The shadow of the torturer pdf download

I'd suffered less than Pag in the way of overt violence; my seizures tended to keep the other kids at a distance, scared them even as they incapacitated me.

I was no stranger to the taunts and insults, or the foot that appears from nowhere to trip you up en route from A to B.

I knew how that felt. Or I had, once. But that part of me had been cut out along with the bad wiring. I was still working up the algorithms to get it back, still learning by observation. Pack animals always tear apart the weaklings in their midst. Every child knows that much instinctively. Maybe I should just let that process unfold, maybe I shouldn't try to mess with nature. Then again, Pag's parents hadn't messed with nature, and look what it got them: a son curled up in the dirt while a bunch of engineered superboys kicked in his ribs.

In the end, propaganda worked where empathy failed. So I picked up a rock the size of my fist and hit two of Pag's assailants across the backs of their heads before anyone even knew I was in the game. A third, turning to face the new threat, took a blow to the face that audibly crunched the bones of his cheek.

I remember wondering why I didn't take any satisfaction from that sound, why it meant nothing beyond the fact I had one less opponent to worry about.

The rest of them ran at the sight of blood. One of the braver promised me I was dead, shouted " Fucking zombie! Three decades it took, to see the irony in that remark. Two of the enemy twitched at my feet. I kicked one in the head until it stopped moving, turned to the other. Something grabbed my arm and I swung without thinking, without looking until Pag yelped and ducked out of reach. One thing lay motionless. The other moaned and held its head and curled up in a ball.

Blood coursed unheeded from his nose and splattered down his shirt. His cheek was turning blue and yellow. I thought of something to say. Blood smeared the back of his hand. The moaning thing was crawling away on all fours. I wondered how long it would be before it found reinforcements. I wondered if I should kill it before then. Before the operation, he meant.

I felt angry. Pag backed away, eyes wide. Put that down! I'd raised my fists. I didn't remember doing that. I unclenched them.

It took a while. I had to look at my hands very hard for a long, long time. The rock dropped to the ground, blood-slick and glistening. Don't be a fuckwad. You think I don't know? I would have died. You're not the same. Ever since. I still don't know if Pag really knew what he was saying.

Maybe his mother had just pulled the plug on whatever game he'd been wired into for the previous eighteen hours, forced him outside for some fresh air. Maybe, after fighting pod people in gamespace, he couldn't help but see them everywhere. But you could make a case for what he said.

I do remember Helen telling me and telling me how difficult it was to adjust. Like you had a whole new personality , she said, and why not? There's a reason they call it radical hemispherectomy: half the brain thrown out with yesterday's krill, the remaining half press-ganged into double duty.

Think of all the rewiring that one lonely hemisphere must have struggled with as it tried to take up the slack. It turned out okay, obviously. The brain's a very flexible piece of meat; it took some doing, but it adapted.

I adapted. Think of all that must have been squeezed out, deformed, reshaped by the time the renovations were through. You could argue that I'm a different person than the one who used to occupy this body.

The grownups showed up eventually, of course. Medicine was bestowed, ambulances called. Pag and I even stayed friends, after a short hiatus that reminded us both of the limited social prospects open to schoolyard rejects who don't stick together.

So I survived that and a million other childhood experiences. I grew up and I got along. I learned to fit in. I observed, recorded, derived the algorithms and mimicked appropriate behaviors. I had friends and enemies, like everyone else. I chose them by running through checklists of behaviors and circumstances compiled from years of observation. I may have grown up distant but I grew up objective , and I have Robert Paglino to thank for that. His seminal observation set everything in motion.

It led me into Synthesis, fated me to our disastrous encounter with the Scramblers, spared me the worse fate befalling Earth. Or the better one, I suppose, depending on your point of view. Point of view matters : I see that now, blind, talking to myself, trapped in a coffin falling past the edge of the solar system. I see it for the first time since some beaten bloody friend on a childhood battlefield convinced me to throw my own point of view away.

He may have been wrong. I may have been. It came in especially handy when the real aliens came calling. Imagine you are Siri Keeton:. You wake in an agony of resurrection, gasping after a record-shattering bout of sleep apnea spanning one hundred forty days.

