Embarrassment

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 The Decameron (1353)

  The day come that he had appointed for the nuptials, Gualtieri towards half tierce mounted to horse, he and all those who were come to do him honour, and having ordered everything needful. 'Gentlemen,' quoth he, 'it is time to go fetch the bride.' Then, setting out with all his company, he rode to the village and betaking himself to the house of the girl's father, found her returning in great haste with water from the spring, so she might after go with other women to see Gualtieri's bride come. When the marquess saw her, he called her by name, to wit, Griselda, and asked her where her father was; to which she answered bashfully, 'My lord, he is within the house.' Thereupon Gualtieri dismounted and bidding all await him, entered the poor house alone, where he found her father, whose name was Giannucolo, and said to him, 'I am come to marry Griselda, but first I would fain know of her somewhat in thy presence.' Accordingly, he asked her if, an he took her to wife, she would still study to please him, nor take umbrage at aught that he should do or say, and if she would be obedient, and many other like things, to all of which she answered ay; whereupon Gualtieri, taking her by the hand, led her forth and in the presence of all his company and of every one else, let strip her naked. Then, sending for the garments which he had let make, he caused forthright clothe and shoe her and would have her set the crown on her hair, all tumbled as it was; after which, all marvelling at this, he said, 'Gentlemen, this is she who I purpose shall be my wife, an she will have me to husband.' Then, turning to her, where she stood, all shamefast and confounded, he said to her, 'Griselda, wilt thou have me to thy husband?' To which she answered, 'Ay, my lord.' Quoth he, 'And I will have thee to my wife'; and espoused her in the presence of all. Then, mounting her on a palfrey, he carried her, honourably accompanied, to his mansion, where the nuptials were celebrated with the utmost splendour and rejoicing, no otherwise than as he had taken to wife the king's daughter of France.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  ‘Oh, chuck it!” growled Roger, whose shin was still aching, * You know I want milk and four lumps of sugar.’ Violet’s underlip began to tremble, but she held her ground with unexpected firmness. ‘ May I give you a little more milk, Stephen dear? Or would you prefer no milk, only lemon?’ * There isn’t any lemon and you know it!’ bawled Roger. THRE WELL OF LONELINESS 51 “Here, give me my tea or PII spoil your hair ribbon.’ He grabbed at his cup and nearly upset it. ‘ Oh, oh!’ shrilled Violet, * My dress! ’ They settled down to the meal at last, but Stephen observed that Roger was watching; every mouthful she ate she could feel him watching, so that she grew self-conscious. She was hungry, not having eaten much luncheon, but now she could not enjoy her cake; Roger himself was stuffing like a grampus, but his eyes never left her face. Then Roger, the slow-witted in his dealings with Stephen, all but choked in the throes of a great inspiration. ‘Tsay, you,’ he began, with his mouth very full, ‘ what about a certain young lady out hunting? What about a fat leg on each side of her horse like a monkey on a stick, and everybody laughing! ’ ‘ They were not: ’ exclaimed Stephen, growing suddenly red. ‘ Oh, yes, but they were, though!’ mocked Roger. Now had Stephen been wise she would have let the thing drop, for no fun is derived from a one-sided contest, but at eight years old one is not always wise, and moreover her pride had been stung to the, quick. She said: ‘I’d like to see you get the brush; why you can’t stick on just riding round the paddock! I’ve seen you fall off jumping nothing but a hurdle; Id like to see you out hunting! ' Roger swallowed some more cake; there was now no great hurry; he had thrown his sprat and had landed his mackerel. He had very much feared that she might not be drawn — it was not always easy to draw Stephen. ‘ Well now, listen,’ he drawled, ‘ and PI tell you something. You thought they admired you squatting on your pony; you thought you were being very grand, I'll bet, with your new riding breeches and your black velvet cap; you thought they'd suppose that you looked like a boy, just because you were trying to be one. As a matter of fact, if you really want to know, they were busting their sides; why, my father said so. He was laughing all the time at your looking so funny on that rotten old pony 52 THE WELL OF LONELINESS that’s as fat as a porpoise. Why, he only gave you the brush for fun, because you were such a small kid — he said so. He said: “I gave Stephen Gordon the brush because I thought she might cry if I didn’t.” ?

