Films, Stephen Heath famously reminds us, "take place" --- they establish scenographic space and their spectator "completes the image as its subject" (53). Situated at the center of the perspectival system that underpins narrative film, the spectator is "place" in relation to its images. With Hitchcock's Suspicion (1941) as his example, Heath notes that the portrait that anchors the film's narrative --- the portrait of Cedric Hardwicke's General McLaidlaw (a speaking name if ever there was one) --- establishes the scenographic space of Hitchcock's film as perspectival, the Quattrocento view. But at the fringes of this film's discourse, Heath suggests, is another kind of space. It is intimated when a look cast by a character offers a glimpse of a different visual organization. As it happens, this character is Benson (Vernon Downing), a detective, and the object of his look is astonishing, perhaps even shocking, to him. It is a still likfe in the Cubist manners --- a copy of Pablo Picasso's Pitcher and Bowl of Fruit (1931) --- and its notion of space is in marked contradistinction to that of the McLaidlaw portrait. If the still life's transgression against the portrait's perspectival system is a joke in this film, writes Heath, then it is a telling one. While the detective's glance at the painting is irrelevant to the film's narrative, Heath argues, it nevertheless serves "to demonstrate the rectitude of the portrait, the true painting at the center of the scene, utterly in frame in the film's action" (23).

Her reservations about clothes-washing notwithstanding, Mary was on the spot. Our relationship had heated up well beyond the level of friendship. Fortunately for me, she had never been emotionally attached to her job, and the potted plant in her office simply did not satisfy her hankering for the country. On the other hand, she had a list of unanswered questions: How heavy was the work? How long were the hours? What about refrigeration? What about food preparation? When I pointed out that people have been living without modern gadgetry for thousands of years, she finally gave in, brimming with curiosity to see how they did it.

"Get out, I said. I am sick of looking at that ugly stump of yours. Get out!" To speed him on his way, she heaved her wine cup at his head. She missed, but Jaime took the hint.
Evenfall found him sitting alone in the common room of White Sword Tower, with a cup of Dornish red and the White Book. He was turning pages with the stump of his sword hand when the Knight of Flowers entered, removed his cloak and swordbelt and hung them on a wall peg next to Jaime's.

"Oh yes. Oh yes. I am a good bear. I never meant to say that I'm a bad bear. I'm a good bear. I respect territories. I'm a respectful bear." Humbledrum's terrifyingly huge paw fell on the table emphatically, and it put its black muzzle very close to Quentin's nose. "I am a very. Respectful. Bear."

They came with signing the bullets that killed Judge Patricia Acioli, 47, in the last 12 days in Rio 40 Gauge, they belonged to a lot purchased by the Military Police and circulated among various battalions, including the Sao Goncalo, which acted to magistrate. In this region, a pest that thrives Patricia was engaged in combat with special emphasis: the so-called militias, gangs, born from the ranks of police purposes vaguely well-meaning, rapidly convert to the pay bands of killers of their own interests or who pay better. Until recently, this cancer etava restricted to Rio de Janeiro. Now, is spreading across the country.

"The only men who'll come to the stars to serve a tyrant are the trash, or men as grasping and shortsighted as their master is," Piet said. "The few of a better sort sink into the mire because they're almost alone. This isn't a frontier where hardship makes men hard, it's a cesspool where filth makes men filthy! And it will not change until the claim of Pleyal to own the universe beyond Pluto is disproved. At the point of a gun if necessary!"

The man stood motionless, an embodiment of paralyzed horror, staring fixedly at the apparition. The thing moved out from the wall and a grotesque shadow moved with it. Slowly the shadow became visible as a man-like figure whose naked torso and limbs shone whitely, with the hue of bleached bones. The bare skull on its shoulders grinned eyelessly, in the midst of its unholy nimbus, and the man confronting it seemed unable to take his eyes from it. He stood still, his sword dangling from nerveless fingers, on his face the expression of a man bound by the spells of a mesmerist.

“You begin to suspect, as you gaze through this you-shaped hole of insight and fire, that though it is the most important thing you own — never deny that for an instant — it has not shielded you from anything terribly important. The only consolation is that though one could have thrown it away at any time, morning or night, one didn't. One chose to endure. Without any assurance of immortality, or even competence, one only knows one has not been cheated out of the consolation of carpenters, accountants, doctors, ditch-diggers, the ordinary people who must do useful things to be happy. Meander along, then, half blind and a little mad, wondering when you actually learned — was it before you began? — the terrifying fact that had you thrown it away, your wound would have been no more likely to heal: indeed, in an affluent society such as this, you might even have gone on making songs, poems, pictures, and getting paid. The only difference would have been — and you learned it listening to all those brutally unhappy people who did throw away theirs — and they do, after all, comprise the vast and terrifying majority — that without it, there plainly and starkly would have been nothing there; no, nothing at all.”

Since then I'd only seen her a couple of times with Vidocq and once when I got Doc Kinski to drain the venom from my arm after a Naga purse snatcher went king cobra on me. Kinski is the medical man for a lot of Sub Rosa and Lurkers. Most people think being a doctor is a big deal, but Kinski used to be an archangel, so for him, being a doctor is sort of like flipping burgers at McDonald's after you were president.

And everyone glanced up at the dead man who stayed there as upright as if he had been marching at the head of a company. Up there, so high, he no longer seemed terrible or pitiful to them. On the other hand, it was now clear to all of them how he was exalted and set apart. He no longer stood on the earth, his hands held to nothing, he did not swim, did not fly; he no longer had any weight. Freed from all earthly ties and burdens, he was no longer a prey to troubles; no one could do anything more against him, neither rifle nor sword, nor evil thoughts, nor men's words, nor Turkish courts. Naked to the waist, with arms and legs bound, his head thrown back against the stake, that figure no longer seemed to bear any likeness to a human body which grows and then rots away, but seemed to be raised on high, hard and imperishable as a statue which would remain there forever.

The men on forced labour turned and crossed themselves stealthily.

Bingle went below and returned to present Quentin with the training sword he would be using, a short, heavy weapon of oiled steel, blunt and nearly black and devoid of any adornment whatsoever. The blade and the hilt were all made out of one single unbroken chunk of metal. It was the most industrial-looking object Quentin had ever seen in Fillory. It weighed half again what his sword weighed. It didn't even come with a scabbard, so he wouldn't get to show off his buff sheathing-unsheathing skills.

The Welfare State

This "unexpectedly dazzling" revival of capitalism took place, of course, in a world where the extension of state power was accepted not only in the economic sphere itself, but also in the area of social welfare. For many commentators at the time, the two -- a booming economy and an extended welfare state -- seemed closely connected. "Without the underpinning of the welfare-state policies," argued the SPD reformist Karl Schiller, "the free market economic system might well have collapsed... Welfare state and dynamic market economy are mutually indispensable."

What made me realize how much I dislike the sound of French was the continual, unctuous, caressing repetition of 'l'oiseau' (the bird). It is a word that cannot be pronounced without simpering. I did not want to speak French because it gave me the bird.

I left the village at Point Alones feeling quite giddy. It was almost as though the whole situation had been conjured in a murky dream and, as such, perched beyond explanation. Even to those of my contemporaries who might be willing to give me the benefit of the doubt, the lack of all corroboration would mark me as a crank or, worse still, the victim of an elaborate hoax perpetrated by a disgruntled employee.