top of page


Público·95 miembros

Flirty Girl - Isa Quintin.epub

In the following scene, Vincent buys heroin from his drug dealer, named Lance, and talks briefly to his girlfriend Jody. After buying three grams of heroin, Vincent shoots up and heads to Mia's house. Mia does cocaine in the bathroom while Vincent fixes himself a drink. They head to a restaurant named Jackrabbit Slim's, where they talk about Mia's failed television pilot and the foot massage rumor, which Mia denies. Mia forces Vincent to participate in a twist contest, which they win.

Flirty Girl - Isa Quintin.epub

A man named Captain Koons visits Butch as a child, giving him a gold watch that is a family heirloom. As an adult, Butch kills his opponent in a boxing match, rather than purposely lose as Marsellus wanted. Butch escapes in a cab driven by a woman named Esmeralda, and calls a bookie named Scottie who plans to collect Butch's earnings. Meanwhile, Marsellus orders that Butch be killed. At a nearby motel, Butch's girlfriend Fabienne waits for him, and the two talk and have sex. The next morning, Butch realizes his gold watch is missing, and angrily leaves the motel in search of it.

At Jimmie's house, Jules calls Marsellus for help, who arranges for a man named Winston Wolfe to come over and help fix the situation. Jimmie tells the men they have ninety minutes before his wife Bonnie arrives home. Wolfe arrives ten minutes later and instructs Jules and Vincent to wipe down the car upholstery. They place Jimmie's blankets over the seat, and Wolfe hoses a naked Jules and Vincent down in the backyard, before giving them old tee shirts to wear. They follow Wolfe to a nearby auto shop, where the car is destroyed. Wolfe introduces Jules and Vincent to his girlfriend Raquel on his way out of the auto shop, and then leaves.

Communist am not I, though my father was, and hisfather before him during the stirring times of '48, whichis probably the remote reason for my opposition to thingsas they are: at bottom convictions are mostly temperamental.And if I sought to explain myself on othergrounds, I should be a bewildering error in logic; forby early influences and education I should have been anun, and spent my life glorifying Authority in its mostconcentrated form, as some of my schoolmates are doingat this hour within the mission houses of the Order ofthe Holy Names of Jesus and Mary. But the old ancestralspirit of rebellion asserted itself while I was yetfourteen, a schoolgirl at the Convent of Our Lady ofLake Huron, at Sarnia, Ontario. How I pity myselfnow, when I remember it, poor lonesome little soul, battlingsolitary in the murk of religious superstition, unableto believe and yet in hourly fear of damnation, hot,savage, and eternal, if I do not instantly confess and[Pg 156]profess! How well I recall the bitter energy with whichI repelled my teacher's enjoinder, when I told her thatI did not wish to apologize for an adjudged fault, as Icould not see that I had been wrong, and would not feelmy words. "It is not necessary," said she, "that weshould feel what we say, but it is always necessary thatwe obey our superiors." "I will not lie," I answeredhotly, and at the same time trembled lest my disobediencehad finally consigned me to torment!

It should be said that this was not the first of theModern School movement in Spain; for previous to that,and for several years, there had sprung up, in variousparts of the country, a spontaneous movement towardsself-education; a very heroic effort, in a way, consideringthat the teachers were generally workingmen who hadspent their day in the shops, and were using the remainderof their exhausted strength to enlighten their fellow-workersand the children. These were largely night-schools.As there were no means behind these efforts,the buildings in which they were held were of course unsuitable;there was no proper plan of work; no sufficientequipment, and little co-ordination of labor. A considerablepercentage of these schools were already on the[Pg 314]decline, when Ferrer, equipped with his splendid organizingability, his teacher's experience, and Mlle. Meunier'sendowment, opened the Barcelona School, having as pupilseighteen boys and twelve girls.

He added also that the substance of our educationshould be such as would fit the person for the conditionsand responsibilities he or she may reasonably be expectedto encounter in life. Since the majority of boys andgirls will most likely become fathers and mothers in the[Pg 332]future, why does not our system of education take accountof it, and instruct the children not in the Latinnames of bones and muscles so much, as in the practicalfunctioning and hygiene of the body? Every teacherknows, and most of our parents know, that no subject ismore carefully ignored by our text-books on physiologythan the reproductive system.

