Forgiveness

my discussion of semantic anthropology, he will find that these aims correspond exactly with my characterization of ethnosemantics as the objectification of nature through native category. I will, therefore, have to beg Professor LéviStrauss's forgiveness (and, I am afraid, that of the ethnosemanticists as well) and classify him as an ethnosemanticist. To borrow a metaphor from Robert Frost, we might say that he plays ethnosemantic tennis "with the net down," that is, without benefit of elicitational

off the envelope, the odds were that she would open the letter and read it rather than tearing it up and throwing it in the garbage. I thought it would be simple, but it took me six or seven shots before I felt I'd struck the right tone. Asking forgiveness from someone is a complicated affair, a delicate balancing act between stiff-necked pride and tearful remorse, and unless you can truly open up to the other person, every apology sounds hollow and false. As I worked on the successive drafts of the

trace of irony in his voice. “I do feel better, and I’m ready to accept the judgment of the pack.” “I’m not,” Patricia cried. “I escaped death in the pack war by surrendering. Let me surrender again!” She fell to her knees, like Annabelle. “I beg forgiveness. I’m only guilty of loving the wrong man.” Like Annabelle. Patricia bowed her head, and her dark braid fell over one shoulder. She put her clasped hands to her face. Pretty as a picture. “You didn’t love me,” Ham said, genuinely shocked. “Wescrewed

he had finished his trading, and the little blue-stringed packages had been stored away, could the poor donkey have made his appearance at the door, and gazed with his meek, fawnlike eyes into his master's, he would have obtained full and free forgiveness. Elder Brown paused at the door as he was about to leave. A rosy-cheeked school-girl was just lifting a creamy mixture to her lips before the fountain. It was a pretty picture, and he turned back, resolved to indulge in one more glass of the delightful