Anger

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From An Anomalous Jew: Paul Among Jews, Greeks, and Romans (2016)

  Tertullian, Apol. 24.1; Pliny, Ep. 10.96-97. 30. Minucius Felix, Octavius 5-10; Origen, Contra Celsus 8.55-67. 31. On the imperial cult in Palestine, see James S. McLaren, “Jews and the Imperial Cult: From Augustus to Domitian,” JSNT 27 (2005): 257-78; idem, “Searching for Rome and the Imperial Cult in Galilee: Reassessing Galilee-Rome Relations (63 B. C.E to 70 C. E.),” in Rome and Religion: A Cross-Disciplinary Dialogue on the Imperial Cult, ed. J. Brodd and J. L. Reed (Atlanta: SBL, 2011), 111-36; Monika Bernett, “Der Kaiserkult in Judia unter herodischer und romischer Herschaft: Zu Herausbildung und Herausfoderung neuer Konzepte Jiidischer Herrschaftslegitimation,” in Jewish Identity in the Greco-Roman World, ed. J. Frey, D. R. Schwartz, and S. Gripentrog (AJEC 71; Leiden: Brill, 2007), 219-51; Werner Eck, ed., Judéa— Syria Paldstina: Ein Euseinandersetzung ein Provinz mit romischer Politik und Kultur (TSAJ 340; Tubingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014). 32. Donald L. Jones, “Christianity and the Roman Imperial Cult? in ANRW 2.23.2, ed. H. Temporini and W. Haase (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1980), 1023. See Tertullian, Apol. 27; De Idol. 15; Minucius Felix, Oct. 10.2. 212) The Apostle Paul and the Roman Empire selves from humanity’s place in the world.** Thus, Christ-believers were not randomly chosen for Nero’s scapegoating among many superstitious cults that had blown in from the East; rather, the non-Roman nature of their devotion, the counterimperial nature of their discourse, and the antisocial nature of their meetings probably brought them to the attention of authorities. Fourth, we have tangible evidence from the late second century, in the Acts of Paul, that Paul was undoubtedly being read as a counterimperial agent. In this fictitious narrative, the emperor Nero finds out that his servant Patroclus has been raised from the dead by Paul. Nero warmly greets his servant but becomes enraged at Patroclus’s new faith that has spread even to his advisers: But when he came in and saw Patroclus he cried out, “Patroclus, are you alive?” he answered, “I am alive, Caesar.” But he said, “Who is he who made you alive?” And the boy, uplifted by the confidence of faith, said, “Christ Jesus, the king of the ages.” The emperor asked in dismay, “Is he to be king of ages and destroy all kingdoms?” Patroclus said to him, “Yes, he destroys all kingdoms under heaven, and he alone shall remain in all eternity, and there will be no kingdom which escapes him.” And he struck his face and cried out, “Patroclus, are you also fighting for that king?” He answered, “Yes, my lord and Caesar, for he has raised me from the dead.” And Barsabas Justus the flat-footed and Urion the Cappadocian and Fes- tus of Galatia, the chief men of Nero, said, “And we, too, fight for him, the king of the ages.”

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “If he would only have done as well by himself,” said John Dashwood, “as all his friends were disposed to do by him, he might now have been in his proper situation, and would have wanted for nothing. But as it is, it must be out of anybody’s power to assist him. And there is one thing more preparing against him, which must be worse than all—his mother has determined, with a very natural kind of spirit, to settle _that_ estate upon Robert immediately, which might have been Edward’s, on proper conditions. I left her this morning with her lawyer, talking over the business.” “Well!” said Mrs. Jennings, “that is _her_ revenge. Everybody has a way of their own. But I don’t think mine would be, to make one son independent, because another had plagued me.” Marianne got up and walked about the room. “Can anything be more galling to the spirit of a man,” continued John, “than to see his younger brother in possession of an estate which might have been his own? Poor Edward! I feel for him sincerely.” A few minutes more spent in the same kind of effusion, concluded his visit; and with repeated assurances to his sisters that he really believed there was no material danger in Fanny’s indisposition, and that they need not therefore be very uneasy about it, he went away; leaving the three ladies unanimous in their sentiments on the present occasion, as far at least as it regarded Mrs. Ferrars’s conduct, the Dashwoods’, and Edward’s. Marianne’s indignation burst forth as soon as he quitted the room; and as her vehemence made reserve impossible in Elinor, and unnecessary in Mrs. Jennings, they all joined in a very spirited critique upon the party. CHAPTER XXXVIII. Mrs. Jennings was very warm in her praise of Edward’s conduct, but only Elinor and Marianne understood its true merit. _They_ only knew how little he had had to tempt him to be disobedient, and how small was the consolation, beyond the consciousness of doing right, that could remain to him in the loss of friends and fortune. Elinor gloried in his integrity; and Marianne forgave all his offences in compassion for his punishment. But though confidence between them was, by this public discovery, restored to its proper state, it was not a subject on which either of them were fond of dwelling when alone. Elinor avoided it upon principle, as tending to fix still more upon her thoughts, by the too warm, too positive assurances of Marianne, that belief of Edward’s continued affection for herself which she rather wished to do away; and Marianne’s courage soon failed her, in trying to converse upon a topic which always left her more dissatisfied with herself than ever, by the comparison it necessarily produced between Elinor’s conduct and her own.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “The lady then—Miss Grey I think you called her—is very rich?” “Fifty thousand pounds, my dear. Did you ever see her? a smart, stylish girl they say, but not handsome. I remember her aunt very well, Biddy Henshawe; she married a very wealthy man. But the family are all rich together. Fifty thousand pounds! and by all accounts, it won’t come before it’s wanted; for they say he is all to pieces. No wonder! dashing about with his curricle and hunters! Well, it don’t signify talking; but when a young man, be who he will, comes and makes love to a pretty girl, and promises marriage, he has no business to fly off from his word only because he grows poor, and a richer girl is ready to have him. Why don’t he, in such a case, sell his horses, let his house, turn off his servants, and make a thorough reform at once? I warrant you, Miss Marianne would have been ready to wait till matters came round. But that won’t do now-a-days; nothing in the way of pleasure can ever be given up by the young men of this age.” “Do you know what kind of a girl Miss Grey is? Is she said to be amiable?” “I never heard any harm of her; indeed I hardly ever heard her mentioned; except that Mrs. Taylor did say this morning, that one day Miss Walker hinted to her, that she believed Mr. and Mrs. Ellison would not be sorry to have Miss Grey married, for she and Mrs. Ellison could never agree.” “And who are the Ellisons?” “Her guardians, my dear. But now she is of age and may choose for herself; and a pretty choice she has made!—What now,” after pausing a moment—“your poor sister is gone to her own room, I suppose, to moan by herself. Is there nothing one can get to comfort her? Poor dear, it seems quite cruel to let her be alone. Well, by-and-by we shall have a few friends, and that will amuse her a little. What shall we play at? She hates whist I know; but is there no round game she cares for?” “Dear ma’am, this kindness is quite unnecessary. Marianne, I dare say, will not leave her room again this evening. I shall persuade her if I can to go early to bed, for I am sure she wants rest.”

