Jun 06, Brandon rated it it was amazing Shelves: Edgar Allan Poe is a name that is know to most Americans and he is a giant in American letters. Often credited with mastering the art of the short story he also wrote a full length novel and several poems but these accomplishments don't really do him justice as a writer or explain his influence - still felt today - on American literature. He is mostly remembered for his stories of the macabre and suspense but Poe had a mind that never stopped working and while poems like 'The Raven' and 'The Con Edgar Allan Poe is a name that is know to most Americans and he is a giant in American letters.
He is mostly remembered for his stories of the macabre and suspense but Poe had a mind that never stopped working and while poems like 'The Raven' and 'The Conqueror Worm' and stories such as 'The Tell-tale Heart' and 'The Pit and the Pendulum' are all masterpieces when his whole collection is read one can not help but appreciate how wide a field Poe drew his inspiration. In this collection are stories inspired by the science of his day, Detective stories, adventure stories and tales of fantasy all written with a lyrical, prose style that should be the envy of all writers at all levels.
His pace as a writer, his use of suspense to drive a story, his lyrical descriptions, his ability to combine science and fantasy - a thinking mans sci-fi. There is a reason while Poe's stories are still on our modern bookshelves when so many of his peers have been filed away in the annuals of history and it's not only because of all the reasons above or even in his unique voice and beautiful prose.
It's because there has only ever been one Edgar Allen Poe and that's all there ever will be and I feel confident that a hundred years from now some other reader will be writing the same thing on a technology that none of us can imagine about a man who lived and died before the civil war. Jan 26, Ravyn rated it it was amazing Shelves: But, honestly, this is my first time with American's favorite Gothic author. Read by Bob Thomley, I got far more than what I bargained for. Genuinely terrifying, Poe weaves constantly changing imagery that delights in keeping you off balance. But the Black Cat Poe is one of those authors people tell you to read, but you might have trouble mustering the energy.
But Poe is an author that rewards your investment with true, gritty, old-school, chilling horror. Mar 03, Jose Calero rated it did not like it. Yes it is Edgar Allan Poe wow! After trying to read his complete works I can only say that it is a very long time since I have read something so boring. Maybe problem is in the book I have read the stories come in chronological order but all i can say is that this book was unbearable. Each and every story began with a very long description of something woman, town, forest or whatever and when I say very long I mean very very long more than half the story is just a description.
Impossible to r Yes it is Edgar Allan Poe wow! Impossible to read the story about the man on the ballon who goes to the moon, it defies all patience. I do not like to quit a book once I have started it no matter how boring but in the case of E. A Poe it was a case of quit or being insane, dying of boredom. Poe is undoubtedly master of the macabre. His other works are more diverse than I knew before, conjuring worlds of fairies, aeronauts, and vindictive jesters.
It's almost sad to say, but he is certainly at his best when he is at his darkest. I bought this book for one reason only: However, I find that I really like the other poems and stories I've read so far. Jana Athanasia rated it it was amazing Oct 25, Christie rated it really liked it May 07, Nick Robertson rated it it was amazing Jan 22, Felipe rated it it was amazing Aug 24, Diarmaid de Paor rated it it was ok Mar 29, Victoria rated it it was amazing Jun 05, Emma rated it really liked it Apr 04, Ash rated it really liked it Mar 13, Kerry rated it really liked it Jul 16, Meaghan Riley rated it it was amazing Jan 25, Karen Lowe rated it really liked it Jul 18, Lee rated it liked it Feb 11, At Hendrix College, she majored in mathematics and went on to receive a Master of Science from the University of Arkansas.
She was married for eight years living in New Jersey and the Philadelphia area while working as a computer programmer. In she moved back to her Arkansas roots, this time living in Little Rock. She got interested in old houses and history. It was about that she began investigating her own family history. She learned much exciting information in the library and found the old cemetery out in the woods near Winona. She maintained an abiding interest in old family things while creating web sites of her findings including Woodruff County, Arkansas History and Genealogy see www.
Gloria also managed web sites for the Humane Society see www. She also looks after the old farm in McCrory where she grew up. Her sister Lydia, two cousins and two cats all died during the last few months of These have been trying times for her. It has taken much energy involving many trips out of town. For a while now, I have been receiving from Paul Daniggelis a number of snippets that he has been finding on the World Wide Web. The following was posted on website: Monday 26 July What does IQ mean?
