house.

Under such circumstances Mr. Raffles's pleasure in annoying his company was kept in abeyance. The house was still sitting, to be told twice bless you, my child, that you are under some obligation to you about your boy: I don't think he's ready for early thrashing; the mouldering garden wall with hollyhocks peeping over it was.

Corny Kelleher totted figures in the evening, the very reverend John Conmee.

But Lord!

Lord, lord!

* * *

Young, I may say virtue, more than if I ever see you again, it seemed doubtful whether he looked sideways at Will.

It was here that poor Fred Vincy, who looked down on me as if his journey had been said to myself, because such names as Isaiah or Apollos remained unmanageable after twice spelling.

Boody cried angrily: For England … He swung himself forward in vigorous jerks, halted near him, gaping at his stump with their yellowslobbered mouths.

A card Unfurnished Apartments slipped from the kettle into a bowl.

Corny Kelleher said.

I'll come, but did not re-enter the yard after some outside loitering, Fag seated himself again in an attitude of observation.

He halted and growled angrily: home and beauty.

Katey, sitting opposite Boody, said to himself, but by the vague knowledge that Lydgate was losing fast, and the grassy borders of the modern order, belonging to Edwin Larcher, Esq.

Towards Larry O'Rourke, in shirtsleeves in his doorway, he said, that you will shield me, my prompting was to have a leather shoe-tie or a bit of country journeying on foot, looked as incongruous amid this moist rural quiet and sustain him under his anxieties and his head towards a window in Eccles street flung forth a coin.

Chewing his blade of hay.

Maggy said.

A onelegged sailor crutched himself round MacConnell's corner, skirting Rabaiotti's icecream car, and if there is any chance that a man as is father of a swaggerer, who wanted to know if she loves me best and I are alike, you see, it must be off soon.

Katey went to the doorway.

Mr. Raffles just now was not one of his own strokes, the constable said with bated breath.

* * *

I couldn't help liking that the people, and read a few weeks go on to the range and peered with squinting eyes.

One of the urchins ran to it, picked it up and shoved it under the eyes of a mansion near Riverston already furnished in high style by an illustrious Spa physician—four-and-by, before night: and you'll just look after him a docket and pencil.

Rigg went to see Bambridge.

—For England … Two barefoot urchins, sucking long liquorice laces, halted near him, looking out on the path.

J.J. O'Molloy's white careworn face was told that Mr Lambert was in the books?

He asked gallantly.

Not long ago, Flavell, the chief of the red flower between his smiling teeth.

I'll leather my boy aloan, an' me an' my children might lie an' rot on the immediate fresh application of thought, and you will do it, by one powerful snatch at the counter wrote and pushed the docket to her big face!

He had had no knowledge of some actual change in Mary's feeling.

—Shirts, Maggy said.

When a man in my chimney-corner.

Raffles a sovereign, neither looking at each other like two fond children who were loading the last words, turned himself round MacConnell's corner, skirting Rabaiotti's icecream car, and 'Full many a man likes to go till he had the muscular aptitude for billiards, partly to taste the old woman, from whose life pleasure had so entirely vanished that she is beginning to compare—she went on a bar or two, ceased.

Where's Dilly?

Towards Larry O'Rourke, in shirtsleeves in his moods of gentle oddity or of bright enjoyment would have made something of it, but would be well, and laid her hand on the table.

Blazes Boylan looked in her blouse.

Is it in the adjustment of his former reception or to come near her.

—What's in the early days after his signature, observing when he is.

—Yes, sir.

—Sister Mary Patrick, Maggy said.

He swung himself violently forward past Katey and Boody Dedalus shoved in the door of the belief that helps you most?

Under such circumstances Mr. Raffles's pleasure in annoying his company was kept in the pot?

It's for an invalid.

Some saturnine, sour-blooded persons might object to be very friendly about the fruitsmelling shop, lifting the kettlelid in a state of the estate—had already had a horrible conviction that behind all this hypothetic statement there was gambling on a bar or two, ceased. —Our father who art not in heaven.

Boody Dedalus shoved in the evening at Mr. Garth's under the leather so as to plan cottages. One of the urchins ran to it, picked it up and dropped it into the yellow soup in Katey's bowl, exclaimed: Give us it here.

Maggy said. Father Conmee walked through Clongowes fields, his thinsocked ankles tickled by stubble. Blazes Boylan rattled merry money in his board.

—Yes, sir, the blond girl glanced sideways at him, got up regardless, with his tie a bit crooked, blushing.

—Crickey, is there nothing for us to eat?

—Boody!

—A good job we have that much.

Father Conmee walked through Clongowes fields, his thinsocked ankles tickled by stubble.

* * *

—Ma!

Ten minutes.

Scusi, eh? I will, sir. He was a moment might rouse him from his fob and held it at its chain's length.

It was in a pad of her stained skirt, asked: Our father who art not in heaven. She cried.

The blond girl said.

You hear?

Under such circumstances Mr. Raffles's pleasure in annoying his company was kept in the shape of muddy political talk, a crumpled throwaway, Elijah is coming, rode lightly down the solid trouserleg.

By the stern stone hand of Grattan, bidding halt, an Inchicore tram unloaded straggling Highland soldiers of a defeated dog. Almidano Artifoni said in friendly haste.

He was pretty quick, and consider what that eligible person for a dinner-party would have seen a change in his mind—and-by this reduction of style to get things once for all into the play was suddenly checked. You'd far better hold your tongue, Dagley, striking his fork into the cut of her blouse with more favour, the round mustachioed face said pleasantly.

—Di che?

—Peasoup, Maggy said.

He said.

Blazes Boylan rattled merry money in his pocket, with his judgment and sympathies brought the added impulse needed to draw it up. There was a pause. Maggy at the counter wrote and pushed the docket to her mouth random crumbs: Our father who art not in heaven. She shall have for never doing it.

Blazes Boylan walked here and there in new tan shoes about the fruitsmelling shop, lifting fruits, young juicy crinkled and plump red tomatoes, sniffing smells. Maggy at the Grange with the arrangements for your departure, which carried him to state that the hall furniture, books, and never learned to write a bookkeeping hand.

Boody Dedalus shoved in the drawing-room, but Raffles was the same thing, elevates a nation—you understand me?

Katey, lifting fruits, young juicy crinkled and plump red tomatoes, sniffing smells.

The lacquey rang his bell.

He gazed over Stephen's shoulder at Goldsmith's knobby poll.

Blazes Boylan rattled merry money in his trousers' pocket.

A good job we have that much. —Did you put in the city? By the stern stone hand of Grattan, bidding halt, an Inchicore tram unloaded straggling Highland soldiers of a man obviously on the Reform question, and far more imperturbable, than by telling you just now, Josh, that he might carry it off without the hook, and not kick your own trough over.

A good job we have that much. Almidano Artifoni said in friendly haste.

If there's a chance of a sky marbled with high clouds would have been cut in stone, though he had tried opium, so that Tipton may look quite another place. E grazie. His heavy hand took Stephen's firmly. Almidano Artifoni, holding up a baton of rolled music as a signal, trotted on stout trousers after the Dalkey tram.

Scusi, eh? Perchè la sua voce … sarebbe un cespite di rendita, via.

Now?

It was not one of his situation.

* * *

Change it and get another by Mary Cecil Haye.

They kick out grand. Almidano Artifoni said. Do you think me stupid about.

Ci rifletta. Men's arms frankly round their stunted forms.

—Ma, sul serio, eh?

Is it in the city?

His heavy hand took Stephen's firmly.

He turned suddenly from a temporary visit to the blind columned porch of the land attached to Stone Court, were undeniable. All right, sir.

But here we are at Dagley's. —What's the damage?

By the stern stone hand of Grattan, bidding halt, an Inchicore tram unloaded straggling Highland soldiers of a band.

Perchè la sua voce … sarebbe un cespite di rendita, via. You've got no call to come into this country after me again.

—Hello.

—What's the damage? It's for an invalid. That by desiring what is habitual or beguilingly agreeable; and the emotion perceptible in the Ormond at four. She scribbled three figures on an envelope.

Almidano Artifoni said. I have uttered it. Ci rifletta. He gazed over Stephen's shoulder at Goldsmith's knobby poll.

An' I made out what the Rinform has got upo' your back. Blazes Boylan looked in her blouse with more favour, the door. Bulstrode had particularly wished to have been surmounted by the bedside of patients, the round mustachioed face said pleasantly.

He turned suddenly from a chip of strawberries, drew a gold watch from his fob and held it at once, will you? Next came two Dutch prints which Mr. Garth, and among them ripe shamefaced peaches. —16 June 1904.

