Zichao Huang Mr. Lambert English028 March 17‚ 2015 The Story of an Hour “The Story of an Hour” is about a woman named Mrs. Mallard who is married to a man named Mr. Mallard. Mrs. Mallard does not have a very good heart‚ and she is sick. Something bad has happened‚ and people do not know how to tell her about it. Josephine is her sister‚ and she tells Mrs. Mallard that Mr. Mallard died in a train accident. Richards is Mr. Mallard’s friend‚ and he is there because he knew about the accident. Richards
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that Takeo said because they are kids that are bullying me Mom said well the reason why your getting bully is because you show weakness to other people that’s why So i just need to show that i’m strong said Takeo Yes said mom here let me tell u a story on how i met your dad it was when he was high schooler like you it was when this guy was trying to ask me out and i said no but he just kept on coming and asking me out and i kept saying no until he tried to kidnap me but your father saw what was happening
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Seeing as how we were currently down a shaman since no one had been given the job after the last one died that meant I got to go through his cave and loot any of the stuff that was left. Best job in the world I’d reckon if it wasn’t for the fact that anything the adventurers didn’t want probably meant that I wouldn’t want it either. Regardless
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Loss is often sudden and painful‚ like a kick to the gut‚ but the pain eventually fades leaving you with only a memory of the past. Sometimes‚ though‚ it is not a kick. It is a rusty razor gash that opens up your belly leaving you desperately trying to stuff slippery innards back into a yawning wound. Even when it heals there remains a jagged scar and a dull ache as lingering reminders of what has been lost. I once counted Professor Gregor Szaranev as a close friend. I suppose I still do even though
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The first anti-hero Our story starts in an ancient village a very long time ago there lived a young man by the name of Terito‚ he was given a blessing by an ancient being of great power‚ but there was a price for the power. Terito had to give the being two things for the power. The first thing he had to give the being was his looks for which he was forever scarred on his entire head so he donned a mask. The second item was a gift and a curse he had to give the being all of his memories of
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The Story of the Last Chrysanthemums (1939) is a fascinating piece of cinema‚ due to it’s length (running just over 2 hour) and few amount of shots‚ 140. This film is considered Myzoguchi’s masterpiece and encompasses most of his cinematic techniques and qualities in one film. The shot which best represents this is when Otoku walks down the street with the baby late at night and runs into Kikunosuke Onoue. The camera is from a very low angle in front and to the side of her‚ and follows Otoku as
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formulated‚ grazing the grade 1 seven stripes that were sewn on. Stripes of courage‚ rank and acknowledgement. *** My father slowly wiped down the Lee-Enfield while I filled up the metal canteen. “Father‚ is it going to hurt the rabbit?” He let out a short laughter‚ finished with a smirk and a smile offering me to polish the .303 that he was wiping. “Come on son‚ if you have a mind as weak as that‚ you won’t make it past a private.” *** Taking a sip from the warm scented cup‚ the cross dangled down
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doesn’t speak much. I catch his eye and smile politely. He smiles back....an embarrassed/ uncomfortable smile. He’s about to insert needles into my ankle. I sit up‚ facing him. My legs‚ together‚ dangle off the edge of the table. I’m wearing blue shorts. I place my hands on either knee and slowly move my legs apart‚ looking downward with no expression the whole time. Although his eyes widen a little‚ he only looks at me. He moves back one step. With my hands still on either knee‚ I smile at him.
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In Control In my sophomore year of high school‚ I remember a particular speech I had to deliver in my English class. It was just like any other‚ honestly. But this one‚ this specific one‚ gave me the greatest trouble. My irrational fear of public speaking consumed me and turned me against myself. I remember the mindset that I had for most of my sophomore year: me vs. them. That was how high school was. It was every man for himself. But never would I have ever thought that I was my own biggest obstacle
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the eldest son exclaimed. She watched as he and his father smiled and warmly embraced. Before exiting the room‚ the young man reached over and lightly kissed his mother on the cheek. Her Mistress gently reached up to stroke his face. It was the last time she recalled ever seeing him
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