your money that way
.
You may be wondering what harm a few raindrops can cause. Well, a few raindrops do little but remind one of the corny rhyming song, “Rain, rain, go away, come again another day. “But when raindrops continue to fall and collect upon themselves, it becomes an entirely different matter. Ask Noah. He could tell you more about it than I could while sitting here behind my old typewriter in my little closet in the English department.
Ophelia spent the afternoon reading, and every couple of hours the boys brought good food for Quasimodo to sample while he whittled that block of wood. It was generally a quiet rainy afternoon in the attic. My kind of day.
Ophelia kept looking up from the pages of her novel to gaze at Quasimodo, feeling more sorrow for a person than she’d ever felt in her fourteen long years. This is called empathy, or the ability toput yourself in another person’s shoes. If you can do this, then you are a much better human being than those who cannot. And that is all I have to say about that!
You see, despite the fact that Quasimodo found himself in the stocks because Deacon Frollo (his stepfather) forced Quasi to help him kidnap Esmeralda the Gypsy girl (obviously an unsuccessful venture), Esmeralda had just given Quasi a drink of water.
And now he was in love.
Poor thing, thought Ophelia, knowing that beautiful Gypsy girls never fall in love with monstrous versions of humanity like Quasimodo. Instead, girls like Esmeralda fall for dashing captains like Phoebus who don’t give them the time of day or even the weather forecast, for that matter. Such young ladies often turned themselves into a sort of version of Quasimodo, only higher up on the “food chain” (those portions of society that deem themselves better than most people, typically a bit prettier, and generally possessing more money). Why a poor Gypsy girl thought a noble soldier like Phoebus would fall in love with her says something about her ego in an age in which all people were relegated (assigned, by birth in this instance) to a certain class of people. The admiration of the crowds must have sunk into her brain a bit too far.
Nevertheless, sometimes love stories between two people from different strata (levels) of society work out. But not usually. Ask any sociologist.
(And please, don’t get me started about the sociology department at the university. Those people need to straighten up their act!)
Ophelia sidled (walked casually) up to Linus in the kitchen as he was making another round of PB&Js. “Do you think we can change things for Quasi back in the Book World?”
“Huh?” He pulled out six pieces of bread from the bag.
“The imaginary realm.” She handed him the peanut butter jar and a knife. “Make me one too, please.”
He slid out two more slices and said nothing.
“Well, it’s like this, Linus. Maybe we can tell Quasi the truth about Esmeralda. She’s pretty and all, sure. But she’ll never want anything to do with him. He should know that.”
Linus shrugged. “Maybe.”
“It’s worth a try, right?”
“Sure.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “Oh thank you, Linus,” she said. “You’re always so good to talk to.”
“That’s enough of that,” Linus said, wiping his scarlet cheek again.
Ophelia walked to the window overlooking the street. “It’s really coming down now. Do you know the forecast?”
“Rain. For the next three days.”
“Yuck.”
Uncle Augustus stepped into the kitchen. “How about one for me, Linus?”
Linus sighed and took two more slices of bread from the bag.
“Ah, looking at the rain I see. I spent many hours doing that when I was your age, Ophelia. Of course, we lived in Seattle at the time.”
“I guess it was hard not to.”
“Did you know that Kingscross is on a flood plain?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Oh yes! We’re due for a hundred-year flood, too. They say it can be terrible, and with that dam upriver …”
“Maybe we
.
You may be wondering what harm a few raindrops can cause. Well, a few raindrops do little but remind one of the corny rhyming song, “Rain, rain, go away, come again another day. “But when raindrops continue to fall and collect upon themselves, it becomes an entirely different matter. Ask Noah. He could tell you more about it than I could while sitting here behind my old typewriter in my little closet in the English department.
Ophelia spent the afternoon reading, and every couple of hours the boys brought good food for Quasimodo to sample while he whittled that block of wood. It was generally a quiet rainy afternoon in the attic. My kind of day.
Ophelia kept looking up from the pages of her novel to gaze at Quasimodo, feeling more sorrow for a person than she’d ever felt in her fourteen long years. This is called empathy, or the ability toput yourself in another person’s shoes. If you can do this, then you are a much better human being than those who cannot. And that is all I have to say about that!
You see, despite the fact that Quasimodo found himself in the stocks because Deacon Frollo (his stepfather) forced Quasi to help him kidnap Esmeralda the Gypsy girl (obviously an unsuccessful venture), Esmeralda had just given Quasi a drink of water.
And now he was in love.
Poor thing, thought Ophelia, knowing that beautiful Gypsy girls never fall in love with monstrous versions of humanity like Quasimodo. Instead, girls like Esmeralda fall for dashing captains like Phoebus who don’t give them the time of day or even the weather forecast, for that matter. Such young ladies often turned themselves into a sort of version of Quasimodo, only higher up on the “food chain” (those portions of society that deem themselves better than most people, typically a bit prettier, and generally possessing more money). Why a poor Gypsy girl thought a noble soldier like Phoebus would fall in love with her says something about her ego in an age in which all people were relegated (assigned, by birth in this instance) to a certain class of people. The admiration of the crowds must have sunk into her brain a bit too far.
Nevertheless, sometimes love stories between two people from different strata (levels) of society work out. But not usually. Ask any sociologist.
(And please, don’t get me started about the sociology department at the university. Those people need to straighten up their act!)
Ophelia sidled (walked casually) up to Linus in the kitchen as he was making another round of PB&Js. “Do you think we can change things for Quasi back in the Book World?”
“Huh?” He pulled out six pieces of bread from the bag.
“The imaginary realm.” She handed him the peanut butter jar and a knife. “Make me one too, please.”
He slid out two more slices and said nothing.
“Well, it’s like this, Linus. Maybe we can tell Quasi the truth about Esmeralda. She’s pretty and all, sure. But she’ll never want anything to do with him. He should know that.”
Linus shrugged. “Maybe.”
“It’s worth a try, right?”
“Sure.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “Oh thank you, Linus,” she said. “You’re always so good to talk to.”
“That’s enough of that,” Linus said, wiping his scarlet cheek again.
Ophelia walked to the window overlooking the street. “It’s really coming down now. Do you know the forecast?”
“Rain. For the next three days.”
“Yuck.”
Uncle Augustus stepped into the kitchen. “How about one for me, Linus?”
Linus sighed and took two more slices of bread from the bag.
“Ah, looking at the rain I see. I spent many hours doing that when I was your age, Ophelia. Of course, we lived in Seattle at the time.”
“I guess it was hard not to.”
“Did you know that Kingscross is on a flood plain?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Oh yes! We’re due for a hundred-year flood, too. They say it can be terrible, and with that dam upriver …”
“Maybe we
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