• From The City of God

  " [787]He thus gives us to understand that God did not respect his offering because it was not rightly "distinguished" in this, that he gave to God something of his own but kept himself to himself. For this all do who follow not God's will but their own, who live not with an upright but a crooked heart, and yet offer to God such gifts as they suppose will procure from Him that He aid them not by healing but by gratifying their evil passions. And this is the characteristic of the earthly city, that it worships God or gods who may aid it in reigning victoriously and peacefully on earth not through love of doing good, but through lust of rule. The good use the world that they may enjoy God:the wicked, on the contrary, that they may enjoy the world would fain use God,--those of them, at least, who have attained to the belief that He is and takes an interest in human affairs. For they who have not yet attained even to this belief are still at a much lower level. Cain, then, when he saw that God had respect to his brother's sacrifice, but not to his own, should have humbly chosen his good brother as his example, and not proudly counted him his rival. But he was wroth, and his countenance fell. This angry regret for another person's goodness, even his brother's, was charged upon him by God as a great sin. And He accused him of it in the interrogation, "Why are thou wroth, and why is thy countenance fallen? "For God saw that he envied his brother, and of this He accused him. For to men, from whom the heart of their fellow is hid, it might be doubtful and quite uncertain whether that sadness bewailed his own wickedness by which, as he had learned, he had displeased God, or his brother's goodness, which had pleased God, and won His favorable regard to his sacrifice. But God, in giving the reason why He refused to accept Cain's offering and why Cain should rather have been displeased at himself than at his brother, shows him that though he was unjust in "not rightly distinguishing," that is, not rightly living and being unworthy to have his offering received, he was more unjust by far in hating his just brother without a cause.

• From The City of God

  But, as the earthly city has had some philosophers whose doctrine is condemned by the divine teaching, and who, being deceived either by their own conjectures or by demons, supposed that many gods must be invited to take an interest in human affairs, and assigned to each a separate function and a separate department,--to one the body, to another the soul; and in the body itself, to one the head, to another the neck, and each of the other members to one of the gods; and in like manner, in the soul, to one god the natural capacity was assigned, to another education, to another anger, to another lust; and so the various affairs of life were assigned,--cattle to one, corn to another, wine to another, oil to another, the woods to another, money to another, navigation to another, wars and victories to another, marriages to another, births and fecundity to another, and other things to other gods:and as the celestial city, on the other hand, knew that one God only was to be worshipped, and that to Him alone was due that service which the Greeks call latreia, and which can be given only to a god, it has come to pass that the two cities could not have common laws of religion, and that the heavenly city has been compelled in this matter to dissent, and to become obnoxious to those who think differently, and to stand the brunt of their anger and hatred and persecutions, except in so far as the minds of their enemies have been alarmed by the multitude of the Christians and quelled by the manifest protection of God accorded to them. This heavenly city, then, while it sojourns on earth, calls citizens out of all nations, and gathers together a society of pilgrims of all languages, not scrupling about diversities in the manners, laws, and institutions whereby earthly peace is secured and maintained, but recognizing that, however various these are, they all tend to one and the same end of earthly peace. It therefore is so far from rescinding and abolishing these diversities, that it even preserves and adopts them, so long only as no hindrance to the worship of the one supreme and true God is thus introduced. Even the heavenly city, therefore, while in its state of pilgrimage, avails itself of the peace of earth, and, so far as it can without injuring faith and godliness, desires and maintains a common agreement among men regarding the acquisition of the necessaries of life, and makes this earthly peace bear upon the peace of heaven; for this alone can be truly called and esteemed the peace of the reasonable creatures, consisting as it does in the perfectly ordered and harmonious enjoyment of God and of one another in God.

• From An Anomalous Jew: Paul Among Jews, Greeks, and Romans (2016)

