the last arrow in my quiver of whimsy

another gem from wikipedia, the encyclopaedia that anyone can edit, this from the entry on lac de monteynard-avignonet:

The name of Drac, originally the Drau , is due to an attraction by the occitan drac "imp", of Latin dracō "Dragon". It is documented in the forms Dracum (v. 1100), Dravus (1289), the ribière dou Drau (1545). The word "Drac" means Dragon. In many legends the drac Occitan is a genius of evil waters, and even a form of Satan, that attracts children to drown.Frédéric Mistral wrote in Félibrige Treasury:[2]
“ Drac of the Rhone was a winged monster and amphibian which carried on the body of a reptile the shoulders and the head of a beautiful young man. He lived the bottom of the river where he tried to attract, to devour it, the imprudent ones gained by the softness of its voice. ”

In December of 1995 Drac the dragon tragically showed his deadly claws, when six children and their teacher drawn in the river after the level of the water rose due to the opening of the valves of the dam. The kids were there to see beavers, but instead they found the dragon .

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and that leads to another look at the results of online translators, when an article on the tragedy in french is translated to the following in english, with phrases like "again the curious who come to breathe the smell of dead" and a reference to "collective unconsciousness":

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sunday lxxxv

as he often remembered afterwards, and always with no small wonder, he found himself at first gazing at the portrait with a feeling of almost scientific interest. that such a change should have taken place was incredible to him. and yet it was a fact. was there some subtle affinity between the chemical atoms that shaped themselves into form and colour on the canvas and the soul that was within him? could it be that what that soul thought, they realized?--that what it dreamed, they made true? or was there some other, more terrible reason? he shuddered, and felt afraid, and, going back to the couch, lay there, gazing at the picture in sickened horror.

josephine repeated, "cyril says his father is still very fond of meringues."

only in the last extremity shall i apply to you.

not the reverse of easy to unpack, so as to cause a waste of time and waiting.

he did not look at her. he unpacked his tray and promptly began eating. it was all-important to speak at once, before anyone else came, but now a terrible fear had taken possession of him. a week had gone by since she had first approached him. She would have changed her mind, she must have changed her mind! it was impossible that this affair should end successfully; such things did not happen in real life.

with his eyes shut, at a distance he could say exactly.

the question suggests itself -- how many instruments and of what sort are required by any one wishing to enter this field? a list of these i propose to give, not omitting the theoretical side of the matter in each case, so that whoever lays his hand to this work may have some knowledge to go upon. it would be a mistake to regard these details as trivial. in fact, without them the undertaking might as well be let alone.