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They were for the most part

Le 15 février 2017, 06:45 dans Humeurs 0

We came into such close contact with the world of crime during our travels that we could soon recognise what Lombroso calls “the criminal type.” On the whole, the criminals made a more favourable impression on me than I had expected. Certainly there was much about them unpleasant, and even repulsive; but this was, I think, less due to their character as a class than to the special influence of the “Ivans”—a quite peculiar type, who imparted their tone more or less to all the others. With the exception of these leaders, and of a small number of the worst criminals, who had not succeeded in “swopping,” the majority consisted of very average men of the working class, with the good and bad qualities of their order. Their leading characteristics were dumb acquiescence in their lot and a shy dread of anyone who would attempt to better it.

just as good-natured and ready to help one another as is commonly the case with workers of the lower classes. Among the ordinary prisoners, too, were to be found many individuals who could in no sense be ranked as criminals. Russian village communes have the power of rejecting from their midst members whom they consider undesirable; and these outcasts can then be sent to settle in Siberia, without any judicial sentence, but simply by the desire of a majority in their commune. Moreover, this verdict of the commune is often delivered without any real majority being convinced as to the unfitness of the offending member; the clerk to the commune and two or three of the richer peasants and usurers (Kulaki) can easily manage to get rid of a poor wretch who does not happen to please them. It would be impossible to calculate how many crying injustices are thus perpetrated on the destitute and helpless among the peasantry. The victims of such barbarous and arbitrary proceedings who were among our party, had many sad stories to tell, which only corroborated what I myself had seen going on in country districts. With one or two exceptions, the exiles belonging to this category were quite average specimens of the Russian peasant.

There were also included among these ordinary prisoners members of various religious sects, exiled on that account, and they were very far removed from the criminal type. These sectarians are admitted, by all who know Siberia best, to form the steadiest and the most industrious element of the population. The sectarians in our party of ordinary prisoners always avoided any participation in the fights, quarrels, and rowdyism of the others, and tried not to fall out either with the leaders of the convict band, on the one hand, nor with the authorities on the other. It was their custom to accept humbly all insults and injuries inflicted on them as trials sent them by God.

Those prisoners who had minor punishments to undergo, and who had least on their conscience, were for the 177most part timid, submissive, even broken-spirited. Among them were the unfortunate wretches whom I have described as gambling away their food-money for whole weeks together. They then literally starved, or sold themselves into the hands of the “swop” organisation for a beggarly sum. They were treated with utter contempt by the other criminals, and among them went by the name of “biscuits,” a rather descriptive title for these pale, dried-up, emaciated creatures. These “biscuits” were the pariahs of their society, and all the dirtiest and most disagreeable work—cleaning out of privies, etc.—fell to their share as a matter of course. They seemed to have lost all power of will; and gambling—the source of all their sufferings—was the only thing they cared for. They were always ready to steal anything that came in their way, except from the “Ivans,” which would have had dire results for themselves if discovered, probably a murderous thrashing. I only knew one case of that kind, when a poor young fellow stole a piece of bread from one of the “Ivans,” and the artèl at once decided that he should be punished exemplarily, “because he had stolen from his own people.”

exactly in the right places

Le 10 janvier 2017, 06:17 dans Humeurs 0

After a time, however, Christina got used to the idea, and then considerations occurred to her which made her throw herself into it with characteristic ardour. If Miss Pontifex had been a railway stock she might have been said to have been buoyant in the Battersby market for some few days; buoyant for long together she could never be, still for a time there really was an upward movement. Christina’s mind wandered to the organ itself; she seemed to have made it with her own hands; there would be no other in England to compare with it for combined sweetness and power. She already heard the famous Dr. Walmisley of Cambridge mistaking it for a Father Smith. It would come, no doubt, in reality to Battersby church, which wanted an organ, for it must be all nonsense about Alethea’s wishing to keep it, and Ernest would not have a house of his own for ever so many years, and they could never have it at the Rectory. Oh, no! Battersby church was the only proper place for it service apartment for rent.

