turn to the left oor Kornies
turn to the left
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turn to the left
My re bia ow koslowes.langbot langbot
(turn to the) left
Pyth esos ta ow kul?langbot langbot
turn to the left
My a redyas y lyver.langbot langbot
turn to the left
Komolek o de.langbot langbot
49And now if ye will deal kindly and truly with my master, tell me: and if not, tell me; that I may turn to the right hand, or to the left.
Yth esen vy y’n skol.englishtainment-tm-IFKP0KMd englishtainment-tm-IFKP0KMd
Turn left into River Walk, following the path to the ancient West Bridge which once carried all traffic from the west into the town.
Yth esons i ow tonsya.langbot langbot
Turn left into River Walk, following the path to the ancient West Bridge which once carried all traffic from the west into the town.
Mar minhwerthydh, lowen vedhav.langbot langbot
For a short way they followed the lane westwards. Then leaving it they turned left and took quietly to the fields again. They went in single file along hedgerows and the borders of coppices, and night fell dark about them. In their dark cloaks they were as invisible as if they all had magic rings. Since they were all hobbits, and were trying to be silent, they made no noise that even hobbits would hear. Even the wild things in the fields and woods hardly noticed their passing.
Ki os ta.langbot langbot
There is likely to be some on-road parking space along the road in front of the pub and there is a car-park to the rear of the pub itself with access from Hillside Park, which can be reached by continuing towards the Town Centre along Higher Bore Street, bearing left into Dennison Road and turning first left into Cardell Road. Then turn first left into HillsidePark and immediately left again taking you as far back up the hill as possible. Follow the road as it bears right and runs parallel to the main road. Go past the first set of garages and look for a curved wall into the car-park on the left.
Hwi a yll dos.langbot langbot
It was already nearly as hot as it had been the day before; but clouds were beginning to come up from the West. It looked likely to turn to rain. The hobbits scrambled down a steep green bank and plunged into the thick trees below. Their course had been chosen to leave Woodhall to their left, and to cut slanting through the woods that clustered along the eastern side of the hills, until they reached the flats beyond. Then they could make straight for the Ferry over country that was open, except for a few ditches and fences. Frodo reckoned they had eighteen miles to go in a straight line.
Nowydh o an lyver ma.langbot langbot
Before long the wood came to a sudden end. Wide grass-lands stretched before them. They now saw that they had, in fact, turned too much to the south. Away over the flats they could glimpse the low hill of Bucklebury across the River, but it was now to their left. Creeping cautiously out from the edge of the trees, they set off across the open as quickly as they could.
Hi yw pymp bloodh.langbot langbot
So, the other groups had been left to their fates as well. Again, why? Were they, too, so worthless? Then, a few hours after that, all the phones went dead and, at the same time, the TV broadcasts stopped completely. A curious coincidence, you might think. Actually, the TV broadcasts stopped in the middle of ‘The Jetsons’. (But, don’t worry, I’d seen the episode before and well knew that Mr Spacely ultimately reinstated George Jetson – and even gave him a raise! So, I was able to assuage the understandable anxiety that the interrupted transmission had caused to the other survivors by advising them of George’s fate.) After that, we were merely left to speculation as to what was happening outside the campus. (A search for a short-wave radio turned up nothing.) Our discussions went around in circles for hour upon hour. What else was there to do? After all, the library’s snack-food vending machines had already been looted. The single fact that gnawed at all of us was this: one day there were no zombies and the next day there were hundreds of them – all young, all male. How was that possible? We had seen for ourselves that the infection spread by bite, by saliva, I suppose. We had also seen that guys who were bitten took at least two days to succumb – and then return as zombies. In David’s case, of course, he’d lasted for a whole seven days so far. (Though it didn’t look like he’d go much further than that.) So, let’s suppose there was a “Patient Zero”, the first guy to be infected, being treated somewhere in one of the hospitals or clinics around Parkville. How does he manage to bite hundreds of other guys, more or less simultaneously, and instantly turn them into zombies? There were a few of those sheltering in the Baillieu who were studying either biochemistry or medicine. They confirmed what we were all thinking: that’s just not how epidemics work. So, how ...?
Yma’n edhen yn hy neyth.langbot langbot
Many things are sold. The wind was strong. The ships couldn't come near to the harbour. The grandfathers sat together outside the pub and chatted. The cat is lying on the floor under the chair in the sitting room. Is there enough money in the bank to buy a new car? Have we enough money in it? Mr Stevens's nephew is slim and his niece is fat. Give her her brown shoes, please. At what time is the train to London this afternoon? There is a fast train at twenty-three minutes to two. Look! These trousers are too short for me. You must buy new trousers then. I had a great thirst and I drank a glassful of beer straightaway. Some jugs are broken, others are dirty. No one can drink milk from them. Are the cupboards against the wall? Yes! There isn't a chestnut tree left in the wood, I think. Perhaps an old one only. Catch hold of the door handle and turn it! How many miles is the road to Truro from Saltash? The songs of our land are sweeter than the songs of other lands. We ate lunch. Then we walked. It was a long walk to the rocks on the moor.
