cleaning up so well (jones_casey) wrote,
cleaning up so well

  • Music:

a grand time

"this is going to be a grand time for you, stormy. like as not some of the patriarchs will turn out."

"no, but will they?"

"like as not. of course they are pretty exclusive. they hardly ever show themselves to the common public. i believe they never turn out except for an eleventh-hour convert. they wouldn't do it then, only earthly tradition makes a grand show pretty necessary on that kind of an occasion."

"do they all turn out, sandy?"

"who? - all the patriarchs? oh, no - hardly ever more than a couple. you will be here fifty thousand years - maybe more - before you get a glimpse of all the patriarchs and prophets."

medea hung back, and trembled, and whispered in jason's ear, "we are betrayed, and are going to our ruin, for i see my countrymen among the crowd; dark-eyed colchi in steel mail-shirts, such as they wear in my father's land."

"it is too late to turn," said jason. and he spoke to the merchant king, "what country is this, good sir; and what is this new-built town?"

"this is the land of the phaeaces, beloved by all the immortals; for they come hither and feast like friends with us, and sit by our side in the hall. hither we came from liburnia to escape the unrighteous cyclopes; for they robbed us, peaceful merchants, of our hard-earned wares and wealth.

"and that's 'ow i come on the treasure."

"what treasure?" i asked.

"why!" said mr. brisher, "the treasure i'm telling you about, what's the reason
why i never married."

"what!--a treasure--dug up?"

"yes--buried wealth--treasure trove. come out of the ground. what i kept on saying--regular treasure. . . ." he looked at me with unusual disrespect.

"it wasn't more than a foot deep, not the top of it," he said.

it looked like diamonds, rubies, emeralds; he could think of nothing beautiful which it did not resemble. the trees upon the bank were giant garden plants; he noted a definite order in their arrangement, inhaled the fragrance of their blooms. a strange roseate light shone through the spaces among their trunks and the wind made in their branches the music of aeolian harps. he had not wish to perfect his escape -- he was content to remain in that enchanting spot until retaken.
Tags: bricolage

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