The figure of the tyrant-monster is known to the mythologies,

folk traditions, legends, and even nightmares, of the world; and

his characteristics are everywhere essentially the same.
He had not been down that way under The Hill for ages and

ages, not since his friend the Old Took died, in fact,
‘I – well, my name is Richard Papen –’

He put his head to the side and blinked again, bright-eyed,

amiable as a sparrow.

‘– and I want to take your class in ancient Greek.’
Great white bearskins lay about underfoot, and the only

furniture was a lot of low beds covered with Indian rugs.

Instead of pictures
Dolly saw it was his right hand. His bloody working

hand. A man could hardly pick his nose with a thumb and

half a pointer. They were done for; stuffed, cactus. Thank

you, Lady Luck, you rotten slut.
, I carry
and nurse, my diffident twin, I’m often morose, and think

of those statues that lean above themselves in water,

Horses

tossed their plumes. The Queen had come.
The shutters and doors of the Radley house were closed on

Sundays, another thing alien to Maycomb’s ways: closed

doors meant illness and cold weather only. Of all days Sunday
DAY FIVE
I let Irene cut my hair today. It’s kind of horrible. She’s only

twenty, and her skin is all broken out from PCP and heroin. I got

so absorbed listening to her stories of blackouts and arrests for
prostitution that I didn’t notice how badly the haircut was ac-

tually going.

Julie is so cheerful I want to punch her.
LORD DARLINGTON [still seated L.C.]: Oh, nowadays so many con-

ceited people go about Society pretending to be good, that I think

it shows rather a sweet and modest disposition to pretend to be bad.

Besides, there is this to be said. If you pretend to be good, the world

takes you very seriously. If you pretend to be bad, it doesn’t. Such

is the astounding stupidity of optimism.

LADY WINDERMERE: Don’t you want the world to take you

seriously, then, Lord Darlington?

LORD DARLINGTON: No, not the world …  you
Simi-

larly, if we question someone on well determined events in his private or

public life, he may reply, “I know nothing.” And this nothing includes

the totality of the facts on which we questioned him. Even Socrates

with his famous statement, “I know that I know nothing,” designates

by this nothing the totality of being considered as Truth.
“It sounds darling,” Mrs. Carpenter agreed.

“Sybil, hold still, pussy.”

“Did you see more glass?” said Sybil.

Mrs. Carpenter sighed. “All right,” she said.

She replaced the cap on the sun-tan oil bottle.

“Now run and play, pussy. Mommy’s going up to

the hotel and have a Martini with Mrs. Hubbel.
I’ll bring you the olive.”