∘ WARNING: Fed Docket OP–1670 | Feb 20

A frightening plan that gives the Fed the power to track and even control your checking account. Starting as soon as May! [USA Insider News]( Коли я опинився на п'ятому поверсі, мене провели у квартиру з двох кімнат, де все блищало чистотою, як новенький дукат. Я не помітив ні порошинки на меблях у першій кімнаті, де мене прийняла господиня — мадемуазель Фанні, молода дівчина, вдягнена простенько, але зі смаком парижанки. В неї була граціозна голівка, свіже личко, привітний вигляд: каштанове, гарно зачесане волосся, спускаючись двома круглими начосами на скроні, відтіняло блакитні, чисті, як кришталь, очі. Денне світло, пробиваючись крізь маленькі фіранки на вікнах, м'яко освітлювало її миле личко. Безліч покроєних шматків полотна, розкиданих навколо неї, свідчили про її професію, — вона шила білизну. Ця дівчина видавалася духом самотності. Подаючи їй вексель, я сказав, що вранці не застав її. — Але ж гроші були у воротарки, — сказала вона. Я вдав, ніби не чую. — Ви, здається, рано виходите з дому? — Я дуже рідко виходжу, та коли працюєш уночі, то треба ж іноді хоч провітритись. Я глянув на неї. З першого погляду зрозумів усе. Це була дівчина, яку злидні примушували працювати, не розгинаючи спини; вона, мабуть, походила з якоїсь чесної фермерської родини, на обличчі в неї були веснянки, які бувають здебільшого у сільських дівчат. Від неї віяло доброчесністю. Я ніби опинився в атмосфері щирості і душевної чистоти, і мені навіть стало легше дихати. Бідна наївна дівчина! Вона в щось вірила: над її простеньким ліжком з фарбованого дерева висіло розп'яття, прикрашене двома гілочками буксусу. Я був майже зворушений. Мені хотілося запропонувати їй гроші в позичку всього по дванадцять процентів, щоб допомогти їй придбати якесь прибуткове діло. "Але, — подумав я, — у неї, либонь, є який-небудь молодий кузен, що примусить її підписувати векселі і оббере бідну дівчину". І я пішов, приборкавши свої великодушні наміри, бо мені не раз доводилося спостерігати, що коли благодіяння не шкодить благодійникові, то воно вбиває облагодіяного. Коли ви ввійшли до моєї кімнати, я думав саме про Фанні Мальво, — з неї вийшла б гарна жіночка, мати сім'ї. Я порівняв її чисте самотнє життя з життям тієї графині, що почала вже підписувати векселі, а незабаром скотиться в безодню гріхів на самісіньке дно. Замислившись, він помовчав з хвилину, а я в цей час розглядав його. — Ну, так от, — заговорив він знову, — що ви скажете — хіба погані в мене розваги? Хіба не цікаво забратися в найпотаємніші закутки людського серця? Хіба не цікаво пізнати життя інших людей і побачити його без прикрас? Яких тільки картин не набачишся! Тут і гидкі болячки, і невтішне горе, любовні пристрасті, злидні, що на них чигають води Сени, юнацькі насолоди, що ведуть на ешафот, регіт розпачу і розкішні бенкети. Сьогодні бачиш трагедію: бідолашний батько наклав руки на себе, бо не може більше прогодувати своїх дітей. Завтра дивишся комедію: молодий гульвіса пробує розіграти перед тобою класичну сценку з Діманшем, пристосувавши її до нашого часу. Ви, звісно, чули, як вихваляють красномовність найновіших проповідників; іноді я гаяв час, ходив їх слухати. їм щастило де в чому змінювати мої погляди, але поведінку — ніколи в світі! — як сказав хтось. Так от, ці добрі священики, ваші Мірабо, Верньо та інші — просто заїки порівняно з моїми повсякденними ораторами. Часто яка-небудь закохана дівчина, старий купець, що стоїть на порозі банкрутства, мати, коли хоче затаїти синову провину, маляр, що сидить без шматка хліба, вельможа, який втратив ласку і через брак грошей от-от позбудеться всього, що він здобув завдяки своїм тривалим зусиллям, усі ці люди іноді зворушують мене силою свого слова. Чудові актори! Але обдурити мене їм ніколи не щастило. Мій погляд як у господа бога, — я читаю в серцях. Від мене нічого не сховається. А хіба можуть у чомусь відмовити тому, в кого в руках мішок золота. Я досить багатий, щоб купити сумління тих, що керують міністрами, починаючи від канцелярських служителів і закінчуючи їхніми коханками. Хіба це не влада? Я можу мати найвродливіших жінок і купувати найніжніші ласки. Хіба це не втіха? Влада і втіха — хіба не в цьому полягає суть усього нашого суспільного ладу? This was the man Dorian Gray was waiting for. Every second he kept glancing at the clock. As the minutes went by he became horribly agitated. At last he got up and began to pace up and down the room, looking like a beautiful caged thing. He took long stealthy strides. His hands were curiously cold. The suspense became unbearable. Time seemed to him to be crawling with feet of lead, while he by monstrous winds was being swept towards the jagged edge of some black cleft of precipice. He knew what was waiting for him there; saw it, indeed, and, shuddering, crushed with dank hands his burning lids as though he would have robbed the very brain of sight and driven the eyeballs back into their cave. It was useless. The brain had its own food on which it battened, and the imagination, made grotesque by terror, twisted and distorted