Tuesday, January 27, 2015
The girl beat her hands together. 'My dear man,' she cried, 'you don't understand. You're judging those devils by your own standard. They suspect everything—and everybody.'
'What a distressing habit,' he murmured. 'Is it chronic, Or merely due to liver? I must send 'em a bottle of good salts. Wonderful thing—good salts. Never without some in France.'
The girl looked at him resignedly. 'You're hopeless,' she remarked— 'absolutely hopeless.'
'Absolutely,' agreed Hugh, blowing out a cloud of smoke. 'Wherefore your telephone message? What's the worry?'
She bit her lip and drummed with her fingers on the arm of her chair. 'If I tell you,' she said at length, 'will you promise me, on your word of honour, that you won't go blundering into The Elms, or do anything foolish like that?'
Cream: What A Bringdown (Link)
Text: Sapper, Bulldog Drummond (1920)
Saturday, January 24, 2015
4 January. In the morning.
Didn’t sleep well last night. I have decided to submit a memorandum to the Soviet of People’s Commissars as I am convinced that the reconstruction of citizens on new principles should be carried out on a national scale.
5 January. In the morning.
Didn’t sleep well last night. I have decided that the reconstruction should be carried out on a universal, or in other words, cosmic scale.
The same date. In the evening.
The moment I got home I sat down at my desk to work on my memorandum. However, when I came to practical suggestions I was compelled to discontinue my composition as the train of my thought had come to an obstacle. Namely: I didn’t know how and into what substance the citizens should be turned.
Text: Lev Lunts, The Outgoing Letter N37 (1921)