lady [Theme] Page 1

Ever since Lady Romanadvoratrelundar arrived, the Doctor had become obsessive about the dusty corners of the TARDIS — and he found it completely dishonest. The point is not at all that he is somehow sloppy - there are simply more important things in life. On one occasion, he even summoned a cleaning lady who disappeared somewhere inside the TARDIS along with a bucket and a rag, and was never seen again. The doctor even began to worry about her fate at times - after all, she was paid on an hourly basis.

But no, the Guardian was not going to take into account the wishes of the Doctor, nor the presence of his adorable robot dog. Instead, he was given another Lady of Time, Lady Romanadvoratrelundar, whose fun so far was roughly like a well-dressed telephone directory.

Your friend, Missy.

- There I sold flowers, but I did not sell myself. Now you have made me a lady, and I can no longer trade anything but myself. You better not touch me.

I understand there are many other "black" events besides my stories and Shirley Boone meetings - demonstrations in the city, march in Birmingham, civil rights rallies. But the point is, I'm not too worried about voting rights. And I don't give a damn about the right to dine at the same counter with whites. But it is important for me that in ten years the white lady does not call my girls dirty and does not accuse them of stealing silver.

- I sold flowers, but I didn't sell myself. Now you have made me a lady and I can only sell myself.

And since John Mangles undertook to teach Robert the naval business, Glenarvan - to be courageous, the Major - cold-blooded, Lady Helen - kind and generous, and Mary Grant - grateful to such teachers, then, obviously, the young Grant had to become an impeccable gentleman.

I never intended to be a good lady like you. So I had to become someone else.

Elena: Let's remember...
Rainer Brown. How many Eldians were devoured by the giants when you punched a hole in the wall?
Then you penetrated the walls and shared the sorrows and joys with your "friends" sitting here.
And betraying them. You killed each other.
And now you're pretending to be friends again.
Annie Leonhart. They say you killed the fighters of the reconnaissance corps in packs. And also crushed a lot of residents of the stoess area.
And of course, the inhabitants of paradise island fought bravely in Mara, where you, usually so intelligent, smashed into splinters a military port, yes Armin?
You stole and used the power of Berthold. As a result, a mountain of corpses, including civilians.
I don't know what kind of courage you showed in Liberio. But they say you killed the superior number of Marei soldiers, drowning the city in blood.
Especially you, Jean. They say you shot a thunder spear at young Falco to hit the giant rickshaw. And only because the spear has gone past the target, Falco now sits among us.
And yet... This young lady, Gaby, shot Sasha. And Sasha was so good... Even I was sad.
But my sadness doesn't compare to your grief and anger. You're so close as cadets.

- Me too ... Lady Bug is me.

Sailors who cry when a beautiful boy sings to a beautiful girl in his lap - oh, if I had the wings of an eagle, I'd fly to my love on the shore, and never again would I leave her, for she is the girl I adore!
And the girl cries
their, according to legends, healing tears of the lady.
And presses you to the chest of the one that is able to defocus in fights.
Oh, if I had the wings of an eagle!
And it smells of pints of beer, and fried meat, and sea water.
And the girl loves you by anyone.
Even an Irish sailor,
even a coke on a fishing sniffed schooner.
And the smoke in my hair, and the smell of iodine, the water of the sea, not departing from my skin, now its oxygen ...

I traded flowers, but I didn't trade myself. Now you have made me a lady and I can't trade anything but myself.

I can feel your gaze, Mr. von Schönburg-Hartenstein.
The stones would feel your gaze.
With the intensity with which your pupil drinks the light reflected by me, even the granite baobab would be reached by a phrase sung so many times by a distant English lady that she did not sing it and with one twentieth of your involvement, sir-
I love you till my breathing stops.
You burn out intensely adore me.

The whole world is good when you eat.