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The day come that he had appointed for the nuptials, Gualtieri towards half tierce mounted to horse, he and all those who were come to do him honour, and having ordered everything needful. 'Gentlemen,' quoth he, 'it is time to go fetch the bride.' Then, setting out with all his company, he rode to the village and betaking himself to the house of the girl's father, found her returning in great haste with water from the spring, so she might after go with other women to see Gualtieri's bride come. When the marquess saw her, he called her by name, to wit, Griselda, and asked her where her father was; to which she answered bashfully, 'My lord, he is within the house.' Thereupon Gualtieri dismounted and bidding all await him, entered the poor house alone, where he found her father, whose name was Giannucolo, and said to him, 'I am come to marry Griselda, but first I would fain know of her somewhat in thy presence.' Accordingly, he asked her if, an he took her to wife, she would still study to please him, nor take umbrage at aught that he should do or say, and if she would be obedient, and many other like things, to all of which she answered ay; whereupon Gualtieri, taking her by the hand, led her forth and in the presence of all his company and of every one else, let strip her naked. Then, sending for the garments which he had let make, he caused forthright clothe and shoe her and would have her set the crown on her hair, all tumbled as it was; after which, all marvelling at this, he said, 'Gentlemen, this is she who I purpose shall be my wife, an she will have me to husband.' Then, turning to her, where she stood, all shamefast and confounded, he said to her, 'Griselda, wilt thou have me to thy husband?' To which she answered, 'Ay, my lord.' Quoth he, 'And I will have thee to my wife'; and espoused her in the presence of all. Then, mounting her on a palfrey, he carried her, honourably accompanied, to his mansion, where the nuptials were celebrated with the utmost splendour and rejoicing, no otherwise than as he had taken to wife the king's daughter of France.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  With other young girls she had nothing in common, while they, in their turn, found her irritating. She was shy to primness regarding certain subjects, and would actually blush if they hap- pened to be mentioned. This would strike her companions as queer and absurd — after all, between girls—surely every one knew that at times one ought not to get one’s feet wet, that one didn’t play games, not at certain times — there was nothing to make all this fuss about surely! To see Stephen Gordon’s expres- sion of horror if one so much as threw out a hint on the subject, was to feel that the thing must in some way be shameful, a kind of disgrace, a humiliation! And then she was odd about other things too; there were so many things that she didn’t like mentioned. In the end, they completely lost patience with her, and they left her alone with her fads and her fancies, disliking the check that her presence imposed, disliking to feel that they dare not allude to even the necessary functions of nature without being made to feel immodest. But at times Stephen hated her own isolation, and then she would make little awkward advances, while her eyes would grow rather apologetic, like the eyes of a dog who has been out of fa- vour. She would try to appear quite at ease with her companions, as she joined in their light-hearted conversation. Strolling up to a group of young girls at a party, she would grin as though their small jokes amused her, or else listen gravely while they talked about clothes or some popular actor who had visited Malvern. As long as they refrained from too intimate details, she would fondly 82 THE WELL OF LONELINESS imagine that her interest passed muster. There she would stand with her strong arms folded, and her face somewhat strained in an effort of attention. While despising these girls, she yet longed to be like them — yes, indeed, at such moments she longed to be like them. It would suddenly strike her that they seemed very happy, very sure of themselves as they gossiped together. There was something so secure in their feminine conclaves, a secure sense of oneness, of mutual understanding; each in turn understood the other’s ambitions. They might have their jealousies, their quarrels even, but always she discerned, underneath, that sense of oneness. Poor Stephen! She could never impose upon them; they al- ways saw through her as though she were a window. They knew well enough that she cared not so much as a jot about clothes and popular actors. Conversation would falter, then die down com- pletely, her presence would dry up their springs of inspiration. She spoilt things while trying to make herself agreeable; they really liked her better when she was grumpy.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The sun had begun to decline towards the evening, and the heat was in great part abated, when the stories of the young ladies and of the three young men came to an end; whereupon quoth the queen blithesomely, "Henceforth, dear companions, there remaineth nought more to do in the matter of my governance for the present day, save to give you a new queen, who shall, according to her judgment, order her life and ours, for that[72] which is to come, unto honest pleasance. And albeit the day may be held to endure from now until nightfall, yet,--for that whoso taketh not somewhat of time in advance cannot, meseemeth, so well provide for the future and in order that what the new queen shall deem needful for the morrow may be prepared,--methinketh the ensuing days should commence at this hour. Wherefore, in reverence of Him unto whom all things live and for our own solacement, Filomena, a right discreet damsel, shall, as queen, govern our kingdom for the coming day." So saying, she rose to her feet and putting off the laurel-wreath, set it reverently on the head of Filomena, whom first herself and after all the other ladies and the young men likewise saluted as queen, cheerfully submitting themselves to her governance. [Footnote 72: _i.e._ that day.] Filomena blushed somewhat to find herself invested with the queendom, but, calling to mind the words a little before spoken by Pampinea,[73]--in order that she might not appear witless, she resumed her assurance and in the first place confirmed all the offices given by Pampinea; then, having declared that they should abide whereas they were, she appointed that which was to do against the ensuing morning, as well as for that night's supper, and after proceeded to speak thus: [Footnote 73: See ante, p. 8.] "Dearest companions, albeit Pampinea, more of her courtesy than for any worth of mine, hath made me queen of you all, I am not therefore disposed to follow my judgment alone in the manner of our living, but yours together with mine; and that you may know that which meseemeth is to do and consequently at your pleasure add thereto or abate thereof, I purpose briefly to declare it to you.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  [Footnote 49: Lit. a pressure or oppression (_priemere_, hod. _premere_, to press or oppress, indicative used as a noun). The monk of course refers to the posture in which he had seen the abbot have to do with the girl, pretending to believe that he placed her on his own breast (instead of mounting on hers) out of a sentiment of humility and a desire to mortify his flesh _ipsâ in voluptate_.] THE FIFTH STORY [Day the First] THE MARCHIONESS OF MONFERRATO, WITH A DINNER OF HENS AND CERTAIN SPRIGHTLY WORDS, CURBETH THE EXTRAVAGANT PASSION OF THE KING OF FRANCE The story told by Dioneo at first pricked the hearts of the listening ladies with somewhat of shamefastness, whereof a modest redness appearing in their faces gave token; but after, looking one at other and being scarce able to keep their countenance, they listened, laughing in their sleeves. The end thereof being come, after they had gently chidden him, giving him to understand that such tales were not fit to be told among ladies, the queen, turning to Fiammetta, who sat next him on the grass, bade her follow on the ordinance. Accordingly, she began with a good grace and a cheerful countenance, "It hath occurred to my mind, fair my ladies,--at once because it pleaseth me that we have entered upon showing by stories how great is the efficacy of prompt and goodly answers and because, like as in men it is great good sense to seek still to love a lady of higher lineage than themselves,[50] so in women it is great discretion to know how to keep themselves from being taken with the love of men of greater condition than they,--to set forth to you, in the story which it falleth to me to tell, how both with deeds and words a noble lady guarded herself against this and diverted another therefrom. [Footnote 50: An evident allusion to Boccaccio's passion for the Princess Maria, _i.e._ Fiammetta herself.]