as a living thing by pain, danced like some foul puppet on a stand and grinned through moving masks. Then, suddenly, time stopped for him. Yes: that blind, slow-breathing thing crawled no more, and horrible thoughts, time being dead, raced nimbly on in front, and dragged a hideous future from its grave, and showed it to him. He stared at it. Its very horror made him stone. At last the door opened and his servant entered. He turned glazed eyes upon him. “Mr. Campbell, sir,” said the man. A sigh of relief broke from his parched lips, and the colour came back to his cheeks. “Ask him to come in at once, Francis.” He felt that he was himself again. His mood of cowardice had passed away. The man bowed and retired. In a few moments, Alan Campbell walked in, looking very stern and rather pale, his pallor being intensified by his coal-black hair and dark eyebrows. “Alan! This is kind of you. I thank you for coming.” “I had intended never to enter your house again, Gray. But you said it was a matter of life and death.” His voice was hard and cold. He spoke with slow deliberation. There was a look of contempt in the steady searching gaze that he turned on Dorian. He kept his hands in the pockets of his Astrakhan coat, and seemed not to have noticed the gesture with which he had been greeted. “Yes: it is a matter of life and death, Alan, and to more than one person. Sit down.” Campbell took a chair by the table, and Dorian sat opposite to him. The two men’s eyes met. In Dorian’s there was infinite pity. He knew that what he was going to do was dreadful. After a strained moment of silence, he leaned across and said, very quietly, but watching the effect of each word upon the face of him he had sent for, “Alan, in a locked room at the top of this house, a room to which nobody but myself has access, a dead man is seated at a table. He has been dead ten hours now. Don’t stir, and don’t look at me like that. Who the man is, why he died, how he died, are matters that do not concern you. What you have to do is this—” “Stop, Gray. I don’t want to know anything further. Whether what you have told me is true or not true doesn’t concern me. I entirely decline to be mixed up in your life. Keep your horrible secrets to yourself. They don’t interest me any more.” “Alan, they will have to interest you. This one will have to interest you. I am awfully sorry for you, Alan. But I can’t help myself. You are the one man who is able to save me. I am forced to bring you into the matter. I have no option. Alan, you are scientific. You know about chemistry and things of that kind. You have made experiments. What you have got to do is to destroy the thing that is upstairs—to destroy it so that not a vestige of it will be left. Nobody saw this person come into the house. Indeed, at the present moment he is supposed to be in Paris. He will not be missed for months. When he is missed, there must be no trace of him found here. You, Alan, you must change him, and everything that belongs to him, into a handful of ashes that I may scatter in the air.” “You are mad, Dorian.” “Ah! I was waiting for you to call me Dorian.” “You are mad, I tell you—mad to imagine that I would raise a finger to help you, mad to make this monstrous confession. I will have nothing to do with this matter, whatever it is. Do you think I am going to peril my reputation for you? What is it to me what devil’s work you are up to?” “It was suicide, Alan.” “I am glad of that. But who drove him to it? You, I should fancy.” “Do you still refuse to do this for me?” “Of course I refuse. I will have absolutely nothing to do with it. I don’t care what shame comes on you. You deserve it all. I should not be sorry to see you disgraced, publicly disgraced. How dare you ask me, of all men in the world, to mix myself up in this horror? I should have thought you knew more about people’s characters. Your friend Lord Henry Wotton can’t have taught you much about psychology, whatever else he has taught you. Nothing will induce me to stir a step to help you. You have come to the wrong man. Go to some of your friends. Don’t come to me.” “Alan, it was murder. I killed him. You don’t know what he had made me suffer. Whatever my life is, he had more to do with the making or the marring of it than poor Harry has had. He may not have intended it, the result was the same.” “Murder! Good God, Dorian, is that what you have come to? I shall not inform upon you. It is not my business. Besides, without my stirring in the matter, you are certain to be arrested. Nobody ever commits a crime without doing something stupid. But I will have nothing to do with it.” “You must have something to do with it. Wait, wait a moment; listen to me. Only listen, Alan. All I ask of you is to perform a certain scientific experiment. You go to hospitals and dead-houses, and the horrors that you do there don’t affect you. If in some hideous dissecting-room or fetid laboratory you found this man lying on a leaden table with red gutters scooped out in it for the blood to flow through, you would simply look upon