prediction.txt

a man said to the universe sir i exist
sweat covered brion's body trickling into the tight lowing class that was the only government he wore
the cut on his chest still dripping blood the ach of his overstrained eyes even the sorring arena around him with thousands of spectators wer trivialities not worth thinking about
his instant  panic was followed by a small sharp blow high on his chest
one minute a voice said and the time buzzer sounded
a minute is not a very large measure of time and his body needed every fraction of it
the buzzards were triggerlous muscles into complete relaxation
only his heart and lungs worked on at a strong measured rate
he was in revere sliding along the borders of consciousness
the contestants in the twenties needed undisturbed rest therefore knights in the dormitories were as quiet as death
particularly so on this last night when only two of the little cubicals were occupied the thousands of others standing with dark empty doors
the other voice snapped with a harsh urgency clearly used to command
i'm here because the matter is of utmost importance and brand is the one i must see now stand aside
the twenties
he must have drawn his gun because the intruder said quickly but that a way you're being a foolout
there was silence then and still wondering brian was once more asleep
ten seconds
he asked the handler who was needing his aching muscles
a red-haired mountain of a man with an apparently inexhaustible store of energy
there could be little art in this last and final round of fencing
just thrust inperry and victory to the stronger
every man who entered the twenties had his own training tricks
there appeared to be an immediate association with the death drama as if the two were inextricably linked into one
the strength that enables someone in a trance to hold his body stiff and unsupported except at two points the head and heels
this is physically impossible when conscious
others had died before during the twenties and death during the last round was in some ways easier than defeat
breathing deeply brion softly spoke the autohypnotic phrases that triggered the process
when the buzzer sounded he pulled his foil from his second startled grasp and ran forward
irolg looked amazed at the sudden fury of the attack then smiled
he thought it was the last burst of energy he knew how closely both were to exhaustion
brion saw something close to panic on his opponent's face when the man finally recognized his error
a wave of despair rolled out from irolg breincensed it and knew the fifth point was his
then the powerful twist that thrusted aside in and under the guard
mr quilter is the apostle of the middle classes and we are glad to welcome his gospel
nor is mr quilter's manner less interesting than his matter
he tells us that at this festive season of the year with christmas and rost beef looming beforeus symbolies drawn from eating and its results occur most readily to the mind
he has grave doubts whether sir frederik layton's work is really greek after all and can discover in it but little of rocky ithaca
lenell's pictures are a sort of upgards and adam paintings and mason's exquisit iduls are as national as a jingo poemmr birket foster's landscapes smile at one much in the same way that mr carker used to flash his teeth and mr john collier gives hi sider a cheerful slap on the back before he says like a champour in a turkish bath next
it is obviously unnecessary for us to point out how luminous these criticisms are how delicate in expression
on the general principles of art mr crilter writes with equal lucidity
painting he tells us is of a different quality to mathematics and finnish in art is adding more fact
as for etchings they are of two kinds british and foreign
he laments most bitterly the divorce that has been made between decorative art and what we usually call pictures makes a customary appeal to the last judgement and reminds us that in the great days of art michal angelo was the furnishing upposterer
near the fire any ornaments fred brought home from india on the mental board
in fact he is quite severe on mr ruskin for not recognizing that a picture should denote the frailty of manand remarks with pleasing crutecy and felicitus grace that many phases of feeling
only unfortunately his own work never does get good
mr quilter has missed his chance for he has failed even to make himself the tupper of painting
by harry quilter m a
because he is sleeping instead of conquering the lovely rose princess has become a fiddle without a bow while port a shaggy sits there acouing dove
he has gone and gone for good answered polychrome who had managed to squeeze into the room beside the dragon and had witnessed the occurrences with much interest
i have remained a prisoner only because i wishd to be oneand with this he stepped forward and burst the stout chains as easily as if they had been threads
the little girl had been asleep but she heard the wraps and open the door
the king is fled with disgrace and your friends are asking for you
i begged ruggado long ago to send them away but he would not do so
i also offered to help your brother to escape but he would not go
he eats and sleeps very steadily replied the new king
i hope he doesn't work too hard said shaggy
he doesn't work at all
in fact thereis nothing he can do in these dominions as well as our knomes whose numbers are so great that it worries us to keep them all busy
not exactly returned calico
where is my brother now
inquired shaggy in the metal forest
where is that
the middal forest is in great dumed cavern the largest in all our dominions replied calico
calco hesitated
however if we look sharp we may be able to discover one of these secret ways
oh no i'm quite sure he didn't
that's funny remarked betsy thoughtfully
i don't believe anne knew any magic or shee div worked it before
i do not know confessed shaggy
true agreed calico
calico went to the big gong and pounded on it just as regudo used to do but no one answered the summons
having returned to the royal cavern calico first pounded the gong and then sattened the throne wearing regados discarded ruby crown and holding in his hand the ceptor which regado had so often thrown at his head