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  And so it went, until one unusually warm summer morning, when the ugly duckling crept out of her bed very early and slipped down to the pond in her nightdress. She told herself she only wanted to look at the pond, but behold, it was more beautiful than she had imagined it. She glanced around guiltily. Certainly no one would be around at this hour of the morning. She would just slip into the cool water for a moment and then go back to her cottage. Before she could stop herself, her nightgown was shed and she was in the water. The ugly duckling splashed the water all around her as she swam about happily. The water felt like silk on her skin. When she got tired of swimming she floated about, gazing up at the soft, hazy clouds that hovered in the blue summer sky. Occupied in this way, she completely forgot about the time. The ugly duckling was not aware of his approach until she heard the huge splash as he jumped in the water. She stood perfectly still, frozen in horror as she waited for him to surface. She dearly hoped he didn’t have his eyes open under the water, for she was ashamed to have him look at her body. And how on earth was she going to get out of the pond and put her nightgown back on? Finally his head and arms bounced up to the surface. There was a huge smile on his beautiful face. “I figured you for a natural girl, but I never dreamed you’d have the nerve,” he said cheerfully. So he had opened his eyes under the water! She was so horrified and embarrassed that tears came to her eyes. He was slowly swimming closer to her. She wanted to ask him to turn the other way so that she could get out of the water, but she was afraid of the sound she would make if she were to try and speak. He was still smiling as he approached her. She saw that he was holding something out to her and, numbly reaching out her hand, she realized they were his swimming trunks. “Now we’re even,” he said, laughing. She did not feel like she was in any respect “even” with the beautiful young man, however, and she merely stood there in awkward silence, holding his trunks in midair. He seemed then, at last, to sense her discomfort. Very slowly he took the trunks from her stiff fingers and threw them over to the shore. He was standing very close to her, and she imagined that he was thinking about how ugly she was, and even expected that he would laugh at or insult her in the next moment, but to her utter shock he slowly lowered his head and gently placed his lips on hers.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  What while he continued to pass back and forth, it chanced one holiday that, the lady being seated with many others before her door and espying Master Alberto making towards them from afar, they one and all took counsel together to entertain him and do him honour and after to rally him on that his passion. Accordingly, they all rose to receive him and inviting him [to enter,] carried him into a shady courtyard, whither they let bring the choicest of wines and sweetmeats and presently enquired of him, in very civil and pleasant terms, how it might be that he was fallen enamoured of that fair lady, knowing her to be loved of many handsome, young and sprightly gentlemen. The physician, finding himself thus courteously attacked, put on a blithe countenance and answered, 'Madam, that I love should be no marvel to any understanding person, and especially that I love yourself, for that you deserve it; and albeit old men are by operation of nature bereft of the vigour that behoveth unto amorous exercises, yet not for all that are they bereft of the will nor of the wit to apprehend that which is worthy to be loved; nay, this latter is naturally the better valued of them, inasmuch as they have more knowledge and experience than the young. As for the hope that moveth me, who am an old man, to love you who are courted of many young gallants, it is on this wise: I have been many a time where I have seen ladies lunch and eat lupins and leeks. Now, although in the leek no part is good, yet is the head[71] thereof less hurtful and more agreeable to the taste; but you ladies, moved by a perverse appetite, commonly hold the head in your hand and munch the leaves, which are not only naught, but of an ill savour. How know I, madam, but you do the like in the election of your lovers? In which case, I should be the one chosen of you and the others would be turned away.' [Footnote 71: _i.e._ the base or eatable part of the stem.] The gentlewoman and her companions were somewhat abashed and said, 'Doctor, you have right well and courteously chastised our presumptuous emprise; algates, your love is dear to me, as should be that of a man of worth and learning; wherefore, you may in all assurance command me, as your creature, of your every pleasure, saving only mine honour.' The physician, rising with his companions, thanked the lady and taking leave of her with laughter and merriment, departed thence. Thus the lady, looking not whom she rallied and thinking to discomfit another, was herself discomfited; wherefrom, an you be wise, you will diligently guard yourselves." * * * * *