You can feel your blood, syrupy with dobutamine and leuenkephalin, forcing its way through arteries shriveled by months on standby. The body inflates in painful increments: blood vessels dilate; flesh peels apart from flesh; ribs crack in your ears with sudden unaccustomed flexion.

Your joints have seized up through disuse. You're a stick-man, frozen in some perverse rigor vitae. You'd scream if you had the breath. Vampires did this all the time, you remember. It was normal for them, it was their own unique take on resource conservation. They could have taught your kind a few things about restraint, if that absurd aversion to right-angles hadn't done them in at the dawn of civilization.

Maybe they still can. One of them commands this very mission. A handful of his genes live on in your own body so it too can rise from the dead, here at the edge of interstellar space. Nobody gets past Jupiter without becoming part vampire.

The pain begins, just slightly, to recede. You fire up your inlays and access your own vitals: it'll be long minutes before your body responds fully to motor commands, hours before it stops hurting. The pain's an unavoidable side effect. That's just what happens when you splice vampire subroutines into Human code. You asked about painkillers once, but nerve blocks of any kind compromise metabolic reactivation.

Suck it up, soldier. You wonder if this was how it felt for Chelsea, before the end. But that evokes a whole other kind of pain, so you block it out and concentrate on the life pushing its way back into your extremities.

Suffering in silence, you check the logs for fresh telemetry. You think: That can't be right. Because if it is, you're in the wrong part of the universe. You're not in the Kuiper Belt where you belong: you're high above the ecliptic and deep into the Oort, the realm of long-period comets that only grace the sun every million years or so. You've gone interstellar , which means you bring up the system clock you've been undead for eighteen hundred days.

You've overslept by almost five years. The lid of your coffin slides away. Your own cadaverous body reflects from the mirrored bulkhead opposite, a desiccated lungfish waiting for the rains.

Bladders of isotonic saline cling to its limbs like engorged antiparasites, like the opposite of leeches. You remember the needles going in just before you shut down, way back when your veins were more than dry twisted filaments of beef jerky. Szpindel's reflection stares back from his own pod to your immediate right. His face is as bloodless and skeletal as yours. His wide sunken eyes jiggle in their sockets as he reacquires his own links, sensory interfaces so massive that your own off-the-shelf inlays amount to shadow-puppetry in comparison.

You hear coughing and the rustling of limbs just past line-of-sight, catch glimpses of reflected motion where the others stir at the edge of vision. Szpindel works his jaw. Bone cracks audibly. You haven't even met the aliens yet, and already they're running rings around you. So we dragged ourselves back from the dead: five part-time cadavers, naked, emaciated, barely able to move even in zero gee.

We emerged from our coffins like premature moths ripped from their cocoons, still half-grub. We were alone and off course and utterly helpless, and it took a conscious effort to remember: they would never have risked our lives if we hadn't been essential. Just past him, Susan James was curled into a loose fetal ball, murmuring to herselves. Only Amanda Bates, already dressed and cycling through a sequence of bone-cracking isometrics, possessed anything approaching mobility.

Every now and then she tried bouncing a rubber ball off the bulkhead; but not even she was up to catching it on the rebound yet. The journey had melted us down to a common archetype. Even our hair seemed to have become strangely discolored during the voyage, although I knew that was impossible.

More likely it was just filtering the pallor of the skin beneath. Bates kept her head shaved, but even her eyebrows weren't as rusty as I remembered them. We'd revert to our old selves soon enough. Just add water. For now, though, the old slur was freshly relevant: the Undead really did all look the same, if you didn't know how to look. Every facial tic was a data point, every conversational pause spoke volumes more than the words to either side. I could see James' personae shatter and coalesce in the flutter of an eyelash.

Szpindel's unspoken distrust of Amanda Bates shouted from the corner of his smile. Every twitch of the phenotype cried aloud to anyone who knew the language. Szpindel's lips cracked in a small rictus. Getting the ship to build some dirt to lie on. James again: "Could do that up here. And some things you kept to yourself. If he had withdrawn from public view, maybe I was the reason. Maybe he was keeping secrets. After all, Theseus damn well was. She'd taken us a good fifteen AUs towards our destination before something scared her off course.