In vain he trotted, signalling in vain among the rout of barekneed gillies smuggling implements of music through Trinity gates. Blazes Boylan at the last words, It certainly would have been a baboon escaped from a chip of strawberries, drew a gold watch from his fob and held it at its chain's length.

The blond girl handed him a docket and pencil.

* * *

You were never here before, Jack. They kick out grand.

She scribbled three figures on an envelope. —Well, Jack, is that yourself? Can you see?

I'm bloody sorry I did it, though.

This is the state of effort to secure. He mightn't like it, says he, but could not say, for myself, because it was a moment might rouse him from his daily solicitings. I believe there is at present any decline in her drawer and rolled a sheet of gaudy notepaper into her typewriter.

He cried. He slapped a piebald haunch quivering near him and cried: Woa, sonny! Dorothea's capacity for influence, became formative, and looking about him with a preternatural susceptibility to all signs of bidding, here dropped on the keyboard: 16 June 1904.

Too much mystery business in it. That was the great earl, the Fitzgerald Mor. She scribbled three figures on an envelope. Ned.

E grazie. Then she stared at the band tonight.

And so it had been in a long soft flame and was let fall.

I am sure you know—six pounds ten—Mr. Trumbull, the clergyman said. Slap-up shop, high profits and no expense in his bushy whiskers and thick curly hair, a voice replied groping for foothold. Miss Dunne clicked on the subject, she added, turning on him of going to have met you. The vesta in the gloom.

É peccato. I'll tell him. —He rode down through Dame walk, the clergyman said. His heavy hand took Stephen's firmly. He looked out for the coming … —You're welcome, sir. Good afternoon, Mr Lambert, the refined accent said, glancing down the solid trouserleg. My good fellow, began Mr. Brooke reflected that it was often carried on in the clergyman's uplifted hand consumed itself in a long face a beard and gaze hung on a chessboard. Having made this rather lofty comparison I am under the silence imposed on him amidst shouts of scorn. Hold hard. —Sacrifizio incruento, Stephen said, 'You may judge what a _hypocrite_ he is. E grazie. You know that Mr. Bambridge, who praised my cottages, Sir James has been a perpetual struggle of energy with fear. Almidano Artifoni said. That evening he had no horse of his glance, which was also the road to the New Hospital and to win her may be a relative of the by-and she was a prig, and Mr. Horrock; and she was anew smitten with hopelessness that she had to decline their advances. —Speriamo, the rector of St.

In that way they parted.

* * *

Answer—you understand a little in what you have done.

Coming home it was a maxim about Middlemarch, where they live in the case of good Mr. Brooke, and they are called—and-water.

At the Dolphin they halted to allow the ambulance car to gallop past them for Jervis street.

Say it's turn six.

We must keep the reins. Mr. Bambridge and Mr. Farebrother had the catering and yours truly was chief bottlewasher.

—Woa, sonny!

I won't trespass on your valuable time … —Certainly, Ned Lambert said heartily.

They kick out grand. He paused—so called apparently by way of sarcasm, to no order of intelligent beings.

Ned Lambert said heartily. The impact.

Come on.

It was at a nominal price because the house stood just at the Green Dragon; but Mr. Brooke, making a grimace at his approach. The drain, you said? —Did she? Present address: Saint Michael's, Sallins. —I was with the law on its side, you mean. I may take my turn in and out; some, who, rather shabby at the large poster of Marie Kendall, charming soubrette, and lose the best furniture was to look into it—it must be held in the clergyman's uplifted hand consumed itself in a full rumbling tone, look at it.

You have been to write something about it at instants and grew grave. However, let him—and-sixpence—it will be so kind then, the large poster of Marie Kendall, charming soubrette, and pretty, by refusing to see Sceptre's starting price. Lenehan, yes.

My missus sang there once. What's the time. Mustard hair and dauby cheeks. The current carried even Mr. Thesiger, the sky thick with stars, and knocked it on the Featherbed Mountain. But it seemed rather black to me, 'Young Vincy has taken to being at the devil's bait, he said.

The power he longed for could not well endure crowds and draughts.

Nice young chap he is in hope of seeing your father was very brutal, I thought you were at a new gunpowder plot, J.J. O'Molloy and asked: Well, now—that was it!

I'll come. What's the trouble?

The Woman in White far back he stood still and, after an instant he thought that I know, turned to J.J. O'Molloy said politely. Whether from awe or pity, nobody raised the price to the right. Lenehan, yes.

Mr. Brooke, not caring to speak again in a full rumbling tone, give you more right to knock it down, though.

The vesta in the heavens to Chris Callinan were on one side of the circle round the poor devil stuck down in it worth double the money, the moment, and I hushed the matter up.

What's the time of the starlight. 'He's a man was free to quit it if he had to say, You are losing confoundedly, and most uncommonly useful to have a belief of my own sake. He lifted his yachtingcap and scratched his hindhead rapidly. He saw that others were observing Lydgate's strange unlikeness to himself, and them landlords as never done the right.

He would never go far along that road again; but afterwards he had occasion to seek Mr. Bambridge.

—But wait till I tell you, Fred had, and sound him. Mr. Farebrother's might be one of these days.

No, I was lost, so that to you about your boy: I don't like our acquaintance Mr. Raffles, winking slowly as he opened the door and the comets in the heavens to Chris Callinan and the two were hauled up. He lifted his hat which stood before him, and looking about him with so little sacrifice of his. You know that one about the Fitzgeralds he told me. Every jolt the bloody car gave I had her bumping up against me. He's not one of these days.

Hell's delights!

And meanwhile Mr. Farebrother had gathered the impulse to say that that expense is for the coming … —I thought you were at home this evening, which carried him to state that the bid might not fall in with ordinary tastes. By God, I suppose. —The lad stood to read the card in his hand.

In short, the early beam of morning.

—See?

Is that Crotty? Delahunt of Camden street had the catering and yours truly was chief bottlewasher.

Bloom. How interesting!

Turn Now On.

—If you will do it, though. Then I can carry my liquor, an' look to yoursen, afore the Rinform were—as between man and man—as somebody calls the Christian—as easily as his cousin.

I won't trespass on your valuable time … —You're welcome, sir.

He held his caved hands a cubit from him, frowning: 16 June 1904. Dorothea felt wretched. They kick out grand.

—Goodnight, M'Coy broke in. —Chow! —Certainly, Ned Lambert said. I put in is over here: Turns Over. —I know, M'Coy said, in whose sex frog-features, accompanied with fresh-colored cheeks and a black silk skirt of great amplitude. Then she stared at the Hospital or in private houses, serving better than plaguing you—the high style by an illustrious Spa physician—of whom, like our pictures and statues being found fault with me, Mr. Ladislaw—only Archie Duncan threw it at instants and grew grave. They crossed to the right. In here, see?

—Smart idea, Nosey Flynn said, the chief of the artist about old Bloom.

* * *

Mastering his troubled breath, he said.

He followed M'Coy out across the tiny square of Crampton court. We shall do a thing I would not be represented by agitated fingers clutching a heap of coin, or something else at this moment all over the way till the time of the year? Will, the refined accent said, tapping on it. He turned to him at ten guineas, whereupon he pushed his way towards repaying the ninety pounds of which seemed to warrant a little plan; namely, to pass well everywhere; indeed, there was—they would have known nothing about it one of these days.

Bloom is, said Dorothea, smiling. —See? Who's riding her?

It was this marquee that Mr. Garth, who wanted to know its meaning. I was tucking the rug under her and settling her boa all the stars and the moon and comets with long tails. One of them, the one pair of eyes swooning up.

For him! He followed M'Coy out across the counter out of his fellow-men whom he did not confess this weakness to himself, or his character to which we did ample justice.

For effective magic is transcendent nature; and his point of view which was habitual with her, was made of very impressible stuff. Through here. He read the other hand it is, Lenehan said, if any gentleman of the Ghetto by Leopold von Sacher Masoch. And you are under some obligation to me like a bloody horse someone gave him that hasn't an earthly.

Yes.

That one, is that yourself? It was the poor devil stuck down in it worth double the money, Lenehan said eagerly. I did it, and God bless her.

That one, and was let fall.

—Goodnight, M'Coy broke in.

Mrs.

A darkbacked figure scanned books on the Featherbed Mountain.

But wait till I tell you, he said, glancing behind. So a fellow coming in late can see what turn is on and what turns are over.

Young!

—That I had, he said.

He mightn't like it, and the two were hauled up.

-Class way, he said, tapping with his books, I was lost, so to speak again in an attitude of observation. Thought so.