  Such a claim orchestrates a challenge between two competing eschatologies: that between Rome and Israel’s God. While Paul’s gospel is euangelion for believers, it is dysangelion for Rome because Paul looks forward to the removal of all authorities at the return of Christ. In addition, Jesus is designated by God as the universal ruler, in striking counterpoint to the similar claims made for Roman emperors. The boundary marker of imperial fides, namely, the trustworthiness of the emperor, which is reciprocated with loyalty to him, is replaced by Paul with the faithfulness of God that is reciprocated with human faithfulness to Jesus Christ. Furthermore, Christ rather than Caesar ascends to rule a kingdom in heaven.”* Ian Rock situates Romans in the aftermath of the Claudius edict in 49 CE expelling the Jews from Rome. This was at a time when Claudius was presenting himself as the guardian of Rome’s ancient rituals and continued propagating the Aeneidian mythology of Rome as a divinely created military power. In Romans, Paul offers a subcultural response to the Aeneidian my- thology by reference to the kingship of David, the universal covenant with Abraham, the cosmic character of the law of Moses, the history of Israel as God's chosen people, and the articulation of Jesus as Messiah and Lord. Paul inscribes this letter, directly at points, with the Song of Moses (Deut 32), where nations like Rome are to be objects of God’s vengeance. Conse- quently, Paul’s Roman letter was critiquing Gentile Christians who attempted to shame and exclude the returning Jewish Christians from their exile after 57. Wright, “Paul’s Gospel and Caesar's Empire,” 161-62. 58. Ekkehard Stegemann, “Coexistence and Transformation: Reading the Politics of Iden- tity in Romans in an Imperial Context,’ in Reading Paul in Context: Explorations in Identity Formation, ed. K. Ehrensperger and B. J. Tucker (FS W. S. Campbell; LNTS 428, London: T&T Clark, 2010), 2-23. 219 AN ANOMALOUS JEW Claudius died (54 CE). For Paul, an affirmation of Jesus Christ requires an affirmation of the election of Israel and the primacy of the Jewish people in God’s purposes.” Stanley E. Porter describes the significance of the various public inscrip- tions around the Roman Empire that venerated the emperors and their achieve- ments as forming the background to Paul’s gospel ministry. He notes the near- ubiquitous number of inscriptions erected by a certain Paulus Fabius Maximus, who heralded an imperial gospel through these inscriptions about the good news of Caesar’s advent. In contrast, Porter sees Paul’s styling himself as the new erector of a new inscription to the true Lord, Jesus Christ.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  MY DEAR MADAM, “I have just had the honour of receiving your letter, for which I beg to return my sincere acknowledgments. I am much concerned to find there was anything in my behaviour last night that did not meet your approbation; and though I am quite at a loss to discover in what point I could be so unfortunate as to offend you, I entreat your forgiveness of what I can assure you to have been perfectly unintentional. I shall never reflect on my former acquaintance with your family in Devonshire without the most grateful pleasure, and flatter myself it will not be broken by any mistake or misapprehension of my actions. My esteem for your whole family is very sincere; but if I have been so unfortunate as to give rise to a belief of more than I felt, or meant to express, I shall reproach myself for not having been more guarded in my professions of that esteem. That I should ever have meant more you will allow to be impossible, when you understand that my affections have been long engaged elsewhere, and it will not be many weeks, I believe, before this engagement is fulfilled. It is with great regret that I obey your commands in returning the letters with which I have been honoured from you, and the lock of hair, which you so obligingly bestowed on me. “I am, dear Madam, “Your most obedient “humble servant, “JOHN WILLOUGHBY.” With what indignation such a letter as this must be read by Miss Dashwood, may be imagined. Though aware, before she began it, that it must bring a confession of his inconstancy, and confirm their separation for ever, she was not aware that such language could be suffered to announce it; nor could she have supposed Willoughby capable of departing so far from the appearance of every honourable and delicate feeling—so far from the common decorum of a gentleman, as to send a letter so impudently cruel: a letter which, instead of bringing with his desire of a release any professions of regret, acknowledged no breach of faith, denied all peculiar affection whatever—a letter of which every line was an insult, and which proclaimed its writer to be deep in hardened villainy. She paused over it for some time with indignant astonishment; then read it again and again; but every perusal only served to increase her abhorrence of the man, and so bitter were her feelings against him, that she dared not trust herself to speak, lest she might wound Marianne still deeper by treating their disengagement, not as a loss to her of any possible good but as an escape from the worst and most irremediable of all evils, a connection, for life, with an unprincipled man, as a deliverance the most real, a blessing the most important.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “Good heavens!” cried Elinor, “could it be—could Willoughby!”— “The first news that reached me of her,” he continued, “came in a letter from herself, last October. It was forwarded to me from Delaford, and I received it on the very morning of our intended party to Whitwell; and this was the reason of my leaving Barton so suddenly, which I am sure must at the time have appeared strange to every body, and which I believe gave offence to some. Little did Mr. Willoughby imagine, I suppose, when his looks censured me for incivility in breaking up the party, that I was called away to the relief of one whom he had made poor and miserable; but _had_ he known it, what would it have availed? Would he have been less gay or less happy in the smiles of your sister? No, he had already done that, which no man who _can_ feel for another would do. He had left the girl whose youth and innocence he had seduced, in a situation of the utmost distress, with no creditable home, no help, no friends, ignorant of his address! He had left her, promising to return; he neither returned, nor wrote, nor relieved her.” “This is beyond every thing!” exclaimed Elinor.

• From An Anomalous Jew: Paul Among Jews, Greeks, and Romans (2016)