How is IQ measured and what are average and high IQ scores? Submitted by Cynthia Wilcox, Charlotte, N. Many people would call them both geniuses. I was curious to find out where Jeff Elder got his information so I contacted him at jelder charlotteobserver. Terman, copyright , Stanford University Press. This is a multi-rated system for all cases. There are two corrected IQ estimates for each. An AI rating is for analysis from the earliest age to age seventeen. The AII rating is based on the age span from seventeen to age twenty- six.
It might interest the reader to know the values placed on several contemporary geniuses: Albert Einstein was not part of this study and it is not known where Mr. Elder found his information. It should be emphasized that this book was published in; that all of those studied were deceased; that modern testing is almost certainly superior to earlier methods; that it is in the nature of such data that any values attributed to individuals must be highly subjective and not to be taken seriously.
I contacted the most promising of these at rranalli josephbeth. A varied programme was augmented with music with just the right regional focus. Justin Ferate offers bus and walking tours throughout the metroplex. Ferate requesting information regarding the facility. The Library emailed me the following: It overlooks the confluence of the Harlem and Hudson Rivers.
By separate mail we will send you a NY Times article about Spuyten Duyvil which mentions the apartments. We find no evidence that it is a designated landmark. As to how it got its name, it was common for architects and builders to name new apartment buildings after famous people or places at that time. Perhaps its romantic setting led to this particular choice. That article is identified as: New York Times May 29, Accompanying the article was a poor photo of the Villa with an excerpt from the article: The author has since made a trip to New York where he was driven to the site by his brother, Chris Daniggelis.
No one we spoke to, including the realtors whose office was nearby, had any idea who or why the complex was named for Charlotte. But we finally find photos and this at http: McKelvey, of Richfield Springs, N. McKelvey — A lawyer, writer and developer built it in He rules over diplomacy and politics. He helps his charges be just and live with the truth.
They can also be visionaries in whatever field they choose to be. They are generally articulate, decisive and dynamic and can be in the creative arts too, as well as in the field of economics. According to the following web site http: On page you will find these words: Night Shyamalan This came from http: What is it really about?
To be in that world was refreshing — where people just said what they said, good or bad. Everything was very open and in big, broad strokes. Still curious as to Mr. Ouzounian for any additional information at his disposal. This is the actual quote Shyamalan gave the press. Feel free to use it. Then they offered me Wuthering Heights with these two amazing actors to do.
Triple-A list actors in both roles. What a strange lecture comes next in your letter! Can there be a great artist without poetry? Page — Alice Meynell: She is a mistress of derision rather than of wit and humour. Her irony is now and then exquisitely bitter. They hardly appear in her stories except to illustrate the folly of their mothers.
They are not her subjects as children; they are her subjects as spoilt children, and as children through whom a mother may receive flattery from her designing acquaintance, and may inflict annoyance on her sensible friends. Page — Willa Cather: I have not much faith in women in fiction. They have a sort of sex consciousness that is abominable. They are so limited to one string and they lie so about that. Page — G. Yet the fact remains that Jane Austen knew more about men than either of them.
Jane Austen may have been protected from truth: Amis in his unwillingness lightly to undertake inviting Mr. Edmund Bertram to dine; her less intelligent, more fulsome admirers have been more an embarrassment to her high reputation than her hostile critics. The fantasy novels are a big turn-off for girls, warns a new survey to publishers Penguin, who say Potter and Lord of the Rings books are the worst reads to pack in your suitcase this summer, reports the Daily Star. Sex and relationship expert Tracey Cox said: Pick a classic and women will swoon at your sensitive nature.
I even got my brother John involved because he and his twin, Chris, are handicappers and spend significant time studying the horses. She was the promising winner of two races in two attempts and I wondered how seriously hurt she was. In time, I received a full color photo see below and a letter from the Godolphin public relations department in Newmarket, UK informing me that Miss Bronte had suffered a leg injury and has had minor surgery. They were hopeful that she might return to racing in the fall. But I still had no record of the naming. I sent a follow-up letter to Miss Ciska Groen, Public Relations in Newmarket but her response was less than satisfactory.