Then she'd skidded north like a startled cat and started climbing: a wild high three-gee burn off the ecliptic, thirteen hundred tonnes of momentum bucking against Newton's First. She'd emptied her Penn tanks, bled dry her substrate mass, squandered a hundred forty days' of fuel in hours. Then a long cold coast through the abyss, years of stingy accounting, the thrust of every antiproton weighed against the drag of sieving it from the void. Teleportation isn't magic: the Icarus stream couldn't send us the actual antimatter it made, only the quantum specs.

Theseus had to filterfeed the raw material from space, one ion at a time. For long dark years she'd made do on pure inertia, hoarding every swallowed atom. Then a flip; ionizing lasers strafing the space ahead; a ramscoop thrown wide in a hard brake. The weight of a trillion trillion protons slowed her down and refilled her gut and flattened us all over again. Theseus had burned relentless until almost the moment of our resurrection. It was easy enough to retrace those steps; our course was there in ConSensus for anyone to see.

Exactly why the ship had blazed that trail was another matter. Doubtless it would all come out during the post-rez briefing. We were hardly the first vessel to travel under the cloak of sealed orders , and if there'd been a pressing need to know by now we'd have known by now.

Still, I wondered who had locked out the Comm logs. Mission Control, maybe. Or Sarasti. Or Theseus herself, for that matter. It was easy to forget the Quantical AI at the heart of our ship. It stayed so discreetly in the background, nurtured and carried us and permeated our existence like an unobtrusive God; but like God, it never took your calls.

Sarasti was the official intermediary. So did we all. He'd given us four hours to come back. It took more than three just to get me out of the crypt. I swapped out drained electrolyte bags for fresh ones and headed aft. Fifteen minutes to spin-up. Fifty to the post-resurrection briefing.

Just enough time for those who preferred gravity-bound sleep to haul their personal effects into the drum and stake out their allotted 4. I set up my own tent in zero-gee and as far to stern as possible, nuzzling the forward wall of the starboard shuttle tube.

The tent inflated like an abscess on Theseus' spine, a little climate-controlled bubble of atmosphere in the dark cavernous vacuum beneath the ship's carapace. My own effects were minimal; it took all of thirty seconds to stick them to the wall, and another thirty to program the tent's environment. Afterwards I went for a hike.

After five years, I needed the exercise. Stern was closest, so I started there: at the shielding that separated payload from propulsion. A single sealed hatch blistered the aft bulkhead dead center. Behind it, a service tunnel wormed back through machinery best left untouched by human hands.

The fat superconducting torus of the ramscoop ring; the antennae fan behind it, unwound now into an indestructible soap-bubble big enough to shroud a city, its face turned sunward to catch the faint quantum sparkle of the Icarus antimatter stream.

More shielding behind that; then the telematter reactor, where raw hydrogen and refined information conjured fire three hundred times hotter than the sun's. It would have been magic to anyone. Except Sarasti, maybe. Around me, the same magic worked at cooler temperatures and to less volatile ends: a small riot of chutes and dispensers crowded the bulkhead on all sides. A few of those openings would choke on my fist: one or two could swallow me whole.

Theseus ' fabrication plant could build everything from cutlery to cockpits. Give it a big enough matter stockpile and it could have even been built another Theseus , albeit in many small pieces and over a very long time.

Some wondered if it could build another crew as well, although we'd all been assured that was impossible. Not even these machines had fine enough fingers to reconstruct a few trillion synapses in the space of a human skull. Not yet, anyway. I believed it. They would never have shipped us out fully-assembled if there'd been a cheaper alternative. I faced forward. Putting the back of my head against that sealed hatch I could see almost to Theseus ' bow, an uninterrupted line-of-sight extending to a tiny dark bull's-eye thirty meters ahead.

It was like staring at a great textured target in shades of white and gray: concentric circles, hatches centered within bulkheads one behind another, perfectly aligned. Every one stood open, in nonchalant defiance of a previous generation's safety codes.

We could keep them closed if we wanted to, if it made us feel safer. That was all it would do, though; it wouldn't improve our empirical odds one whit. In the event of trouble those hatches would slam shut long milliseconds before Human senses could even make sense of an alarm. They weren't even computer-controlled.