• From The Ice Storm (1994)

  Swimming there like uncataloged water bugs were a dozen or more sets of house keys. They chimed agreeably as Dorothy shifted herself from one pump to the other, and their sundry key rings— a yellow slab of plastic with the word MOM embossed on it in red, a Caucasian troll doll with magenta hair, a miniature can of Löwenbraü beer—caught the light like flea-market prizes. Dorothy examined Ben and Elena—Ben could feel this. She watched their faces set the way a dentist searches for the repressed shudder of discomfort. —Strictly volunteer, of course. You can put your coats right in the library if you like. —Oh, damn, Elena said, smiling herself. Oh, I’ve left the— —You’ve— —In the car, Elena said. —Oh, yeah, Ben said. Yeah, we’ll be right back, Dot. Just as soon as the Hoods had arrived, they were gone. Cramped in the front seat of the Firebird, windshield fogged, defroster on high, in silence. Parked in the driveway. Surrounded by the wheels of the neighborhood—Cadillac Eldorados, BMW 2002s, and then an AMC Matador, a Plymouth Duster. Beetles, Beetles, and more Beetles, that design created with slave labor. Cars creeping into the Halfords’ turnaround and then thinking better of it, thinking better of getting stuck in the bad weather to come, creeping out through the slush and onto Valley Road to park up on the embankment. The low chortle of expensive engines idling lazily. A little history. The key party came into existence several years before, in a more freewheeling environment. This is one hypothesis. It came of age with hippie erotica and bohemian orgies in cramped apartments owned by poorly groomed professors. Or among the dangerously promiscuous, those who didn’t distinguish between the sexes or who slipped into the tepid waters of dimly lit love grottoes and swamps. But like so many reasonable ideas that seem less bright in the harsh illumination of general distribution, it was soon exported to this land of tidy shrubs and the Junior League. Maybe the key party first touched suburban ground on Long Island, on the bay side; it might have landed in New Jersey, in Bernardsville or Princeton; or it might have emerged in Westchester, or even as far north as the Boston suburbs. Or maybe even California, where lax-moraled filmmakers and artists lived contiguously with taxpayers and families. Whatever its true origin, or its distribution (its Poisson Distribution), west to east, south to north, it undeniably appeared in Fairfield County in the early seventies. The rules were appallingly simple.

• From Confessions of a Mask (1958)