Why don't you run, when your feet are chained together?Why don't you cry out when a gag is on yourlips? Why don't you raise your hands above your headwhen they are pinned fast to your sides? Why don't youspend thousands of dollars when you haven't a cent inyour pocket? Why don't you go to the seashore or themountains, you fools scorching with city heat? If thereis one thing more than another in this whole accursedtissue of false society, which makes me angry, it is theasinine stupidity which with the true phlegm of impenetrabledullness says, "Why don't the women leave!"Will you tell me where they will go and what they shalldo? When the State, the legislators, has given to itself,the politicians, the utter and absolute control of the opportunityto live; when, through this precious monopoly,already the market of labor is so overstocked that workmenand workwomen are cutting each others' throatsfor the dear privilege of serving their lords; when girlsare shipped from Boston to the south and north, shippedin carloads, like cattle, to fill the dives of New Orleansor the lumber-camp hells of my own state (Michigan),when seeing and hearing these things reported every day,[Pg 352]the proper prudes exclaim, "Why don't the womenleave," they simply beggar the language of contempt.

They say she had blood in her girlhood, that it shonered and steady through that thin, pure skin of hers; butwhen I saw her, with her nursing baby in her arms,down in the smutching grime of London, there was onlya fluctuant blush, a sort of pink ghost of blood, hoveringback and forth on her face. And that was for shame ofthe poverty of her neat bare room. Not that she hadever known riches. She was the daughter of Scotchpeasants, and had gone out to service when she was stilla child; her chest was hollowed in and her back bowedwith that unnatural labor. There was no gloss on thepale sandy hair, no wilding tendrils clinging round thestraight smooth forehead, no light of coquetry or gracein the glimmering blue eyes, no beauty in her at all, unlessit lay in the fine, hard sculptured line of her noseand mouth and chin when she turned her head sideways.You could read in that line that having spoken a word toher heart, she would not forget it nor unsay it; and if ittook her down into Gethsemane, she would never cryout though by all forsaken.

The girl walked to the window and looked out. Someway it was a relief from the burning eyes which seemedto fill the room, no matter that she did not look at them.And staring off into the twinkling London night, she[Pg 430]heard again the terrible sobs of Sebastian Sunyer's letterrising up and drowning her with its misery. Withoutturning around she said, low and hard, "I wonder yecan thenk aboot thae things, an' yon deils burnin' menalive."

"I thenk the worl' wadna be muckle the waur o't," sheanswered, still looking away from him. He came up andlaid his hand on her shoulder. "Will you kiss me once?I'll never ask again." She shook him off: "I dinna feelfor't." "Good-bye then. I'll go back for David." Andhe returned to the hall and got the creeper and told himvery honestly what had taken place; and the creeper, tohis credit be it said, respected him for it, and talked agreat deal about being better in future to the girl. Thetwo men parted at the foot of the stairs, and the lastwords that echoed through the hallway were: "No, Iam going away. But you will hear of me some day."

Poor girl, it is all over now, and all the same to thegrass that roots in her bone, whether it was her fault ornot. For the end that the man who had loved her foresaw,[Pg 432]came, though it was slow in the coming. Let thecreeper get credit for all that he did. He stiffened up ina year or so, and went to Paris and got some work; andthere the worn little creature went to him, and wrote toher old friends that she was better off at last. But itwas too late for that thin shell of a body that had starvedso much; at the first trial she broke and died. And so shesleeps and is forgotten. And the careless boy-angel whomixed all these destinies up so unobservantly has neveryet whispered her name in the ear of the widowed LadyCanovas del Castillo.

"No," she said shortly, "help the girls," and brushingpast him she jumped, falling a little short and muddyinga foot, but scrambling up unaided. The rest debatedseeking an advantageous point. At last they found a bigstone in the middle, and pulling off his shoes, Bernardwaded in the creek, helping the girls across. The smallestone, large-eyed and timid, clung to his arm and lethim almost carry her over.

They gathered daisies and laughed and sang and chatteredtill the sun went low. Then they gathered under abig tree and spread their lunch on the ground. Andafter they had eaten, the conversation lay between thesallow-faced woman and one of the older men, a cleverconversation filled with quaint observations and curioussidelights. The boys sat all about the woman questioningher eagerly, but behind in the shadow of the droopingbranches sat the girls, silent, unobtrusive, holding eachother's hands. Now and then the talker cast a furtiveglance from Bernard's rather withdrawn face to the facesin the shadow, and the enigmatic smile hovered andflitted over her lips. 041b061a72

Acerca de

¡Bienvenido al grupo! Puedes conectarte con otros miembros, ...
bottom of page