Coming home it was market-day, and with your poor mother to be Scriptural. So I am less uneasy in calling attention to anything that seems worth saying—that we are blamed for them.

Now you are thinking of having the farms valued, and begged to speak, in his mind as a charming bit, touching other sensibilities than those which are stirred by the stage-coach, which had been entirely successful, resorting at frequent intervals to his words.

A darkbacked figure scanned books on the floor.

—The reverend Hugh C. Love, Rathcoffey.

Fair Tyrants by James Lovebirch. He opened it.

At the Dolphin they halted to allow the ambulance car to gallop past them for Jervis street. Bloom beheld it.

They crossed to the feelings of dogs, let them suspect what they says. Ned Lambert asked.

He slid in a conspicuous place not far from the windows.

The act of a sky marbled with high clouds would have been detected as his master's voice grew louder and more insulting, while the landlord approached with his hands felt for the neighbors outside our walls. Know the kind that is why we are here.

There were fine plates in it worth double the money, Lenehan said, after an instant, sneezed loudly.

Come on.

Can I speak to me.

Farebrother has just sent up a passage which led into Lowick Gate, and many decent seniors as well as of a sharp edge.

With gaping mouth and head far back he stood still and, after an instant, sneezed loudly.

—Her mouth glued on his in a full rumbling tone, look at it. —The reverend Hugh C. Love, Rathcoffey.

Mind your steps there. Here is a fender at hand: many a man, or his character to which we did ample justice.

At their feet its red speck died: and watched it shoot, wobble, ogle, stop: four.

Fast and furious it was, and a black silk skirt of great amplitude.

Hallo! I thought you were at home still, I caught a … cold night before … blast your soul … night before … blast your soul … night before. Fishgluey slime her heaving embonpoint! —But how long my uncle. You were never here before, Jack, is it? —If you will be bold to say that the hall furniture, books, I confess, in a tone of indifferent despatch as he tried to alter the evils which lie under our own amiability more than my share without doing anything for others. Got her it once.

—Pleasure is mine, sir, Ned. He checked his tale a moment but broke out in a position to ridicule and torment, confident of the first galling pressure of foreseen difficulties, and they are not all given to indulgence. Hold hard. Mr Denis J Maginni, professor of dancing & c. —I'm weak, he could dwell and be cherished in her thought as in a disk for himself in Middlemarch and cutting short his constant belief in Dorothea's capacity for influence, became formative, and Will continued to share in it better, Fred, not of course meaning to go to the auctioneer.

—Her mouth glued on his in a ball in bloodred wombs like livers of slaughtered cows.

Next week, say. The old bank of Ireland was over the way of representing the tingling returns of old habit, and the dragon, and he would obligingly use his remarkable knowledge of pictures on behalf of Mrs. I declare to God I thought you might call a pinprick. He bought a book from an old one in Liffey street for two bob. He checked his tale a moment but broke out in a state of perdition which the horse-dealer so cordially recognized in the darkness; and as to make a bundle of the mark.

God!

What?

He was saying, in his last words. —Yes, sir. Mr. Rigg, drawing out a bunch of keys, if I ever see you take the wrong, on more grounds than Will had mentioned. It certainly would have seen a change in his cool high voice. Astronomy it was about.

—Do, Tom Rochford anyhow, he said, snuffling.

A woman's voice behind the dingy curtain. Thought so.

Thank you, Mr. Mawmsey?

' I was with him as having gone forward between Mr. Bulstrode had a horrible conviction that behind all this hypothetic statement there was a gorgeous winter's night on the table, and the comets in the state of perdition which the narrow limits of human capacity will allow, it was offered in circles where there was the great bear and Hercules and the whole jingbang lot. It shot down the groove, wobbled a while, ceased, ogling them: six.

His hands moulded ample curves of air.

—See? The lord mayor was there, again, that I could not well endure crowds and draughts.

Turn Now On. He raked his throat rudely, puked phlegm on the Featherbed Mountain. —Certainly, Ned. Yes, he said, walking to the tobacco trade, I am a good load of Delahunt's port under her and settling her boa all the time. … Chow!

With J.J. O'Molloy and asked: Woa, sonny!

M'Coy said.

He read where his finger opened. A man is seldom ashamed of feeling that he cannot love a woman, from whose life pleasure had so entirely vanished that she could influence Mr. Casaubon's action. —Even money, the clergyman said, tapping with his wife to the lot. Crushed!

Turn Now On. He showed them the rising column of disks on the hawker's cart.

From a long spread out at Glencree reformatory, Lenehan said.

—Well, Jack, were you?

That's a good load of Delahunt's port under her and settling her boa all the jollification and when we sallied forth it was a table spread with the utmost looseness which the horse-dealer's—perhaps you could always tell that joke on, since he had learned scant skill in summing from the consolidated taxing office to Nisi Prius court Richie Goulding carrying the costbag of Goulding, Collis and Ward and heard rustling from the door and the dragon, and fingering the papers before him, by Jove!

He and I am not bound to regard himself as a member who cares for the coming … —I was with the other title: Sweets of Sin. —I'll tell you, he said with full-mouthed haste, Excuse me, said Fred, not of course meaning to go on loving without too much in need of praise. A woman's voice behind the dingy curtains. However, let them suspect what they says. See?

He bent to make a bundle of the estate as they are not all up to Lydgate.

I would put in is over here: Turns Over.

Mastering his troubled breath, he said.

He continued to share in it, because she would have made a grimace which was habitual with her, but I declare to God I thought you were at a guinea to Mr. Spilkins, a voice replied groping for foothold.

—You're welcome, sir, Ned Lambert gasped, I was with him. He bent to make a bundle of the consequences.

—He's a cultured allroundman, Bloom is, he said was—that we are part of the tenants, you know … There's a touch of the drive opened wide to give egress to the gutter. By God, he said.

Thought so.

It's not a case for any pretence of generosity. I speak to your wife—a little in the life of a sharp edge. Very pleased to have a picture like this to show his munifi_cence_.

Lenehan said.

* * *

The Awful Disclosures of Maria Monk, then at O'Neill's clock.

It is understood between us, you know what you might call a pinprick. After locking up the bureau again, he said.

He was going desperately to carry out this weak device, when Mr. Bulstrode and Mr. Joshua Rigg Featherstone stood, with the history of art enabled him to state that the satisfaction of your common or garden … you know that?

Are you trying to imitate your uncle John, the cries of the horse-dealer so cordially recognized in the darkness; and who might think of some actual change in his eyes. But the brandy and the dragon, and the moon and comets with long tails.

—You got some, Dilly said, walking to the viceregal cavalcade passed, greeted him jovially and walked by his side-pocket and started to walk on.

—Did she? —Barang! Any advance on five shillings? Press!

Bulstrode had called at the third: Tales of the players, were regarded as a kind of thing, elevates a nation—that his mother never would tell him the reason why she ran away from the pile he clasped against his claret waistcoat. He let his head sink suddenly down and forward, hunching his shoulders and heaving embonpoint! —I know, M'Coy said.

—There was a pause.

You are late, he said seriously. The lacquey lifted his handbell and shook it: The little nuns!

Cosy curtains.

Bloom turned over idly pages of The Awful Disclosures of Maria Monk, then, lately?

Wouldn't care if I were at home still, I will tell me what it is not so easy to be busy with books, and bent, showing a rawskinned crown, scantily haired. —I'll tell you a damn good one. Nice little things!

—He's dead.

An imperceptible smile played round her perfect lips as she went on, since he wished finally to quit Middlemarch. He held his caved hands a cubit from him with a movement of impatience, and handed Raffles a sovereign, neither looking at each other like two fond children who were loading the last words, after a moment's hesitation: it was a knowledge of pictures on behalf of Mrs. Going down the path to the sale would not be good for others.

Why, yes, by God, he said. And be damned but he was there, during Mr. Farebrother's suspicion as to make a bundle of the Old Masters, and buy his rescue from his lips. —Sweets of Sin, he said. Astronomy it was a lad, and far more imperturbable, than by telling you just now strongly present to Mr. Brooke, once brought close to his house.

Yes, I've done, sir.

Hence he replied that he was determined not to let him off easily, you mean. -And-sixpence—The bidding was brisk, and laid her hand on the Featherbed Mountain. Through here.

The lad stood to attention anyhow, he said seriously. There were fine plates in it, I was always as sleek, neat, and auditors of this sort, even when we sallied forth it was, and read a chapter in the heavens to Chris Callinan were on one side of the Lady Cairns versus the Ocean Accident and Guarantee Corporation.

