Mr. World and Miss Church-Member by W. S. Harris
Mr. World and Miss Church-Member by W. S. Harris
"Have you met with any hindrances to your work?" queried the chairman of the meeting.
"Many indeed. Some Parks refuse our class of Theatres, while others are closed to every class. But our committee is determined to push ahead."
"Onward, ye comrades," urged the chairman. "Buy up the stock of every Park, if possible, and furnish recreation for the church. Do not become too bold at first in the introduction of lewd and foolish plays, or you may be fought by the popular churches."
"Hardly possible," replied the leader. "So many in the church are glad to wink at these incongruities, for they are thereby given a chance to satisfy their carnal appetites without being classed with the regular Theatre crowd."
"This is one of our happiest modern hits," chuckled the chairman, as the committee turned away, amidst the mad-like cheering,
Next I saw that the chairman raised his hand, and at once I heard three sharp clangs which were the signal for the "Church-Choir" committee. "What has the church-choir to do with the Theatre," thought I, as I saw the obedient host answering to their call.
"What tidings, good or ill?" asked the chairman in a tone of confidence.
"Progress slow, but sure," briefly answered the leader of the committee as he stepped a little nearer to the chairman to give his report.
"Ours is a difficult task. Some choirs are hedged about that we cannot so much as reach them with suggestions. Nevertheless, we have succeeded in many sections, notably in certain large cities. We report, with pride, that some churches have engaged genuine theatrical singers to render special selections during the regular Sunday services. Is it not an evidence of our success when the opera-stage singer of Saturday night furnishes the chief solo for church-goers on Sunday morning? This is winning certain people to the Theatre, for in many instances they cannot wait until the next Sunday; so they visit several theatres during the week to keep their spiritual strength renewed."
Then the demons cheered to the echo, and I listened with a sad, heavy heart.
The leader continued:
"We are also endeavoring to get the regular church-choirs to imitate the popular theatrical stars. Of course, we do not oppose the use of religious words, if we cannot induce them to sing our selections. We are aiming to create a taste for the up-to-date novelties in music, in contrast to the old dry singing in certain churches of the King's Highway." (Prolonged applause.)
As this tall, wiry demon continued to unfold his deep-laid plans, I well understood why Satan has selected the church-choir as an objective point, and has delegated so large a number of imps to do work in that special direction. I then cried within me: "Oh, that these churches would not use their choir-corners as an advertising medium for the Theatre! And that choirs, in their musical devotions, may be led by the Spirit of God rather than by the imps of Hell!"
This committee retired with special encomiums.
The chairman rose and I heard four sonorous clangs which summoned the "Ministerial" committee. At once its members, in their sedate and portly attitudes, surged down the massive aisles.
I shuddered as I saw the variety of these mean Satanic faces, portraying a depth of vileness, mingled with shrewd and scholarly insight. With great care I studied this pack of Hell-hounds, gathered from the ends of the earth, now standing in sullen mood, ready to give their report.
"What tidings, good or ill?" asked the chairman.
"The tidings are good," replied the famous leader. "By our efforts we have silenced many a voice which formerly thundered against us. To-day many more ministers are in sympathy with the modern Theatre of the higher grades, although not a few of these must hold their views in secret. Others speak apologetically, and still more come out in bold defense of what they term the 'Select Theatre.'"
"What do you consider the most hopeful line of your work?" further asked the chairman.
"Our work in the theological schools," quickly responded the leader. "Special sections of our committee have labored with stealthy vigor to capture the preacher before he reaches the pulpit. The last years of the century have witnessed phenomenal gains for our cause. By winning the theological student early to our Theatrical theories we are likely to gain his heart and sympathy in after years. Our success along these lines is the most hopeful sign of the times, and bespeaks the ushering in of more sensible conditions. (Furious applause.)
"Before retiring," continued the leader, "let me quote the utterances of a certain broad-minded clergyman: 'The clean Theatre of the twentieth century will be, and ought to be, the moral prayer-meeting for Christians, while the spiritual prayer-meeting will be held in the church as usual.'"
The whole army of devils cheered like madmen. I was so aroused that I felt that ecclesiastical lynch law should be applied to any minister whose utterances caused such jubilee among the legions of Hell.
I could not remain to hear the report of:
"The Moral Play" committee,
"The Variant Dance" committee,
"The Sacred Concert" committee and other committees whose names I could not learn.
Mr. World and Miss Church-Member: A Twentieth Century Allegory by W. S. Harris
Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé. Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one? Wrong. One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup. So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise. Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Enter him. Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes. It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised. But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life. And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made. Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with. And now, he's not letting me go.
Rumors said that Lucas married an unattractive woman with no background. In the three years they were together, he remained cold and distant to Belinda, who endured in silence. Her love for him forced her to sacrifice her self-worth and her dreams. When Lucas' true love reappeared, Belinda realized that their marriage was a sham from the start, a ploy to save another woman's life. She signed the divorce papers and left. Three years later, Belinda returned as a surgical prodigy and a maestro of the piano. Lost in regret, Lucas chased her in the rain and held her tightly. "You are mine, Belinda."
The night I discovered my husband's whore was carrying his heir, I smiled for the cameras-and plotted his ruin. Scarlett was born a queen-heir to a powerful legacy, Luna of the Dark Moon Pack by blood and by sacrifice. She gave everything to Alexander: her love, her loyalty, her life. In return, he paraded his mistress before their pack... and dared to call it duty. But Scarlett won't be another broken woman weeping in the shadows. She'll wear her crown of thorns with pride, tear down every lie built around her, and when she strikes, it will be glorious. The Alpha forgot that the woman he betrayed is far more dangerous than the girl who once loved him.
I just got my billionaire husband to sign our divorce papers. He thinks it's another business document. Our marriage was a business transaction. I was his secretary by day, his invisible wife by night. He got a CEO title and a rebellion against his mother; I got the money to save mine. The only rule? Don't fall in love. I broke it. He didn't. So I'm cashing out. Thirty days from now, I'm gone. But now he's noticing me. Touching me. Claiming me. The same man who flaunts his mistresses is suddenly burning down a nightclub because another man insulted me. He says he'll never let me go. But he has no idea I'm already halfway out the door. How far will a billionaire go to keep a wife he never wanted until she tried to leave?
For ten years, Daniela showered her ex-husband with unwavering devotion, only to discover she was just his biggest joke. Feeling humiliated yet determined, she finally divorced him. Three months later, Daniela returned in grand style. She was now the hidden CEO of a leading brand, a sought-after designer, and a wealthy mining mogul-her success unveiled at her triumphant comeback. Her ex-husband's entire family rushed over, desperate to beg for forgiveness and plead for another chance. Yet Daniela, now cherished by the famed Mr. Phillips, regarded them with icy disdain. "I'm out of your league."
"Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress. With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap. Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell. On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered. When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling."
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