  Leaving the two children sitting with us, the mother returned to her seat, while Sonoko and I again snatched a glance at each other. I took a notebook out of my breast pocket and, tearing out a sheet, wrote on it with a pencil : "Your mother is being careful!" "What's this?" said Sonoko, cocking her head coyly as I handed her the note. Her hair smelled like a child's. When she had finished reading the words on the piece of paper she blushed to the nape of her neck and cast her eyes down. "Isn't that right?" I said. "Oh, I—" Our eyes met again and we understood each other. I could feel that my cheeks also were bursting into flame. "Sister, what's that?" The smallest sister reached out her hand. In a flash Sonoko hid the piece of paper. The other sister was old enough to seem to understand the meaning behind our actions. She became quite angry and pouted. One could tell this from the exaggerated way she began scolding her small sister.Rather than dampening our spirits, this incident only made it all the easier for Sonoko and me to talk. She spoke about her school, some novels she had been reading, and about her brother. For my part, I soon carried the conversation to general matters, taking the first step in the art of seduction. As we kept talking together so familiarly, ignoring the two sisters, they soon returned to their original seats. They were obviously not very efficient spies, but the mother, again giving her troubled smile, immediately made them come back and sit with us. By the time we had all gotten settled at an inn in M City, near Kusano's unit, it was already time for bed. One room had been allotted to Mr. Ohba and me. When we were alone together Mr. Ohba began talking freely, without any attempt to disguise his opposition to further continuation of the war. Such antiwar views were already being whispered whenever people got together, even in the spring of 1945, and I was sick of hearing them. Mr. Ohba babbled on intolerably in his low voice, saying that the big ceramics company in which he had investments was already preparing for peace; that, under the pretext of repairing war damage, they were planning large-scale production of ceramic wares for household use; and that it seemed we were making peace offers through the Soviet Union. As for me, there was something I much more wanted to think about by myself. Finally the light was turned off and Mr. Ohba's face, which had looked strangely swollen without his glasses, disappeared into the shadows. His innocent sighs slowly pervaded all the bedding two or three times and then his deep breathing showed he was asleep. Feeling the fresh cover, which had been wrapped about the pillow, scratching against my flushed cheeks, I became lost in thought.

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  “Perhaps a kiss,” he suggested finally, after allowing her thoughts to wander a bit. […] And just how was she supposed to answer his question without sounding like she wanted him to kiss her? […] “I think the least-offensive place would be my foot,” she said at last, with an eager smile. […] “Your foot it is,” he replied without disappointment. He had expected no less of her. Besides, his suggestive question had had the desired effect. He had noticed her loss of composure, if only for a few moments.

• From Post Office (1971)

  6 I found that the only time to study was before sleeping. I was always too tired to make and eat breakfast, so I would go out and buy a tall six-pack, put it on the chair beside the bed, rip open a can, take a good pull and then open the scheme sheet. About the time I got to the third can of beer I had to drop the sheet. You could only inject so much. Then I’d drink the rest of the beer, sitting up in bed, staring at the walls. With the last can I’d be asleep. And when I awakened, there was just time to toilet, bathe, eat, and drive back on in. And you didn’t adjust, you simply got more and more tired. I always picked up my six-pack on the way in, and one morning I was really done. I climbed the stairway (there was no elevator) and put the key in. The door swung open. Somebody had changed all the furniture around, put in a new rug. No, the furniture was new too. There was a woman on the couch. She looked all right. Young. Good legs. Blonde. “Hello,” I said, “care for a beer?” “Hi!” she said. “All right, I’ll have one.” “I like the way this place is fixed up,” I told her. “I did it myself.” “But why?” “I just felt like it,” she said. We each drank at the beer. “You’re all right,” I said. I put my beercan down and gave her a kiss. I put my hand on one of her knees. It was a nice knee. Then I had another swallow of beer. “Yes,” I said, “I really like the way this place looks. It’s really going to lift my spirits.” “That’s nice. My husband likes it too.” “Now why would your husband ... What? Your husband? Look, what’s this apartment number?” “309.” “309? Great Christ! I’m on the wrong floor! I live in 409. My key opened your door.” “Sit down, sweetie,” she said. “No, no ...” I picked up the four remaining beers. “Why rush right off?” she asked. “Some men are crazy,” I said, moving toward the door. “What do you mean?” “I mean, some men are in love with their wives.” She laughed. “Don’t forget where I’m at.” I closed the door and walked up one more flight. Then I opened my door. There was nobody in there. The furniture was old and ripped, the rug almost colorless. Empty beercans on the floor. I was in the right place. I took off my clothes, climbed into bed alone and cracked another beer.

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  I glanced down at my trembling hands, and it was then that I noticed my dressing gown. It was completely sheer, from head to foot! The lantern I had lit only served to emphasize my nakedness beneath the cloth!