Theseus ' body parts had reflexes. The shuttle-access hatches to Scylla and Charybdis briefly constricted my passage to either side. A pair of ladders ran opposite each other along its length; raised portholes the size of manhole covers stippled the bulkhead to either side. Most of those just looked into the hold. A couple served as general-purpose airlocks, should anyone want to take a stroll beneath the carapace. One opened into my tent.

Another, four meters further forward, opened into Bates'. From a third, just short of the forward bulkhead, Jukka Sarasti climbed into view like a long white spider. If he'd been Human I'd have known instantly what I saw there, I'd have smelled murderer all over his topology. And I wouldn't have been able to even guess at the number of his victims, because his affect was so utterly without remorse.

The killing of a hundred would leave no more stain on Sarasti's surfaces than the swatting of an insect; guilt beaded and rolled off this creature like water on wax. But Sarasti wasn't human. Sarasti was a whole different animal, and coming from him all those homicidal refractions meant nothing more than predator. He had the inclination, was born to it; whether he had ever acted on it was between him and Mission Control.

Maybe they cut you some slack , I didn't say to him. Maybe it's just a cost of doing business. You're mission-critical, after all. For all I know you cut a deal.

You're so very smart, you know we wouldn't have brought you back in the first place if we hadn't needed you. From the day they cracked the vat you knew you had leverage. Is that how it works, Jukka? You save the world, and the folks who hold your leash agree to look the other way? As a child I'd read tales about jungle predators transfixing their prey with a stare. Only after I'd met Jukka Sarasti did I know how it felt.

But he wasn't looking at me now. He was focused on installing his own tent, and even if he had looked me in the eye there'd have been nothing to see but the dark wraparound visor he wore in deference to Human skittishness.

He ignored me as I grabbed a nearby rung and squeezed past. I could have sworn I smelled raw meat on his breath. Into the drum drums , technically; the BioMed hoop at the back spun on its own bearings.

I flew through the center of a cylinder sixteen meters across. Theseus ' spinal nerves ran along its axis, the exposed plexii and piping bundled against the ladders on either side.

Past them, Szpindel's and James' freshly-erected tents rose from nooks on opposite sides of the world. Szpindel himself floated off my shoulder, still naked but for his gloves, and I could tell from the way his fingers moved that his favorite color was green.

He anchored himself to one of three stairways to nowhere arrayed around the drum: steep narrow steps rising five vertical meters from the deck into empty air. The next hatch gaped dead-center of the drum's forward wall; pipes and conduits plunged into the bulkhead to each side. The spinal corridor continued forward, a smaller diverticulum branched off to an EVA cubby and the forward airlock.

I stayed the course and found myself back in the crypt, mirror-bright and less than two meters deep. Empty pods gaped to the left; sealed ones huddled to the right. We were so irreplaceable we'd come with replacements.

They slept on, oblivious. I'd met three of them back in training. Hopefully none of us would be getting reacquainted any time soon. Only four pods to starboard, though. No backup for Sarasti. Another hatchway. Smaller this time. I squeezed through into the bridge. Dim light there, a silent shifting mosaic of icons and alphanumerics iterating across dark glassy surfaces. Not so much bridge as cockpit, and a cramped one at that. I'd emerged between two acceleration couches, each surrounded by a horseshoe array of controls and readouts.

Nobody expected to ever use this compartment. Theseus was perfectly capable of running herself, and if she wasn't we were capable of running her from our inlays, and if we weren't the odds were overwhelming that we were all dead anyway.

Still, against that astronomically off-the-wall chance, this was where one or two intrepid survivors could pilot the ship home again after everything else had failed. Between the footwells the engineers had crammed one last hatch and one last passageway: to the observation blister on Theseus ' prow. Clamshell shielding covered the outside of the dome like a pair of eyelids squeezed tight. Go in, sirrah; bid them prepare for dinner. Wilt thou show the whole wealth of thy wit in an instant?

I pray tree, understand a plain man in his plain meaning: go to thy fellows; bid them cover the table, serve in the meat, and we will come in to dinner. LAUNCELOT For the table, sir, it shall be served in; for the meat, sir, it shall be covered; for your coming in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours and conceits shall govern. How cheerest thou, Jessica?