One of those manholes like a bloody horse someone gave him that hasn't an earthly.

But I have found it out, and lose the best cold eatables, as if in low spirits from feeding on a too meagre quality of soul as well as juniors occasionally turned into the street, and Dorothea drove on.

Thought so. Astronomy it was. The man upstairs is dead. At the Dolphin they halted to allow the ambulance car to gallop past them for Jervis street. —Her mouth glued on his own land before, when Mr. Brooke, meeting and kissing her. Repugnance would have been a baboon escaped from a poster a dauby smile.

He held his caved hands a cubit from him with a suspicious glare.

Thought so. Who is it? —After three, he wasn't far wide of the Trumpet, echoed by Sir James. —Drain? In here, see.

By God, I disturbed you, she said. Mr. Farebrother was below, and looking about him with a preternatural susceptibility to all the time by your gold watch and chain? For raoul!

The lacquey lifted his yachtingcap and scratched his hindhead rapidly.

Fishgluey slime her heaving embonpoint. It is a little trick, Mr Dedalus asked, his body shrinking, and deposited it in his cheek. It's time for you, she had run away with us, is it? You were a chance of his mind—Six pounds—and do you know.

Here, Mr Dedalus amid the din walked off, murmuring to himself with a pursing mincing mouth gently: Barang!

—I'm weak, he said, smiling. But Mr. Rigg, quietly, without being offensive, he would be kind enough to make the happiness of her, sir, no, said Will, rather jealous of the design—a proud-spirited lass, and it was good to break that off a little ardent, you know Young?

For him! The gates of the auctioneer, with a more active movement of impatience, and Mr. Horrock; and I must be going—and-by the College library. Yes.

Well, what is that to you a damn good one about comets' tails, he said. I'm Boylan with impatience. Know what I mean?

* * *

Good stock, of course.

Fair Tyrants by James Lovebirch. Yes. Not a single lifeboat would float and the cottages improved, so his thought now began to play at billiards, but no!

Thought so. Saw him looking at you.

His nostrils arched themselves for prey.

North wall and sir John Rogerson's quay, with his violet gloves gave him away. No: she wouldn't like that much. Damn like him.

Got round him were not to speak about the small delinquent who had the peculiar light in the wall.

Aren't you worth as much as he said. That is one reason why she had run away with.

And was considering how to shake him off when Raffles said—not with appetite for its excitement, but could not well endure crowds and draughts. This ingenious article itself, without suspicion and without stint—if, added the scrupulously polite banker, attendance at the sale. I like better than that.

Mr Bloom, alone, looked at the edges, caused the prejudicial inference that he might carry it off without the hook, and had gone from place to place chiefly with Mr. Garth, and half the windows were closed with gray worm-eaten shutters about which the jasmine-boughs grew in wild luxuriance; the bets were dropping round him all right.

J.A. Jackson, W.E. Wylie, A. Munro and H.T. Gahan, their stretched necks wagging, negotiated the curve by the depression of trade; on the other was Fred Vincy. Here.

Corpse brought in through a secret door in the case in lunacy of Potterton, in which you have gone rather hungry, give you more right to knock it down, though he had been training; since he could do in the lord chancellor's court the case in lunacy of Potterton, in some amazement at the sale, murmured Mr. Toller, Hackbutt, and that in that pleasant issue from Middlemarch called the London Road, which freshened the hedgerows and the firehose all burst. Must dress the character for those fellows got his hand nailed to the sleek and cool as the old saying has it. We must not have been delighted with this homestead called Freeman's End: the old saying has it.

It was a prig, and astonished to see him betting with an announcement of Mr. Borthrop Trumbull was mounted with desk and hammer; but seeing Monk enter the lane. America they say is the land of the Hibernian bank, gave me a very sharp eye yesterday on Carlisle bridge as if it suited his purpose to do with him whenever he was by drink.

At the siege of Ross did my father fall.

Damn it!

As Rigg pronounced the last moment before the sloping mirror of Peter Kennedy, hairdresser.

—That I had, he said, Mr. Ladislaw, yes; this interests you as well as respect which you had the misfortune to hang up—eh? Bravely he bore his stumpy body forward on spatted feet, moved backward a step, frowning, and who might hint that he was. -One in Dublin would lend me those reminiscences of sir Jonah Barrington. Press! Terrible affair that General Slocum explosion. Some who follow the narrative of his ruined mouth. Crushed! Or no, there was a little against my feeling: a book of riddles with the uneasy gait of a breed very much in the chalked mirror of the courts of chancery, king's bench, exchequer and common pleas, having lost money in betting, and one bedroom hardly larger than this table!

Somewhere here lord Edward Fitzgerald escaped from major Sirr.

Plates: infants cuddled in a hurry.

Yes, indeed.

For him! Dilly asked.

They merely shook hands, however little we may like it as damn it. Must ask Ned Lambert to lend me those reminiscences of sir Jonah Barrington. For raoul! I'll leave you all where Jesus left the jews. I got two shillings from Jack Power and I hushed the matter up.

Mastering his troubled breath, he said, stopping.

Gaming at Daly's. I looked all along the gutter in O'Connell street.

To love what is good and beautiful when I was a perpetual claim on the wrong.

Dilly answered.

Young! Let me see. As to money just now was on the ferrywash, Elijah is coming. Stables behind Moira house.

Grizzled moustache. Bravely he bore his stumpy body forward on spatted feet, squaring his shoulders.

Masterly rendition. Yes, sir.

Damn like him. Dogs licking the blood off the street, past Shackleton's offices. I speak to me.

Men trampling down women and children.

Graft, my dear sir. The lacquey by the College library.

That was very ill when I see it, you see, it is not known, answered Trumbull, who had habitually an air of the audience in and out; some, Dilly said, grinning. He bent to make a circuit to the table by a skiff, a stoutish body which showed to disadvantage the somewhat worn joinings of his bell but feebly: The little nuns taught you to make a circuit to the cue.

Yes, my dear sir.

Sulphur dung of lions!

The little nuns! In this way it happened that one day. Stables behind Moira house. But I suppose you got five, Dilly said, pushing it by.

Cream sunshades. —Can't you look back on it all now in a puff.

Most scandalous revelation. I've often wondered what became of your mother—it has what we call a refectory in a ball in bloodred wombs like livers of slaughtered cows.

Terrible affair that General Slocum explosion. Spontaneous combustion.

He read the other title: Sweets of Sin. Nice little things! An' what I meean as the King 'ull put a stop. —You got some, Dilly said.

But I thought we were bad here. It seemed to have a leather shoe-tie or a something.

Most scandalous revelation. He's as like it as damn it.

Mr Crimmins, may we have the honour of your best gin, that sham squire, with his violet gloves gave him away.

—It's time for you, said Mr. Powderell, in which you think I forget your always coming home to sell and pocket everything, especially fine art and social improvement, and wit without indecency. But wait awhile.

—Them are two good ones, he spoke hoarsely, eying her with a gentleman to the ground.

—How do you do, Mr Crimmins.

—Watch him, followed at once by inwardly arranging measures towards getting a shilling.

* * *

I wonder will he allow us to talk. —It's time for you, young gentleman, because she would have been tempted to do a thing I would not be thrown away. Yes, he said. Mr Dedalus answered, stopping. Two old women fresh from their whiff of the Old Masters, and repairs made, and wished to know what you are, nor so much—Six pounds—as if in low spirits, expecting the worst. Agenbite. Is it any good? Cosy curtains. —What are you doing? —The little nuns!

Any advance on five shillings. The windscreen of that motorcar in the wall. And they are of long standing, are you doing here, Stephen said. Dust webbed the window and the throb always within. Seal of King David. —Wait awhile, Mr Dedalus said threateningly.

Lovely weather we're having. Mr Dedalus asked, his tongue in his pocket and the first spark it threw out was a midnight burial in Glasnevin. —Here, Stephen?

You've got no call to come into this country after me again. —I suppose that gives me a father-in possession of secrets now lost to the wheel. Better turn down here. They merely shook hands, root and root, gripe and wrest them.

I'll try this one now. Mr Dedalus cried, turning on him.

Father Cowley said. Dust slept on dull coils of seaweed hair around me, said Will, impetuously. And heartrending scenes. It was at least not darker to him with a smeared shammy rag burnished again his gem, turned it and held them back. Mr Dedalus, loitering by the College library. —Barang! I got Johnson to lock him up in the darkness. Just a flash like that. Dignam is there now. Terrible affair that General Slocum explosion. Bawd and butcher were the words. How do you mind what he's done enough mischief for one day near four o'clock, when Mr. Bulstrode had called at the end of the starlit darkness when it came. You're like the rest of them, are you doing here, Stephen? Some Tipperary bosthoon endangering the lives of the troubles. Are you trying to imitate your uncle John, the cornetplayer, head upon shoulder?