  It forced Paul 71. For what follows, see Michael F. Bird, The Saving Righteousness of God: Studies on Paul, Justification, and the New Perspective (PBM; Milton Keynes, UK: Paternoster, 2006), 119-36. 94 Paul: Apostle to the Gentiles and Jews? to split from the Antiochene church, to pursue mostly Gentile converts in his ensuing ministry, and to socially separate his Gentile-believing majority assemblies from Jewish communities. On coming to Antioch, Peter (Cephas) initially engaged in table fellowship with Christ-believing Gentiles, but then, at the arrival of “certain men from James” and in fear of “those of the circumci- sion,’ he withdrew and separated himself. The Antioch incident has been vary- ingly understood. My take on the episode is that nationalistic fervor ferment- ing in Judea in the 4os forced James to send a delegation to Antioch to urge Jews there to avoid excessively fraternizing with Gentiles unless the Gentiles were circumcised. Taking this position would enable Jewish Christ-believers in Jerusalem to escape persecution from Judean groups.’”” The other thing we must consider is whether the Christ-believing fellowship in Antioch was already separate from the local synagogues of Antioch. These mixed Christ- believing groups may well have been an intra-Jewish entity that still functioned as a small chapter within a wider Jewish association. That would explain the presence of “those of the circumcision” who comprised Christ-believing Jews and non-Christ-believing Jews who were still committed to the soteric and social function of circumcision and the Jewish way of life. This “circumcision” group within Antioch was alarmed at Jews eating with non-Jews so brazenly. Paul's response to Cephas was that the Jewish Christ-believers had chosen purity over unity and were proposing a view of “equal but separate, unless circumcised.”’* Paul saw this position as a compromise of what the Antiochene church and its daughter churches stood for, and he parted ways with Peter, Barnabas, and Antioch. (Ifhe had won the debate, I suspect that he would have said so in Gal 2). Paul belonged to the old Antioch school and was determined to continue his ministry in such a way that did not require Gentiles to become Jews either for salvation or as a condition of full eucharistic fellowship. In the rest of his apostolic career he remained committed to ensuring the equality of 72. On anti-Gentile sentiment, see 1 Thess 2:15-16; the persecution of Christians described in Gal 6:12 may be due to reports of Christians outside of Judea consorting with non-Jews. This pool of Judean nationalism was created by the fiasco over Caligula’s attempt to place a statue of himself in the Jerusalem temple. Herod Agrippa’ reign over a united kingdom (41-44 CE) may have aroused certain hopes of a powerful Eastern monarchy. The following procurators were often incompetent or harsh. Cuspius Fadus (44-46 CE) demanded that the priestly vestments be returned to Roman custody and confronted a sedition under Theudas (Josephus, Ant.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  forth, breathe, μένεα πνείοντες breathing spirit, as epith. of warriors, 1]. 2. 536., 3. 8., 11. 508, etc.; so, πῦρ, φλόγα mv. Hes. Th. 319, Pind. Fr. 112; φόνον δόμοι πνέουσιν Aesch, Ag. 1309; κότον πνέων Id. Cho. 34, cf. 952; φρενὸς πνέων τροπαίαν Id. Ag. 219; “Apy πνεόντων Ib. 376; πνέων χάριν τινι Ib, 1209; πῦρ πνεόντων .. ἄστρων Soph. Ant. 1146 ; πῦρ καὶ φόνον my. Eur. 1, T. 288; ὠδῖνας Id. H. F. 862; mv. ἔρωτα (as Horace spirabat amores) Anth. P. 2.170; so in mock tragic passages of Com. Poets, πνέοντας δόρυ καὶ λόγχας Ar. Ran. 1016; τρέχει τις ᾿Αλφειὸν πνέων, of a swift runner, Id. Av. 1121, etc. ; and in a rhetorical passage, οἱ πῦρ πνέοντες, οἱ νενικηκότες Λακεδαιμονίους Xen. Hell. 7. 5, 12- 2. μέγα πνεῖν to be of a high spirit, give oneself airs, Lat. magnum spirare, Eur. Andr. 189; τόσονδ᾽ ἔπνευσας Ib. 327; Keved mvevoats Pind. O. Io (11). 111; χαμηλὰ πνέων Id. Ῥ. 11. 46:—also absol., ὑπὲρ σακέων πνείοντες breathing over their shields, i. 6. unable to repress their rage for war, like Statius’ aximus ultra thoracas anhelus, Hes. Sc. 243 so, Opaceia πνέων καρδίᾳ Pind. P. Io. 69 :—also, with a nom., as if it were the wind, μέγας πνέων Eur. Rhes. 323; πολὺς ἔπνει καὶ λαμπρὸς ἦν Dem, 787. 20; οὗτος .. καικίας ἢ συκοφαντίας πνεῖ Ar. Eq. 4327; ᾧ σὺ μὴ πνεύσῃς ἐνδέξιος on whom thou breathest not favourably, Call. Ep. 9. 3. πνιγᾶλίων, wos, 6, the nightmare, Lat. incubus, from the sense of throtiling which attends it, Themiso ap. Paul. Aeg. 3.15; cf. ἐφιάλτης. TVLYETOS, οὔ, ὃ, = πνῖγος, Ptol., Hesych. πνϊγεύς, έως, ὃ, (πνίγω) an oven, heated by hot coals put inside it, like our brick ovens, Ar. Nub. 96, Av. rool, Arist. de Juv. 5, 5: generally, a cover, Id.P. A. 2. 8, 5. ΤΙ. a hydraulic instrument in which air is pent up, Math. Vett. 171. III. a muzzle for horses, Ar. Fr. 137, Com. Anon. 77. πνῖγηρός, 4, ov, (πνίγω) choking, stifling, whether by throttling or heat, Ar. Ran, 122, where there is a play on this double sense; mv. καλύβαι Thuc. 2.52, cf. Hipp. Aer. 280, 294 ; σκηνώματα Plut. Pericl. 34 ; νύκτες Arist. Probl. 25.16; ὥρα Dion. H. 8. 89. πνιγίζω, -- πνίγω, Anth. P. 12.222. mvtyttis, (sc. γῆ) #7, a sort of clay, Diosc. 5. 177, Plin. 35. 56. πνῖγμα, τό, (πνίγω) a choking, ἄσθμα καὶ mv. Hipp. 1217 D; εἰς π. ἔχειν to have fast by the throat, Cephisodot. ap. Arist. Rhet. 3. Io, 7. πνιγμονή, 77,=sq., Hdn. Epim. 111. πνιγμός, 6, (πνίγω) a choking or being choked, a choking-fit, suffoca- tion, Hipp. Coac. 125, Arist. H. A. 3. 3, 19, P. A. 3. 3, 6; of weeds, παρ- έχει πνιγμὸν αὐτῷ [τῷ σίτῳ] Xen. Occ. 17, 12. 2. stifling heat, Hipp. Vet. Med. 14. 3. a stewing, Theophr. Ign. 24. πνιγμώδη, es, (εἶδος) choking, Bn€ Hipp. 1217 Ὁ.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  μαργάρίτης [7], ov, 6, a pearl, Theophr. Lap. 36, Ael. N. A. 10. 133 2,032.5 UL θεοῦ ἀνάγκαι ΤΙ. 921 also μαργαρῖτις λίθος, Androsth. ap. Ath. 923 Β; or μαργαρῖτις alone, Isid. ib. E; and popyapis λίθος or papyapis alone, Philostr, 137, Heliod. 2. 30 Ἐν ROPE: χερσαῖος was a precious stone, of unknown kind, Arr. Ind. 8, Ael, N. A. 15. 8. II. a plant so called in Egypt, Arist. Plant. 1. 41 (Borrowed from the Pers. murwart.) μαργᾶριτο- φόρος, ov, pearl-bearing, Orig. 3. p. 450. μαργᾶρο- γονία, ἡ, the production of pearls, Tzetz. μάργᾶρον, τό, Ξ- μαργαρίτης, Anacreont, 22. 14, Ο. 1. 8695. 4. papyapos, ὁ and ἡ, the pearl-oyster, Ael.N. A. 15.8, Tzetz. μαργᾶρώδης, ες, (εἶδος) pearl-like, Theodor. Stud. 172 C. μαργάω, (udpyos) like μαργαίνω, only used in part. μαργῶν raging, esp. in battle, Aesch. Theb. 380; of μαργῶντες Soph. Fr. 722; φόνου μαργῶντος Eur. H.F, 1005; μαργῶσαν χέρα Id. Hec. 1128; [immor] μαργῶσαι τὴν φρένα Id. Hipp. 1230; μαργῶσα γνάθος greedy teeth, Aesch. Fr. 251; c. inf., μ. ἱέναι δόρυ madly eager to... , Eur. Phoen. 1247. μαργέλλια, τά, a kind of palm-tree, or its fruit, perhaps the cocoa-nut (in Skt. xdrikéla, Pers. nargel), Cosmas Indicopl. c. 9, with v.1. ap- γέλλια :—Plin. calls the trees μαργηλίδες. μαργέλλιον, τό, = μαργαρίτης, Byz. μαργήεις, εσσα, ev,=papyos, poét. word in Hesych. papynAts, dos, ἡ, a pearl, Philostr. 700 :—cf. μαργέλλια. μάργηξς or μαργῇϑ (contr. from papynes), = μάργος, Suid. Mapytrns [1], ov, 6, (uapyos) Margites, i. e. a mad silly fellow, hero of a mock-heroic poem of the same name, ascribed to Homer :—cf. the Germ. Tyll Eulenspiegel. Arist., Poét. 4, 10, has preserved four lines of this poem,—usu. printed with the Homeric Fragments at the end of the Od. All known about it is collected by Falbe de Margite Homerico, 1798. μαργόομαι, Pass., -- μαργαίνω, μαργάω, Pind.N.9. 46, Aesch, Supp. 758. μάργος, 7, ov, also os, oy (Aesch. Eum. 67) :—poét. Adj. (used once by Plat.), raging mad, Lat. Suriosus, μάργε, madman! Od. τό. 421; μαῖα φίλη, μάργην σε θεοὶ θέσαν 23.11; so in Pind. O. 2. 175, etc. ; θυμὸς μ. Theogn. 1301; λύσσης πνεύματι μάργῳ Aesch. Pr. 884; ; τάσδε τὰς μάργους, of the Furies, Id. Eum. 67; μάργαι ἡδοναί Plat. Legg. 792E:—of horses, rampant, furious, μάργων ἐπιβήτορες ἵ ἵππων Ep.Hom. 4.4, cf. Aesch. Theb. 745; of wine, μάργος δέ οἱ ἔπλετο οἶνος Hes. Fr. 43. 2. of appetite, greedy, gluttonous, μετὰ δ᾽ ἔπρεπε γαστέρι μάργῃ Od. 18.2; τὸ μ. τῆς γνάθου Eur. Cycl. 310:—metaph., οἴδματι μάργῳ Emped. 349; μάργοις φλὸξ ἐδαίνυτο γνάθοις Phryn. Trag. ap. Schol. Lyc. 433. 3. lewd, lustful, Theogn. 581, Aesch. Supp. 741, Eur. El. 1027, etc. papyoovvy, 7,=sq., Anacr. 87, Theogn, 1271. μαργότηξ, ητος, 7, (uapyos) raging passion, madness, Soph. Fr. 726. 2. gluttony, Plat. Tim. 72 E. 3. lewdness, lust, Eur. Andr. 949.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  λοιδορέω, fut. yaw, Dem. 1022. 20: aor. ἐλοιδόρησα Eur., etc.: pf. λελοιδόρηκα Plat. Phaedr. 241 E:—Med. and Pass. (v. infr.): fut. πήσομαι Ar. Eq. 1400, etc.: aor. ἐλοιδορησάμην Isae. 62. 15, etc.; Att. more commonly ἐλοιδορήθην Dem. 124. 1., 1257. 24 (v. infr.): (Aotdopos). To abuse, revile, τινα Hdt. 3.145; θεούς Pind. O. 9. 56; and often in Att.; also absol., Eur, Med. 873, etc.; sometimes, simply, λογοσκόπος --- λοισθήιος. to rebuke, Xen. Cyr. 1. 4, 9, Hell. 5. 4, 29; A. τινα εἴς τι Ar. Eq. go, Plut. 2.175 B; also with neut. Adj., ἐμαυτὸν πολλ᾽ ἐλοιδόρησα Eur. Hel. 1171; οὐδὲν οὐδένα X, Plat. Theaet. 174 C; A. ἔνια Arist. Eth. N. 4. 8, g; with a predicate added, τὴν τύχην A. τυφλήν to reproach fortune as blind, Plut. 2. 98 A:—Med. to rail at one another, Ar. Ran. 857, Antipho 115. 19, Dem, 1263. 22 :—Pass., λοιδοροῦντας καὶ λοιδο- ρουμένους reviling and reviled, Isocr. 24 B; λελοιδορημένος ὑπὸ... Xen. Hell. 5. 4, 29; οὐκ ἐν δίκῃ λοιδορηθείς Plat. Phaedr. 275 E, cf. Gorg. 457 D. II. λοιδοροῦμαι is also used as Dep., in the same sense as the Act., except that λοιδορεῖν takes the object in the acc. (v. supr.), and λοιδορεῖσθαι in the dat., to rail at, τινι Ar. Eq. 1400, Pl. 456, Eccl. 248, Plat. Rep. 395 Ὁ, etc.; so, A. τινι ἐπί τινι Xen. Ages. 7,33; τινός Ach. Tat. 1. 6:—c. acc. cogn., πάντα τὰ αἰσχρὰ λοιδο- ρέονται, ὅτι .. they use all kind of foul reproaches, saying that .., Hdt. 4.1843; λοιδορίαν ἣν ἐλοιδορήθη Κρατίνῳ περὶ τούτων Dem. 558. 6.— The Act. never has a dat., except in late writers, as Epict. Enchir. 34 ; for in Andoc. 9. 33 (ἠναντιώθην καὶ ἀντεῖπον---καὶ ἐλοιδόρησα--- ἐκείνῳ ὧν ἣν ἄξιος) the dat. depends on the other verbs; as does the acc. in ods ὕβριζες καὶ ἐλοιδοροῦ Hyperid. in Dem. p. 45 Babington. Only the Act. is found in Trag. λοιδόρημα, τό, railing, abuse, an affront, Arist. Eth. N. 4. δ,.9; A. ποιεῖσθαί τινα Plut. 2. 607 A. λοιδορημάτιον, τό, Dim. of λοιδόρημα, Ar. Fr. 64. λοιδόρησιϑ. ews, ἡ, -- λοιδορία, Plat. Legg. 967 C. λοιδορησμός, od, ὁ, -- λοιδορία, ἐκ διαβολᾶς λοιδορησμός, λοιδορησμοῦ δ᾽ é« μάχα Epich. 122 Ahr., cf. Ar. Ran. 758. λοιδορητέον, verb. Adj. one must rail at, Twi Max. Tyr. 3. 3. λοιδορητικός, 7, dv, abusive, Arist. Eth. E. 2. 3, 12. λοιδορία, 7, (λοιδορέω), railing, abuse, reproach, Ar. Fr.126, Antipho 115.17, Thue. 2. 84, Plat., etc.; in pl., Lys. 162. 15. λοίδορος, ov, railing, abusive, Eur. Cycl. 534, Menand. Περινθ. 4 :— Ady. —pws, Strab. 661. 2. as Subst. a railer, Plut. 2.177 Ὁ :---τὸ λοίδορον -- λοιδορία, Arist. Physiogn. 4, 6, Plut. 2. 810D; λοίδορα εἰπεῖν Anth. P. 5.176. (Deriv. uncertain.) λοιμεύομαι (λοιμός), Dep. to be pestilent, LXX (Prov. 19. 19). λοίμη, ἡ, -- λοιμός, pestilence, Hesych. In Hipp. 28. 22, λοιμέης is f.1. for λοίμης or λύμης.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  θυμο-δᾶκής, ἐς, biting the heart, θυμ. yap μῦθος Od. 8. 185; ζήλου κέντρον Anth. P. 9. 77; ἴαμβοι Christod. Ecphr. 359; cf. δακέθυμος. θυμο-ειδής, és, high-spirited, courageous, Lat. animosus, opp. to ἀθυμος, Hipp. Aér. 288, Plat. Rep. 456 A; to ὀργίλος, Ib. 411 C; to βλαπκώδης, Xen. Eq. 9, 1. 2. passionate, hot-tempered, opp. to mpais, Plat. Rep. 375C: of horses, restive, wild, opp. to εὐπειθής, Xen. Mem, 4. 2, 25, Symp. 2.10. 8. in Plato’s philosophy, τὸ θυμοειδὲς was that part of the soul in which resided courage, spirit, passion, superior to TO ἐπιθυμητικόν (in which resided ¢he appetites), Rep. 410 B, 441 A, sq., cf. Diog. L. 3. 67, and ν. θυμός 11. 3. Adv. —8@s, Hdn. 4. 3. θύμόεις, coca, ev, thymy, Choeril.in Nake Opusc.159, cf.Suid.v. μᾶσσον. θυμο-κτόνος, ov, soul-hilling, Eccl. θυμο-λέαινα, ἡ, fem. of sq., Anth. P. 5. 300. θυμο-λέων, οντος, 6, lion-hearted, Coeur-de-lion, of Achilles, Il. 7. 228; of Ulysses, πόσιν ὥλεσα Oup. Od. 4. 724, 814; of Hercules, 11. 267, Hes, Th. 1007, cf. Ar. Ran. 1041. Qvpo-Atmns, és, (λείπω) = λιπόθυμος, Nonn. D. 37. 540. θυμό-μαντις, ews, 6, ἧ, prophesying from one’s own soul (without inspira- tion, like the θεόμαντις), Aesch. Pers. 224; cf. θυμόσοφος, ψυχόμαντι5, θῦμο-μᾶχέω, to fight desperately, Polyb. 9. 40, 4: to have a hot quarrel, ἐπί τινι Id. 27. 8, 43 πρός τινα Plut. Demetr. 22; τινι Act. Ap. 12. 20. θυμομᾶχία, 7, a desperate fight, Polyaen. 2.1, 19, Eccl. θύμον [Ὁ]. τό, Arist. H. A. 9. 40, 48, Probl. 20. 20, Theophr. H. P. 6. 2,33 pl. θύμα, Eupol. Avy. 1.5, Antiph. “Ow. 1. 4; gen. θύμων Ar. Pl. 283; also θύμος, τό, Diosc. 3. 44; θυμέων Anth. P. 9. 226 :—thyme, Lat. thymus. (From θύω, because of its sweet smell, or because it was first used to burn on the altar.) 2. a mixture of thyme with honey and vinegar, much eaten by the poor of Attica, Ar. Pl. 253; where others take it for a kind of onion (βολβός), cf. Ib. 283, Antiph. Incert. 2, Theophr. Char. 4, Hesych. θῦμ-οξ-άλμη, ἡ. a drink of thyme, vinegar and brine, Diosc. 5. 24. θῦμο-πληθής, és, wrathful, Aesch. Theb. 686; cf. γυναικοπληθής. θυμο-ρᾶϊστης, οὔ, 6, (paiw) life-destroying, θάνατος Il. 13. 544., 14. 414, 580; δηΐων ὑπὸ θυμοραϊστέων 16. 591., 18. 220. θύμος, τό, v. sub θύμον. θύμος, 6, a warty excrescence, so called from its likeness to a bunch of thyme-flower, Galen. ; also σῦκον. II. the thymus gland in the chest of young animals, in calves the sweetbread, Id.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  The steadiness of his manner, and the intelligence of his eye as he spoke, convincing Elinor, that whatever other unpardonable folly might bring him to Cleveland, he was not brought there by intoxication, she said, after a moment’s recollection, “Mr. Willoughby, you ought to feel, and I certainly do, that after what has passed, your coming here in this manner, and forcing yourself upon my notice, requires a very particular excuse. What is it, that you mean by it?” “I mean,” said he, with serious energy, “if I can, to make you hate me one degree less than you do now. I mean to offer some kind of explanation, some kind of apology, for the past; to open my whole heart to you, and by convincing you, that though I have been always a blockhead, I have not been always a rascal, to obtain something like forgiveness from Ma— from your sister.” “Is this the real reason of your coming?” “Upon my soul it is,”—was his answer, with a warmth which brought all the former Willoughby to her remembrance, and in spite of herself made her think him sincere. “If that is all, you may be satisfied already; for Marianne does, she has long forgiven you.” “Has she?” he cried, in the same eager tone. “Then she has forgiven me before she ought to have done it. But she shall forgive me again, and on more reasonable grounds. Now will you listen to me?” Elinor bowed her assent. “I do not know,” said he, after a pause of expectation on her side, and thoughtfulness on his own, “how you may have accounted for my behaviour to your sister, or what diabolical motive you may have imputed to me. Perhaps you will hardly think the better of me,—it is worth the trial however, and you shall hear every thing. When I first became intimate in your family, I had no other intention, no other view in the acquaintance than to pass my time pleasantly while I was obliged to remain in Devonshire, more pleasantly than I had ever done before. Your sister’s lovely person and interesting manners could not but please me; and her behaviour to me almost from the first, was of a kind—it is astonishing, when I reflect on what it was, and what she was, that my heart should have been so insensible! But at first I must confess, my vanity only was elevated by it. Careless of her happiness, thinking only of my own amusement, giving way to feelings which I had always been too much in the habit of indulging, I endeavoured, by every means in my power, to make myself pleasing to her, without any design of returning her affection.” Miss Dashwood, at this point, turning her eyes on him with the most angry contempt, stopped him, by saying,