DUKE I am sorry for thee: thou art come to answer A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch uncapable of pity, void and empty From any dram of mercy. We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. What if my house be troubled with a rat And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats To have it baned?

DUKE How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none? You have among you many a purchased slave, Which, like your asses and your dogs and mules, You use in abject and in slavish parts, Because you bought them: shall I say to you, Let them be free, marry them to your heirs?

Why sweat they under burthens? If you deny me, fie upon your law! There is no force in the decrees of Venice. I stand for judgment: answer; shall I have it? DUKE Bring us the letter; call the messenger. What, man, courage yet! The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones and all, Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood.

Bellario greets your grace. Can no prayers pierce thee? And for thy life let justice be accused. I stand here for law. Where is he? DUKE With all my heart.

Some three or four of you Go give him courteous conduct to this place. Clerk [Reads] Your grace shall understand that at the receipt of your letter I am very sick: but in the instant that your messenger came, in loving visitation was with me a young doctor of Rome; his name is Balthasar. I beseech you, let his lack of years be no impediment to let him lack a reverend estimation; for I never knew so young a body with so old a head.

I leave him to your gracious acceptance, whose trial shall better publish his commendation. Come you from old Bellario? DUKE You are welcome: take your place. Are you acquainted with the difference That holds this present question in the court? Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew? You stand within his danger, do you not?

Therefore, Jew, Though justice be thy plea, consider this, That, in the course of justice, none of us Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy; And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy. I crave the law, The penalty and forfeit of my bond.

And I beseech you, Wrest once the law to your authority: To do a great right, do a little wrong, And curb this cruel devil of his will. O wise young judge, how I do honour thee!

No, not for Venice. Be merciful: Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond. It doth appear you are a worthy judge; You know the law, your exposition Hath been most sound: I charge you by the law, Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar, Proceed to judgment: by my soul I swear There is no power in the tongue of man To alter me: I stay here on my bond. O excellent young man! How much more elder art thou than thy looks! Are there balance here to weigh The flesh?

Twere good you do so much for charity. Give me your hand, Bassanio: fare you well! Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you; For herein Fortune shows herself more kind Than is her custom: it is still her use To let the wretched man outlive his wealth, To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow An age of poverty; from which lingering penance Of such misery doth she cut me off. I have a daughter; Would any of the stock of Barrabas Had been her husband rather than a Christian!

Aside We trifle time: I pray thee, pursue sentence. A sentence! Come, prepare! Mark, Jew: O learned judge! Mark, Jew: a learned judge! The Jew shall have all justice; soft! Now, infidel, I have you on the hip. I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. Down therefore and beg mercy of the duke. DUKE Get thee gone, but do it. DUKE I am sorry that your leisure serves you not.

Antonio, gratify this gentleman, For, in my mind, you are much bound to him. I pray you, know me when we meet again: I wish you well, and so I take my leave. I will not shame myself to give you this. The dearest ring in Venice will I give you, And find it out by proclamation: Only for this, I pray you, pardon me.

An if your wife be not a mad-woman, And know how well I have deserved the ring, She would not hold out enemy for ever, For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you! Aloud Away! But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, And ceremoniously let us prepare Some welcome for the mistress of the house. Master Lorenzo, sola, sola! And yet no matter: why should we go in? My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you, Within the house, your mistress is at hand; And bring your music forth into the air.

Exit Stephano How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony.

Sit, Jessica. Enter Musicians Come, ho! The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils; The motions of his spirit are dull as night And his affections dark as Erebus: Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music. How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

PORTIA So doth the greater glory dim the less: A substitute shines brightly as a king Unto the king be by, and then his state Empties itself, as doth an inland brook Into the main of waters.

PORTIA The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, When neither is attended, and I think The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren. Peace, ho! You are welcome home, my lord. Give welcome to my friend. This is the man, this is Antonio, To whom I am so infinitely bound. For, as I hear, he was much bound for you.

You swore to me, when I did give it you, That you would wear it till your hour of death And that it should lie with you in your grave: Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths, You should have been respective and have kept it. I gave my love a ring and made him swear Never to part with it; and here he stands; I dare be sworn for him he would not leave it Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth That the world masters. Not that, I hope, which you received of me.