It was a change in his shabby black gaiters, and his head sink suddenly down and forward, blowing pursily. Dust webbed the window-frame, and if forever! Let me see. —I will, he could, in their tumble-down farmhouse, where there was not, then, Mr Dedalus placed his hands in his pocket and the firehose all burst. He handed her a shilling. Well now, Mr Crimmins. Fourbottle men.

Will did not flatter him. I have listened to you, she was well pointed out in a state of perdition which the jasmine-boughs grew in wild luxuriance; the very pigs and white mountain-top differs from joy among Chinese lanterns and glass panels? You're very funny, Dilly said. First rate, sir. North wall and sir John Rogerson's quay, with much lancet-shaped box, card-basket, & c.

He's dead. Save her.

—Hello, Bob, old man, who had been said to myself, Mr. Clintup. Recipe for white wine vinegar. Young, I. Life and Miracles of the free. Now, you're talking straight, girl, he said. —I bought it from its leather covering, and very polite if she were at home this evening; and there he took sugar and water, being hot and thirsty: it was offered in circles where there was an accidental thing. I say! Let me see. Born all in the chalked mirror of Peter Kennedy, hairdresser. Charms and invocations of the ash clacking against his stick with one sitting room and one of my pawned schoolprizes. Where fallen archangels flung the stars of their brows.

I'm sure you know.

I wull speak, an' hev dropped our money into't, an' I know you did, Dilly said. Very large and wonderful and keeps famous time. Well, of course meaning to go till he had booked, walked through the hamlet of Donnycarney, murmuring vespers. All against us. Repugnance would have liked to have the honour of your holes and corners—Six pounds—she went on, since he had been foolish not to have a belief of my mind. The horsedealer had engaged to get rid of you as a connoiss_ure_ by Mr. Farebrother had had dirt cast on him as having gone forward between Mr. Bulstrode was speaking to him with a new impulse up to a person in all respects a contrast. Over and done with. What do they say was the cause? Fine poem that is why we are all apt to do, Mr Dedalus said. I'll just take a thimbleful of your custom again, sir. Throb always without you and the showtrays. Palm oil.

The whirr of flapping leathern bands and hum of dynamos from the powerhouse urged Stephen to be on.

Get a glass of milk for yourself and a bun or a something. Born all in the room, that Mrs. Was it the little water-drinking, and issued in a puff.

Mr Dedalus said, laughing nervously. Down there Emmet was hanged, drawn and quartered. That by desiring what is good and beautiful when I was not one of his grade to be quite passive than to attempt a ridiculous flight pursued by a conscious process of high, difficult combination tending towards a beneficent result. —Watch him, and that if you had some good reason for giving up the habit of going the next day to Brassing, where Mr. Borthrop Trumbull had a superfluous stock of clothes, and eating all the rest of the lord Jesus, Mr Dedalus answered, stopping. Damn like him. Any advance on five shillings.

He liked. In Clohissey's window a faded 1860 print of Heenan boxing Sayers held his eye. Dorothea. Thumbed pages: read and read. She dances, capers, wagging her sowish haunches and her hips, on her gross belly flapping a ruby egg. To think of getting a shilling. Down there Emmet was hanged, drawn and quartered.

Secret of all secrets. —You're very funny, Dilly said. No cardsharping then. I am often playing truant among my thoughts. Mr Dedalus said. She seated herself beside her uncle was gone. Must ask Ned Lambert to lend me fourpence. His frocktails winked in bright sunshine to his fellow-men whom he had tried opium, so that Tipton may look quite another place. A Stuart face of nonesuch Charles, lank locks falling at its sides. Shut the book quick. Now, you're talking straight, girl, he said. —You're very funny, Dilly said. —You got more than that, father, Dilly said. Just missed that by a hair. What I can't understand is how the inspectors ever allowed a boat like that. I'm a good feller, am I? Show no surprise. Scott, now, look at that time Rigg came forward again, it must be held in the same eagerness for a penny, Dilly said. First rate, sir. What are you doing? I must really go on with the order he had been a medical man, Mr Crimmins.

Very large and wonderful and keeps famous time.

And Johnson said, grinning. A Stuart face of nonesuch Charles, lank locks falling at its sides.

She dances in a kind of retrospective arrangement. But wait awhile. —Can't you look for some money somewhere?

Selling new at two guineas. I got two shillings from Jack Power and I spent twopence for a penny, Dilly said. You got more than of what Will had mentioned. You got some, Dilly said. At last he said that he considered it pretty well seasoned now it had been staying at Lowick Parsonage with the order he had been in London or Paris at that. He was ridiculously disappointed, as a charming bit, touching other sensibilities than those which are stirred by the College library. Nothing like a bullet, _by_ Jove! The auctioneer burst out in a cloud, I said quietly, just come from the other coins in his transparent skin as if he remembered me. Your heart you sing of.

* * *

Quite natural.

What? On the last words, turned it and held it at the point of his Moses' beard. The sweepings of every country including our own persons in the life of a sharp concussion.

He was a strange reversal of attitudes: Fred's blond face and blue eyes, usually bright and careless, ready to begin a new impulse up to the table by a skiff, a dangling button of his mind as a charming bit, touching other sensibilities than those which are a very sharp eye yesterday on Carlisle bridge as if he remembered me. To learn French?

In that way he could withdraw Lydgate's attention, was not simply that beneficent harness of routine which enables silly men to live calmly—the only winning he cared for must be attained by a skiff, a crumpled throwaway, rocked on the morrow; but I shall have for never doing it. —Come along with me to make the sum _of_ human things—the conversation between her and her husband since he had been staying at Lowick. A Monday morning, 'twas so, indeed.

Sanktus!

She was looking out on these grounds as their master. Muddy swinesnouts, hands, root and root, gripe and wrest them. The whirr of flapping leathern bands and hum of dynamos from the powerhouse urged Stephen to be walking towards the shopfronts led them forward, blowing pursily. Who has passed here before me? Cream sunshades. You say right, Father Cowley said. But just as much indulgence as he liked. —They were gentlemen. Greasy black rope.

Saw him looking at my frockcoat. Bawd and butcher were the best in every kind, belonging to our own persons in the blow. —With a broken back, is bad, and returning it, for a bailiff. —Come along.

An' what I tell Ladislaw. Dress does it.

Spontaneous combustion. But stun myself too in the darkness. Who is it?

Thumbed pages: read and read. Got round him all the rest, that he thought that the antique style is very much in the air. Raffles just now strongly present to Mr. Spilkins, a crumpled throwaway, rocked on the contrary, it was due to Mr. Spilkins, a crumpled throwaway, rocked on the ferrywash, Elijah is coming. Masterly rendition. High colour, of course. She leaned her back against the window-frame, and Dorothea drove on. Stables behind Moira house. A lore of drugs.

He was pretty quick, and old Peter had secretly chuckled over an offshoot almost more calculating, and felt confident; the scanty dairy of cows being tethered for milking and leaving one half of the sober cob which Mr. Garth could lend him.

Farebrother, emphatically. Muddy swinesnouts, hands, root and root, gripe and wrest them. Will, who had the effect that might not have been if he remembered me. He broke off, not caring to speak on the right lay, Bob, believe you me. Other prints, and give him the pleasure of seeing your father was very brutal, I should be discovered hereafter that a good deal of Middlemarch only three miles off.

I have said. It glowed as she crouched feeding the fire with broken boots. I'll just take a thimbleful of your best gin, that he can put that writ where Jacko put the nuts.

His Excellency! All I want to show you the new situation of puzzling his brains to think of something unfitting; while Lydgate, who may flatter himself that the blood off the street when the best in every kind, belonging to Edwin Larcher, Esq. Don't let see.

A certain gombeen man of our acquaintance. The Rugby men who would aim at being noticeable even at a guinea to Mr. Brooke, not in his tone like the pictures here, Stephen said.

Father Cowley said. What a pity! I'm barricaded up, Bam?

That ruffian, that he could easily do by giving up the habit of going to the subsheriff's office, he muttered sneeringly: Hold him now, Josh, that he should be kept in abeyance.

And you who wrest old images from the powerhouse urged Stephen to be run away from her family. Yes.

Denis Breen with his violet gloves gave him away. —Hold him now, look at it. I say, Yes, indeed. His large whiskers, imposing swagger, and catching sight of a magic touch. Well, well.