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  The carriage was at the door ready to take my poor cousins away, and they were just stepping in as he came off; poor Lucy in such a condition, he says, she could hardly walk; and Nancy, she was almost as bad. I declare, I have no patience with your sister; and I hope, with all my heart, it will be a match in spite of her. Lord! what a taking poor Mr. Edward will be in when he hears of it! To have his love used so scornfully! for they say he is monstrous fond of her, as well he may. I should not wonder, if he was to be in the greatest passion!—and Mr. Donavan thinks just the same. He and I had a great deal of talk about it; and the best of all is, that he is gone back again to Harley Street, that he may be within call when Mrs. Ferrars is told of it, for she was sent for as soon as ever my cousins left the house, for your sister was sure _she_ would be in hysterics too; and so she may, for what I care. I have no pity for either of them. I have no notion of people’s making such a to-do about money and greatness. There is no reason on earth why Mr. Edward and Lucy should not marry; for I am sure Mrs. Ferrars may afford to do very well by her son, and though Lucy has next to nothing herself, she knows better than any body how to make the most of every thing; I dare say, if Mrs. Ferrars would only allow him five hundred a-year, she would make as good an appearance with it as any body else would with eight. Lord! how snug they might live in such another cottage as yours—or a little bigger—with two maids, and two men; and I believe I could help them to a housemaid, for my Betty has a sister out of place, that would fit them exactly.”