Curiously, there was even a horse named Hurlevent The title of a French version of Wuthering Heights. Obviously, this list is almost certainly not complete. It was an SASE come back to me. I opened it with great calm and read another in a long line of rejection slips for my latest fictional effort. I was no longer surprised and I think I finally had it figured out. I read it recently in some anthology. Christopher Isherwood was expounding on the shortcomings of journalists; hence, their inability to write decent fiction.
Well, things were about to change. I reached behind the thick stacks of published non-fiction and pulled out the fiction folder. I retrieved the log sheet for the rejected story and noted the date of rejection. I needed spiritual communion with the past.
To begin with, it was a hot, white sky that made your eyes curdle. The stagnation was oppressive. Not even Ahab could row out of these doldrums. I longed for rain. I rationalized my expenses for the trip with the small travel allowance the paper offered and the commitments for slide lectures with several academic institutions. Still, I was going on the cheap and every little bit helped. While my companions droned on about the maligned family, I had a headache and my right, rear molar was pulsating. I reached into a pocket and retrieved a sadly depleted vial of clove oil.
That was another reason for Forever Amber 91 Paul Daniggelis the Juarez jaunt; the need to replenish the precious fluid. I removed the cap, touched a dab to the little finger and applied the miraculous brew to the offending tooth. Just like that, the pain was gone.
All I wanted was for him to confirm that it was he who was responsible for naming a crater on the moon for Charlotte! Let me see, how did he put it? As we made our way toward the bridge I stopped at my usual off-the-beaten-path farmacia. However, he may have been at one time and his shop did contain many herbal remedies.
Curanderos are often accused of magical powers which are so much guacamole. In any case, I preferred an herbal balm whenever possible and, curandero or not, he had what I needed. Besides, I considered him a friend. I mumbled some Spanish salutations to which he nodded and showed off his silver-toothed smile. He gave me a package, calling it a gift for my forthcoming voyage.
It felt like a flexible cellulose tube, also amber-colored, with a cork stopper and an amber cap. It was very dusty which he promptly wiped off. I absentmindedly stuffed my old vial in a pocket of the raincoat and examined the new one. I have on order but it will be some days.
I twisted off the cork and gave the tooth another dose. It was still potent but faintly different. It was a question of economics. It took but a short time, however, to realize my error. This freshly painted, gray bucket of British bolts had the aroma of rotting fruit added to the paint mix.
It was ripe and fruit-fly infested. Still, I tried to adjust to the dismal accommodations. I wrote across the top of the page, Saturday August 11, , then went on deck. I was the only passenger. The crew ignored my quest for insight into the seafaring mentality. I got through a late afternoon, a night, and most of the next day before the pitching and rolling got to my stomach.
I started heaving the moment I put anything in my mouth. I learned Forever Amber 94 Paul Daniggelis rather quickly that the only thing I could keep down were candy bars. On the third day out, I was lightheaded and my stomach was churning. The heat was unbearable. The crew seemed to be enjoying my agony. I guessed that this was a common reaction for virgin seafarers. The last thing I saw before I passed out was a gyrating Van Gogh sun.
It was two days before I felt capable of crawling out of bed. I knew I was getting better because my tooth was throbbing. I felt even better until I went up on deck. You would think that of all places where there should be clouds, the ocean was it. It was nothing but azure at all points of the compass.
I lingered for two more days trying not to move. I kept dousing my head with cooling water learning how to survive. It was dark when I woke up the day before debarking in London. I thought it was all over for me. I suffer from a mild case of tinnitus but this was ridiculous. I buried my head in my hands for what seemed an eternity.
When the ringing subsided and I was able to get my bearings, sunlight flooded the cabin. My cabin had suddenly become a stateroom. The battleship gray interior was now carpeted and wood-paneled. It occurred to me just then that my clothes, which had been hanging from some wall pegs, were gone. An instant later I realized I was bare-ass naked.
Even my college ring was gone from my finger. I looked on the floor beneath where my clothes were hung the evening before. There was the raincoat Ulisis had given me. Everything else of mine was gone! I swung out of bed and searched for some clothes. It was well stocked with clothing, luggage, bathroom essentials; all foreign-looking stuff.
I managed to squeeze into some well-made clothes that made me look like Hans Brinker.
