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She fought the impulse to barricade herself. Yard by yard, he neatly came on. Her heart beat to suffocation but she would not move. He drew nearer, his eyes upon her, expressionless, walking with jaunty steps on the piney ground. She clenched her hands at her sides and stood strongly… She woke and shook herself free of her dream. The dream, now induced into a subterranean course, had shown her clearly the face and person of E. Never, never, she reflected again—and this was strange—has she been able to summon Tom’s face. She could call to sight his walk, his manner of sitting, or turning, all characteristic of a man but disembodied, appearing as a walking, a sitting, a turning, a looking. … She looked at her servitude as if it was not hers, but another’s. He will go to his reward, if any, and –Good Lord—so shall I. But now, as she sat on the side of her bed, the car not an hour gone, the dream yet undreamed and unforgotten…

Every herring must hang by its own gill

Nobody attempting to controvert his position, he took a small brown-paper parcel out of his hat, and putting on a pair of horn spectacles (the writing being crabbed) read the direction half a dozen times over; having done which he consigned the parcel to its old place, put up his spectacles again, and stared at everybody in turn. After this he took another blow at the horn by way of refreshment; and having now exhausted his usual topics of conversation, folded his arms as well as he could in so many coats, and falling into a solemn silence, looked carelessly at the familiar objects which met his eye on every side as the coach rolled on—the only things he seemed to care for being horses and droves of cattle, which he scrutinized with a critical air as they were passed upon the road.
The weather was intensely and bitterly cold: a great deal of snow fell from time to time, and the wind was intolerably keen. Mr. Squeers got down at almost every stage—to stretch his legs, as he said—and as he always came back from such excursions with a very red nose, and composed himself to sleep directly, there is reason to suppose that he derived great benefit from the process. The little pupils having been stimulated with the remains of their breakfast and further invigorated by sundry small sups of a curious cordial carried by Mr. Squeers, which tasted very like toast-woke, shivered, and cried, as their feelings prompted. Nicholas and the good-tempered man found so many things to talk about, that between conversing together and cheering up the boys, the time passed with them as rapidly as it could, under such circumstances.
So the day wore on. At Eton-Slocomb there was a good coach dinner, of which the box, the four front of outsides, the one inside, Nicholas, the good-tempered man, and Mr. Squeers partook; while the five little boys were put to thaw by the fire, and regaled with sandwiches. A stage or two further on the lamps were lighted, and a great to-do occasioned by the taking up at a roadside inn of a very fastidious lady, with an infinite variety of cloaks and small parcels, who loudly lamented, for the behoof of the outsides, the non-arrival of her own carriage, which was to have taken her on, and made the guard solemnly promise to stop every green chariot he saw coming; which, as it was dark night, and he was sitting with his face the other way, the officer undertook, with many fervent asseverations, to do.

Miss Stuart likes art. She has us bring old shirts of our fathers from home, so we can do messier art without getting our clothes dirty. While we scissor and paint and paste she walks the aisles in her nurse’s mask, looking over our shoulders. But if anyone, a boy, draws a silly picture on purpose, she holds the page up in mocking outrage. "This guy here thinks he's being smarrut. You’ve got more between the ears than that!”. And she flicks him on the ear with her thumb and fingernail.
For her, we make the familiar paper objects, the pumpkins, the Christmas bells, but she has us to do other things too. We make complicated floral patterns with a compass, we glue odd substances to cardboard backings: feathers, sequins, pieces of macaroni garishly dyed, lengths of drinking-straw. We do group murals on the blackboards or on large rolls of brown paper. We draw pictures about foreign countries: Mexico with cactuses and men in enormous hats, China with cones on the heads and seeing-eye boats, India with what we intend to be graceful, silk-draped women balancing cooper urns, and jewels on their foreheads.
I like these foreign pictures because I can believe in them. I desperately need to believe that somewhere else these other foreign people exist. No matter that at Sunday School I’ve been told such people are either starving or heathens or both. No matter that my weekly collection goes to convert them, feed them, smarten them up. Miss Lumley saw them as crafty, given to he eating of outlandish or disgusting foods and to acts of treachery against the British, but I prefer Miss Stuart’s versions, in which the sun above their heads is cheerful yellow, the palm trees a clear green, the clothing they wear is floral, their folk-songs gay. The women chatter together in quick incomprehensible languages, they laugh, showing perfect, pure-white teeth. If these people exist I can go there sometime. I don’t have to stay here.
“Today”, says Miss Stuart, “we are going to draw what we do after school.”
The others hunch over their desks, I know what they will draw: skipping ropes, jolly snowmen, listening to the radio, playing with a dog. I stare at my own paper, which remains blank. Finally I draw my bed, with myself in it. My bed has a dark wooden headboard with curlicues on it. I draw the window, the chest–of-drawers. I color in the night. My hand holding the black crayon presses down, harder and harder, until the picture is entirely black, until only a faint shadow of my bed and my head on the pillow remains to be seen.