Nos da, Mammik.langbot langbot
The second thing confirmed was that the Americans had indeed come to the aid of the underprepared Australian forces and mention was made of the F4 Phantoms assisting in the fightback. They were now based at the recently ‘liberated’ Point Cook airbase (which has since become another residential suburb of Melbourne). It was safe to assume that one of the Phantoms had been the delivery vehicle for the napalm last night. Final comment in the news item: an outbreak of the infection in Papua New Guinea, a ‘spot-fire’ which had gotten out of hand and, given the mountainous terrain and lack of indigenous forces (and/or modern infrastructure) in that ‘new’ nation, it was not expected to be controlled any time soon. Hmm. Very bad news but ... I’d store that one away for future reference. Okay. Save batteries. Turn of the radio. Break out the cards! I needed to know what was left of my brother, what was left of the guy with whom I had shared all the joys and pains of my young life. I needed to know also how much he could draw on our lifelong empathetic connection – a connection that, I thought, might set him apart from the other undead. I was not nurturing any false hopes, of course. I knew that all his ‘higher functioning’ had ceased along with his ‘vital signs’. That much was clear. But what was really left of Dave? As far as I could see, he had become akin to a particularly blood-thirsty and violent infant – just contained in an adult body. And there definitely still seemed to be some humanity about him – some of his more gentle gestures towards me were solid evidence of this. And I didn’t think this was merely a result of his connection with his living ‘other’, his connection with me. So, the attempt to teach him cards was no mere time-filling diversion – at least, not as far as I was concerned. At first, David merely looked with disdain at the five cards I had dealt to him. He picked one up from the floor, looked at it on both sides and then crumpled it. He dropped the crumpled card. Patiently, I retrieved the card and flattened it out – I did not wish the pack to be incomplete before we had even started.
My a vynn y ri dhe Tom.langbot langbot
It was only when the heavy machine-guns were being set up that the zombies started rushing at the troops in the vain hope of a fresh feed. What then followed was the familiar carnage that I had witnessed at the University massacre. The zombies were blown to pieces with several rounds from bazookas and those that made it through those blasts were cut to bits by light machine gun fire. (Sten guns? Don’t know – not sure they were still being used in the early 1970’s by regular soldiers.) It was all over at the Fern Tree Gully town hall before the heavy machine guns were even set up and operative. The Aussie guys were pretty happy with what they had achieved and, later on, as they slaked their well-earned thirst with a ‘cleansing ale’ or five, the account of what had occurred became more and more detailed and vivid. (And exaggerated?) The Yanks had been sitting nearby – also taking in a ‘cleansing ale’ – but not joining in the Aussie celebrations. After all, the Yanks had yet to ‘see action’ and could not therefore share their own experiences. That was okay – each group left the other alone. Then, as the Aussies got a bit drunker and more boisterous, things started to take a turn for the worse. The Aussies started to brag about what they had done with the remains after the zombies had been ‘wasted’. And what they had done was not merely defiling the corpses by urinating on them or such like. Bits of zombies had been ‘arranged’ about the area of the town hall, ostensibly to scare off any other zombies from coming back into the area – but no-one believed that. Several of the zombies had still been twitching. These were ‘lynched’, strung up from lamp-posts – or placed, in sexual poses, like obscene garden gnomes in the front gardens of nearby houses. (This disgusted the fresh-faced GI’s, straight out of basic training – and Gately was man enough to say so. Very forthrightly.) “Ah, fuck me,” replied one of the Aussie raconteurs. “They’re just fuckin’ zombies, man. Cool down. They’re not even human.”
Res o dhymm fistena.langbot langbot
Paul seemed unamused by my involuntary mirth: “It wasn’t funny, Peter! It was quite terrifying actually.” I composed myself and, with difficulty, removed the grin from my face. “Of course. Terrifying. Absolutely terrifying. ... So, may I take it you were taken unawares by this rearguard attack?” He nodded in a sullen fashion. (Obviously, he didn’t much like my attempted joke.) “There was just one – there haven’t been many zombies passing through the cemetery. So, after we managed to fight it off, we decided to stay put. We managed to scavenge some food and cooking equipment from the gate-keeper’s house without being noticed again. So, we’ve been here ever since – or so I believe.” There was an obvious gap in his recollection – a gap which I thought Charles could not (reliably) fill. So, I decided to pursue the matter. “How did you manage to fight the, er, ‘Roundhead’ off?” “Well, Charles was completely useless, of course ...” commenced Paul Charles frowned and started to protest. “...Correction: His Royal Majesty immediately took command of the situation and, by dint of bravely fainting, allowed me to deal with it ...” Suitably mollified, Charles fell silent. The story that emerged (after lots of hand-waving and recounting of exaggerated deeds of valour) was that, with a profusely bleeding left buttock, a naked Paul had been able physically to repel the initial attack of the zombie – which then turned its attention to a less troublesome target: the supine and unconscious figure of Charles. This explained how Charles, too, had been bitten – albeit on a more ‘decent’ part of his body. “... So, at that point, I sought divine intervention ...” (Paul was very pious.)
