will also be examined in this essay. Not much is revealed about Miss. Clack in any of the narratives apart from hers. Collins gives her a voice for a specific reason. Through her he can criticise the other characters without criticising them directly and this gives more depth to the novel. In Betteredge’s first narrative we learn very little about Miss. Clack but his narrative introduces us to the character of Miss. Clack. As we know very little about her it creates a sense of suspense‚ as she
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Clack‚ clack‚ clack. That is the noise my feet make when I usher myself up the stairs to safety. By safety‚ I mean my bedroom. Safe from? Not from the world‚ this isn’t a narrative about how the world is too hard for me to handle. Safety from my family rather. No‚ they’re not abusive and I don’t need to be saved from them. It’s more safety from not having to talk to them and just be by myself. Again‚ no‚ I don’t have long black straightened hair and listen to Metallica. I don’t like to be alone that
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continued to let her legs and stomach guide her directions. She had walked to the local pizza shop many times before. Out of the corner of her eye‚ she saw one light of an apartment shining through the navy blue curtains of the window. “Click clack‚ click clack‚” Zoe thought she heard footsteps. Whoosh! Zoe turned around and no one was there. “Zoe‚ you’re being paranoid. Why would anyone be following you?” she thought to herself as she turned the volume on her iPod up. She had an eerie feeling about
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became sealed off from the aquatic environment to form a sound detecting air pocket (Thompson 1966). The spiracular chamber became the source for the middle ear cavity as the auditory mechanisms evolved from water to terrestrial sound reception (Clack 2002). With the transition from
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3:15 am‚ I lie in the spot of my bed I’d always gone to for comfort‚ now lying there unable to move‚ think‚ breathe‚ sleep‚ trying to wrap my mind around the fact that my world would never be the same again. Randomly waking up in the early hours of the morning is something I rarely do‚ so waking up at 3:06 am looking around my room‚ seeing Kierra also happen to wake up wasn’t right. Looking over at my phone‚ seeing Mrs. Jennie was calling me‚ I hesitantly answered‚ unsure of what to expect. Still
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CHORUS OF THE PEOPLE IN THE LANE The tongues in the lane clack-clack almost continuously‚ going up and down the full scale of human emotions‚ human folly‚ ignorance‚ suffering‚ viciousness‚ magnanimity‚ weakness‚ greatness‚ littleness‚ insufficiency‚ frailty‚ strength. They clack on the street corners‚ where the ice shop hangs out a triangular red flag‚ under the shadow of overhanging building that lean precariously‚ teetering across the dingy chasm of the narrow lane.
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plain of wheat on a windy day disappearing over the horizon. It is raining out‚ so you can hear the pitter patter of the droplets taunting you to run. His shiny jet black boots‚ probably shined by the hand of a poor black man who he felt no pity on‚ clack heavily; staring at you like daggers when they hit the pavement. You can smell a concoction of rain‚ stinky body odor‚ coffee‚ and way too much Hollister cologne. He steps onto the creaky stairs of the bus‚ which let out a little warning hiss. He is
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at playing‚ they “started to give me tips in how to improve my game. They hadn’t changed because they liked me any better; they had changed because I could help fill their wallets.” (Robinson). He was motivated though‚ by a“ Small‚ shrill voice of a tiny white kid who‚ in the midst of a racially tense atmosphere during an early game in a Dixie town‚ cried out‚ “Attaboy‚ Jackie.” It broke the tension and it made me feel I had to succeed. He was majorly supported by his wife Rachel‚ as she was always
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and playing the game at a season of heat and anguish.Playing the game‚ the couple begins to play in a way against each other with intention to win‚ the imagery is seen upon when his wives “smug expression as she rearranges her letters. Clack‚ clack clack.” (page1) The husband is as well in a race to win the game‚ as seen by him hoping “she has lousy letters” and even finding it “remarkably
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A spark has been lit inside of me. It has become attached to my body‚ creating a fire that will soon consume me. There are things I do want out of life for myself‚ and this fire is there for that reason. The fire forces me to achieve all of my goals. The fire started as all fires start—the tiniest spark. I could tell from the “pinch-like” pain that the spark landed right above my smaller intestine‚ right in the “pit of my stomach.” With each goal I set for myself‚ the fire grows stronger‚ hotter
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