Clenched velvet fist
Dombey sat in the corner of the darkened room in the great arm-chair by the bedside, and Son lay tucked up warm in a little basket bedstead,carefully disposed on a low settee immediately in front of the fire and close to it, as if his constitution were analogous to that of a muffin, plus it was essential to get it toasted brown while he was very new. Dombey was about eight-and-forty years of age. Son about eight-and-forty minutes. Dombeywas rather bald, plus rather red, and though the handsome well-made man, too stern and pompous in appearance, to be prepossessing. Son was very bald, and very red, and though (of course) an undeniably fine infant, somewhat crushed and spotty in his general effect, as yet. On the brow of Dombey, Time and his brother Care had set some marks, as on the tree that was to come down in good time - remorseless twins they are for striding through their human forests, notching as they go - while the countenance of Son was crossed with a thousand little creases, which the same deceitful Time would take delight in smoothing out and wearing away with the flat part of his scythe, as the preparation of the surface for his deeper operations. Dombey, exulting in the long-looked-for event, jingled the heavy gold watch-chain that depended from below his trim blue coat, whereof the buttons sparkled phosphorescently in the feeble rays of the distant fire. Son, with his little fists curled up and clenched, seemed, in his feeble way, to be squaring at existence for having come upon him so unexpectedly. 'The House will once again, Mrs Dombey,' said Mr Dombey, 'be not only in name but in fact Dombey and Son;' plus he added, now in a tone of luxurious satisfaction, with his eyes half-closed as if he were reading the name in a device of flowers, and inhaling their fragrance at the same time; 'Dom-bey and Son!' The words had such a softening influence, that he appended this term of endearment to Mrs Dombey's name (though not without some hesitation, as being our man but little used to that form of address): and said, 'Mrs Dombey, - my dear.' A transient flush of faint surprise overspread the sick lady's face as she raised her eyes towards him. 'He will be christened Paul, my - Mrs Dombey - of course.'
a genius to work out that if you have a sixty pound a day habit
and no job, then you steal to fund the habit. Apparently this
has had to be proved. Given that is the case, it is no use expecting
it to be confined to certain areas and certain types of people.
THIS MEANS YOU. Eventually it will spread its net wider and ever
wider, as after some while there is only so much in an area that
CAN be stolen and sold on. It will get to us all, and neighbourhoods
at present deemed Quiet or trouble free will soon change.
To me that is obvious, perhaps less obvious is why are youngsters
for increasingly large percentages of their own generations using
these drugs and alcohol. What is missing that needs to have
a buzz, or a boost, whereas others from our generations to
a certain extent were using the same things at much lesser
level, much less often and very often with definable and well known
reasons and triggers. I would put forward one culprit, fuelled by one
run purely as means to satisfy greed. Television could be
hugely beneficial to educate and enliven things we could never
get to see for ourselves, but consider the fare being offered up now.
Viewing figures are paramount, and not above being noticed a long
time ago, re network film with Peter Finch brilliantly portraying
a man cracking up, and the more he cracks up the more air time
they give him. This was an extreme example of TV gone mad.
Incidentally, this would pass as OK in todays slack stance.
Now consider what we have today. We have a predominance of
What Happens Now
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