Thus marches on the Great New South.
But somehow he could not forget what had happened. He kept on thinking of Sydney for a time, and after that she seemed always to be a little more important than the rest of his older schoolmates. Perhaps it was because she took more notice of him. She wanted to help his work, and she would ruffle his hair or pinch his ear as she went past him. She wore a peculiar long jersey so that you could distinguish her from the others quite a long way off. She had level brows and a radiant smile, her shoulders were strong and her legs and feet were very pretty. He noted how well she walked. She always seemed to be looking at Peter. When he shut his eyes and thought of her he could remember her better than he could other people. He did not know whether he liked her or disliked her more than the others; but he perceived that she had in some way become exceptional.
“You poor lamb!”
The next morning some one knocked at my door, and, on opening it, there, to my surprise and disgust, I saw Creach, dressed in the most foppish manner. However, I dissembled my feelings, and to his greeting said, with civility:
“You must allow,” said Constance, “that I listen admirably. I am thoroughly well up in all your subjects. I know the station as well as if I lived there.”
"Don't belabor the point," the Boyar Chef d'Regime said. "Since we seem to be on the verge of losing it."
The fleeting memories that crowded in and out of his mind came from a diversity of experiences. Now there came to him thoughts as he looked toward the Agora that brought a wistful smile to his lips. He was once more a mischievous boy running through the busy market to escape the wrath of the pursuing vender whom he had angered by the theft of a tempting bit of fruit. Then—and his brow clouded while a blush of shame flushed his cheek—he was a wild youth arrogant and proud, and steeped in sin, how deep, he did not realize till later! Then had followed the excitement of war—his father as commander of the Greeks had won a great victory over the Persians at Marathon! His father the great Miltiades, whose name was on every tongue and whose praise was sung throughout Greece, returned, the idol of the hour, and Cimon, though too young to have participated at Marathon, commemorated his parent’s triumph with a sumptuous feast, the like of which had never before nor since been celebrated in Athens. And then—here Cimon’s head sank upon his breast—had followed the disgrace and death of that father whose bravery had been extoled throughout the land. His courageous father who had stood firm before the darts of Datis and Artaphernes, yielded to a desire to avenge a petty, personal wrong, and fell with an arrow in his heart. But after all, Cimon considered, had not the father’s disgrace brought the son to his senses? His former friends shunned him in a way that he knew was due not alone to the paternal disgrace, but to the former arrogance with which he had flaunted his pride of social standing in the faces of his associates.
Socialist activities, it is manifest that competitive individualism destroys itself. This was reasoned out long ago in the Capital of Marx; it is receiving its first gigantic practical demonstration in the United States of America. Whatever happens, we believe that competitive industrialism will change and end—and we Socialists at least believe that the alternative to some form of Socialism is tyranny and social ruin. So, too, in the social sphere, whether Socialists succeed altogether or fail altogether, or in whatever measure they succeed or fail, it does not alter the fact that the family is weakening, dwindling, breaking up, disintegrating. The alternative to a planned and organized Socialism is not the maintenance of the present system, but its logical development, and that is all too plainly a growing complication of pretences as the old imperatives weaken and fade. We already live in a world of stupendous hypocrisies, a world wherein rakes and rascals champion the sacred institution of the family, and a network of sexual secrets, vaguely
"No, it cannot be found, you lying, red-headed, old scoundrel," said I, "because you think yourself safe now! But you keep it at your peril! for a day will come when you will wish your thieving fingers were burned to the bone before they touched the Prince's gold, you double-dyed traitor!"详情 ➢
Copyright © 2020