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  And in the midst of this, her entire body shuddered, time and again, exposing her pleasure in the performance. Finally the emperor’s excitement reached its peak, and the empress felt his warm wetness dripping down her legs. Even then, he still did not immediately release her, but remained inside her body, languid and self-possessed. A blush crept into her cheeks at the humiliating position she was obliged to maintain, for she had not been able to right herself since the loss of her balance, and still stood with her hands and feet on the floor, and her body bent awkwardly at the waist. Thus situated, all she could do was wait for the emperor’s direction with a burning face, but even so, she still could not look away from the men and women who continued to stare at her. And in spite of her embarrassment, she could feel the tantalizing sensations building up inside of her all over again! But at last the emperor waved the servants away. They, too, were reluctant to look away and, as they slowly walked out of the theater, they repeatedly turned their heads back for one last look. Alone with his wife, the emperor at long last relieved her of her post and gently took her into his warm embrace. “You liked that, didn’t you?” he asked, after watching her face for a moment. She assented with a shy blush, still too embarrassed to admit just how much she had liked it. “I am glad, for you are scheduled to repeat the performance next week—this time for an audience of royals.” The empress pulled away from her husband and stared at him incredulously. She was still too overcome to speak, but it was beginning to dawn on her that, if what they had done ever got out, it would mean her certain ruin. It was, of course, reasonably possible that she could persuade the servants to keep quiet, but royals…? The emperor knew her thoughts and laughed teasingly. “Did I forget to tell you, my love? The crystal panels in our little theater box are magical. All who look into the theater box come under a spell which causes them to forget everything they see. Only those peering out through the panels from the inside maintain their memory.” He gave her a big smile of self-satisfaction. “So you see, my dear, each and every time anyone comes to this theater, they will be as shocked and amazed and delighted by your performance as if it were the first time they were seeing it!” “Do you mean to say that the servants will not remember what they just saw?” she cried. She could not contain her joy and began clapping her hands together excitedly. “Do you like your new theater, empress?” her husband asked her, laughing. “Oh, yes!” she replied happily.

• From Confessions of a Mask (1958)

  Leaving the two children sitting with us, the mother returned to her seat, while Sonoko and I again snatched a glance at each other. I took a notebook out of my breast pocket and, tearing out a sheet, wrote on it with a pencil : "Your mother is being careful!" "What's this?" said Sonoko, cocking her head coyly as I handed her the note. Her hair smelled like a child's. When she had finished reading the words on the piece of paper she blushed to the nape of her neck and cast her eyes down. "Isn't that right?" I said. "Oh, I—" Our eyes met again and we understood each other. I could feel that my cheeks also were bursting into flame. "Sister, what's that?" The smallest sister reached out her hand. In a flash Sonoko hid the piece of paper. The other sister was old enough to seem to understand the meaning behind our actions. She became quite angry and pouted. One could tell this from the exaggerated way she began scolding her small sister.Rather than dampening our spirits, this incident only made it all the easier for Sonoko and me to talk. She spoke about her school, some novels she had been reading, and about her brother. For my part, I soon carried the conversation to general matters, taking the first step in the art of seduction. As we kept talking together so familiarly, ignoring the two sisters, they soon returned to their original seats. They were obviously not very efficient spies, but the mother, again giving her troubled smile, immediately made them come back and sit with us. By the time we had all gotten settled at an inn in M City, near Kusano's unit, it was already time for bed. One room had been allotted to Mr. Ohba and me. When we were alone together Mr. Ohba began talking freely, without any attempt to disguise his opposition to further continuation of the war. Such antiwar views were already being whispered whenever people got together, even in the spring of 1945, and I was sick of hearing them. Mr. Ohba babbled on intolerably in his low voice, saying that the big ceramics company in which he had investments was already preparing for peace; that, under the pretext of repairing war damage, they were planning large-scale production of ceramic wares for household use; and that it seemed we were making peace offers through the Soviet Union. As for me, there was something I much more wanted to think about by myself. Finally the light was turned off and Mr. Ohba's face, which had looked strangely swollen without his glasses, disappeared into the shadows. His innocent sighs slowly pervaded all the bedding two or three times and then his deep breathing showed he was asleep. Feeling the fresh cover, which had been wrapped about the pillow, scratching against my flushed cheeks, I became lost in thought.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  It now rested only with the king to tell and he accordingly, as soon as he saw the ladies quieted, who lamented the cutting down of the unoffending pear-tree, began, "It is a very manifest thing that every just king should be the first to observe the laws made by him, and an he do otherwise, he must be adjudged a slave deserving of punishment and not a king, into which offence and under which reproach I, who am your king, am in a manner constrained to fall. True it is that yesterday I laid down the law for to-day's discourses, purposing not this day to make use of my privilege, but, submitting myself to the same obligation as you, to discourse of that whereof you have all discoursed. However, not only hath that story been told which I had thought to tell, but so many other and far finer things have been said upon the matter that, for my part, ransack my memory as I will, I can call nothing to mind and must avouch myself unable to say aught anent such a subject that may compare with those stories which have already been told. Wherefore, it behoving me transgress against the law made by myself, I declare myself in advance ready, as one deserving of punishment, to submit to any forfeit which may be imposed on me, and so have recourse to my wonted privilege. Accordingly, dearest ladies, I say that Elisa's story of Fra Rinaldo and his gossip and eke the simplicity of the Siennese have such efficacy that they induce me, letting be the cheats put upon foolish husbands by their wily wives, to tell you a slight story of them,[357] which though it have in it no little of that which must not be believed, will natheless in part, at least, be pleasing to hear. [Footnote 357: _i.e._ the Siennese.]

