Lucia Zabini admired herself in the mirror as she applied the final touches of her make-up. She’d always been a vain woman, and to be fair she had a lot to be vain about. Her luscious raven locks cascaded like a waterfall down to her waist, which was a perfect hour glass. Men had always stopped to stare at her, struck dumb by her beauty, but Lucia rarely paid any attention to them; that is, unless they were rich. Lucia’s one true love was galleons, and lots of them.
Her now dead husband had been very rich, and had rather generously left her everything in his will; now she just had to play the part of grieving widow to perfection. She cast a perceptive eye over her face in the mirror, feeling satisfied when she found no blemishes or imperfections. Lucia stood up and looked appraisingly at her outfit; black suited her very well, which was good as she’d be wearing it constantly for the next few months.
“Ah, the grieving widow herself, looking positively crippled with sorrow.”
Lucia turned to look at her son angrily. “Show some respect, Blaise! Your step father has died and we’re burying him today.”
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Lucia hoped he wouldn’t give the game away. She cast a final glance around the room she’d once shared with her late husband, smiling gleefully as she imagines the galleons she’ll get from selling his things. He wouldn’t be needing them anymore, and the man had eccentric taste that Lucia couldn’t stand. Her eyes landed on an expensive gold watch that was lying on the bedside table. “Imagine how much that’s worth,” she thought excitedly to herself as she left the room. Arriving at the bottom of the stairs, Lucia saw that her guests had appeared. She plastered on a small, mournful smile and bowed her head; the very picture of a woman torn apart by her loss, but doing her best to be dignified. She’d perfected the art, after
Everything had began magnificently the day I attended the renaissance fair. It was the first time I’d ever been to any festival of the sort, and the air was full of magic. At exactly 10:30 in the morning, the ceremony began. The King and Queen presented themselves atop the castle’s balcony to address their people. As the beautiful royals welcomed us into their kingdom, my heart beat erratically, and I crossed the threshold with my breath held. There were so many events that I wanted to see, and activities I wanted to try; I couldn’t wait to get inside. I wasn’t just an ordinary guest, however, I had a job to do. Carrying my instrument lightly with one hand, dressed as a princess and feeling important, I walked proudly through the bustling
In this issue of Lancet Oncology, Dr. Antonia and colleagues report on the combination of durvalumab and tremelimumab in patients with non-small cell lung cancer (NSCLC).1 After the recent approvals of nivolumab and pembrolizumab in NSCLC,2, 3, 4 there is a near frenzy of attempts to combine agents with inhibitors of the PD-1 immune checkpoint. Some efforts are based on only the shakiest of scientific evidence. However, the combination of durvalumab, a PD-L1 inhibitor, and tremelimumab, a CTLA-4 inhibitor, has a sound scientific basis. Dual checkpoint inhibition is now an established treatment option for patients with advanced melanoma.5, 6
She tightened her stomach and threw out her chest. She turned and looked over her shoulder at her back. After a while she began to dress, slowly. She put on her newest underclothing and her nicest stockings and the dress, which was the symbol of her prettiness. She worked carefully on her hair, penciled her eyebrows and rouged her lips.”
The Book Thief, written by Markus Zusack, depicts the horrors of World War II from the perspective of the harshest consequence of the war itself, Death. Despite the negative connotation Death receives, his demeanor is quite contradictory. More times than not, Death is found straying from his original mission as the slave of hindered human souls. He stops often, perplexed by the complexity of the living human souls, particularly, Liesel Meminger. Death is a compassionate figure because he sympathizes with the emotions of human beings and cares deeply for their souls.
Yes. There’s that, but-” she opened the first box and pulled out a gorgeous dress and corset. The skirt fell long in the back, only to shorten slightly in the front. It was a dusty green, lined with brown and full enough to use as a pillow. Vivienne held it up against her body and twirled, “-you can’t tell me it wasn’t worth the wait. And there’s more!” The two of them dug through the boxes, pulling out a pair of tall boots and patterned stockings, along with an assortment of gadgets and trinkets.