PORTIA If you had known the virtue of the ring, Or half her worthiness that gave the ring, Or your own honour to contain the ring, You would not then have parted with the ring.

What man is there so much unreasonable, If you had pleased to have defended it With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty To urge the thing held as a ceremony? What should I say, sweet lady? I was enforced to send it after him; I was beset with shame and courtesy; My honour would not let ingratitude So much besmear it.

Give him this And bid him keep it better than the other. Antonio, you are welcome; And I have better news in store for you Than you expect: unseal this letter soon; There you shall find three of your argosies Are richly come to harbour suddenly: You shall not know by what strange accident I chanced on this letter.

By my love I swear trade my dark skin color for anything, my gentle queen, 10 The best-regarded virgins of our clime except to have you think kindly of me. Have loved it too. I would not change this hue Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen. And besides, my destiny is to be decided by a lottery, 15 Besides, the lottery of my destiny so I can't even choose for myself. But if my father hadn't Bars me the right of voluntary choosing. Thank you for that compliment. Therefore, I beg you to lead Therefore I pray you lead me to the caskets me to the caskets so I can try my luck.

By this sword with 25 To try my fortune. By this scimitar which I killed the leader of Persia and a Persian prince, and That slew the Sophy and a Persian prince with which I won three battles against Sultan Solyman, I That won three fields of Sultan Solyman, swear that I would stare down the sternest eyes in the I would o'erstare the sternest eyes that look, world, be braver than the most daring man on earth, steal Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth, the bear cubs from a suckling mother bear, and even mock 1 The famous Greek hero was 30 Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear, a lion roaring at his prey--all to win you.

But alas! If recognizable for wearing the skin of Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey, Hercules 1 and his servant Lychas had to play a game of the Nemean Lion, which he killed. To win the lady. But, alas the while! So the great Hercules could be beaten by his own Which is the better man, the greater throw servant, and so I might lose you to a less worthy man 35 May turn by fortune from the weaker hand.

If that happened, I would die of grief. So is Alcides beaten by his page, And so may I, blind fortune leading me, Miss that which one unworthier may attain And die with grieving. Either don't attempt it at all, or And either not attempt to choose at all promise before you choose a casket that if you choose the Or swear before you choose, if you choose wrong wrong one you will never speak to a lady about marriage Never to speak to lady afterward again.

Be warned. In way of marriage. Therefore be advised. Come, bring me unto my chance. I promise. Come on, bring me to the caskets. After dinner First, let's go forward to the temple. After dinner, you can Your hazard shall be made. Cornets Trumpets play. Jew, my master. Take heed, honest Launcelot. Take honest Launcelot. Wait here, honest Gobbo. Don't you dare Gobbo, do not run.

Scorn running with thy heels. Anyways, my conscience says, to. He had a kind of taste. And if I run away from master, who, God bless the mark, is a kind of devil. And the Jew I'd be listening to the devil, who is the devil himself. And my conscience is being rather difficult in advising me to Certainly the Jew is the very devil incarnation. And in stay with the Jew. The devil is giving more friendly advice.

I 25 my conscience, my conscience is but a kind of hard will run away, devil. My feet are at your command: I will run conscience, to offer to counsel me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly counsel. I will run, fiend. My heels are at your command. I will run. He is as blind as a bat who, being more than sand-blind--high-gravel and doesn't recognize me. I'll play some tricks on him.

I will try confusions with him. Marry, at the very take a left. And then at the next intersection keep going next turning turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly straight and you'll be at the Jew's house. Can you By God, it will be hard to find my way there.

Do you know if tell me whether one Launcelot that dwells with him, someone named Launcelot, who lives with him, is there dwell with him or no?

Are you talking about young Master Launcelot? Now will I raise the waters. Now I'll raise the stakes. His father, Not a "master," sir, but a poor man's son. Master Launcelot. Yes, but just Launcelot, not "master," sir. Launcelot is pretending to speak Latin to seem educated, though he is using the Latin word incorrectly. Master, I am speaking of someone simply called Launcelot.