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I realized, with surprised relief, that I suddenly felt well, albeit lightheaded. I searched for my glasses but they were nowhere to be found. Oddly, I could see well enough without them. Something else nagged at me. I fell back on the bed, staying as quietly as I could. I waited longer, double-checking what could not be true; but was. My heart was beating at an unsustainably slow rate! It seemed an eternity before I risked any movement, fearing that I would simply fall over. I felt just fine and that was all there was to it. Not only that, but I could hear the ticking of a handsome Forever Amber 96 Paul Daniggelis wall clock at the other end of the cabin.
The ringing in my ears had stopped as well. No bodily functions seemed to be working but I felt perfectly well. There was but one thing to do and that was to go on deck and see if all this could be explained. I could not believe what I saw next. I was on a sailing ship under full sail but of very sleek design. That had to be a teak wood deck. Then I noticed that the ship had a single smokestack. I was no longer wondering where I was, but when I was. I was relieved only by the familiar display of the Union Jack. Just then, what I guessed was a cabin boy came around. As soon as he saw me he turned tail and headed the other way.
Not waiting for me to respond, I was hustled off to the Bridge. Again I was interrogated and I tried to explain that I had no idea where I was, how I got there, nor when. The Captain sent one of the men back to the cabin for identification papers. He returned empty handed. No document that I owned aboard the freighter was with me now.
For all intents and purposes I was a stowaway. The Captain informed me that we would be in London tomorrow and that I would be turned over to the authorities. Until then I was to stay in my cabin under guard. Forever Amber 97 Paul Daniggelis A small crowd had gathered as I was being escorted back to my cabin. Many of these people were obviously not sailors, but passengers; not only passengers but posh tourists. I had no opportunity to ask. I was offered food but, rather surprisingly, I had not the least appetite. Nevertheless, all was well except for my. Something resembling a radio was in the cabin but aside from the same music that I heard on the Bridge, there was mostly static.
At length, I asked the guard for some reading material. It made no sense at all. It was dated Saturday, August 11, I read every word of the eight page document, not for content, but to see if the articles corroborated the date. The next morning, before light, I was doubled over clutching my head.
The ringing in my ears came on as before only not as severe nor as protracted. It was just coming light when I was able to function. I felt the ship rocking with every swell. I checked the pockets. There were several British coins. I checked the dates on them. There were none dated later than ! I made haste to check my gear and get out on deck. As before, only my raincoat and clove oil vials survived the transition. I threw those and a few incidentals into an empty, blue laundry bag with draw string and left the cabin. The wind was up and clouds, moisture-laden clouds, were whipping by.
The relief from hot, oppressive days was immediate. I was on a steam ship of rustic design. I found out later that it had made its way across the Atlantic from New York in good time; about a month. Upon debarking, I spied a youngster hawking newspapers. It was The London Times. I bought one and checked the date. Saturday, August 14, ! Pretty ridiculous if you ask me!
I was in a time warp of incomprehensible scope. How did I get here and why? There had to be reasons and explanations for it all. There were bodies, man and beast, going in every direction. It was a Forever Amber 99 Paul Daniggelis fascinating black and gray whirlwind. I looked for a place to get my bearings and found myself walking about the heart of the city of London. I needed to assess my situation. Surprisingly, I stumbled upon the Chapter Coffee House.
It was right there across from St. I ordered a cup of hot, steaming coffee set aside how and why I was here and concentrate on the consequences of my new situation. Nature was obviously playing intricate games with me. My non-existent camera meant there would be no photos, so there would be no slide shows. Even if my notes had survived there would be no stories for the newspaper. Who would believe them? Indeed, I had no idea how I was going to explain any of this away or even if was it possible? I was never to return home.
There were more immediate concerns. There was no material in any depositories for me to research. Why would anyone want to? Well, I wanted to, if for no other reason than to see their faces and know what genius looked like. I needed to I wracked my brain. The girls had published their book of poems in Was it still available this year?
Who was the publisher? He was right here in London; probably only blocks from where I sat. I found Aylott and Jones without difficulty. I stepped inside the shop and saw stacks of several books on display. I looked further back in the stacks of dust-laden books. Unbelievably, there they were; a small stack of dusty green volumes. Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell. It was just too remarkable for words! I picked up a copy; wiped it clean.
