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what does sexually transmitted mean

Source global Wall Street Journal     time 2022-01-14 21:47:16
Typefacelarge in Small
On this showing, however, Orlando should have been a heap of cinders by the time the chariot drew up at her house in Blackfriars. That she was still flesh and blood, though certainly exhausted, is entirely due to a fact to which we drew attention earlier in the narrative. The less we see the more we believe. Now the streets that lie between Mayfair and Blackfriars were at that time very imperfectly lit. True, the lighting was a great improvement upon that of the Elizabethan age. Then the benighted traveller had to trust to the stars or the red flame of some night watchman to save him from the gravel pits at Park Lane or the oak woods where swine rootled in the Tottenham Court Road. But even so it wanted much of our modern efficiency. Lamp-posts lit with oil-lamps occurred every two hundred yards or so, but between lay a considerable stretch of pitch darkness. Thus for ten minutes Orlando and Mr Pope would be in blackness; and then for about half a minute again in the light. A very strange state of mind was thus bred in Orlando. As the light faded, she began to feel steal over her the most delicious balm. ‘This is indeed a very great honour for a young woman to be driving with Mr Pope,’ she began to think, looking at the outline of his nose. ‘I am the most blessed of my sex. Half an inch from me — indeed, I feel the knot of his knee ribbons pressing against my thigh — is the greatest wit in Her Majesty’s dominions. Future ages will think of us with curiosity and envy me with fury.’ Here came the lamp-post again. ‘What a foolish wretch I am!’ she thought. ‘There is no such thing as fame and glory. Ages to come will never cast a thought on me or on Mr Pope either. What’s an age”, indeed? What are we”?’ and their progress through Berkeley Square seemed the groping of two blind ants, momentarily thrown together without interest or concern in common, across a blackened desert. She shivered. But here again was darkness. Her illusion revived. ‘How noble his brow is,’ she thought (mistaking a hump on a cushion for Mr Pope’s forehead in the darkness). ‘What a weight of genius lives in it! What wit, wisdom, and truth — what a wealth of all those jewels, indeed, for which people are ready to barter their lives! Yours is the only light that burns for ever. But for you the human pilgrimage would be performed in utter darkness’; (here the coach gave a great lurch as it fell into a rut in Park Lane) ‘without genius we should be upset and undone. Most august, most lucid of beams,’— thus she was apostrophizing the hump on the cushion when they drove beneath one of the street lamps in Berkeley Square and she realized her mistake. Mr Pope had a forehead no bigger than another man’s. ‘Wretched man,’ she thought, ‘how you have deceived me! I took that hump for your forehead. When one sees you plain, how ignoble, how despicable you are! Deformed and weakly, there is nothing to venerate in you, much to pity, most to despise.’

此处,我们最好在他的独白中间停下来,思考一下眼前的景象有多么古怪。我们看到六月的一个早晨,奥兰多头枕着胳膊,躺在那里,我们看到这么一个才华横溢、体格强壮(只要看看他的脸蛋儿和四肢就可以明白)的好人,这么一个冲锋也不怕、决斗也不怕的人,会如此受制于思想的呆滞,如此敏感,一旦涉及诗歌及他本人在这方面的能力问题,他就会腼腆得像个躲在农舍门背后的小姑娘。我们相信,格林对他的伤害不下于公主,前者戏弄他的作品,后者戏弄他的爱情。不过,现在我们回到……

我不过是微不足道的一环

‘To ninety seven cushions of crimson damask laid with silver parchment lace and footstools of cloth of tissue and chairs suitable...


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