Back in the seventeenth century the Americans’ ancestors in each colony “either before, or soon after their emigration, entered into particular compacts with the Kings of England,” involving their several forms of government which were, “by charters, royal proclamations, and the laws and regulations in each colony…made by the mutual consent of the King and the People.” These charters were not franchises or grants from the Crown that could be unilaterally recalled of forfeited, as the Tories claimed: “Their running in the stile of a grant is mere matter of form and not of substance.”

Like all Englishmen, the colonists were familiar with written documents as barriers to encroaching power. “Anxious to preserve and transmit” their liberties “unimpaired to posterity”, the English people had repeatedly “caused them to be reduced to writing, and in the most solemn manner to be recognized, ratified and confirmed,” first by king John., then Henry III and Edward I, and “afterwards by a multitude of corroborating acts, reckoned in all, by Lord Cook, to be thirty-two, from Edw.1st to Henry 4th, and since, in a variety of instances, by the bills of right and acts of settlement.” Moreover, America’s own past was filled with written charters to which the colonists had continually appealed in imperial disputes-charters or grants from the Crown which by the time of the Revolution had taken on an extraordinary importance in American eyes.

When there where no newspapers and few letters, and when travel was difficult and dangerous, the King’s rigid insistence on the perpetual coming and going of ever fresh troops of knights and burghers between Westminster and their own communities began the continuous political education of Englishmen, and perhaps did more to create the unity of the nation that Chaucer or the Hundred Years’ War. Nor, without such machinery for the easy levy of taxes, could the great Scottish or French wars of the Edwardian period have been fought.

Pricaj mi o njoj
pricaj sve Å¡to znas
reci da l' je boli
sad rastanak nas
ali nemoj laznu nadu
da mi das


Pozdravi je, pozdravi
volim je k`o pre
eh, da mogu
poslati joj suze
suze bi joj rekle sve

Vidas li je s` kim
ko je srećnik taj
da li joj na licu
blista sreće sjaj
il' još uvek nije
prebolela kraj



Nisam sreo jos
ljubav slicnu njoj
a sreo sam zena
ne zna im se broj
samo ona srećnim
cini život moj

Feudalism, dependence on a local magnate, had been superseded by nationalism, loyalty to the king and his central government, not only in E., but to some degree in F., S. and P. (G. and I. were to wait nearly another four centuries), and while H. was consolidating his power, C. was planting the Spanish flag in A., and Portuguese adventurers were doubling the Cape of Good Hope on their way to I. The little medieval world of Western Europe, of which E. had been the unprofitable fringe, was expanding into a globe on which she was a promontory thrust out towards a New World.

The enduring mystery of the Anasazi

Time-worn pueblos and dramatic „cliff towns” set amid the stark, rugged mesas and canyons of C. and N.M., mark the settlements of some of the earliest inhabitants of North America, the Anasazi (a Navajo word meaning „ancient ones”).

Artisans such as cabinetmakers had long been employed to produce, say, bedsteads, at so much per bed, and printers had been paid so much per pica of type set at least since the eighteenth century.