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He stared at her, smiling, as if he could pull himself out of the wheelchair with eyes. He grabbed her wrist. 'Did you see The Daily Sketch yesterday?' He turned to me. 'Did you see that, boy? We were sitting in the garden, this bloke poked a telephoto lens over the wall, the bastard was 20 yards away, Judy was brushing a bread crumb off my chin when he shot it, an admirer the capition said.' 'I like that,' Miss Carne said.
Sep 22, 2012 - Abila Unken Sowaka, O Poder de Shura! Ten, Zetsu, Hen, Hatsu! Estilo Jiten Mitsurugi! A Thousand Ton Hammer! A flor tem que ser de.
'Are you suing?' 'I can't,' she said. 'I'm going to Hollywood tomorrow.' He smiled again. He looked much as he had when I saw him four days before he went off the course at 120 miles an hour and slammed into a wall at Goodwood: the 40 odd stitches had been taken out of his face; the left cheekbone, stuffed full of support from inside, didn't betray that it had been shattered, and his nose didn't really look as if it had ever been broken, much less broken eigth times. His bare left foot lay immobile on the wheelchair rest.
His leg was bandaged, but the plaster cast was on the window-sill, sliced in two. There were marks on the pink top of his head. He looked beat up but whole. What he could move; his head, his right arm, his left arm less, and he talked. He picked up a cellophane bag of red roses someone had left on the bed. 'They're from Germany,' he said. He read the name.
'I don't know who that is,' he said. The door opened behind him. He looked around the back of the wheelchair. 'Viper, you went off with my fountain pen. 'Valerie Pirie, his secretary, a pretty, calm girl. She gave him his pen. He made a note on the card and dropped it on a neat pile of cards and letters.
Corte certo plus cracked feet. 'So-and-so and so-and-so are outside, 'she said. 'I told them not to come, but. And the man from Grundig is coming at 4:30, about the tape recorder. 'Tape recorders are important to Moss. He has done five books on tape recorders.
For some time after the accident his speech, when he spoke in delirium, was thick and slurred because of the brain injury, and there was some reason to doubt he would ever speak clearly again. Worse, a close friend had said, 'I have the impression that he cannot form an idea of his own, but can only respond to ideas that are fed to him'.
Now he spoke the crisp quick English he had always used, and ideas came as fast as he could handle them. And he went on and on. It wasn't that he talked incessantly, or compulsively, although he did come close to it. He would stop to listen. He had always been in my opinion a good listener, polite, attentive, absorbed and retentive.
But he would listen now only exactly as long as someone spoke and had something to speak about. Then he would begin instantly to talk again. There were no pauses. I think he was happy to find himself able to talk again, and in any case excitation is common in recovery from severe trauma. But it was also plain that he wanted no silences in that room. Stirling Moss is one of the best-know men in the world, and beyond any doubt the best-know sports figure. Only Queen Elizabeth, by actual line count, gets more mention in the British press than Stirling Moss.
Six weeks after his last accident the Sunday Times of London considered his appearance in the garden of the hospital worth a four column picture and a long story - on page one. His appearance on a street corner in Rome or Nairobi or Brisbane would block traffic within minutes. He makes $ 150,000 or so a year.
His present injuries aside, he is as healthy as a bull, iron-hard, capable of fantastic endurance. His mail averages 10.000 pieces a year (400 - 500 a day when he's in the hospital) and he answers every letter, and promptly. Most men like him. Women find him irresistible, nine times in ten. He has picked a girl out of the crowd standing in a corner at a race circuit, waved to her every time around, made a date for that evening in pantomime, and won the race, too. He sometimes dates three girls in a day. The ultimate mark is on him; his women know that he has other women and they don't care.
For years he has been universally considered the fastest driver alive and that he has never won the championship of the world is one of the major curiosities of sports. He has been three times third in the world rankings, four times second. The championship is decided on the basis of placement in, usually, about 10 major races throughout the world. The 1958 champion, Mike Hawthorn of England, won only one of these races, while Moss won four.
But Moss has beaten every man who has held the world championship for the past 10 years. Those very few of whom it can be said that they do one thing, whatever it is, better than anyone else has ever done it are marked forever, and in his profession Moss is an immortal. And he is 32, well off if not rich, healthy, popular, talented to the point of genius, a citizen of the world. Men like Nuvolari and Fangio, or the matador de toros Juan Belmonte, retiring with the marks of 72 bull gorings on a thin, frail body, share a common mold: skill, obsession, courage, sensitivity. Courage doesn't count most. Skill is basic, and sensitivity, and always the obsession. When the obsession is great enough, the man will find courage to sustain it, somehow.
