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~::五英雄微变传奇私服|Jimena Carranza::~

~::五英雄微变传奇私服|Jimena Carranza::~

                                                          • James Bond lay in the five-hundred-yard firing point of the famous Century Range at Bisley. The white peg in the grass beside him said 44, and the same number was repeated high up on the distant butt above the single six-feet-square target that, to the human eye and in the late summer dusk, looked no larger than a postage stamp. But through Bond's glass-an infrared sniperscope fixed above his rifle-the lens covered the whole canvas. He could even clearly distinguish the pale blue and beige colors in which the target was divided, and the six-inch semicircular bull's-eye looked as big as the half-moon that was already beginning to show low down in the darkening sky above the distant crest of Chobham Ridges.'Let us say "good night", my fine boy,' said the gentleman, when he had bent his head - I saw him! - over my mother's little glove.

                                                            'Humpf.' M had never approved of Bond's womanizing. It was anathema to his Victorian soul. He decided to let it pass. He said, 'Well, that's all for now, 007. You'll be hearing all about it this afternoon. Funny about Goldfinger. Odd chap. Seen him once or twice at Blades. He plays bridge there when he's in England. He's the chap the Bank of England's after.' M paused. He looked mildly across the table at Bond. 'As from this moment, so are you.'

                                                                                                                    • Le Chiffre turned up a knave and a four. He gave the shoe another slap. He drew a three.It is a lamentable fact that men and women lend themselves to this practice who are neither vindictive nor ordinarily dishonest. It has become “the custom of the trade,” under the veil of which excuse so many tradesmen justify their malpractices! When a struggling author learns that so much has been done for A by the Barsetshire Gazette, so much for B by the Dillsborough Herald, and, again, so much for C by that powerful metropolitan organ the Evening Pulpit, and is told also that A and B and C have been favoured through personal interest, he also goes to work among the editors, or the editors’ wives — or perhaps, if he cannot reach their wives, with their wives’ first or second cousins. When once the feeling has come upon an editor or a critic that he may allow himself to be influenced by other considerations than the duty h owes to the public, all sense of critical or of editorial honesty falls from him at once. Facilis descensus Averni. In a very short time that editorial honesty becomes ridiculous to himself. It is for other purpose that he wields the power; and when he is told what is his duty, and what should be his conduct, the preacher of such doctrine seems to him to be quixotic. “Where have you lived, my friend, for the last twenty years,” he says in spirit, if not in word, “that you come out now with such stuff as old-fashioned as this?” And thus dishonesty begets dishonesty, till dishonesty seems to be beautiful. How nice to be good-natured! How glorious to assist struggling young authors, especially if the young author be also a pretty woman! How gracious to oblige a friend! Then the motive, though still pleasing, departs further from the border of what is good. In what way can the critic better repay the hospitality of his wealthy literary friend than by good-natured criticism — or more certainly ensure for himself a continuation of hospitable favours?

                                                                                                                      Such was the compromise of ‘capitalism within socialism’ that was finally established. The conflict could never have been successfully solved by such a precarious arrangement had not both sides been convinced of the fundamental goodwill of the other. The World Government came out of its first great crisis with increased authority. On the whole the compromise worked.'Oh, all right,' said Bond resignedly. 'Now let's have a look at a photograph of this chap. Has the Superintendent got one?'

                                                                                                                                                                              • THE red Jaguar was outside the entrance, up against the wall of the enclosure. Bond let them take his gun and climbed in beside the driver. f-In word, or sigh, or tear."

                                                                                                                                                                                AND INDIA.