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “Well, let me make haste and be gone. Your sister is certainly better, certainly out of danger?” “We are assured of it.” “Your poor mother, too!—doting on Marianne.” “But the letter, Mr. Willoughby, your own letter; have you any thing to say about that?” “Yes, yes, _that_ in particular. Your sister wrote to me again, you know, the very next morning. You saw what she said. I was breakfasting at the Ellisons,—and her letter, with some others, was brought to me there from my lodgings. It happened to catch Sophia’s eye before it caught mine—and its size, the elegance of the paper, the hand-writing altogether, immediately gave her a suspicion. Some vague report had reached her before of my attachment to some young lady in Devonshire, and what had passed within her observation the preceding evening had marked who the young lady was, and made her more jealous than ever. Affecting that air of playfulness, therefore, which is delightful in a woman one loves, she opened the letter directly, and read its contents. She was well paid for her impudence. She read what made her wretched. Her wretchedness I could have borne, but her passion—her malice—At all events it must be appeased. And, in short—what do you think of my wife’s style of letter-writing?—delicate—tender—truly feminine—was it not?” “Your wife!—The letter was in your own hand-writing.” “Yes, but I had only the credit of servilely copying such sentences as I was ashamed to put my name to. The original was all her own—her own happy thoughts and gentle diction. But what could I do!—we were engaged, every thing in preparation, the day almost fixed—But I am talking like a fool. Preparation! Day! In honest words, her money was necessary to me, and in a situation like mine, any thing was to be done to prevent a rupture. And after all, what did it signify to my character in the opinion of Marianne and her friends, in what language my answer was couched? It must have been only to one end. My business was to declare myself a scoundrel, and whether I did it with a bow or a bluster was of little importance. ‘I am ruined for ever in their opinion,’ said I to myself: ‘I am shut out for ever from their society, they already think me an unprincipled fellow, this letter will only make them think me a blackguard one.’ Such were my reasonings, as, in a sort of desperate carelessness, I copied my wife’s words, and parted with the last relics of Marianne. Her three notes,—unluckily they were all in my pocketbook, or I should have denied their existence, and hoarded them for ever,—I was forced to put them up, and could not even kiss them. And the lock of hair—that too I had always carried about me in the same pocket-book, which was now searched by Madam with the most ingratiating virulence,—the dear lock,—all, every memento was torn from me.”