Mademoiselle Reisz’s playing on the Grand Isle ignited Edna’s awakening. Mademoiselle Reisz playing marked “the first time she was ready, perhaps the first time her being was tempered to take an impress of the abiding truth” (30). Edna’s determination to seek out Mademoiselle Reisz and her playing once again mark the first time Edna makes an effort to seek truth. Upon first hearing Mademoiselle Reisz play she found truth, but the act of seeking that truth is more powerful than knowing it. Previously Edna has been a passive participant in her destinity. She has allowed truth to be found for her. This truth is the same for all high society women, abide by social norms and keep up the image of your husband. Seeking out truth makes Edna an active participant in her destiny. The truth that she finds in Mademoiselle Reisz’s playing is not given
The flow of this narrative may seem jumpy or disconnected and illogical to some but to others who share a similar perspective the details seem like a flood of memories. Every detail and element is timeless and independent of the others while at the same time holding a deeper connection shared with all of the others. Each detail holds a value that isn’t noticed at first by others just like each of the items she mentions holds a value to her and her family but is lost on her husband who doesn’t share the same sense of home with her.
Sammy looked around for his girls once again and as he was thinking where they were and what they were doing a loud car horn interrupted his thoughts. He turned around and couldn’t believe what he saw. It was Queenie. She was smiling at looking directly at Sammy. He wasn’t sure whether it was a dream or not but he wanted this moment to last forever. Sammy decided to approach Queenie even though he didn’t know what to say and how to act. The closer he was, the more scenarios of what would happen next, were crossing his mind. Then all of the sudden, the pleasingly sweet voice said:
The irony of Mrs. Mallard’s response to the news of her husband’s death lies in the fact that her reaction did not constitute what a common reaction to death entails: extreme disbelief, prolonged heartache, and violent hysterics. When her sister Josephine breaks the news to Mrs.
No one thought it would happen so soon. The bombs. The planes whizzed past quietly, hidden above the low silver clouds. Ready to drop the gunpowder filled pods on the innocent cities of Poland.
Elise Davenport was not having a good night. Just the day before she put her whole career on the line thanks to a few glasses of champagne. Loose lips can sink ships, and they can obliterate your social status. So here she was, stumbling through Fairhaven Park in pitch blackness, looking for the cabin she rented. She'd just hung up the phone with her agent when she heard the rumbling growl come from beside her. Not a good night at all...
Up to this point, the reader might think the young wife was an innocent youth, singing and dancing her way through life, wearing white dresses and driving her older husband crazy. But there is a dark side to her personality too.
Awaiting the young hero's return the goddess couldn't help but stare off rather absent minded as the thoughts of the previous entangled within her brain. How would he react upon seeing her after all this time? Better yet, how would see? Seeing her beloved after such a long period of time; if made her heart beat nearly from the confines of her chest. A long sigh escaped her lips while the wafting smell of siring fish danced along the airwaves of the small one bedroom apartment, just across from the kitchen sat a table set for two with a rose in the center. It was romantic; she hoped. Dressed in a little black cocktail dress, and up-class converse green wedges. The lack of heels were, if only secretly a backup plan should he return with another
Stevie Franks Shaylee Hale Sociology May 6, 2018 Sociological narrative The James Bond franchise is a narrative that argues that women are less dominant as compared to men. The origin of the story is tailored to depict women as a lesser gender in the society where every stereotype has been created to establish mental picture which is long lasting to justify the provisions of the narrative that women are a weaker gender. The story carries along with it well-framed stereotypes, ideologies together with hegemony to justify the claims that women compared to men are lesser beings and requires the presence of men to survive and maneuver their ways. The origin of the franchise is based on arguments, comparisons, and contrast in efforts to create
This poem describes how Julia has fancy taste in clothes and how the speaker likes how Julia looks in them. The reader learns nothing about Julia, including what she is wearing. The only thing readers know about Julia is how she looks in silk, describing how it “flows”, its "liquefaction", its "vibration," and its "glittering."