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He pushed the revs up and up, hurrying the car to eighty then to ninety, his huge Marchal headlights boring a safe white tunnel, nearly half a mile long, between the walls of the night.

He had heard the exhaust penetrate beyond the town, and a little dust still hung on the bends. He hoped soon to see the distant shaft of its headlights.

The night was still and clear. Only out at sea there must be a light summer mist for at intervals he could hear the fog-horns lowing like iron cattle down the coast.

As he drove, whipping the car faster and faster through the night, with the other half of his mind he cursed Vesper, and M for having sent her on the job.

This was just what he had been afraid of. These blithering women who thought they could do a mans work.

Why the hell couldnt they stay at home and mind their pots and pans and stick to their frocks and gossip and leave mens work to the men. And now for this to happen to him, just when the job had come off so beautifully.

For Vesper to fall for an old trick like that and get herself snatched and probably held to ranson like some bloody heroine in a strip cartoon.

The silly bitch. Bond boiled at the thought of the fix he was in. Of course. The idea was a straight swop.

The girl against his cheque for forty million. Well, he wouldnt play: wouldnt think of playing. She was in the Service and knew what she was up against.

He wouldnt even ask M. This job was more important than her. It was just too bad. She was a fine girl, but he wasnt going to fall for this childish trick.

No dice. He would have done his stuff - tried to rescue her before they got her off to some hideout - but if he didnt catch up with them he would get back to his hotel and go to sleep and say no more about it.

The next morning he would ask Mathis what had happened to her and show him the note. If Le Chiffre put the touch on Bond for the money in exchange for the girl, Bond would do nothing and tell no one.

The girl would just have to take it. If the commissionaire came along with the story of what he had seen, Bond would bluff it out by saying he had had a drunken row with the girl.

Bonds mind raged furiously on with the problem as he flung the great car down the coast road, automatically taking the curves and watching out for carts or cyclists on their way into Royale.

On straight stretches the Amherst Villiers supercharger dug spurs into the Bentleys twenty-five horses and the engine sent a high-pitched scream of pain into the night.

Then the revolutions mounted until he was past and on to the mph mark on the speedometer. He knew he must be gaining fast.

On an impulse he slowed down to seventy, turned on his fog-lights, and dowsed the twin Marchals. With this, if he was lucky with the surface of the road, he could hope to get their tyres or their petrol tank at anything up to a hundred yards.

Then he switched on the big lights again and screamed off in pursuit. He felt calm and at ease. The problem of Vespers life was a problem no longer.

His face in the blue light from the dashboard was grim but serene. Le Chiffre was driving, his big fluid body hunched forward, his hands light and delicate on the wheel.

Beside him sat the squat man who had carried the stick in the Casino. Back to the hotel and bed, avoiding the commiserating eyes of Mathis and Leiter and Vesper.

Back to the telephone call to London, and then tomorrow the plane home, the taxi up to Regents Park, the walk up the stairs and along the corridor, and Ms cold face across the table, his forced sympathy, his better luck next time and, of course, there couldnt be one, not another chance l ike this.

He looked round the table and up at the spectators. Few were looking at him. They were waiting while the croupier counted the money and piled up the chips in a neat stack in front of the banker, waiting to see if anyone would conceivably challenge this huge bank of thirty-two million Francs, this wonderful run of bankers luck.

Leiter had vanished, not wishing to look Bond in the eye after the knock-out, he supposed. Yet Vesper looked curiously unmoved, she gave him a smile of encouragement.

But then, Bond reflected, she knew nothing of the game. Had no notion, probably, of the bitterness of his defeat.

The huissier was coming towards Bond inside the rail. He stopped beside him. Bent over him. Placed a squat envelope beside Bond on the table.

It was as thick as a dictionary. Said something about the caisse. Moved away again. Bonds heart thumped. He took the heavy anonymous envelope below the level of the table and slit it open with his thumbnail, noticing that the gum was still wet on the flap.

Unbelieving and yet knowing it was true, he felt the broad wads of notes. He slipped them into his pockets, retaining the half-sheet of note-paper which was pinned to the topmost of them.

He glanced at it in the shadow below the table. There was one line of writing in ink: Marshall Aid. Thirty-two million francs. With the compliments of the USA.

Bond swallowed. He looked over towards Vesper. Felix Leiter was again standing beside her. He grinned slightly and Bond smiled back and raised his hand from the table in a small gesture of benediction.

Then he set his mind to sweeping away all traces of the sense of complete defeat which had swamped him a few minutes before. This was a reprieve, but only a reprieve.

There could be no more miracles. This time he had to win - if Le Chiffre had not already made his fifty million - if he was going to go on!

The croupier had completed his task of computing the cagnotte, changing Bonds notes into plaques and making a pile of the giant stake in the middle of the table.

