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From: | Miranda Andersen |
Subject: | [Cogitatio-interface] replicate |
Date: | Fri, 8 Sep 2006 03:02:18 -0400 |
However, these few gestures are enough to reveal
different and lesssolemn features.
This was eight miles away, in the outskirts of
Colmar.
Gabard is a fool; it is possible that they have got
round him.
The representatives of the industry of the place
ask for nothing more.
The lords of the local industry are under shelter,
and they know it. Tell us, des Challeries, you assure us that yousaw the tribe? Then
she had to be contentwith a far too succinct account of his adventures.
The only thing was, how to procure the fresh supply
ofliquid cash. Fifteen hundred thousand French citizens have become Germans. But his
voice was already subduedby alarm in the presence of the general surprise and
attention.
LePleynier accentuates the abruptness of this
conclusion.
Shadows were bustling, withmonstrously exaggerated
gestures, over heaped up piles of baggage.
His smooth, legal lips closed in time to suppress a
comical littlehiccough. An uproar follows, in which loud laughter and contemptuous
sniffsprevail. But it is not this that is the spectacle.
Le Pleyniers majesty thenappears a very dubious
majesty.
Families are sitting down to their supper. We know
now from where the ironical accent of the voice proceeds.
Scorn furrowed his lips, as the sea is furrowed by
the wake of asteamer proceeding at full speed. Boulinier gives a faint whistle when
they reach the little factory. A stir at oncefollows in the rooms of the Club.
However, these few gestures are enough to reveal different and lesssolemn
features.
The soul ofthe artist was manifested only by the
loyal practice of his art. Two candles,stuck in the necks of bottles, distribute a
flickering yellow light.
Shadows still turn the comers, and good nights are
exchangedbefore the banging of doors. Fifteen hundred thousand French citizens have
become Germans.
In fact, Monsieur LePleynier, you understand, you
have no backing. Money due to me, three or four thousand, which makesforty-eight
thousand five hundred.
He was playing by himself, in the dark, in his
bedroom beneath thesloping roof.
Outwardly round, inwardly flat, he pushes ahead by
any means in hispower. But as our neighbours and colleagues, no! The soul ofthe
artist was manifested only by the loyal practice of his art.
Boulinier is not so easily brought to the end of
his tether. No one had ever heard the clubfoot speak for so long without stopping.
If they were what you suppose, would they allow anyone to protectthem?
LePleynier accentuates the abruptness of this
conclusion.
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