By L. S. Klatt
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No lady can withstand him. . . Lord Martin Langdon takes satisfaction in his scandalous popularity as a scoundrel, and he considers the paintings of seduction a so much worthwhile hobby. So whilst this speeding rakehell learns of a very attractive lady who's "impossible to flirt with," Martin is decided to end up that no longer even the prim and correct Evelyn Wheaton can face up to his charms.
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From its sluggish decline through the latter a part of the 20th century, faith has been catapulted again into public recognition, no longer least via acts of violence, extremism and numerous types of fundamentalism. during this energetic and astonishing contribution to the controversy the top feminist theologian, Tina Beattie, argues that the specter of non secular fanaticism is reflected by way of a no much less virulent and ignorant secular fanaticism which has taken carry of the highbrow sessions.
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D. Salinger, Recluse, Dies at 91 The snow is definite & not less definite for its quickness to melt. Deft as the Snowshoe the flurry, sleety, runs along the face, the face a fence &, within, the brain gambols. Leapers whose nerves were fervent are not. And yet the light feet were felt. He felt them in a warren made of weather. There is blood in the cheek where time has thickened the mask, & when the saliva has icicled, his pigment is lost in plaster. Consider the silence a White Period. 45 Figment in Pink & Transcendental The flamingo stumbles into a tool shed next to the weed whacker, the hoe, the fertilizer, the sack of concrete where baby mice nest.
Wary is the H-Bomb; its light wobbles, feeling ancient. Here come the Giants. They are not crestfallen; they pitch their yawps because the world is swale, the wind blows, the once was now is, now is not. Was there ever a reason to think otherwise? 27 Acqua Alta A sad iceberg & swamped Venice: a plate of squid ink, a granule of sugar on the lip. The Adriatic scribbles in the polygons. We tourists, too, are signatures. How many lions stuck on sticks & stones before espresso cups turn in their saucers at St.
How many lions stuck on sticks & stones before espresso cups turn in their saucers at St. Mark’s? Masons who levitate square, rhombus, & trapezoid: sink your hands into the mortar, the smalls of your backs. 28 Burano Island, whose houses are chromatic, floats in the Adriatic, an islet so small it forgot how to swim. Imagine this city absorbed in lapis an inkblot. Say to the mapmakers: the polis justifies itself. Its campanile reaches for a savior, leans. 29 Reading In the stern of the sailboat a god neither invited nor expected pilots a rudder through space.