Camden Yards Quotes

Outside in the yard, Arsinoe follows Jules past the chicken coops as she and Camden stretch their sore limbs in the sun. Then she darts off into the woodpile. “What are you digging for?” Jules asks. “Nothing.” But Arsinoe returns with a book, brushing bits of bark off the soft green cover. She holds it up and Jules frowns. It is a book of poison plants, lifted discreetly from one of the shelves in Luke’s bookshop. “You shouldn’t be messing about with that,” Jules says. “And what if someone sees you with it?” “Then they’ll think I’m trying to get revenge, for what was done to you.” “That won’t work. Reading a book to out-poison the poisoners? You can’t even poison a poisoner, can you?” “Say ‘poison’ one more time, Jules.

Even the judge who ruled in Wilkes’s case that general warrants were invalid found fame and admiration in America. Soon after his decision in Wilkes’s case, Lord Chief Justice Pratt inherited the title Lord Camden. As in Camden, New Jersey. And Camden, South Carolina. And the B&O Railroad’s Camden Station, on whose rail yards was later built the home of the Baltimore Orioles—Camden Yards.

It’s complacency,” says an agent who was on Obama’s detail. “They say we can make do with less.” Shutting down magnetometers as an event is about to start is shocking enough. But when Vice President Biden threw the opening pitch at the first Baltimore Orioles game of the season at Camden Yards on April 6, 2009, the Secret Service had not screened with magnetometers any of the more than forty thousand fans. Moreover, even though Biden’s scheduled attendance at the game had been announced beforehand, the vice president was not wearing a bulletproof vest under his navy sport shirt as he stood on the pitcher’s mound. According

When she looked back at Michael, he was staring up at her with murder in his eyes. “Get down from there!” he roared. He pulled the brake on the wagon and sprang to the ground, stalking across the yard like a barbarian on the march. Even from three stories up she could hear him muttering in Romanian, and whatever he was saying did not sound complimentary. He stood in the middle of the yard and yelled up at her. “Why can’t you be a normal woman and keep your feet on the ground? I have traveled nine hundred miles to get back to you, and look! Trousers!

Michael sprang to his feet, then she gasped when he swung her up into his arms and whirled her in a circle. Her feet went flying out behind her and she clung to his neck as the yard spun around her. Michael kept spinning her in a circle as peals of laughter sounded from his strong throat. She was breathless by the time her feet landed on the ground, her head still whirling so badly she dared not let go of him lest she fall.

He spent six weeks in jail before moving to a rehabilitation center in Camden County, where he became a guinea pig for a new psychotherapy treatment. He was made to wear a sign around his neck that read i’m a people pleaser and engaged in exercises in futility that would supposedly stimulate moral fiber. Every Saturday he dug a hole in the yard behind the institution, and every Sunday they made him fill it back up again. Any trouble I might be in seemed minor by comparison.