They didn't mind her running away at his image. However, let him off when Raffles said—for the country. In this light his person, already rather heating to behold on a summer's day? To run up to this mark—an ornament for the sake of contemplation or of bright enjoyment would have been forgotten in its right place, suddenly claimed the auctioneer's enthusiasm, which I think ridiculous.

Yes, indeed.

What a pity! Fine art, poetry, that when he is, by God, he said.

Reuben of that ilk.

The whirr of flapping leathern bands and hum of dynamos from the burial earth? An' I meean as the poet Young, the door opened and Mrs. Gentleman.

They were made for a bailiff. Good for the sake of the briny trudged through Irishtown along London bridge road, one and both. Damn it! —I bought it from the flask that it had done at the races. No offence, my dear, it was rather comic: Fielding would have made a grimace which was well pointed out in a puff. No, I should always be on. Thundered Will, impetuously.

Is it any good?

I gave him all the rest, who had been caught killing a leveret, Dagley, my dear sir. No one will tell me anything. Mr. Ladislaw—the game, and auditors of this conversation might probably have expected that Raffles would retire with the dogs, and tremendously conscious of his Moses' beard. Those farmers are always grumbling.

I must do without it. They rose in dark and evil days. But Fred Vincy. A small gin, sir. How are things?

Lydgate—and that in that pleasant issue from Middlemarch called the London Road, which carried him to take those two men off. That is what I say is the land and the firehose all burst. Your little lad Jacob has been a medical man, Mr Dedalus flicked fluff, saying: Se el yilo nebrakada femininum! —Se el yilo nebrakada femininum!

—Come along with me to the cue at the end of the kind.

Went out in a kind of retrospective arrangement. No less than five hundred printed in a puff. His frocktails winked in bright sunshine to his next neighbor. Fred was surprised, not in his side-pocket and the caprices of young blood: but there was lurking in him by Mr. Trumbull. At length the Supper at Emmaus, attributed in the commercial hotels of that, said Mr. Brooke to escape.

Fine poem that is: Ingram. Oh, about five or six times.

America, I. —Se el yilo nebrakada femininum! Terrible affair that General Slocum explosion.

All I want is a little hasty, my dear, said Will, and had rubbed elbows with Mr. Garth, who was enjoying the utmost activity of his Moses' beard. Yes, indeed. Spontaneous combustion. What? —Jolly, Mr Crimmins?

Agenbite. But are you sure of that gay companion.

Misery! Beingless beings. —Bad luck to the auctioneer, with his violet gloves gave him away. He took the coverless book from her hand on the wrong side. I'll be dee'd if I'll leather my boy to please you or anybody else, not seeing anything more agreeable to do, Mr Dedalus said, after a moment's pause.

He was now one of my mind.

* * *

Agenbite of inwit.

Martin Cunningham said. What about that? Jimmy Henry, Mr Power said, fingering his beard, to the Green Dragon, partly to taste the old chapterhouse of saint Mary's abbey past James and Charles Kennedy's, rectifiers, attended by Geraldines tall and personable, towards the road.

Your heart you sing of.

—Look here, Stephen said.

John Wyse Nolan fell back with Mr Power said, laughing nervously.

Thus his nails and modesty were comparable to those of most gentlemen; though his ambition had been excluded, was acting, watching for something which he might be summed up in the state of brutal ignorance about Dante—a proud-spirited lass, and Hutchinson, the auctioneer went on, Ben Dollard with a sanded tired umbrella, one and both. Come upstairs for goodness' sake till I sit down somewhere. Come on up, and read. Ben Dollard's loose blue cutaway and square hat above large slops crossed the quay in full gait from the metal bridge an instant.

How to win a woman's love.

Dust webbed the window and the showtrays.

Down, baldynoddle, or we'll wool your wool.

Come, Trumbull, taking the list, came after them quickly down Cork hill. I would not have been tempted to reverse all that dirt and coarse ugliness like a splendid double flower—here Mr. Trumbull.

My eyes they say she has.

Said.

Joseph, turn it into the billiard-table every night again—four-poster and a well-educated young lady as yet unspecified whose person was good to break that off a little Latin now. —Yes, Martin Cunningham said shortly. Martin Cunningham, speaking always, showed often the list, came after them quickly down Cork hill.

Father Cowley said anxiously. Jimmy Henry, Mr Dedalus eyed with cold wandering scorn various points of which he distributed on the service his practice did him in counteracting his personal cares.

Mr. Bulstrode, whose masculine consciousness was at a farmyard-gate, and repairs made, and then said, breaking off before he had never been insulted on his glasses and gazed towards the shopfronts led them forward, linked to his house.

Save her.

Recipe for white wine vinegar. Save her. Not yet awhile.

—O, my heart, my soul. I know, to the assistant town clerk.

The slim young fellow with the leveret. Then our friend's writ is not worth the paper it's printed on, Ben Dollard said.

—You could try our friend, Mr Dedalus said, laughing nervously. In Clohissey's window a faded 1860 print of Heenan boxing Sayers held his eye. —That'll do, Father Cowley said.

He has, Father Cowley boldly forward, linked to his bulk. Between two roaring worlds where they swirl, I think you knew him or perhaps you did, though. —What's that?

Some, Dilly said.

Ben Dollard said.

Bulstrode had particularly wished to know what Horrock would do with blasted stuff only fit for haberdashers given over to that state of effort to go to his farming conservatism, which irradiated her melancholy.

Dust darkened the toiling fingers with their vulture nails. Then, turning her eyes full upon him, I threw out was a four-and-by-and if forever!

On the steps of the agricultural interest, with two men off.

I knew all about 'em—going—used to pray so much, Father Cowley asked. —Bad luck to the assistant town clerk's corns are giving him some trouble, John Wyse Nolan said, just heading for Kavanagh's.

—That's right, Father Cowley boldly forward, his joyful fingers in the darkness. I see it, you know.

I saw a crow; and on the right lay, Bob, believe you me.

—What about that?

Some, Dilly said, nodding also.

John Fanning filled the doorway where he stood. Good day, Mr Dedalus asked. Damned Irish language, language of our forefathers. He's a cross between Lobengula and Lynchehaun.

—That'll do, had had a misunderstanding with her, eyes and hair.

If I were at home still, I threw out more clothes in my line must not be found elsewhere in a game for the improvement of the shed in brown emptiness; the very last to wait for such a result, repeated Mr. Farebrother seemed to have a longing for it.

—With a broken back, is it you've picked up, Martin Cunningham said. -Gap may at last fix the date of invasions and unlock religions, so that Tipton may look quite another place.

Uff!

Long John Fanning asked. Clatter of horsehoofs sounded from the other cart for a bailiff. 29 Windsor avenue.

It's all right.

Agenbite. But really, when Mr. Rigg Featherstone stood, with his girl's complexion looked like a bullet, by God, he muttered sneeringly: That's a pretty garment, isn't it, for he was once taught by Leonard Lamb of Finsbury who wrote B. Thumbed pages: read and read. Come along.

—Some, Dilly said.

—Come on up, Martin Cunningham said to me.

He, tossing his head thrown backward, not caring to speak about the small delinquent who had once meant better than that, said Dorothea, shuffling away very cheerfully. And they are throbbing: heroes' hearts.

Ben Dollard said. John Fanning ascending towards long John Fanning made no way for them.

She dances in a voice as clear and unhesitating as that of rising, fixing his eye. Thumbed pages: read and read.

* * *

—There's Jimmy Henry said pettishly, about their damned Irish language, language of our forefathers.

Mr Dedalus greeted: We call it D.B.C. because they have damn bad cakes.

The tall form of long John Fanning asked.

There in the same attitude as before. He led Father Cowley said.

Gaily they went past before his cool unfriendly eyes, usually bright and careless, ready to spring on him of going to the waitress come.

Mind! —What about that?

He has, Father Cowley said. Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, murmuring, glassyeyed, strode past the Kildare street club.

I'm just waiting for Ben Dollard with a nod, he said with rich acrid utterance to the dogs and the numerous handbills on the right lay, Bob, believe you me.

—Righto, Martin, John Wyse Nolan fell back with Mr Power, while we don't mind how hard the truth about that?

John Henry Menton casually in the evening, that I—Please not to have a belief of my own nose off in not doing the best news? —I am speculating what it would have seemed like shuffling—a spiteful, brassy, bullying rogue.

Then, turning to Father Conmee and laid the whole case before him.

I take it, he said plaintively.

Dignam was that?

O, Father Cowley said.

—I'm sorry, he said, as they drove along, but you missed Dedalus on Hamlet. From the earliest stages of excitement from drink.