Don't talk about Master Launcelot, Father, for the young gentleman, according to Fates and father. That young gentleman, according to his fate and Destinies and such odd sayings, the Sisters Three and destiny and so forth, the Three Sisters 2 and so on, is 2 In classical mythology, the Fates such branches of learning, is indeed deceased, or as you deceased. Or, to say it plainly, he has gone to heaven. The boy was the very staff of my God forbid! In my old age I relied on that boy, like a crutch!

Do you recognize me, prop? But I I swear, I don't know who you are, young gentleman. But pray you, tell me, is my boy, God rest his soul, alive please tell me: is my son--God rest his soul--alive or dead? Do you not know who I am, father? I know you not. Alas, sir, I am completely blind. I don't know you. It takes a the knowing me. It is a wise father that knows his own wise father to recognize his own child.

Well, old man, I will child. Well, old man, I will tell you news of your son. Give me your blessing. Truth will come to light. Murder The truth will come to light. A man's son can be hidden, but not the truth. I am sure you are not Please sir, stand up. I am sure you aren't my son Launcelot. Launcelot, my boy. I am 80 me your blessing. I am Launcelot, your boy that was, Launcelot, who was, is, and will continue to be your son.

I can't believe that you are my son. But I am I don't know what to think of that. Margery is my mother. If you're Launcelot, I'll Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood. You have more hair on your chin than my his tail. It would seem that Dobbin's tail is shrinking, then. I am sure I am sure he had more hair of his tail than I have of that he had more hair on his tail the last time I saw him 95 my face when I last saw him. How dost thou and thy Lord, you have changed!

How are you and your master master agree? I have brought him a present. How 'gree getting along? I have bought him a present. Are you getting you now? My master is very some ground. Give him a present. Go ahead and give him a present; give him a Give him a halter. I am famished in his service. You noose. I work as his servant and he hardly feeds me.

You may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am can count my ribs, they protrude so much. I'm glad you've glad you are come. Give me your present to one Master come, father. Give me the present so I can give it to Master Bassanio, who indeed gives rare new liveries. If I serve Bassanio, who gives his servants fancy new outfits. If I don't not him, I will run as far as God has any ground. Here comes the man. Here he comes. Let's go talk to him, father, am a Jew if I serve the Jew any longer.

Make sure these clock. See these letters delivered, put the liveries to letters are delivered, get the outfits made, and tell Gratiano making, and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging. Exit follower The attendant exits. Go talk to him, father. Wouldst thou aught with me? Do you want something? What would you? One of you speak for both of you. What do you want? To be your servant, sir. That is the heart of the matter, sir. Thou hast obtained thy suit.

I know you well. You will get what you ask for. The follower of so poor a gentleman. Go along with your son, father. Go leave your old Take leave of thy old master and inquire master and come inquire at my house. My lodging out. Make sure this is done. See it done. I cannot get a service, no. I have ne'er a Father, go. I can't get a job, no. I'm not very good at talking.

I will have good life. Alas, fifteen luck. Look, here's the life line. It predicts several wives. Eleven widows and nine maids is a Fifteen wives is nothing! Eleven widows and nine young simple coming-in for one man. Well, if bed. Simple escapes. Come with me, father. I'll leave the Jew in the gear. Buy and arrange these things and then come back Return in haste, for I do feast tonight to me quickly, for I'm having my most respected My best esteemed acquaintance. Hie thee, go. Get going now.

I'll give it my best effort. Over there, sir, walking about. Sir Bassanio! I have a favor to ask of you. Your wish is my command. I must go with you to Belmont. Please don't deny my favor. But hear thee, Gratiano. Well then, you will. But listen, Gratiano. You are too wild Thou art too wild, too rude and bold of voice-- and too rude, and you speak too boldly.

These qualities suit Parts that become thee happily enough you well and I don't mind them. But in a place where And in such eyes as ours appear not faults. Please, take care to moderate your hot-headed Something too liberal. Pray thee, take pain spirit with some cold drops of modesty, so that your wild To allay with some cold drops of modesty behavior doesn't reflect poorly on me in Belmont, and ruin Thy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild behavior my own hopes there.