I leafed through it as if the pages were sheets of layered phyllo. I could not believe my good fortune. I wondered, briefly, whether I should buy several copies. Aylott as it turned out. As I carefully stored sure they had made it through the time warp. Checking my pilfered finances, I opted for a single copy of the poems, wrapped it in heavy paper the paid-for volume in the folds of my raincoat, Mr. What could it possibly matter? I was sure to be long gone if any correspondence transpired revealing my existence. Besides, history was full of these little anomalies. Of course, history would have to be rewritten.
I thought about that a moment. The buyer of the second copy was never identified. Perhaps that buyer was me! This time warp business was beginning to get to me. Forget about it, I told myself. Nevertheless, I made a mental note to see if history would rewrite itself upon my, hoped for, return home. Soot from the tall smokestacks of the long, black boilers spewed everywhere. I purchased first class tickets for Leeds which gained me entrance to the blue coaches. These were nicely upholstered accommodations.
Second class was less so; and third class? These were open carts which offered no Forever Amber Paul Daniggelis protection from the grimy soot. I read through some of the poems with which I was already familiar setting two of them to memory. It might be to my advantage. I was hoping that the book itself would gain me admittance to the Parsonage. It was evening by the time we rolled into Leeds. Perhaps, even, this very compartment.
Where would this all end? Surely fate would not now deprive me of seeing the family. We came into the township of Keighley. A quick question for direction and I scurried on over to the Devonshire Arms. My eyes were absorbing every facet of the facility as I went to register. A clerk looked up. I only wanted to say the name aloud and have someone, anyone who knew the family, respond. Indeed, how immortal they would become. I was beginning to be very concerned about this. And yet, I felt really good. There was nothing to be done about it so I set out toward Haworth. I would walk the four miles following the route I imagined the girls must have taken many times.
The terrain was rather barren looking but it was a sweet August morning. A brisk wind was blowing east. A westerly wind came off the moors and was sweet smelling. From the east, it came across the smoky factories and foul smelling privies. Two miles into my walk I stopped to enjoy the view. The heather was in full bloom and my dilated eyes caught the full effect of the brilliant purplish cast.
Off to the right, still two miles distant, Haworth could be seen Forever Amber Paul Daniggelis crawling up the side of a steep hill. The moor rose beyond the town summit as cloud-swept shadows raced across the horizon. I turned right at the bridge, crossed the beck, and made another sharp right turn before a deliberately slow ascent up the steep, cobbled Main Street. I took in as much as I could absorb, all the while wishing for my camera.
I removed my raincoat from the bag and anxiously reached into a pocket. The clove oil vials; they were still there! I placed the new vial in my shirt pocket. I felt certain now that I would be able to carry the book of poetry with me wherever the Gods intended for me to travel. But first I must confront the sisters with a copy of their own book. I wasted no time here but proceeded up Church Lane. It was so unbelievable; all of it. But there it was, just in front of me; the Church, the churchyard cemetery and the Parsonage. I half expected to see one of the family strolling about the front yard, but it was quiet.
Forever Amber Paul Daniggelis I crossed into the yard to the front entrance and knocked at the door. Would Charlotte open the door? What would I say? I had it all thought out in advance but it deserted me. It was Tabby, the housekeeper- cook, who opened the door. I, now, at this moment, fully comprehended my magnificent obsession. She was beautiful in my eyes.
Did that high brow denote a keen intelligence or merely a diminishing hairline? She smiled and I could not help but notice the spaces of missing teeth. I gathered she did not want the conversation to go beyond the two of us. It is my own feeling about the book. He simply told me that persons at this address would know where the Bells were. Could you tell me where I might locate them? If you would entrust me with the book, I will see if they would be willing to sign it.
Can you return in two days? Of course, there was no certainty of anything. Is that all right? I talked a bit about myself, careful not to reveal the year, let alone the century, I was from. She seemed genuinely interested in knowing something about me especially when I told her I was a newspaper reporter. She sat down on the top step. I sat below her, off to one side. The sun had passed the roofline of the house so we had some shade. She was testing me. She seemed to accept my judgment which was, of course, the judgment of odd years of critical study.
We then got into a discussion of the relative merits of each of the poets. She winced several times during our talk and I wondered if I had said something with which she disagreed. We spoke on extraordinarily friendly terms when she got up abruptly. I wandered about the town aimlessly before I returned to the Black Bull.