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He stared at her, smiling, as if he could pull himself out of the wheelchair with eyes. He grabbed her wrist. 'Did you see The Daily Sketch yesterday?' He turned to me. 'Did you see that, boy? We were sitting in the garden, this bloke poked a telephoto lens over the wall, the bastard was 20 yards away, Judy was brushing a bread crumb off my chin when he shot it, an admirer the capition said.' 'I like that,' Miss Carne said.
Sep 22, 2012 - Abila Unken Sowaka, O Poder de Shura! Ten, Zetsu, Hen, Hatsu! Estilo Jiten Mitsurugi! A Thousand Ton Hammer! A flor tem que ser de.
'Are you suing?' 'I can't,' she said. 'I'm going to Hollywood tomorrow.' He smiled again. He looked much as he had when I saw him four days before he went off the course at 120 miles an hour and slammed into a wall at Goodwood: the 40 odd stitches had been taken out of his face; the left cheekbone, stuffed full of support from inside, didn't betray that it had been shattered, and his nose didn't really look as if it had ever been broken, much less broken eigth times. His bare left foot lay immobile on the wheelchair rest.
His leg was bandaged, but the plaster cast was on the window-sill, sliced in two. There were marks on the pink top of his head. He looked beat up but whole. What he could move; his head, his right arm, his left arm less, and he talked. He picked up a cellophane bag of red roses someone had left on the bed. 'They're from Germany,' he said. He read the name.
'I don't know who that is,' he said. The door opened behind him. He looked around the back of the wheelchair. 'Viper, you went off with my fountain pen. 'Valerie Pirie, his secretary, a pretty, calm girl. She gave him his pen. He made a note on the card and dropped it on a neat pile of cards and letters.
Corte certo plus cracked feet. 'So-and-so and so-and-so are outside, 'she said. 'I told them not to come, but. And the man from Grundig is coming at 4:30, about the tape recorder. 'Tape recorders are important to Moss. He has done five books on tape recorders.
For some time after the accident his speech, when he spoke in delirium, was thick and slurred because of the brain injury, and there was some reason to doubt he would ever speak clearly again. Worse, a close friend had said, 'I have the impression that he cannot form an idea of his own, but can only respond to ideas that are fed to him'.
Now he spoke the crisp quick English he had always used, and ideas came as fast as he could handle them. And he went on and on. It wasn't that he talked incessantly, or compulsively, although he did come close to it. He would stop to listen. He had always been in my opinion a good listener, polite, attentive, absorbed and retentive.
But he would listen now only exactly as long as someone spoke and had something to speak about. Then he would begin instantly to talk again. There were no pauses. I think he was happy to find himself able to talk again, and in any case excitation is common in recovery from severe trauma. But it was also plain that he wanted no silences in that room. Stirling Moss is one of the best-know men in the world, and beyond any doubt the best-know sports figure. Only Queen Elizabeth, by actual line count, gets more mention in the British press than Stirling Moss.
Six weeks after his last accident the Sunday Times of London considered his appearance in the garden of the hospital worth a four column picture and a long story - on page one. His appearance on a street corner in Rome or Nairobi or Brisbane would block traffic within minutes. He makes $ 150,000 or so a year.
His present injuries aside, he is as healthy as a bull, iron-hard, capable of fantastic endurance. His mail averages 10.000 pieces a year (400 - 500 a day when he's in the hospital) and he answers every letter, and promptly. Most men like him. Women find him irresistible, nine times in ten. He has picked a girl out of the crowd standing in a corner at a race circuit, waved to her every time around, made a date for that evening in pantomime, and won the race, too. He sometimes dates three girls in a day. The ultimate mark is on him; his women know that he has other women and they don't care.
For years he has been universally considered the fastest driver alive and that he has never won the championship of the world is one of the major curiosities of sports. He has been three times third in the world rankings, four times second. The championship is decided on the basis of placement in, usually, about 10 major races throughout the world. The 1958 champion, Mike Hawthorn of England, won only one of these races, while Moss won four.
But Moss has beaten every man who has held the world championship for the past 10 years. Those very few of whom it can be said that they do one thing, whatever it is, better than anyone else has ever done it are marked forever, and in his profession Moss is an immortal. And he is 32, well off if not rich, healthy, popular, talented to the point of genius, a citizen of the world. Men like Nuvolari and Fangio, or the matador de toros Juan Belmonte, retiring with the marks of 72 bull gorings on a thin, frail body, share a common mold: skill, obsession, courage, sensitivity. Courage doesn't count most. Skill is basic, and sensitivity, and always the obsession. When the obsession is great enough, the man will find courage to sustain it, somehow.