Yma’n lyver ma dhe Tony.langbot langbot
Once again, I battled with the gears of the vehicle: Crunch! Crunch! Crunch! Paul helpfully assisted the process by asking: “Are you sure you can drive this thing?” (and other questions in that vein.) Thanks, Paul. In any event, I eventually found a gear that was low enough to allow the truck to move off with a lurch. “Now, that’s a fine gear,” I observed as we cruised along at 4 or 5 mph. “I think we should stick with that one, don’t you?” Paul and David huffed in contempt – as one – but made no verbal reply. That was a little bit disturbing. After all, Paul hadn’t fully recovered from his bite as yet. Oh well, Paul would soon be at the Baillieu – and no longer my problem. We exited College Crescent and entered Royal Parade, heading South. I needed to find the entrance on the West side of campus which would take me neatly to the front of the Baillieu. (This route is no longer possible – too many new buildings on campus.) I did, of course, have plenty of time to keep a look-out but was conscious of the fact that we were travelling, in effect, in the service lane of Royal Parade. The width of the service lane was quite tight and I was hemmed in on both sides by rows of mature elm trees. (Very pretty, of course, but a real problem when trying to manoeuvre a large truck.) I spotted the entrance – eventually – and applied the brake very gingerly. I didn’t want to stall the bugger after all this – and I couldn’t actually remember how to re-start one if the engine stopped. I didn’t share this fact with my passengers, deciding that they wouldn’t be much interested in my ignorance on this point. Left turn. Side swipe the trunk of a very large tree. (Crunch!) Drive over the top of the gate-keeper’s booth. (Loud metallic, crumpling sound.) Smash through boom gate. (Snap!) “Fuck!” screamed my gay friends in unison. “Hmm,” I said. “Yes, that did go well, didn’t it?” “Are we there yet, Dad?” said Paul in a weak and quavering voice.
Kas yw genev tewes.langbot langbot
The doors to the main entrance of the Baillieu Library were glass, thick sliding doors. They were still intact – which was a little surprising – but reinforced by bookshelves, cupboards and now-redundant vending machines. The zombies were not going to gain entrance any time soon – though they loitered outside constantly – waiting and watching. Given the desperate situation of those inside the library – no food, no outside contact – I had recently come to believe that the zombies’ waiting would not be in vain. I stood in the barricaded foyer: my brother was unseen on the other side of the glass doors, a thing abandoned – but not by me. “Let me see him,” I snarled. Silently, one of my fellow survivors moved forward and removed a box from the barricade to reveal an observation hole. He stepped back and allowed me to view the prone form of David. He was unmoving – just as I thought, not yet reanimated. Good – it was not too late. I nodded to myself and turned slowly to the others who eyed me with suspicion: “Please leave me alone with him,” I whispered. “I need a moment alone with him.” They shuffled their feet uneasily and looked at one another. Was I now worth that risk? “I’ll not try and retrieve him,” I said reassuringly. “He is, as you say, ‘gone’ now. There would be no purpose in trying to get him back.” Jude locked eyes with me for a long moment. She saw no deception. “Come on,” she said to the others. “Let the guy have some dignity. David was his brother, after all.” And with that, she abruptly turned on her heel and left the barricaded foyer, the others reluctantly trailing behind her. Good.
Tom a aswon tas Maria.langbot langbot
“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said, with a broad smile. (Yuck – again.) “We have a few little, shall we say, ‘games’ to play this morning,” he continued. Then he turned to Ingrid and ordered: “Doctor, shave their heads and apply the electrodes, if you would be so kind.” “Electrodes”? That didn’t sound very promising. What was left of my afro was roughly shaven – David’s hair, too. I didn’t really care much about this but David grumbled and moaned enormously. (I wondered idly whether all zombies were such whingers.) I hadn’t previously noticed that he – or any other zombie, for that matter – took any particular pride in their locks. Indeed, all the zombies that I’d met seemed to make it a badge of honour to clot their hair up with as much dried blood and congealed gore as they could. It was just the indignity of the thing, I suppose. Soon, my newly-bald head was covered with shiny, stick-on electrode pads – carefully placed on me by the tasty (?) Ingrid. The electrodes were then attached to an ancient-looking EEG (electroencephalogram) in order to measure my brain waves. Ingrid and the Captain then started to take readings from the cathode ray tube. Lots of lovely wiggly lines being traced across the screen. What did it mean? Dunno. I suppose it meant my brain was working. Beyond that? Ask someone else. They did this for a while and made a whole bunch of fairly boring and unintelligible (to me, at least) remarks. Then it was David’s turn. Same deal: carefully placed, stick-on electrodes all over his bald cranium, hook up to EEG, read out screen. Result? A screen full of flat-line tracings. Not even a faint wobble on any line. Not the slightest tremble. “This man is dead,” observed Ingrid. (What a genius!) “Hmm,” responded the Captain. (Another genius.)
Ny allav dybri.langbot langbot
19 sinne gevind in 13 ms. Hulle kom uit baie bronne en word nie nagegaan nie.