• From Under the Banner of Heaven (2003)

  the role. For the two decades after he returned from his mission, he made certain he was available whenever his mother or his brothers and sisters needed him. By mid-1982 it was apparent to Dianna that several of Ron’s siblings were in acute need of some brotherly guidance. In August of that year she became aware that four of the other five Lafferty wives were being made miserable by the fundamentalist strictures that Dan had been urging his brothers to adopt, so Dianna pleaded with Ron to have a talk with Dan and his other brothers to “straighten them out.” Ron agreed to pay them a visit. One evening when his five brothers were meeting at their parents’ Provo home to discuss religion and politics, Ron stopped by to join in the discourse— the first time he had ever attended one of these gatherings. His brothers welcomed him warmly, even when he began to read from an essay published by the LDS Church warning of the evils of fundamentalism and admonishing all Saints to obey the teachings of the church’s president and prophet, Spencer W. Kimball. As the evening progressed, Ron asked increasingly pointed questions about Dan’s new beliefs, and he tried as hard as he could to persuade his younger brothers that Dan’s nutty ideas were putting their eternal souls in grave jeopardy. “Ron was embarrassed by me,” Dan remembers. “He was a devout Saint, and he said I was an embarrassment to the Mormon Church. He told me, ‘There’s no place in this church for extremes!’ ” Conceding nothing, Dan fired back, “Well, how about extremely good? All I’m trying to do is be extremely good!” Dan argued with great passion that the LDS Church had taken a wrong turn when it had abandoned polygamy, and that the only way to put it back on a true course was to adopt the sacred tenets advanced in The Peace Maker. Ron tried to refute Dan’s arguments, point by point, by quoting scripture from the Bible and The Book of Mormon. Dan countered with points of his own drawn from the same texts, as well as from the Constitution. “Ron wasn’t at that meeting too awfully long,” as Dan remembers it, “before he stopped trying to convince us we were wrong. ‘What you guys are doing is right,’ he admitted. ‘It’s everyone else who is wrong.’ ” In the space of a few hours, Dan had converted Ron from a dutiful Saint into a fire-breathing Mormon Fundamentalist. Dianna told her friend Penelope Weiss that when Ron returned home late that night, “A totally different man walked in the door.”