Tabby came to the door once again. She left the door open and left. Forever Amber Paul Daniggelis Anne came to the door and introduced herself. What a delight to see the graceful solitude of this special person. What agony to reflect on their few years left of life. I saw Emily in the kitchen with Tabby. She glanced up at me ever so briefly. Anne steered me into the parlor where Charlotte was doing some needlework. Currer Bell is well into his second novel as is Acton.
Perhaps I can pick up copies on my return to London. The manuscript of that eventual classic of English Literature, Charlotte was even now rushing to complete. We continued our conversations of yesterday with Anne contributing insightful commentary. I spoke in a strong voice hoping that Emily might overhear but I never learned that she did. I noticed that both Anne and Charlotte had winced several times during our talks. Then Anne stood up, looking distressed, and excused herself. Do not concern yourself. Is there something I could do?
We, I mean Anne, Emily and myself, hesitate to take such drastic action. What have you been doing to alleviate the pain you are suffering? The solution is at hand. You have before you a fellow sufferer and in Mexico we do, indeed, have a tried and true herbal remedy. This is not black magic I warrant you but it will seem so when you apply the enchanted fluid. Would I harm the dearest friend I have in all England?
If you accidentally get some on your tongue or lip, you will feel the power of the medication. I would advise that you use it sparingly. For I must certainly share it with Emily and Anne. For the first time, I noticed that the rain cap was missing. I made a mental note to make a thorough check when I returned to the Bull. I ran back to the Parsonage. I was still surprised that I was not out of breath from the exercise.
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Then, I carefully poured a small amount of the new oil into it which I kept for myself. I gave the major portion to the sisters. They apologized for Emily not thanking me personally but I cut them off before their explanations. I understood but they could not know that. She told me that Emily did not want to even try the oil, calling it another quack medicine. She only relented when Anne tried it first and shamed her into following suit. They invited me for a late lunch, which I nibbled at. I could not help but compare it to the luncheon with my companions in Mexico barely a week ago.
We expect to pay you of course if you will just tell how much it would cost. I reached out and patted her frail arm. The touch of her flesh caused me to flush, and yet, she did not recoil. There may be a problem which I cannot explain to you. Give me no money now. If you successfully receive the oil, I will enclose a bill. It will not be costly so do not be unduly concerned. There was no point in my naming authors not yet born. Instead, I reached into my memory banks for authors with whom they were surely familiar. And, then, it was over.
I was, once again, forced to retreat to my quarters but this time I was not depressed. It had been the most marvelous day of my life. I was depressed by only one thing. Acquiring Forever Amber Paul Daniggelis additional clove oil for the family was simply out of the question. I was invited back the next day.
It would be the last day. I could not ask the questions I wanted to. If only I could have told them that the books they would write would become classics of English Literature; that their stories would be told and retold on the Silver Screen. How would I even explain what a silver screen was? They would wonder how I could possibly know so much about their lives. Then, they would surely accuse me of wizardry. I did ask after Branwell again, expressing my wishes for his renewed health knowing it was hopeless.
Emily passed the parlor on her way out for a walk on the moor with her dog, Keeper. She paused and looked our way. I winked and smiled; believe it or not! I think she blushed and maybe there was a hint of a smile, but I could not be sure. She had pulled the hood of her cloak over her face and was gone. Anne left the room briefly and returned with my book. They were all smiles. What an exceedingly marvelous possession. They knew, that I knew, that they knew. It was time to part and I did so reluctantly. We shook hands and I Forever Amber Paul Daniggelis held those childlike hands longer than proper but they did not withdraw.
And the door closed. I retreated to my room at the Bull. He saluted as we crossed paths. I returned his greeting. We did not speak. I felt somewhat lost and empty. I was going to have to earn ticket money and decided that London would be the best place to find employment. I carefully, and completely, wrapped the autographed book of poems in my raincoat and made a mental prayer that it would survive the next transition. I also searched in vain for a rain cap. I simply assumed, then, that there was none.
I was just about ready to leave when I remembered to return the original vial of clove oil to a raincoat pocket. Then I did leave. It was a quick- march through the moor amidst a gathering of thick, darkening clouds. I managed to catch the evening train for Victoria Station. Debarkation It was surprisingly easy to hire on as a seaman- recruit aboard a U. Consider the back- breaking work and the pittance of payment and you can understand why. If it came down to it, I was even prepared to join the military, reasoning that I would not remain long in the year My prediction was realized even sooner than I might have imagined.
