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a priesthood whose industry

Le 8 August 2017, 08:43 dans Humeurs 0

We are constantly being told by high authorities that the moral objective of the present war is 'to put down militarism,' and 'abolish it' off the face of the earth. There are few of us who do not wish that this aim may be crowned with success; but militarism is a tough weed to kill, and something {147} more than the mere mowing of it down by some outside scythesman will be necessary, one imagines, in order to get rid of it.

The true moral objective of the war is something much more important than this. A blacker evil than militarism is that violation of private trust and public honour which is known as the Prussian System, and which has recently been 'marching through rapine, to the disintegration,' not of a single nation, or group of nations, but of the whole fabric of human society, including its own. It is an elaborate contrivance of extreme artificiality, a strange perversion of the nature of man. These are its inherent weaknesses; and fortunately, by reason of them, it is more vulnerable to hard blows than militarism which, with all its vices, and extravagancies, is rooted in instincts which are neither depraved nor ignoble.

Militarism might continue to thrive under adversity, and after the heaviest defeat, as it has done in times past; but the life of the Prussian System—that joint invention of the most efficient bureaucracy in the world, and of  can only be matched by its sycophancy and conceit—hangs upon the thread of success. Like the South Sea Bubble, or any of those other impostures of the financial sort, which have temporarily beguiled the confidence of mankind, it must collapse utterly under the shock of failure. It depends entirely on credit, and its powers of recuperation are nil. When its assets are disclosed, the characters of its promoters will be understood. The need, therefore, is to bring it at all costs to a complete demonstration of failure.

We have been urged by our own anti-militarists not to inflict suffering and humiliation on Germany. But this is not a matter of the slightest importance one way or the other. It has but little to do with the issue which it is our business to settle, if we have the good fortune to come out victorious from the present struggle. To set up the suffering and humiliation of Germany as the object of high policy would cover the Allies with contempt; but to shrink from such things, if they should happen to stand between the Allies and the utter moral bankruptcy of the Prussian System, would overwhelm them with a burden far heavier and more shameful than contempt.

some background material

Le 28 July 2017, 08:57 dans Humeurs 0

Martin “I wouldn’t be so sure. Walker has his fingers in a lot of pies, not only in Washington, but in Europe and the rest of the world as well. Whatever this Hermes Project is, the government cancelled it. Apparently, Walker decided to bankroll the entire operation with his own funds.” “How much money are we talking here?” “You can ask him when you talk to him. But his research and development budget is larger than the gross national products of half the members of the United Nations.” “Is this Walker guy dirty?” “Never been even a whiff of scandal free rental platform.”

“Funny. Why haven’t I seen anything about this in the press?” “Because, Nellie, thanks to my imaginary source, you’re the only one who knows he’s been detained and knows where he is.” “I’ll leave now…” “Whoa, Nellie.” “You know I hate that.” “I know. But he may not even be there yet, besides visiting hours are over. It’s too late to get anything for tomorrow’s edition, and I don’t want this to break with an online story or to tip our hand. I want to be the only paper in America with this on its front page Sunday.” “I’ll go see him first thing in the morning Hong Kong food.”

“Until then, keep this completely under your hat.” “What about Joey?” “What about her?” “Well,” Penelope said with a glance over her shoulder in the direction of her friend. “She’s been reading the file while we were talking.” “Hi Mark!” Joey shouted again. “How come you never fix me up with any guys?” “Oh lord,” Hatchet said with a sigh. “I did mention I could get fi red over this, right? Can you keep her under control?” “Nope. Gave up trying years ago.” “Super.” “Relax. Who is she going to tell?” “You guys talking about me?” Joey demanded. “Yes,” Penelope said with a laugh. “We were just talking about how good you are at keeping your mouth shut.”

“I am?” Joey answered dumbfounded. Penelope’s eyes grew big and she 15 The Fourth Awakening gave Joey a look usually aimed at an unruly two year old. Recognition exploded on Joey’s face. “I am. Absolutely. Secrets are us.” “God help me,” Hatchet said with a sigh. “Keep me posted.” Th e phone went dead. “You, young lady,” Penelope said shaking a finger in Joey’s direction, “are not getting out of my sight for the rest of the day reenex.”

“Slumber party!” . JJoey had insisted on going home to shower and change before going out for dinner. Reluctantly Penelope had agreed. Penelope took a sip from her chamomile tea, then typed rapidly on her laptop. She wanted to know as much as she possibly could about Michael James Walker. Up until six months ago he had been a public relations dynamo. Th ere were literally hundreds of stories about him and his company, then absolutely nothing since last fall. “That’s odd,” Penelope muttered to herself. She checked Yahoo, MSN, and several other search engines getting more or less the same result. She printed off  about Walker and Walker Industries and added it to the folder. Picking up the photo of Walker she carefully studied his face. 

The children all promised

Le 12 July 2017, 05:22 dans Humeurs 0

he neighborhood were relieved—something unwillingly it must be allowed, for the world is very exigeant in this as in many other respects, and, when it is interested in an illness, likes it to run a rapid course, and come to an issue one way or other without delay. It was therefore with reluctance that the Green permitted itself to be convinced that no “change” could be looked for in the rector’s illness for some time to come. Weeks even might be consumed ere the climax, the crisis, the real dramatic point at which the patient’s fate would be concluded, should come. This chilling fact composed the mind of the neighborhood, and stilled it back into the calm of indifference after a while bounce house rental. I am not sure now that there was not a little adverse feeling towards the rector, in that he left everybody in suspense, and having, as it were, invited the world to behold the always interesting spectacle of a dangerous illness, put off from week to week the dénouement. Such a barbarous suggestion would have been repulsed with scorn and horror had it been put into words, but that was the feeling in most people’s hearts reenex.

In-doors, however, Mr. Damerel’s illness was a very terrible matter, and affected every member of the household. Mrs. Damerel gave up everything to nurse him. There was no hesitation with her as to whether she should or should not postpone her family and cares to her husband. From the moment that the dreadful word “fever” crossed the doctor’s lips she put aside the house and the school-room and every other interest, and took her place by the sick-bed. I do not know if any foreboding was in her mind from the first, but she never paused to think. She went to the children and spoke to them, appealing to their honor and affection. She gave Dick and Patty permission to roam as they liked, and to enjoy perfect immunity from lessons and routine, so long as they would be quiet in-doors, and respect the stillness that was necessary in the house; and to Agatha she gave the charge of the infants, exacting quiet only, nothing but quiet. “The house must be kept quiet,” she said to them all imperatively. “The child who makes a noise I shall think no child of mine. Your papa’s life may depend upon it. It will be Rose’s part to see that you all do what I tell you. No noise! that is the chief thing. There must be no noise SmarTone online shop!”

very solemnly, and even closed round her with great eyes uplifted to ask in hushed tones of awe, as if he had been dead, how papa was? The house altogether was strangely subdued all at once, as if the illness had already lasted for weeks. The drawing-room became a shut-up, uninhabited place, where Rose only entered now and then to answer the inquiries of some anxious parishioners not too frightened to come and ask how the rector was. The tide of life, of interest, of occupation, all flowed towards the sick-room—everything centred in it. After a few days it would have seemed as unnatural to Rose to have gone out to the lawn as it was at first to sit in the little anteroom, into which her father’s room opened, waiting to receive her mother’s commissions, to do anything she might want of her. A few days sufficed to make established habits of all these new circumstances of life.

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