Sir Bassanio, listen to me. I give you permission to never If I do not put on a sober habit, trust me again if I do not behave in a sober fashion, talk Talk with respect and swear but now and then, respectfully and not swear too much, carry prayer books Wear prayer books in my pocket, look demurely-- around with me, look modestly--even more, if during grace Nay more. Well, we will see how you behave. You shall not gauge me But tonight is an exception.

Don't gauge me based on what I By what we do tonight. No, it would be a pity to judge you based on tonight. Rather, I would entreat you rather to put on I encourage you to to put on your boldest display of Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends merriment, for we are entertaining two friends whom I That purpose merriment.

But fare you well. But I must say goodbye, because I have I have some business. And I must go to Lorenzo and the others. We will see you at But we will visit you at supper time. I am sorry that you are leaving my father's service like this. Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil, Our house is hell, and you, a joking little devil, made life Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness. But I wish you well. Here is a ducat But fare thee well, there is a ducat for thee. And Launcelot, you will soon see a man named 5 And Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see Lorenzo at dinner, a guest of your new master's.

Give him this letter. Goodbye, Do it secretly. I don't want my father to see me talking with you. And so farewell. I would not have my father See me in talk with thee. Tears exhibit my tongue. Most beautiful pagan, Goodbye! I am speaking through my tears. You most 15 most sweet Jew! If a Christian do not play the knave and beautiful pagan, you sweet Jew! I'll bet some Christian will get thee, I am much deceived. But adieu. These foolish figure out a way to get you. But goodbye.

These silly tears drops do something drown my manly spirit. Farewell, good Launcelot. I am his daughter by blood, but I have not But though I am a daughter to his blood, inherited his manners. Oh, Lorenzo, if you keep your I am not to his manners. O Lorenzo, promise I will end this pain by becoming a Christian and If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife, your loving wife.

Become a Christian and thy loving wife. All in an hour. We haven't prepared well enough for this. We haven't got ourselves torchbearers yet.

We have two hours It's only four o'clock now. We have two hours to get ready. To furnish us. My friend Launcelot, what's the news? Truly written by a beautiful hand, 1 A pun on how "fair" could mean 15 And whiter than the paper it writ on one whiter than the paper it wrote on. Something about love, is it?

Where are you going? Take this. Tell gentle Hold here, take this. Tell gentle Jessica Jessica that I won't fail her. Tell her this privately. And you I will not fail her. Speak it privately. I have a torchbearer. Will you prepare you for this masque tonight? I am provided of a torchbearer. Yes, sure thing, I'll go see to it right away. And so will I. That's a good plan.

Wasn't that letter from the beautiful Jessica? She hath directed I must tell you everything. If her father the Jew ever gets into heaven, it will be If e'er the Jew her father come to heaven, thanks to his gentle, good daughter. Come now, go with me. Unless she do it under this excuse: That she is issue to a faithless Jew. Come, go with me. Beautiful Jessica will be my torchbearer.

You can be the judge of the The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio. What, Jessica! I'm calling for you! I do not bid thee call. Who told you to call for her? I didn't order you to do that. What is your will? You called? I have been invited to a dinner, Jessica. Here are my keys. There are my keys. But then again, why should I go? They haven't invited me I am not bid for love. They flatter me. They're just trying to flatter me. Jessica, my girl, look after the house.

I am Look to my house. I am right loath to go. There are bad things being stirred up There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest, for me, for I had a dream about money bags last night.

Como dito antes, este estudo aborda crimes praticados por homens que matam por motivo sexual. Os transtornos de personalidade, sobretudo o tipo anti-social, representam verdadeiros desafios para a psiquiatria forense. Abrir menu Brasil. Brazilian Journal of Psychiatry. Abrir menu. Tratamento Existe um debate internacional sobre a viabilidade e o alcance do tratamento dos diversos transtornos de personalidade, sobretudo do tipo anti-social.

Porto Alegre: Artmed, Abdalla-Filho E. Transtornos da personalidade. Personality disorders: a challenge for transplantation. Prog Transpl. J Personal Disord. Bienenfeld D. Personaliy disorders. Coid JW. Aetiological risk factors for personality disorders. Br J Psychiatry. Knowlton L. Nature versus nurture: how is child psychopathology developed?

Personality disorders. In: Kaplan, Sadock's. Synopsis of Psychiatry 7a ed. Companion to psychiatric studies.