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  Mr. Dashwood’s strains were more solemn. Mrs. Ferrars was the most unfortunate of women—poor Fanny had suffered agonies of sensibility—and he considered the existence of each, under such a blow, with grateful wonder. Robert’s offence was unpardonable, but Lucy’s was infinitely worse. Neither of them were ever again to be mentioned to Mrs. Ferrars; and even, if she might hereafter be induced to forgive her son, his wife should never be acknowledged as her daughter, nor be permitted to appear in her presence. The secrecy with which everything had been carried on between them, was rationally treated as enormously heightening the crime, because, had any suspicion of it occurred to the others, proper measures would have been taken to prevent the marriage; and he called on Elinor to join with him in regretting that Lucy’s engagement with Edward had not rather been fulfilled, than that she should thus be the means of spreading misery farther in the family. He thus continued:— “Mrs. Ferrars has never yet mentioned Edward’s name, which does not surprise us; but, to our great astonishment, not a line has been received from him on the occasion. Perhaps, however, he is kept silent by his fear of offending, and I shall, therefore, give him a hint, by a line to Oxford, that his sister and I both think a letter of proper submission from him, addressed perhaps to Fanny, and by her shown to her mother, might not be taken amiss; for we all know the tenderness of Mrs. Ferrars’s heart, and that she wishes for nothing so much as to be on good terms with her children.” This paragraph was of some importance to the prospects and conduct of Edward. It determined him to attempt a reconciliation, though not exactly in the manner pointed out by their brother and sister. “A letter of proper submission!” repeated he; “would they have me beg my mother’s pardon for Robert’s ingratitude to _her_, and breach of honour to _me?_ I can make no submission. I am grown neither humble nor penitent by what has passed. I am grown very happy; but that would not interest. I know of no submission that _is_ proper for me to make.” “You may certainly ask to be forgiven,” said Elinor, “because you have offended;—and I should think you might _now_ venture so far as to profess some concern for having ever formed the engagement which drew on you your mother’s anger.” He agreed that he might. “And when she has forgiven you, perhaps a little humility may be convenient while acknowledging a second engagement, almost as imprudent in _her_ eyes as the first.”

