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  #11  
Unread 01-06-2014, 09:40 AM
basil ransome-davies's Avatar
basil ransome-davies basil ransome-davies is offline
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Rob Stuart View Post
The morning sun, called Elindéluin by the Tree Elves of the Rithuén Forest, Elué by the Fire Elves of Mount Lalelleulínldeon, Krak by the Dwarves who dwelt in the Great Mines of Lu beyond the Timeless Valley of Prik, Agläxa by the Great Sitters of Emkala, Dröknig by the Voleherders of Rrrrl, Wahrhig by the Light Blue Princes of the South-eastern Realm, Uh by the Medium-Sized Woodlice of Grûn and Salkadääämatardatä in the sacred tongue of the Daäarkamätradian Paladins, rose.
Now you're Tolkien.
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  #12  
Unread 01-06-2014, 05:06 PM
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John Whitworth John Whitworth is offline
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Rob, you have royally screwed anyone else who wants to try Tolkien.
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  #13  
Unread 01-07-2014, 12:36 PM
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Eileen Cleary Eileen Cleary is offline
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Taking a stab at Graham Greene, Know I'm not really in the running, just want to play too:

If stillness means immobility, this certainly was immobility, to be reclining like a mattress on the springs of full sized fatigue — the sleep that eluded her where the bed lumps bruised every single inch: the covers that always fell away from the bed’s sheets: in the night the chill, and in the day the red eyes with capillaries traced like tiny distress signals. (a head board above the bed had harkened her in three languages: "Sleep deprivation is deadly. Be alert that time flies.")
The mother read her refrigerator magnets with a coffee in her hand, and whenever she chanced a yawn she caught the small sigh and called a friend to ask, ”Did you sleep well?” — It encompassed the whole of their conversation, for neither one could achieve a REM cycle.
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  #14  
Unread 01-09-2014, 07:51 AM
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George Simmers George Simmers is offline
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My New Year's resolution is to get back properly into doing the comp, so here's my version of Grim Grin.

The lazy ceiling fan did little to disturb the air, and the heat remained oppressive as a stench. Two whores could be heard arguing half-heartedly in a back room. From time to time the fat Venezuelan behind the bar cast a glance at Hoagie. This was not, the ex-diplomat was certain, out of any personal curiosity, since nobody here troubled themselves to be curious about the human flotsam cast up near to them. It was a wary checking-over, inspired by the contempt appropriate to a man who had just bartered his rosary for a glass of cheap local whisky. Soon the three smartly-dressed men from the CIA would arrive, and they were going to kill Hoagie. That would be an ending at least, and therefore a resolution of sorts. Maybe even a kind of redemption.
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  #15  
Unread 01-13-2014, 10:58 AM
Carolyn Thomas-Coxhead Carolyn Thomas-Coxhead is offline
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I know, I know, there'll be Janeites blocking Lucy's inbox from here to Highbury, but what the hell...


When Colonel Eastcourt inherited Taskerhall Abbey, all Amplebury anticipated great change. Mrs Inchbald declared that much would come of a military man placed among them; her husband, a quiet man fonder of his library than gossip, said little and thought less; their daughter, Lydia, a fair-skinned, gentle-natured girl of 19, gave the intelligence rein. Mrs and Mrs Inchbald had employed Miss Newcombe first as governess, then as companion and it was with her that Lydia spoke.
“It is exciting news, is it not, Miss Newcombe, that the Abbey is to be inhabited.”
Miss Newcombe replied that there was no intimation that the Colonel would make it his residence.
“To be sure he shall: who would not desire to live there. The rooms must be most well-appointed.”
Miss Newcombe, not wishing to dampen Lydia’s joy, merely noted that no-one knew of the rooms’ proportions, since the late squire had not entertained.
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