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  At Violet’s request they were left alone for tea; she liked playing the hostess, and her mother spoilt her. A special small teapot had had to be unearthed, in order that Violet could lift it. ‘Sugar?’ she inquired with tongs poised in mid air, ‘And milk?’ she added, imitating her mother. Mrs. Antrim always said: ‘And milk,’ in that tone—it made you feel that you must be rather greedy. ‘Oh, chuck it!’ growled Roger, whose shin was still aching, ‘You know I want milk and four lumps of sugar.’ Violet’s underlip began to tremble, but she held her ground with unexpected firmness. ‘May I give you a little more milk, Stephen dear? Or would you prefer no milk, only lemon?’ ‘There isn’t any lemon and you know it!’ bawled Roger. ‘Here, give me my tea or I’ll spoil your hair ribbon.’ He grabbed at his cup and nearly upset it. ‘Oh, oh!’ shrilled Violet, ‘My dress!’ They settled down to the meal at last, but Stephen observed that Roger was watching; every mouthful she ate she could feel him watching, so that she grew self-conscious. She was hungry, not having eaten much luncheon, but now she could not enjoy her cake; Roger himself was stuffing like a grampus, but his eyes never left her face. Then Roger, the slow-witted in his dealings with Stephen, all but choked in the throes of a great inspiration. ‘I say, you,’ he began, with his mouth very full, ‘what about a certain young lady out hunting? What about a fat leg on each side of her horse like a monkey on a stick, and everybody laughing!’ ‘They were not!’ exclaimed Stephen, growing suddenly red. ‘Oh, yes, but they were, though!’ mocked Roger. Now had Stephen been wise she would have let the thing drop, for no fun is derived from a one-sided contest, but at eight years old one is not always wise, and moreover her pride had been stung to the quick. She said: ‘I’d like to see you get the brush; why you can’t stick on just riding round the paddock! I’ve seen you fall off jumping nothing but a hurdle; I’d like to see you out hunting!’ Roger swallowed some more cake; there was now no great hurry; he had thrown his sprat and had landed his mackerel. He had very much feared that she might not be drawn—it was not always easy to draw Stephen. ‘Well now, listen,’ he drawled, ‘and I’ll tell you something.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  I had with great care thought out one which would consist of a very few sentences. But I could not proceed beyond the first sentence. I had read of Addison that he began his maiden speech in the House of Commons, repeating ‘I conceive’ three times, and when he could proceed no further, a wag stood up and said, ‘The gentleman conceived thrice but brought forth nothing.’ I had thought of making a humorous speech taking this anecdote as the text. I therefore began with it and stuck there. My memory entirely failed me and in attempting a humorous for having kindly responded to my invitation,’ I said abruptly, and sat down. It was only in South Africa that I got over this shyness, though I never completely overcame it. It was impossible for me to speak impromptu. I hesitated whenever I had to face strange audiences and avoided making a speech whenever I could. Even today I do not think I could or would even be inclined to keep a meeting of friends engaged in idle talk. I must say that, beyond occasionally exposing me to laughter, my constitutional shyness has been no disadvantage whatever. In fact I can see that, on the contrary, it has been all to my advantage. My hesitancy in speech, which was once an annoyance, is now a pleasure. Its greatest benefit has been that it has taught me the economy of words. I have naturally formed the habit of restraining my thoughts. And I can now give myself the certificate that a thoughtless word hardly ever escapes my tongue or pen. I do not recollect ever having had to regret anything in my speech or writing. I have thus been spared many a mishap and waste of time. Experience has taught me that silence is part of the spiritual discipline of a votary of truth. Proneness to exaggerate, to suppress or modify the truth, wittingly or unwittingly, is a natural weakness of man and silence is necessary in order to surmount it. A man of few words will rarely be thoughtless in his speech; he will measure every word. We find so many people impatient to talk. There is no chairman of a meeting who is not pestered with notes for permission to speak. And whenever the permission is given the speaker generally exceeds the time-limit, asks for more time, and keeps on talking without permission. All this talking can hardly be said to be of my benefit to the world. It is so much waste of time. My shyness has been in reality my shield and buckler. It has allowed me to grow. It has helped me in my discernment of truth. 21THE CANKER OF UNTRUTHThere were comparatively few Indian students in England forty years ago. It was a practice with them to affect the bachelor even though they might be married. School or college students in England are all bachelors, studies being regarded as incompatible with married life.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  I began to realize more and more the infinite possibilities of universal love. About the same time I came in contact with another Christian family. At their suggestion I attended the Wesleyan church every Sunday. For these days I also had their standing invitation to dinner. The church did not make a favourable impression on me. The sermons seemed to be uninspiring. The congregation did not strike me as being particularly religious. They were not an assembly of devout souls; they appeared rather to be worldly-minded people, going to church for recreation and in conformity to custom. Here, at times, I would involuntarily doze. I was ashamed, but some of my neighbours, who were in no better case, lightened the shame. I could not go on long like this, and soon gave up attending the service. My connection with the family I used to visit every Sunday was abruptly broken. In fact it may be said that I was warned to visit it no more. It happened thus. My hostess was a good and simple woman, but somewhat narrow-minded. We always discussed religious subjects. I was then re- reading Arnold’s Light of Asia. Once we began to compare the life of Jesus with that of Buddha. ‘Look at Gautama’s compassion!’ said I. ‘It was not confined to mankind, it was extended to all living beings. Does not one’s heart overflow with love to think of the lamb joyously perched on his shoulders? One fails to notice this love for all living beings in the life of Jesus.’ The comparison pained the good lady. I could understand her feelings. I cut the matter short, and we went to the dining room. Her son, a cherub aged scarcely five, was also with us. I am happiest when in the midst of children, and this youngster and I had long been friends. I spoke derisively of the piece of meat on his plate and in high praise of the apple on mine. The innocent boy was carried away and joined in my praise of the fruit. But the mother? she was dismayed. I was warned. I checked myself and changed the subject. The following week I visited the family as usual, but not without trepidation. I did not see that I should stop going there, I did not think it proper either. But the good lady made my way easy. ‘Mr. Gandhi,’ she said, ‘please don’t take it ill if I feel obliged to tell you that my boy is none the better for your company. Every day he hesitates to eat meat and asks for fruit, reminding me of your argument. This is too much. If he gives up meat, he is bound to get weak, if not ill. How could I bear it? Your discussion should henceforth be only with us elders. They are sure to react badly on children.’ ‘Mrs—,’ I replied, ‘I am sorry. I can understand your feelings as a parent, for I too have children.