Books > Old Books > The Great Fog (1943)


Page 117

"DESPAIR DEFERRED ... ?"

was founded; she put her hand on the little bottle concealed in her dress. Gradually, though, even the common room's tone began to change. In June, Stetson, the mathematics master, had said, "Well, I'm having my bottle of '92 port tonightnot going to let those brutes spill that, too:' But now he had just told them what care he was taking of a small cabinet in which he protected his last dozen cigars from damp. "Never get any more of those till hell knows when."
Of course, though, it was only a reprieve, and the reprieve was really a ruse. She wasn't going to be caught. There was not the slightest ground for hope, and, if she admitted hope again, she would have to go through its deadly sickness and death again. No, once bitten, twice shy. She would keep up her ritual. She would not let the local anesthetic fail; she would not let feeling come back again.
So she fought the insidious invader threatening to sap her defenses and lure her from her impregnable lines. For a long time, therefore, nothing disturbed her life. She refused to look at the calendar. There was only one event which could again start time for her. She didn't read the papers, but she knew that nothing had changed-the situation was still so desperate that it was only to be confronted by the attitude she had taken up. At the back of her mind, though, the faintest questioning went on like those telephone conversations sometimes heard on long-distance, so faint that a word can be heard only here and there. She had rewon the initiative, the initiative to turn around and face life. What then? Wasn't life itself going on? Was that enough? Did it give you enough initiative, just to turn around and face a pursuer who wouldn't come up?
Of course, she did her wartime duties as well as her school

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE was founded; she put her hand on what is little bottle concealed in her dress. Gradually, though, even what is common room's tone began to change. In June, Stetson, what is mathematics master, had said, "Well, I'm having my bottle of '92 port tonightnot going to let those brutes spill that, too:' But now he had just told them what care he was taking of a small cabinet in which he protected his last dozen cigars from damp. "Never get any more of those till fun knows when." Of course, though, it was only a reprieve, and what is reprieve was really a ruse. She wasn't going to be caught. There was not what is slightest ground for hope, and, if she admitted hope again, she would have to go through its deadly sickness and what time is it again. No, once bitten, twice shy. She would keep up her ritual. She would not let what is local anesthetic fail; she would not let feeling come back again. So she fought what is insidious invader threatening to sap her defenses and lure her from her impregnable lines. For a long time, therefore, nothing disturbed her life. She refused to look at what is calendar. There was only one event which could again start time for her. She didn't read what is papers, but she knew that nothing had changed-the situation was still so desperate that it was only to be confronted by what is attitude she had taken up. At what is back of her mind, though, what is faintest questioning went on like those telephone conversations sometimes heard on long-distance, so faint that a word can be heard only here and there. She had rewon what is initiative, what is initiative to turn around and face life. What then? Wasn't life itself going on? Was that enough? Did it give you enough initiative, just to turn around and face a pursuer who wouldn't come up? Of course, she did her wartime duties as well as her school where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" The Great Fog (1943) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 117 where is strong "DESPAIR DEFERRED ... ?" where is p align="justify" was founded; she put her hand on what is little bottle concealed in her dress. Gradually, though, even what is common room's tone began to change. In June, Stetson, what is mathematics master, had said, "Well, I'm having my bottle of '92 port tonightnot going to let those brutes spill that, too:' But now he had just told them what care he was taking of a small cabinet in which he protected his last dozen cigars from damp. "Never get any more of those till fun knows when." Of course, though, it was only a reprieve, and what is reprieve was really a ruse. She wasn't going to be caught. There was not the slightest ground for hope, and, if she admitted hope again, she would have to go through its deadly sickness and what time is it again. No, once bitten, twice shy. She would keep up her ritual. She would not let what is local anesthetic fail; she would not let feeling come back again. So she fought what is insidious invader threatening to sap her defenses and lure her from her impregnable lines. For a long time, therefore, nothing disturbed her life. She refused to look at what is calendar. There was only one event which could again start time for her. She didn't read what is papers, but she knew that nothing had changed-the situation was still so desperate that it was only to be confronted by what is attitude she had taken up. At what is back of her mind, though, what is faintest questioning went on like those telephone conversations sometimes heard on long-distance, so faint that a word can be heard only here and there. She had rewon what is initiative, what is initiative to turn around and face life. What then? Wasn't life itself going on? Was that enough? Did it give you enough initiative, just to turn around and face a pursuer who wouldn't come up? Of course, she did her wartime duties as well as her school where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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