Wednesday, February 27, 2008


So Steven Hart has evaded the flaming sword guarding the borders of the Garden State in order to tag me with the p. 123 meme. The rules are as follows:

• look up page 123 in the nearest book
• look for the fifth sentence
• then post the three sentences that follow that fifth sentence on page 123.

It just so happens that the nearest book at this moment is the last book on the bookcase to my right. A volume called At the Court of the Borgia by Johann Burchard. Here is page 123, sentences 6, 7, and 8:

The legate commissioned me to speak plainly and suitably about everything that need not be concealed from the Duke of Milan, who thereafter arranged for my journey by placing me in the care of his chamberlain. The latter arranged for me to be provided with hospitality and all other necessities in Carimate, which I reached that same evening at about seven o'clock, only to find that there was no time then to have an audience with the king and that my accommodation was not yet available. We therefore retraced our steps to spend the night in a village called Lentate, about a mile and a half away, but on the following morning returned to Carimate, where King Maximilian granted me an audience.

I shan't pass this on. It is a well-known fact of life that memes come here to die. Were I to tag others, they'd not respond.


pity said...

Oh, it's just a little too early for the "good" stuff in my current reading.

He still held her chin and it seemed to Roberta as if the world stopped spinning and froze, with the two of them but a hair's breadth from each other.
"Of course I was thinking of Villiers," she said, pulling backward. Pulling herself together.

I'm sure you want to know what happens next. As if you couldn't guess.

Nyarlathotep said...

The chimes struck announcing Matins. He retrieved his frock from the holly hedge, pulled it quickly over his tousled tonsured head, and vanished up the lane toward the priory in the morning mist. Her hot eyes followed his movements up the path as she gathered herself and rose, tiny pebbles on her knees and shins, the warmth of his hands still burning her chin and the sides of her head where he'd held her to guide their own special devotions, and the quick glimpses of his ankles and calves beneath the robes as he fled still flashing in her mind.