him as an admirable subject. You would not turn a hair. You would not believe that you were doing anything wrong. On the contrary, you would probably feel that you were benefiting the human race, or increasing the sum of knowledge in the world, or gratifying intellectual curiosity, or something of that kind. What I want you to do is merely what you have often done before. Indeed, to destroy a body must be far less horrible than what you are accustomed to work at. And, remember, it is the only piece of evidence against me. If it is discovered, I am lost; and it is sure to be discovered unless you help me.” “I have no desire to help you. You forget that. I am simply indifferent to the whole thing. It has nothing to do with me.” “Alan, I entreat you. Think of the position I am in. Just before you came I almost fainted with terror. You may know terror yourself some day. No! don’t think of that. Look at the matter purely from the scientific point of view. You don’t inquire where the dead things on which you experiment come from. Don’t inquire now. I have told you too much as it is. But I beg of you to do this. We were friends once, Alan.” “Don’t speak about those days, Dorian—they are dead.” This Federal Document Sends Shivers up My Spine [Play Video]( To see my new video about the shocking truth it reveals plus three protective steps to take urgently, [click here](. I write you today with an urgent warning. See the document I’m holding in my hand? It’s the Federal Reserve System’s Docket No. OP – 1670. [FRS]( Here’s the top of page 1 → This was never meant for the general public. But it’s all there in black and white … A frightening plan that gives the Fed the power to track and even control your checking account, including ALL your financial transactions. A pilot test program is already underway. And it’s slated to launch at America’s largest banks as soon as May of this year! So, time to prepare is very short. Fortunately, there are a few key steps you can take to defend yourself. [Click here to discover how to protect your money](. Good luck and God bless! How exquisite they were! As one read them, one seemed to be floating down the green water-ways of the pink and pearl city, seated in a black gondola with silver prow and trailing curtains. The mere lines looked to him like those straight lines of turquoise-blue that follow one as one pushes out to the Lido. The sudden flashes of colour reminded him of the gleam of the opal-and-iris-throated birds that flutter round the tall honeycombed Campanile, or stalk, with such stately grace, through the dim, dust-stained arcades. Leaning back with half-closed eyes, he kept saying over and over to himself: “Devant une façade rose, Sur le marbre d’un escalier.” The whole of Venice was in those two lines. He remembered the autumn that he had passed there, and a wonderful love that had stirred him to mad delightful follies. There was romance in every place. But Venice, like Oxford, had kept the background for romance, and, to the true romantic, background was everything, or almost everything. Basil had been with him part of the time, and had gone wild over Tintoret. Poor Basil! What a horrible way for a man to die! He sighed, and took up the volume again, and tried to forget. He read of the swallows that fly in and out of the little café at Smyrna where the Hadjis sit counting their amber beads and the turbaned merchants smoke their long tasselled pipes and talk gravely to each other; he read of the Obelisk in the Place de la Concorde that weeps tears of granite in its lonely sunless exile and longs to be back by the hot, lotus-covered Nile, where there are Sphinxes, and rose-red ibises, and white vultures with gilded claws, and crocodiles with small beryl eyes that crawl over the green steaming mud; he began to brood over those verses which, drawing music from kiss-stained marble, tell of that curious statue that Gautier compares to a contralto voice, the “monstre charmant” that couches in the porphyry-room of the Louvre. But after a time the book fell from his hand. He grew nervous, and a horrible fit of terror came over him. What if Alan Campbell should be out of England? Days would elapse before he could come back. Perhaps he might refuse to come. What could he do then? Every moment was of vital importance. [Martin D. Weiss] Martin D. Weiss, PhD Weiss Ratings Founder P.S. This is not about a digital currency. It’s very different. [Find out what it is here](. [--------------] At times, our affiliate partners reach out to the Editors at USA Insider News with special opportunities for our readers. The message above is one we think you should take a close, serious look at. [--------------][--------------] You are receiving our newsletter because you opted-in for it on one of our sister websites. 11780 US Highway 1 Palm Beach Gardens, FL 33408-3080 Would you like to [edit your e-mail notification preferences or unsubscribe]( from our mailing list? Copyright © 2023 Weiss Ratings. All rights reserved. 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