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “What poor Mrs. Ferrars suffered, when first Fanny broke it to her, is not to be described. While she with the truest affection had been planning a most eligible connection for him, was it to be supposed that he could be all the time secretly engaged to another person!—such a suspicion could never have entered her head! If she suspected any prepossession elsewhere, it could not be in that quarter. ‘There, to be sure,’ said she, ‘I might have thought myself safe.’ She was quite in an agony. We consulted together, however, as to what should be done, and at last she determined to send for Edward. He came. But I am sorry to relate what ensued. All that Mrs. Ferrars could say to make him put an end to the engagement, assisted too as you may well suppose by my arguments, and Fanny’s entreaties, was of no avail. Duty, affection, every thing was disregarded. I never thought Edward so stubborn, so unfeeling before. His mother explained to him her liberal designs, in case of his marrying Miss Morton; told him she would settle on him the Norfolk estate, which, clear of land-tax, brings in a good thousand a-year; offered even, when matters grew desperate, to make it twelve hundred; and in opposition to this, if he still persisted in this low connection, represented to him the certain penury that must attend the match. His own two thousand pounds she protested should be his all; she would never see him again; and so far would she be from affording him the smallest assistance, that if he were to enter into any profession with a view of better support, she would do all in her power to prevent him advancing in it.” Here Marianne, in an ecstasy of indignation, clapped her hands together, and cried, “Gracious God! can this be possible!” “Well may you wonder, Marianne,” replied her brother, “at the obstinacy which could resist such arguments as these. Your exclamation is very natural.” Marianne was going to retort, but she remembered her promises, and forbore. “All this, however,” he continued, “was urged in vain. Edward said very little; but what he did say, was in the most determined manner. Nothing should prevail on him to give up his engagement. He would stand to it, cost him what it might.” “Then,” cried Mrs. Jennings with blunt sincerity, no longer able to be silent, “he has acted like an honest man! I beg your pardon, Mr. Dashwood, but if he had done otherwise, I should have thought him a rascal. I have some little concern in the business, as well as yourself, for Lucy Steele is my cousin, and I believe there is not a better kind of girl in the world, nor one who more deserves a good husband.” John Dashwood was greatly astonished; but his nature was calm, not open to provocation, and he never wished to offend anybody, especially anybody of good fortune. He therefore replied, without any resentment,

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “I have just had the honour of receiving your letter, for which I beg to return my sincere acknowledgments. I am much concerned to find there was anything in my behaviour last night that did not meet your approbation; and though I am quite at a loss to discover in what point I could be so unfortunate as to offend you, I entreat your forgiveness of what I can assure you to have been perfectly unintentional. I shall never reflect on my former acquaintance with your family in Devonshire without the most grateful pleasure, and flatter myself it will not be broken by any mistake or misapprehension of my actions. My esteem for your whole family is very sincere; but if I have been so unfortunate as to give rise to a belief of more than I felt, or meant to express, I shall reproach myself for not having been more guarded in my professions of that esteem. That I should ever have meant more you will allow to be impossible, when you understand that my affections have been long engaged elsewhere, and it will not be many weeks, I believe, before this engagement is fulfilled. It is with great regret that I obey your commands in returning the letters with which I have been honoured from you, and the lock of hair, which you so obligingly bestowed on me. “I am, dear Madam, “Your most obedient “humble servant, “JOHN WILLOUGHBY.” With what indignation such a letter as this must be read by Miss Dashwood, may be imagined. Though aware, before she began it, that it must bring a confession of his inconstancy, and confirm their separation for ever, she was not aware that such language could be suffered to announce it; nor could she have supposed Willoughby capable of departing so far from the appearance of every honourable and delicate feeling—so far from the common decorum of a gentleman, as to send a letter so impudently cruel: a letter which, instead of bringing with his desire of a release any professions of regret, acknowledged no breach of faith, denied all peculiar affection whatever—a letter of which every line was an insult, and which proclaimed its writer to be deep in hardened villainy. She paused over it for some time with indignant astonishment; then read it again and again; but every perusal only served to increase her abhorrence of the man, and so bitter were her feelings against him, that she dared not trust herself to speak, lest she might wound Marianne still deeper by treating their disengagement, not as a loss to her of any possible good but as an escape from the worst and most irremediable of all evils, a connection, for life, with an unprincipled man, as a deliverance the most real, a blessing the most important.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  “And he said, ‘You know how important national security is.’ And then he called out to one of the other security guys, and the two of them took hold of my elbows and steered me into a room that said ‘Official Business Only.’ I knew I was in trouble then.” “Did they search you all over?” “Let me tell you, ‘gangbang’ would be another word for it. I thought it was over, and then one guard, the less nice one, said to the other, ‘We’re going to have to call in the Pearloiner.’ And the nice one said, ‘No, let’s not.’ But then the Pearloiner came in. She was about forty-five, superpatriotic, big hair, big high heels, big patriotic tits, fake. And she goes, ‘I’m sorry, but we’ve determined that your clitoris is not a carry-on item.’ She’s like, ‘It’s swollen and oversized, and it’s over the weight limit, and it’s a security threat, and I’m going to have to remove it now.’ Then she clapped her hand to my crotch, and I felt this sharp painful tugging, and I saw my clit go into a tiny clear baggie, with a numbered label on it, and then a gloved man took the top off of a large jar.” “That’s just so sad and so wrong,” said Shandee. “Yeah, and since then I’ve only had three good comes,” said Zilka, “and they were all in my sleep. I used to come so big. I used to shout and kick, sometimes even fart if I was by myself and really bearing down. Now I can’t come at all. Nothing to rub against. I still think about sex a lot, though, and I still get incredibly turned on. It’s about as frustrating a situation as you can get.” “So what are you going to do?” said Shandee. “Well, a few months ago I was dancing at Carbon Fiber in Chicago, and this girl Cheyenne who’d also had her clit stolen at the same airport said she’d heard the Pearloiner had gotten in big trouble with the FBI, finally, for abuses of her authority, and that she’d gone AWOL and somehow managed to sneak over into the House of Holes, where she’d been making a nuisance of herself—stealing more clits, of course. So Cheyenne and I decided to track her, and that’s when I came here and met Lila, who said she’d help if she could. I worked the Penis Wash for a month—that was a kick. Now I’m a greeter.” Shandee was moved. “We must help you get your clit back,” she said, socking her fist. “You can’t just have that pleasure stolen from you. You have rights!” “Thanks,” said Zilka. “If you spot a woman with big hair and spike heels and a jar full of stolen clits, let me know. Precious baggage.” They were still for a moment, listening to the clink of plates from other tables. The warm wind sang in the gorse. “Thanks for telling me,” said Shandee.