...">O Quarto Poder Dublado 1972(28.11.2018)He stared at her, smiling, as if he could pull himself out of the wheelchair with eyes. He grabbed her wrist. 'Did you see The Daily Sketch yesterday?' He turned to me. 'Did you see that, boy? We were sitting in the garden, this bloke poked a telephoto lens over the wall, the bastard was 20 yards away, Judy was brushing a bread crumb off my chin when he shot it, an admirer the capition said.' 'I like that,' Miss Carne said.
Sep 22, 2012 - Abila Unken Sowaka, O Poder de Shura! Ten, Zetsu, Hen, Hatsu! Estilo Jiten Mitsurugi! A Thousand Ton Hammer! A flor tem que ser de.
'Are you suing?' 'I can't,' she said. 'I'm going to Hollywood tomorrow.' He smiled again. He looked much as he had when I saw him four days before he went off the course at 120 miles an hour and slammed into a wall at Goodwood: the 40 odd stitches had been taken out of his face; the left cheekbone, stuffed full of support from inside, didn't betray that it had been shattered, and his nose didn't really look as if it had ever been broken, much less broken eigth times. His bare left foot lay immobile on the wheelchair rest.
His leg was bandaged, but the plaster cast was on the window-sill, sliced in two. There were marks on the pink top of his head. He looked beat up but whole. What he could move; his head, his right arm, his left arm less, and he talked. He picked up a cellophane bag of red roses someone had left on the bed. 'They're from Germany,' he said. He read the name.
'I don't know who that is,' he said. The door opened behind him. He looked around the back of the wheelchair. 'Viper, you went off with my fountain pen. 'Valerie Pirie, his secretary, a pretty, calm girl. She gave him his pen. He made a note on the card and dropped it on a neat pile of cards and letters.
Corte certo plus cracked feet. 'So-and-so and so-and-so are outside, 'she said. 'I told them not to come, but. And the man from Grundig is coming at 4:30, about the tape recorder. 'Tape recorders are important to Moss. He has done five books on tape recorders.
For some time after the accident his speech, when he spoke in delirium, was thick and slurred because of the brain injury, and there was some reason to doubt he would ever speak clearly again. Worse, a close friend had said, 'I have the impression that he cannot form an idea of his own, but can only respond to ideas that are fed to him'.
Now he spoke the crisp quick English he had always used, and ideas came as fast as he could handle them. And he went on and on. It wasn't that he talked incessantly, or compulsively, although he did come close to it. He would stop to listen. He had always been in my opinion a good listener, polite, attentive, absorbed and retentive.
But he would listen now only exactly as long as someone spoke and had something to speak about. Then he would begin instantly to talk again. There were no pauses. I think he was happy to find himself able to talk again, and in any case excitation is common in recovery from severe trauma. But it was also plain that he wanted no silences in that room. Stirling Moss is one of the best-know men in the world, and beyond any doubt the best-know sports figure. Only Queen Elizabeth, by actual line count, gets more mention in the British press than Stirling Moss.
Six weeks after his last accident the Sunday Times of London considered his appearance in the garden of the hospital worth a four column picture and a long story - on page one. His appearance on a street corner in Rome or Nairobi or Brisbane would block traffic within minutes. He makes $ 150,000 or so a year.
His present injuries aside, he is as healthy as a bull, iron-hard, capable of fantastic endurance. His mail averages 10.000 pieces a year (400 - 500 a day when he's in the hospital) and he answers every letter, and promptly. Most men like him. Women find him irresistible, nine times in ten. He has picked a girl out of the crowd standing in a corner at a race circuit, waved to her every time around, made a date for that evening in pantomime, and won the race, too. He sometimes dates three girls in a day. The ultimate mark is on him; his women know that he has other women and they don't care.
For years he has been universally considered the fastest driver alive and that he has never won the championship of the world is one of the major curiosities of sports. He has been three times third in the world rankings, four times second. The championship is decided on the basis of placement in, usually, about 10 major races throughout the world. The 1958 champion, Mike Hawthorn of England, won only one of these races, while Moss won four.
But Moss has beaten every man who has held the world championship for the past 10 years. Those very few of whom it can be said that they do one thing, whatever it is, better than anyone else has ever done it are marked forever, and in his profession Moss is an immortal. And he is 32, well off if not rich, healthy, popular, talented to the point of genius, a citizen of the world. Men like Nuvolari and Fangio, or the matador de toros Juan Belmonte, retiring with the marks of 72 bull gorings on a thin, frail body, share a common mold: skill, obsession, courage, sensitivity. Courage doesn't count most. Skill is basic, and sensitivity, and always the obsession. When the obsession is great enough, the man will find courage to sustain it, somehow.
...">O Quarto Poder Dublado 1972(28.11.2018)