AS MOSCAS DE DEUS

srijeda, 5. lipnja 2024.

ATAVISM By ERIK FENNEL - https://gutenberg.org/cache/epub/64157/pg64157-images.html

utorak, 4. lipnja 2024.

EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS PIRATES OF VENUS - https://gutenberg.org/cache/epub/70195/pg70195-images.html

If a female figure in a white shroud enters your bedchamber at midnight on the thirteenth day of this month, answer this letter; otherwise, do not.”

Having read this far in the letter, I was about to consign it to the wastebasket, where all my crank letters go; but for some reason I read on, “If she speaks to you, please remember her words and repeat them to me when you write.” I might have read on to the end; but at this juncture the telephone bell rang, and I dropped the letter into one of the baskets on my desk. It chanced to be the “out” basket; and had events followed their ordinary course, this would have been the last of the letter and the incident in so far as I was concerned, for from the “out” basket the letter went to the files.

As he ceased speaking, he suddenly faded from view. The chair in which he had been sitting was empty. There was no one in the room but myself. I was stunned, almost terrified. I recalled what Rothmund had said about the effect of the narcotics upon my mentality. I also recalled that insane people seldom realize that they are insane. Was I insane! Cold sweat broke out upon my forehead and the backs of my hands. I reached toward the buzzer to summon Ralph. There is no question but that Ralph is sane. If he had seen Carson Napier and shown him into my study—what a relief that would be!

As I groped about in the dark, my hand finally located a sturdy branch, and a moment later I was astride it, my back to the bole of a large tree—another theory gone the ignoble path of countless predecessors; it was evident that there was vegetation on Venus. At least there was one tree; I could vouch for that, as I was sitting in it, and doubtless the black shadows I had passed were other, taller trees.

“They drink in the water vapor among the clouds and carry it down to their roots. They are unlike any other tree. A central, porous core carries the water from the clouds to the roots, from whence it rises again in the form of sap that carries the tree’s food upward from the ground. By tapping one of these trees anywhere you may obtain a copious supply of clear, cool water—a fortunate provision of—”

He did not say Soldier of Liberty, but “kung, kung, kung,” which are the Amtorian initials of the order’s title. Kung is the name of the Amtorian character that represents the k sound in our language, and when I first translated the initials I was compelled to smile at the similarity they bore to those of a well-known secret order in the United States of America.

A BAD DAY FOR VERMIN BY KEITH LAUMER - https://gutenberg.org/cache/epub/51258/pg51258-images.html

"Now, hold on right there. I'm as liberal-minded as the next feller. Hell, I like a nigger—and I can't hardly tell a Jew from a white man. But when it comes to takin' in a damned purple worm and callin' it humern—that's where I draw the line.

ponedjeljak, 3. lipnja 2024.

A FRIEND OF NAPOLEON By RICHARD CONNELL - https://gutenberg.org/cache/epub/73756/pg73756-images.html#page_19

The chief judge,

{32} Bertouf, was a vast puff of a man, who swelled out of his judicial chair like a poisonous fungus. His black robe was familiar with spilled brandy, and his dirty judicial bib was askew. His face was bibulous and brutal, and he had the wattles of a turkey gobbler. Judge Goblin, on his right, looked to have mummified; he was at least a hundred years old and had wrinkled parchment skin and red-rimmed eyes that glittered like the eyes of a cobra. Judge Perouse was one vast jungle of tangled grizzled whisker, from the midst of which projected a cockatoo’s beak of a nose; he looked at Papa Chibou and licked his lips with a long pink tongue. Papa Chibou all but fainted; he felt no bigger than a pea, and less important; as for his judges, they seemed enormous monsters.

THE PASSIONATE PITCHMAN By STEPHEN WILDER - https://gutenberg.org/cache/epub/73594/pg73594-images.html

Hector was just another salesman until the gorgeous Miss Laara came along with her Foolproof Method of Procurement. Miss Laara was fascinating. So were her methods. They introduced Hector into a world where inhibitions were unknown. Then the Syndicate moved in. They wanted to know about this procurement business. So will you.

Heck functioned rather well after four martinis, but he never remembered much afterward. He did remember vaguely, though, that the little man's head seemed too large. Not freakishly so—just somewhat too large. Nor was the man's small stature something a circus sideshow could make money on. The man was almost but not quite five feet tall, Hector Finch judged.

THE ONE HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL By BOOTH TARKINGTON - https://gutenberg.org/cache/epub/73756/pg73756-images.html#page_211

Moving away from the teller’s grille, he made a cylindrical packet of bills smaller in value—“ones” and “fives”—then placed round them, as a wrapper, the beautiful one hundred dollar bill, snapped a rubber band over it; and the desired inference was plain: a roll all of hundred dollar bills, inside as well as outside. Something more was plain, too: obviously the man’s small head had a sportive plan in it, for the twinkle between his eye puffs hinted of liquor in the offing and lively women impressed by a show of masterly riches. Here, in brief, was a man who meant to make a night of it, who would feast, dazzle, compel deference and be loved. For money gives power, and power is loved; no

{212} doubt he would be loved. He was happy, and went out of the bank believing that money is made for joy.