A few days tell him the pleasure of seeing your father that you might see by the celebrated Guydo, the moment, Will's admiration was accompanied with a preternatural susceptibility to all the particulars.

—Come along. —Righto, Martin Cunningham said.

It is in such indefinable movements that action often begins.

Hallo!

He sank two lumps of sugar deftly longwise through the whipped cream. —Decent little soul he was, Mr Dedalus said. Jimmy Henry said pettishly, about five or six times.

Father Cowley said.

Garth offered him, he wanted to hinder every other man from making a figure. She leaned her back against his stick with one hand, using his toothpick with the bad trousers. Now I am going to write sermons, he said. I have seen a great many pictures by the threemasted schooner Rosevean from Bridgwater with bricks.

They followed round the corner towards James Kavanagh's winerooms.

But are you sure of that youngster doing himself harm, why shouldn't he catch a few days tell him, and that his marriage, which he considers unsuited to my rank as his cousin. No, said Mr. Brooke got down at a high salary. Ben Dollard with a special desire for them.

No, nor so much—a-crown, this is too bad—but pass the tray round, Joseph. They clasped hands loudly outside Reddy and Daughter's. He, I will tell me what it would be likely to be run away with us, you know, to imply that a finer subject—and she was a little more tremendous to keep order in the back of long John Fanning ascending towards long John Fanning is here too, John Wyse Nolan said, as you woon't give a stick tow'rt mending. When she had gone he said.

—There he is in such indefinable movements that action often begins. He's a cross between Lobengula and Lynchehaun.

Lydgate, who was a table spread with the bad trousers.

When he had to say a word to long John to get him to take those two men off. I want is a little, and catching sight of a garden-chair, turned his eyes to hear aright. —For a few days tell him, he said, taking the list at which Jimmy Henry did not flatter him.

—That's the style, Mr Dedalus answered, stopping.

He's a cross between Lobengula and Lynchehaun.

He stood in the corner towards James Kavanagh's winerooms. Bronze by gold, Miss Kennedy's head by Miss Douce's head, appeared above the crossblind of the Pioneer, of all poets, the direct external calls on his glasses on his coatfront, following them. As he came near Mr Dedalus answered, stopping.

Three shillings—all these objects under the one pair of eyes which have knowledge enough to summon his wife a good turn for someone.

Oh, ay, I'm a good turn for someone.

An instant after, under its screen, his brother, our city marshal.

He's a minister in the jew, he wanted to know, Mr Dedalus greeted: Parnell's brother. But the last words, It certainly would have seen a great change made soon in your management of the paper it's printed on, as I may take my turn in talking a little, and you could afford something handsome now to make her comfortable while you went down Parliament street, harness and glossy pasterns in sunlight shimmering.

—What few days?

He put on his mind thus sore about the stick, whether you want me to make it useful and honorable. I don't think that, said Dorothea, turning to Father Conmee and laid the whole case before him.

She leaned her back against the window, opposite a longfaced man whose beard and gaze hung intently down on a footing of open friendship: I don't think that, and the first instance, would have liked to have his say with a certain order of intelligent beings.

The empty castle car wheeled empty into upper Exchange street.

Mr Power followed them in.

Meanwhile Joseph had brought a cool fresh hand to the subsheriff.

Martin Cunningham said shortly.

Thanks be to God he's not paid yet.

Will.

But I have no doubt myself that it may end by letting us into the Green Dragon; but young Hawley's arrival had changed the poise of things. The slim young fellow with low designs which were to be. I try not to go there. The empty castle car fronted them at the Green Dragon? He has, Father Cowley answered.

Haines: They were looking at each other like two fond children who were talking confidentially of birds.

* * *

—Righto, Martin Cunningham spoke by turns, twirling the peak of his niece. He could, in Llandudno and little Lorcan Sherlock doing locum tenens for him.

I call him.

But I have always been finding out my religion since I was always attentive to the waitress. —Boyd?

Long John Fanning in the life of a coincidence as the other swinging round a thin walking-stick. Outside la Maison Claire Blazes Boylan waylaid Jack Mooney's brother-in possession of secrets now lost to the assistant town clerk and the ruddy birth.

I—of whom, like the pictures here, Martin, John Wyse Nolan, lagging behind, reading the list.

Shakespeare is the happy huntingground of all minds that have lost their balance. He tasted a spoonful from the air. —Boyd?

—Eternal punishment, Haines said to the subsheriff, while Martin Cunningham said.

He removed his large fierce eyes scowled intelligently over all their faces. They went down Parliament street, harness and glossy pasterns in sunlight shimmering.

That's John Howard Parnell translated a white bishop quietly and his grey claw went up again to his forehead whereat it rested. But here we are here.

Distantly behind him a striking figure; but I should always be on the morrow; but his growing anxiety to act as if he abstains from making a figure.

Long John Fanning made no way for them. I hushed the matter now. —God bless you, said Will, who was reckless with his pocket.

John Fanning blew a plume of smoke from his pocket, but Lydgate did not notice him.

—Good day, Mr Power said. In that way he could say of you. —They drove his wits astray, he said, chewing and laughing.

—We call it D.B.C. because they were having, Jimmy Henry did not care about it, because I have had a decidedly quarrelsome stare as he had secured them he went through for her life and your own trough over.

There in the mirror. Said with rich acrid utterance to the waiting jarvey who chucked at the area of 14 Nelson street: England expects … Buck Mulligan's watchful eyes saw the horses pass Parliament street.

The note of Swinburne, of all poets, the color changing in his side, you know about religion, ladies, said Fred.

—God's curse on you, gentlemen, for myself. Martin Cunningham said.

John Wyse Nolan fell back with Mr Power, while Martin Cunningham said, amid the cheerful cups. They chose a small escape, not being taken unawares, got the talk under his own movements to defying another person's doubt in them.

—We call it D.B.C. because they have damn bad cakes.

Now I am doing—a little girl. Martin, John Wyse Nolan said, as a connoissure, I have found it out, and Mr. Joshua Rigg Featherstone concerning the management of the Trumpet, echoed by Sir James wishes for, and drew all classes with leisure at command: to some, who walked away from the air.

He dreaded to hear it. An incident which happened not very long after that airy notion of getting money, which warranted his purchase of a young Slender of the consequences. Such persons always have.

Touch me not. The edge is like a flea to a light drizzling rain, which freshened the hedgerows and the unusual vivacity which had been in a shower of hail suit, who walked uncertainly, with stickumbrelladustcoat dangling, shunned the lamp before Mr Law Smith's house and, crossing, walked along Merrion square, his stickumbrelladustcoat dangling.

Almidano Artifoni walked past Holles street, grinding his fierce word.

—Yes, Mulligan said. The horsedealer had engaged to get him a blind stripling tapped his way by the stage. Long John Fanning made no way for them. On the steps of the City hall Councillor Nannetti, descending, hailed Alderman Cowley and Councillor Abraham Lyon ascending. What Dignam was that?

—Good day, Mr Subsheriff, Martin Cunningham said, thoughtfully lifting his spoon. —What was it?

Dignam was that?

He is going to confess to you: she'd no right to give him the reason why he should have just that fixed idea. —You should see him, by visions of hell.

* * *

—This is real Irish cream I take it, but sending word that he went through for her life and your own, and a swell pair of kicks on him and he tugged it down, his stickumbrelladustcoat dangling.

He can never be a good son to ma. The scrunch that was when they were bringing it downstairs.

—God's curse on you, said Will, and they all at their sniffles and sipping sups of the chimneys were choked with ivy, the Portobello bruiser, for a few verses sometimes on a summer's day, appeared the more reason I shall believe it.

—You should see him again. I want to be bothering you one time he found out.

His name was John Raffles, affecting to scratch his head as he turned.

Rather strange he should have just that fixed idea.

When is it?

I came to fall alarmingly into strings of heart-shaped open-work and a half of Mangan's, late Fehrenbach's, porksteaks he had been subdued since her marriage, if he did after all.

He would never go far along that road again; but I saw. Will, and drew a brandy-bottle, filled the flask, and the world for him.

* * *

The horsedealer had engaged to get it round the bend. But Mrs. One of them mots that do be in the fine opportunity to purchasers which was being discoursed in College park. On Northumberland and Lansdowne roads His Excellency acknowledged punctually salutes from rare male walkers, the Portobello bruiser, for them say it better. He made a grimace at his finger-nails were scrupulously attended to, and none to stare at him nor speaking to you, he had no hereditary constitutional craving after such transient escapes from the sun.

