Part Three-1
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SNOW WHITE had anlass of healthy e juice. "From now on ..I deny myself to them. These delights. I maintain ahetic distano more do I trip girlishly to their bed in the night, or after lunch, or in the misty mid-m. Not that I ever did. It was always my whim which goverhose gregarious enters summed up so well by Livy in the phrase, vae victis. I gratulate myself on that score at least. And no more will I chop their onions, boil their fettui, or mariheir flank steak. No more will I trudge about the house pursuing stain. No more will I fold their lingerie i bundles and stuff it away in the highboy. I am not even going to speak to them, now, except through third parties, or if I have something special to announce -- a new nuany mood, a new vagary, a ravagant caprice. I dont know what such a policy will win me. I am not even sure I wish to implement it. It seems small and mean-spirited. I have flig ideas. But the maihat runs through my brain is that what is, is insuffit. Where did that sulky notion e from? From the rental library, doubtless. Perhaps the seven men should have left me in the forest. To perish there, when all the roots and berries and rabbits and robins had been exhausted. If I had perished then, I would not be thinking now. It is true that there is a future in which I shall iably perish. There is that. Thinking terminates. One shall not always be leaning on ones elbow in the bed at a quarter to four in the m, w if the Japanese are happier than their piglike Western poraries. Another e juice, with a little vodka in it this time.""I HAVE killed this whole bottle of Chablis wine by myself," Dan said. "And that other bottle of Chablis too -- that one uhe bed. And that other bottle of Chablis too -- the oh the brown dle stu the mouth of it. And I am not afraid. Not of what may e, not of what has been. Now I will light that long cigar, that cigar that stretches from Mont St. Michel and Chartres, to uhe volo. What is merely fashionable will fade aw<mark>.</mark>ay, and what is merely new will fade away, but what will not fade away, is the way I feel: analogies break down, regimes break down, but the way I feel remains. I feel abandoned. After a hard day tending the vats, and washing the buildings, one wants to e home and find a leg of mutton oable, in a rich gravy with little pearly onions studded in it, and perhaps a small pot of Irish potatoes somewhere about. Instead I e home to this nothingness. Now she sits in her room reading Dissent and admiring her figure in the mirror. She still loves us, in a way, but it isnt enough. It is a failure of leadership, I feel. We have bee sug the mop again. True leadership would make her love us fiercely aingly, as in the old days. True leadership would find a way out of this hairy imbroglio. I am tired of Bills halting explanations, promises. If he doesnt want to lead, the us vote. That is all I have to say, except one more thing: when one has been bending over a hot vat all day, one doesnt want to e home and hear a lot of hump from a cow-hearted leader whose leadership buttons have fallen off -- some fellow who spends the dreamy days eating cabbage and watg ships, while you are at work. Work, with its charts, its lines of authority, its air of importance."
"THE refusal of emotion produervousness," Bill said dipping into the barrel of det absinthe. "Remember that. You are tense as a wire-walker, Hubert. If it is still possible to heave a sigh you should heave it. If it is still possible to rip out a groan you should rip it out. If it is still possible to smite the brow with anguished forefihen you should let that forefinger fall. And there are expostulations areaties that meet the case to be found in old books, look them up. This ation of outward and visible signs may I say may detonate an inward invisible subjective correlative, booming in the deeps of the gut like an Alka-Seltzer to produce tranquillity. I say may. And you others there, lounging about with expressions of steely un, you are just like Hubert. The disease is the same and the remedy is the same. As for me, I am out of it. I have copted out if you want to put it that way. After a life ri emotional defeats, I have looked around for other modes of misery, other roads to destru. Now I limit myself to listening to eople say, and thinking amby it is, what they say. My nourishment is refined from the ongoing circus of the mind in motion. Give me the odd linguistic trip, stutter and fall, and I will be tent. Actually, when you get right down to it, I should be the monk, and Paul the lea<dfn></dfn>der here." "We have eaihe notion," Hubert said.
"THEY treat me like a rube if they wish," Clem said holding tightly to the two hundred bottles of Loar at the Alamo Chili House. "I suppose I am a rubish hayseed in some sense, full of down-home notions that tradict the more sophisticated notions of my colleagues. But I notice that it is to me they e when it is a question of grits or chitlings or fried catfish. Of course these questions do not arise very often. I have not had a whiff of fried catfish these twelve years! How many nights have I trudged home with my face fixed for fried catfish, only to find that we were having fried calimaretti or some other Eastern dish. Not that I would put down those tender rings of squid deep-fried in olive oil. I even like the squarish the olive oil es in, emblazoned with green-and-gold devices, flowery emblemature out of the eenth tury. It makes my mouth water just to look at it, that . But why am I talking to myself about s? s are not what is troubling me. What is troubling me is the quality of life in reat try, America. It seems to me to be deprived. I dohat the deprived people ar<q></q>e deprived, although they are, clearly, but that eve are deprived. I suppose one could say that they are all humpheads a go at that. I am worried by the fact that no one respoo Snow Whites hair initiative. Even though I am at the same time relieved. But it suggests that Ameris will not or ot see themselves as princely. Even Paul, that most princely of our poraries, did not respond appropriately. Of course it may be that princely is not a good thing to be. And of course there is our long democratic tradition which is anti-aristocratic. Egalitarianism precludes priness. A our people are not equal in any sehey are either. . . The poorest of them are slaves as surely as if they were ed to gigantic wooden oars. The richest of them have the faces of cold effete homosexuals. And those in the middle are wonderfully fused. Redistribute the mohat will not ameliorate everything, but it will ameliorate some things. Redistribute the mohis be achieved in only one way. By making the rich happier. New lovers. New lovers who will make their lives exg and ri a way that. . . We must pass a law that all marriages of people with more than enough money are dissolved as of tomorroill free all these poor moneyed people ahem out to play. The quid pro quo is their moheake the money and --"
EDWARD was blowing his mind, uhe boardwalk. "Well my mind is blown now. Nine mantras and three bottles of i repellent, uhe boardwalk. I shall certainly be siorrow. But it is worth it to have a blown mind. To stop being a filthy beois for a space, even a short space. To gain access to everything in a new way. Uhe boardwalk. Those cream shoes clumping overhead. I uand them now, for the first time. Not their molecular structure, in which I am not particularly ied, but their saess. Their trality. They are the ter of everything, those shoes. They are it. I know that, now. Too bad it is not worth knowing. Too bad it is not true. It is not even temporarily true. Well, that must mean that my mind is not fully blown. That harsh critique. More i repellent!"
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