Of course, they would have a grand opening, and the Bishop would come down, and perhaps young Figgins might be on a visit to them — she must ask Ernest if young Figgins had yet left Roughborough — he might even persuade his grandfather, Lord Lonsford, to be present. Lord Lonsford and the Bishop and everyone else would then compliment her, and Dr. Wesley or Dr. Walmisley, who should preside (it did not much matter which), would say to her, “My dear Mrs. Pontifex Cloud server, I never yet played upon so remarkable an instrument.” Then she would give him one of her very sweetest smiles and say she feared he was flattering her, on which he would rejoin with some pleasant little trifle about remarkable men (the remarkable man being for the moment Ernest) having invariably had remarkable women for their mothers — and so on and so on. The advantage of doing one’s praising for oneself is that one can lay it on so thick and .

Theobald wrote Ernest a short and surly letter a propos of his aunt’s intentions in this matter.

“I will not commit myself,” he said, “to an opinion whether anything will come of it; this will depend entirely upon your own exertions; you have had singular advantages hitherto, and your kind aunt is showing every desire to befriend you, but you must give greater proof of stability and steadiness of character than you have given yet if this organ matter is not to prove in the end to be only one disappointment the more DSE 2016.

“I must insist on two things: firstly, that this new iron in the fire does not distract your attention from your Latin and Greek” -(”They aren’t mine,” thought Ernest, “and never have been”) —”and secondly, that you bring no smell of glue or shavings into the house here, if you make any part of the organ during your holidays.”

the lover of his wife

Le 27 septembre 2016, 06:00 dans Humeurs 0

His friends left him at the house thinking that they had helped him fulfill his promise to his wife not to die in his concubine's bed. Petra Cotes had shined his patent leather boots that he wanted to wear in his coffin, and she was already looking for someone to take them when they came to tell her that Aureli-ano Segun-do was out of danger. He did recover, indeed, in less than a week, and two weeks later he was celebrating the fact of his survival with unprecedented festivities. He continued living at Petra Cotes's but he would visit Fernanda every day and sometimes he would stay to eat with the family, as if fate had reversed the situation and had made him the husband of his concubine and hong kong companies registry.

It was a rest for Fernanda. During the boredom of her abandonment her only distractions were the clavichord lessons at siesta time and the letters from her children. In the detailed messages that she sent them every two weeks there was not a single line of truth. She hid her troubles from them. She hid from them the sadness of a house which, in spite of the light on the begonias, in spite of the heaviness at two in the afternoon, in spite of the frequent waves of festivals that came in from the street was more and more like the colonial mansion of her parents. Fernanda would wander alone among the three living ghosts and the dead ghost of José Arcadio Buendía, who at times would come to sit down with an inquisitive attention in the halflight of the parlor while she was playing the clavichord Online PR agency.

Colonel Aureli-ano Buendía was a shadow. Since the last time that he had gone out into the street to propose a war without any future to Colonel Geri-neldo Márquez, he left the workshop only to urinate under the chestnut tree. He did not receive any visits except that of the barber every three weeks, He fed on anything that úrsula brought him once a day, and even though he kept on making little gold fishes with the same passion as before, he stopped selling them when he found out that people were buying them not as pieces of jewelry but as historic relics. He made a bonfire in the courtyard of the dolls of Remedios which had decorated, their bedroom since their wedding. The watchful úrsula realized what her son was doing but she could not stop him Design course.

"You have a heart stone," she told him."It's not a question of a heart," he said. "The room's getting full of moths."The greatest worry that Fernanda had during her years of abandonment was that Meme would come to spend her first vacation and not find Aureli-ano Segun-do at home. His congestion had put an end to that fear. When Meme returned, her parents had made an agreement that not only would the girl think that Aureli-ano Segun-do was still a domesticated husband but also that she would not notice the sadness of the house. Every year for two months Aureli-ano Segun-do played his role of an exemplary husband and he organized parties with ice cream and cookies which the gay and lively school-girl enhanced with the clavichord.


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