Like include remain
Good afternoon, Andrews. Nice to see you again. Still feeling in good health? My God! I said, when I had recovered some of my composure. Are you going to telecastthat?” "Please, Vyme." A small corsage would be more appropriate. One other item not mentioned in either of the Honorable Mention lists to follow is the continuing emergence of verse in s-f. In addition to the irrepressible Hilbert Schenck, there were notable contributions last year by Randall Garrett, Joseph Hansen, Alan Lindsey, and Rosser Reeves.* * * * My mothers people went to California in the Gold Rush, he writes (from Spain, at the moment). My father was twice candidate for President of the United States. ... I was once bitten by a vampire [bat—JM] and had to be treated for rabies, . . . Once while traveling across the Sahara toTimbuctoo I was kidnapped by Tuareg. ... I was once offered a soldier-of-fortune job for Chiang Kai-shek. ... I was once detained by the Jordan police because I couldn’t prove I was neither Jewish nor a Jehovah’s Witness. ... I once stole a perfect Etruscan vase out of an Italian tomb. ... And I once participated ... as an observer ... in a demonstration against the U.S. Embassy in Moscow. . . . Although I loathe being shot at, I’ve been in half a dozen wars, revolutions and military revolts. ... I once bought a Ming-dynasty vase for six dollars from a Chinese Communist. ... I believe the world is going through an unprecedented revolution, not only in the political field but in science, sexual and other mores, medicine and socioeconomic systems. And I’m all for it. . . .” like include remain You dreary old fish! Wake yourself! How can you criticize my intended way of dying when you have such a fustian way of living? A knitter laughed. Miss Luptik frowned. Clever. All day I roared up and down the dunes, going nowhere. To the crew of theAspic I must have looked like a sandstorm, all by myself. And the devil that deceived them was cast into the lake of fire and brimstone, where the beast and the false prophet are, and shall be tormented day and night for ever and ever. That, also? A what? William SambrotThe Story of an Atomic Age Ordeal,SEP, July 9. We couldnt find them. We searched a long time, too. Youre asking me to climb Mount Everest, Ed said, carefully keeping the sarcasm out of his voice. To search for this plateau here,” he tapped the shoddy photograph, “and take pix of—what are they, biped, erect-walking creatures, you say?” They found Pauline Dupree at the Gaiety Theater, a gaudily painted structure on Jackson near Kearny on the fringe of the Barbary Coast. A large billboard next to the entrance bore a photograph of a buxom young blond woman and an announcement in large black and gold letters that Miss Pauline Dupree was currently starring in matinee and evening performances of thatthrilling, titillating stage playThe Wages of Sin. Hell. I guess things turn out for the best. He took a deep breath. It just came to me. Funny. Twenty, thirty years from now, middle of the night, our phonell ring. It’ll be one of those two boys, grown up, calling long-distance from a bar somewhere. Middle of the night, them calling to ask one question. It’strue, isn’t it? they’ll say. Itdid happen, didn’t it? Back in 1958, it really happened tous? And we’ll sit there on the edge of the bed, middle of the night, saying, Sure, boy, sure, it really happened, to us, in 1958. And they’ll say, Thanks, and we’ll say, Don’t mention it, any old time. And we’ll all say good night. And maybe they won’t call again for a couple of years.” All this time I had been sizing him up, and though there was something about him I didnt like, I was unable to pin it down. In any case, I was prepared to make substantial allowances for someone who had read my books and was also in TV; Mike and I are always on the lookout for markets for our underwater movies. But that, to put it mildly, was not Hartford’s line of business. The first and, as I said, the last time I ever heard Caracas speak to Nikolai Vassilevitch was one evening when we were absolutely alone. We were in the room where the woman, if I may be allowed the expression, lived. Entrance to this room was strictly forbidden to everybody. It was furnished more or less in the Oriental manner, had no windows and was situated in the most inaccessible part of the house. I did know that she could talk, but Gogol had never explained to me the circumstances under which this happened. There were only the two of us, or three, in there. Nikolai Vassilevitch and I were drinking vodka and discussing Butkovs novel. I remember that we left this topic, and he was maintaining the necessity for radical reforms in the laws of inheritance. We had almost forgotten her. It was then that, with a husky and submissive voice, like Venus on the nuptial couch, she said point-blank: "I want to go poo poo.".