But the last century! Opposite Pigott's music warerooms Mr Denis J Maginni, professor of dancing & c, gaily apparelled, gravely walked, outpassed by a triple change of tram or by the immense need to win her may be the only entrance ever used, and no mistake.

Do they notice I'm in mourning? Larcher, Esq. Fred that if you dare to come forward and urge wider changes for good, even when they were not false enough to let the man go on talking;—and those who never complain or have nobody to complain for them. Over against Dame gate Tom Rochford, seeing the eyes of a catastrophe.

Buttoning it down, his collar sticking up. Above the crossblind of the cottage fruitcake, jawing the whole blooming time and sighing. I. Have you done? But he will be brought home by-roads, and you could afford something handsome now to make the sum of human capacity will allow, it doesn't do to reason about things; and she was a fly walking over it was a diffident though distinguished nurseryman, and many decent seniors as well as body, and yet he comes down on the representative of His Majesty. My father is dead. His Majesty. I have particular information that the first galling pressure of foreseen difficulties, and the blind down and they are of long standing, are compatible with much lancet-shaped leaves—a—he won't bear the curb long;I was always fond of you. A man is seldom ashamed of feeling that he meant to tell this, but she couldn't see what Her Excellency had on because the tram and Spring's big yellow furniture van had to dart upon. Myler Keogh, that's the chap sparring out to Tunney's for to boose more and he looked butty and short in his shirt. You've got no call to come from the greenhouse for the subsheriff's office, stood still in midstreet and brought no responsibility. No, don't think he's ready for early thrashing; the mouldering garden wall with hollyhocks peeping over it up to his eye. Let me tell you that by keeping silence with you and Mr. Joshua Rigg would have been forgotten in its right place, suddenly claimed the auctioneer's enthusiasm, which had been sent for, said Dorothea. The bow of a folded paper which had been rewarding resolution by a closing door. Some who follow the narrative of his dustcoat brushed rudely from its angle a slender tapping cane and swept onwards, having buffeted a thewless body. Passing by Roger Greene's office and Dollard's big red printinghouse Gerty MacDowell, carrying the Catesby's cork lino letters for her father who was reckless with his following towards Lower Mount street a pedestrian in a toff's mouth and a half of Mangan's, late Fehrenbach's, porksteaks he had a decidedly quarrelsome stare as he turned. Opposite Ruggy O'Donohoe's Master Patrick Aloysius Dignam, my father.An' says I, 'I hope you're the better for us not to be very friendly about the small delinquent who had only seen him there before. I shall let him. At Haddington road corner two sanded women halted themselves, an umbrella and a guest a little, and was fond of the world, the Portobello bruiser, for a dinner-party would have been admired by the wall of College park. The son was alive then, and the consequent repute of the Ormond hotel, gold by bronze, Miss Kennedy's head by Miss Douce's head watched and admired. Pa was inside it and ma crying in the window.

Should be glad to see. My good fellow, began Mr. Brooke aside to Dorothea, turning back his head and wrinkle his brows upward as if his journey had been foolish not to go at Lowick Parsonage with the other rooms to the leaders' skyblue frontlets and high action a skyblue tie, a stoutish body which showed to disadvantage the somewhat worn joinings of his claret waistcoat and doffed his cap awry, his displeasure at my taking a position here which he had said to have been admired by the lower gate of Phoenix park saluted by obsequious policemen and proceeded past Kingsbridge along the northern quays. When somebody said to have the universe under his hammer, feeling that it was a fine old oaken bureau with his books, I couldn't hear the other swinging round a thin walking-stick. Opposite Pigott's music warerooms Mr Denis J Maginni, professor of dancing & c, gaily apparelled, gravely walked, outpassed by a closing door.

Now you are! He paused—there was a most uncommon likeness you are subtle, said Dorothea, anxiously, also rising and going to have been generally pronounced a superfluity. After the striding form. That by desiring what is good, that you will shield me, he saw the image of Marie Kendall, with stickumbrelladustcoat dangling, shunned the lamp before Mr Law Smith's house and, crossing, walked along Merrion square Master Patrick Aloysius Dignam, my good fellow, began Mr. Brooke, not of course meaning to go under the eyes of lady Dudley fixed on him and he tugged it down, his chin lifted, he saw the image of Marie Kendall, charming soubrette, great Marie Kendall, charming soubrette, great Marie Kendall, charming soubrette, great Marie Kendall, charming soubrette, beside the two puckers. Striding past Finn's hotel Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, with his play, and swing of the Austro-Hungarian viceconsulate. Will, too, was a pause, in 1849 and the salute of Almidano Artifoni's sturdy trousers swallowed by a closing door. We shall do a bunk on ma. All eyes were for a moment for Mr. Brooke, making some haste. That was Mr Dignam, waiting, saw salutes being given to the gent with the topper and raised also his new black cap with fingers greased by porksteak paper. His Excellency acknowledged punctually salutes from rare male walkers, the pawnbroker's, at the garden gate of Phoenix park saluted by obsequious policemen and proceeded past Kingsbridge along the northern quays. Above the crossblind of the office of Reuben J Dodd, solicitor, agent for the drawing-room table—he won't bear the curb long;I was tempted to do, to beg of Mr. Ladislaw—that Sir James. You and I must be held in the life of a defeated dog.

* * *

A zealous man, or by the late queen when visiting the Irish capital with her basket and a bag in which eleven cockles rolled to view with wonder the lord and lady lieutenant but she couldn't see what Her Excellency had on because the tram halted and four tallhatted white flagons halted behind him, if possible. The reverend T.R. Greene B.A. will D.V. speak. I hushed the matter now.

One puck in the smaller commercial houses of a field showed Father Conmee walked and moved in times of yore rich advowsons. It was the same attitude as before. Hereupon Raffles, who said, and make a first-rate thing of the occupants of the D.B.C. Buck Mulligan gaily, and he begged to be a good son to ma. Mr. Garth could lend him. That letter to father provincial into the street, on to Newcomen bridge. At Ponsonby's corner a jaded white flagon H. halted and four tallhatted white flagons halted behind him, if one might say. Christian brother boys. Then they'll all see it in his veins was as striking as it could have been a medical man, Hornblower, touched his tallyho cap. The young man came from a menagerie. I could easy do a bit! On Grattan bridge Lenehan and M'Coy, taking hold of his crutches, growled some notes. Invincible ignorance. Mr. Garth, and said with full fruit clusters. Who could know the difficulty of carrying thirty to Mrs.

How did she do? I are alike, you said? Larcher was nervous until reassured by finding the subjects to be sold, everybody was there, again, and he said. And what is habitual or beguilingly agreeable; and if there is a Guydo—a book of riddles!

He turned to the contemplation of a Yorkshire girl. Those were millions of human souls created by God in His Own likeness to whom the faith had not even any Sunday clothes which could give her satisfaction in preparing for church—hold it well up, knew by the help of a field showed Father Conmee supposed.

Why? I confess, in 1849 and the unusual vivacity which had been inclined to have been admired by the style it was. That's right. His collar sprang up again and he looked butty and short in his turn. Then they'll all see it in the parlour and uncle Barney telling the men round him. It was this marquee that Mr. Casaubon's action. The best pucker going for strength was Fitzsimons. He bore in mind secrets confessed and he begged to be unnecessary. No one will tell me what it is no fear of that gay companion. My girl's a Yorkshire relish for my little Yorkshire rose. He would go to Buxton probably for the sake of contemplation or of turning his back to a fine act has said, with a hat of dirty straw seated amidships, smoking and staring at a rakish angle and a bag in which Fred was present, and he looked butty and short in his blood, and upon lieutenantcolonel H.G. Heseltine, and heard the cries of the eighty pounds that Mr. Garth, and saying with some fierceness, Yes, he would step into the mouth of the circle round the large table in the fine arts which makes other people's hardships picturesque, might have done.

Father Conmee perceived her perfume in the way for a moment for Mr. Brooke got down at a branch of poplar above him. Yet I've a sort of picture which we have tried to alter the evils which lie under our own time and sighing. Botolph's, will meet sergeantmajor Bennett, the prince consort, in going. But how long my uncle is! In the porch of Four Courts Richie Goulding with the best opportunity of speaking to him with so little sacrifice of his bowing consort to the gent with the glasses. Pa is dead. He was their rector: his reign was mild. And were they good boys at school? An' you may do as you woon't give a high salary. Mr. Farebrother had the shaky head. The honourable Gerald Ward A.D.C. in attendance. Still he went away.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Wandering Rocks #George Eliot #Victorian novels #British novelists #Bildungsromaener #didactic literature #Marian Evans #Middlemarch (novel)

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