smell of Guerlain Mitsouko. He was too late. Frank had struck already. He would have reached the fake Le Corbusier château just after Jerry left. There would have been no time for John Gnatbeelson to activate the defences. Sister and house were now Frank’s.
Jerry howled. His eyes blazed red in the gloom of the convent cell. His lips snarled back from wolfish teeth. An era had ended for him and he was never to know such innocence again.
Rebellion or insurrection, on the other hand, being guided by instinct rather than reason, being passionate and spontaneous rather than cool and calculated, do act like shock therapy on the body of society, and there is a chance that they may change the chemical composition of the societal crystal. In other words they may change human nature, in the sense of creating a new morality, or new metaphysical values.
—Herbert Read,
Revolution and Reason
It is essential to take the greatest pains to rouse the might of the German people by increasing its confidence in its own strength and thus also bringing a stability into the minds of our people to assist their appreciation of political problems. I have often, and I have to add this in speaking to you, felt doubts on one single matter, and that is the following: if I look at the intellectual elements of our society, I think what a pity, unfortunately they are needed; otherwise, one day one might, well, I don’t know, exterminate them or something like that. But unfortunately one needs them. If now I take a good look at these intellectual elements and imagine, and check, their behaviour towards me, and towards our work, I feel almost afraid.
—Adolf Hitler, private speech to German Press, Munich,
10 November, 1938 (day after Kristellnacht).
S.A.B. Zeman,
Nazi Propaganda
6. IN THE BEGINNING WAS FLIGHT–TODAY IT’S SECURITY AND SECURITY MEANS CHIEFLY ELECTRONICS
Jerry clambered out of his stockings and suspenders and threw them on top of his Courrèges suit. All he had left now was his perm; he wondered why he had ever thought red hair would suit him. He needed a complete change of identity. He searched through the heaps of clothes he had brought with him to the deserted convent but could find nothing he wanted to wear. He walked the length of the cool guest room, with its hard beds and green radiators, to the pine writing table where he had placed his little Sony cassette player. He pressed the play button. Slow, heavy sounds crept from the speaker; the batteries were exhausted.
He switched off. For a second he thought he had heard footsteps in the passage outside, but it was unlikely that anyone could have traced him here now that London was almost entirely depopulated. The exodus had been a huge success. He touched his forehead, glad to find that his temperature was dropping at last. Whistling, he stirred a skirt with his toe just as the door opened and Miss Brunner came in.
She glanced disapprovingly around at the mess. She wore some kind of standard Slavic peasant costume and had an MG42 tucked under her muscular right arm. Crossing to one of the beds she lowered the heavy machine gun onto the grey blanket which was as neat and clean as the last occupant had left it.
“There’s evidently been some confusion,” she said. She sat down beside her gun and began to stroke its stock. “What on earth are you doing?”
“I’d heard you were dead—or, at least, transferred.” He picked up the nearest pair of underpants—Dayglo yellow—and put them on.
“You more than anyone should know about temporal shifts, Mr Cornelius. Everything’s well and truly up the spout.” She drew in a sour breath. “I thought I had you under control this time. There’s a rumour about your black box, that you’ve got it back. If that’s true you haven’t really used it to your advantage, have you, eh?”
“I’ve been resting.” He began to sulk. He found two orange socks that almost matched. He sat opposite her and
Jerry howled. His eyes blazed red in the gloom of the convent cell. His lips snarled back from wolfish teeth. An era had ended for him and he was never to know such innocence again.
Rebellion or insurrection, on the other hand, being guided by instinct rather than reason, being passionate and spontaneous rather than cool and calculated, do act like shock therapy on the body of society, and there is a chance that they may change the chemical composition of the societal crystal. In other words they may change human nature, in the sense of creating a new morality, or new metaphysical values.
—Herbert Read,
Revolution and Reason
It is essential to take the greatest pains to rouse the might of the German people by increasing its confidence in its own strength and thus also bringing a stability into the minds of our people to assist their appreciation of political problems. I have often, and I have to add this in speaking to you, felt doubts on one single matter, and that is the following: if I look at the intellectual elements of our society, I think what a pity, unfortunately they are needed; otherwise, one day one might, well, I don’t know, exterminate them or something like that. But unfortunately one needs them. If now I take a good look at these intellectual elements and imagine, and check, their behaviour towards me, and towards our work, I feel almost afraid.
—Adolf Hitler, private speech to German Press, Munich,
10 November, 1938 (day after Kristellnacht).
S.A.B. Zeman,
Nazi Propaganda
6. IN THE BEGINNING WAS FLIGHT–TODAY IT’S SECURITY AND SECURITY MEANS CHIEFLY ELECTRONICS
Jerry clambered out of his stockings and suspenders and threw them on top of his Courrèges suit. All he had left now was his perm; he wondered why he had ever thought red hair would suit him. He needed a complete change of identity. He searched through the heaps of clothes he had brought with him to the deserted convent but could find nothing he wanted to wear. He walked the length of the cool guest room, with its hard beds and green radiators, to the pine writing table where he had placed his little Sony cassette player. He pressed the play button. Slow, heavy sounds crept from the speaker; the batteries were exhausted.
He switched off. For a second he thought he had heard footsteps in the passage outside, but it was unlikely that anyone could have traced him here now that London was almost entirely depopulated. The exodus had been a huge success. He touched his forehead, glad to find that his temperature was dropping at last. Whistling, he stirred a skirt with his toe just as the door opened and Miss Brunner came in.
She glanced disapprovingly around at the mess. She wore some kind of standard Slavic peasant costume and had an MG42 tucked under her muscular right arm. Crossing to one of the beds she lowered the heavy machine gun onto the grey blanket which was as neat and clean as the last occupant had left it.
“There’s evidently been some confusion,” she said. She sat down beside her gun and began to stroke its stock. “What on earth are you doing?”
“I’d heard you were dead—or, at least, transferred.” He picked up the nearest pair of underpants—Dayglo yellow—and put them on.
“You more than anyone should know about temporal shifts, Mr Cornelius. Everything’s well and truly up the spout.” She drew in a sour breath. “I thought I had you under control this time. There’s a rumour about your black box, that you’ve got it back. If that’s true you haven’t really used it to your advantage, have you, eh?”
“I’ve been resting.” He began to sulk. He found two orange socks that almost matched. He sat opposite her and
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