A torrential downpour started just as I was boarding. It was marvelous but, even so, I ran up the gangplank. I reached the deck and hurriedly retrieved my raincoat. It would not do at all for it to get wet and I quickly reached down and picked it up. Several things then happened so quickly upon each other that I hardly knew how to respond.
First, there was that familiar, but now mild, ringing in the ears. The book then disappeared from my hand. It stopped raining - instantly, with no sign that it had even been raining. I saw that I was naked and people were promenading about the deck of a luxurious ship, stopping to gawk at the nude dude with the strange looking rain wrap.
I think we have one! Out of the crowd came an elderly-looking chap in a wrinkled black suit and tie with a grungy white shirt. His eyes twinkled in anticipation. He looked me over while I was searching for the book that I knew was lost forever; perhaps washed overboard from a freighter bound for New York in The Professor hustled me into one of the fine- looking staterooms where I found some appropriate wearing apparel.
Imagine my surprise to learn that I was back in the year and that it was August 11; again! The years were flying back and forth but the month and days stuck by me. The Professor immediately began a steady stream of questions without even waiting for me to respond. He wanted to know about my Time Travel status, what year I came from, was I coming or going and, most excitedly, about my raincoat. He seemed disappointed explaining briefly that it might help their cause. Nevertheless, I was still extremely frustrated. How could he possibly know things that I did not? You seem to know about me but I am thoroughly confused as to my particular circumstances.
I have been bouncing around in Time so much I hardly know which end is up! He reached out and held me by the shoulders. I can fill in the blanks for you. And, you are quite right. Where shall I begin? I wanted to know about me! Are you coming or going? Are you even aware that you have been given a potion without your knowledge and Forever Amber Paul Daniggelis that potion was kept in an amber container? Except for your altered physical being, it is the only thing, so far as we know, that can traverse Time.
Have you carried that potion with you?
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I left it in with a family known to me. When I explained the circumstances to the professor, his attention was completely diverted from me to the raincoat. He assured me there was no need for concern. I swallowed my spit when I heard that. You are not nearly the first who have come our way and I presume you will not be the last. The only reason I ask is that we like to keep an accurate record of everything we can learn from you Travelers. We do not have all the answers of course. Indeed, we are just scratching the surface but we have drawn a number of conclusions which will interest you.
Neither have any of the other Travelers. It was planned for you. There is no other explanation. We have, however, isolated the three chemicals from the compound which primed your body, enabling you to pass through Time. But we are unable to duplicate them. The compound has the ability to isolate the cell structure in your body so that each cell requires a minimum of nutrient while at the same time reducing bodily function to near zero.
I imagine it works something like cryogenics in your science fiction stories without, however, the need to induce sleep. And, as you see, you still communicate, perambulate, as required. Have we descended into the world of science fiction, Professor? Tell me what you ingested that brought about your adventure. A very common, but not exclusive, means of administering the compound. I warrant you know the individual who supplied this product?
It came from a pharmacy in Mexico. I know the pharmacist well. Why would he have anything to do with this? Indeed, it seems quite probable that the selections have been made in order to control the amount of information we receive in our time. You will not see him again. He is an alien and, unless he is prepared to reveal the secrets of his species, he will have moved on.
When you return to your Time you can check it out. The numbers going back to October of reflect the least sunspot activity ever recorded. Time Travelers from the future have confirmed that this period of inactivity will extend to June Within limits, we are able to plot future cycles and it is interesting to note that most of the Travelers have come to us from maximum sunspot activity.
Something like coasting downhill as it were. It took over of your years for us to discover that. Rather like climbing uphill into denser sunspot activity. All of the Time Travelers have come from their time, through our year , and either forward or back from So far, we have not encountered a single Traveler who has ever gone beyond their time into their futures.
- Je dois tout à ton oubli (Littérature Française) (French Edition);
- Only Brooklyns Real.
- Obstetric Clinical Algorithms: Management and Evidence.
Tell me what year you come from. And the world has not ended, I see. If it had, I imagine we would have ceased to exist as well. In this way we learn Forever Amber Paul Daniggelis from the future for the benefit of our people. Just how many of these Time Travelers have you encountered?