There lay thirty-two thousand pounds. Perhaps, thought Bond, Le Chiffre needed just one more coup, even a minor one of a few million francs, to achieve his object.

Then he would have made his fifty million francs and would leave the table. By tomorrow his deficits would be covered and his position secure.

He showed no signs of moving and Bond guessed with relief that somehow he must have overestimated Le Chiffres resources. The then only hope, thought Bond, was to stamp on him now.

Not to share the bank with the table, or to take some minor part of it, but to go the whole hog. This would really jolt Le Chiffre.

He would hate to see more than ten or fifteen million of the stake covered, and he could not possibly expect anyone to banco the entire thirty-two millions.

He might not know that Bond had been cleaned out, but he must imagine that Bond had by now only small reserves. He could not know of the contents of the envelope if he did, he would probably withdraw the bank and start all over again on the wearisome journey up from the five hundred thousand franc opening bet.

The analysis was right. Le Chiffre needed another eight million. At last he nodded. Un banco de trente-deux millions. The croupiers voice rang out.

A silence built itself up round the table. In a louder, prouder voice the chef de partie took up the cry, hoping to draw big money away from the neighbouring chemin-de-fer tables.

Besides, this was wonderful publicity. The stake had only once been reached in the history of baccarat - at Deauville in Add comment.

London: Pan Books. Barnes, Alan; Hearn, Marcus Kiss Kiss Bang! London: Batsford Books. Benson, Raymond The James Bond Bedside Companion.

London: Boxtree Ltd. Black, Jeremy Butler, William Vivian The Durable Desperadoes. London: Macmillan. Butterfield, Beth In Held, Jacob M.

James Bond and Philosophy: Questions are Forever. Chancellor, Henry London: John Murray. Davis, Mark Legal Issues in the Music Industry.

Fleming, Ian []. Casino Royale. London: Penguin Books. London: Titan Books. Griswold, John Bloomington, IN: AuthorHouse.

Kerr, Sheila Jan Manchester: Manchester University Press. Lycett, Andrew Ian Fleming. London: Phoenix. Parker, Matthew London: Hutchinson.

Pfeiffer, Lee; Worrall, Dave The Essential Bond. Seed, David In Priestman, Martin. The Cambridge Companion to Crime Fiction.

Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Simpson, Paul The rough guide to James Bond. London: Rough Guides. Upton, John August Ian Fleming Publications.

Retrieved 15 January The name's Secretan The Independent on Sunday. New Statesman. The Guardian. The Times Literary Supplement.

The Listener. The Times. Federal Reserve Bank of Minneapolis. Retrieved 20 January IGN Entertainment, Inc. Retrieved 19 January The Journal of Popular Culture 44 3 : — Ian Fleming Publications state that it was "in not much more than two months", [13] while the academic Jeremy Black states that it was on 18 March Ian's are the only modern thrillers with built-in commercials.

This led to Eon Productions making the film Casino Royale. Casino Royale is a reboot , [] showing Bond at the beginning of his career as a agent and overall stays true to the original novel.

Casino Royale was the first James Bond novel to be adapted as a daily comic strip ; it was published in The Daily Express and syndicated worldwide.

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LIVE CASINO GAMES - type !poprocks to read about the giveaway 🥰🥰 (25/03/20) Read Casino Royale Online Said something about the caisse. He heard a faint rattle on the rail behind him and turned his head. John Gardner. James Bond is the culmination of an important but much-maligned tradition in English literature. James Bond suddenly knew that he was tired. He snapped open the tiny jaws of the Ronson Flipper Spiele Gratis lit the cigarette and put the lighter back on the table. At this moment he only had ten million left.

When he is released from hospital they spend time together at a quiet guest house and eventually become lovers.

One day they see a mysterious man named Gettler tracking their movements, which greatly distresses Lynd. The following morning, Bond finds that she has committed suicide.

She leaves behind a note explaining that she had been working as an unwilling double agent for the Russian Ministry of Internal Affairs.

She had tried to start a new life with Bond, but upon seeing Gettler—a SMERSH agent—she realised that she would never be free of her tormentors, and that staying with Bond would only put him in danger.

Bond informs his service of Lynd's duplicity, coldly telling his contact, "The bitch is dead now. The James Bond Dossier. London: Pan Books.

Barnes, Alan; Hearn, Marcus Kiss Kiss Bang! London: Batsford Books. Benson, Raymond The James Bond Bedside Companion.

London: Boxtree Ltd. Black, Jeremy Butler, William Vivian The Durable Desperadoes. London: Macmillan. Butterfield, Beth In Held, Jacob M. James Bond and Philosophy: Questions are Forever.

Chancellor, Henry London: John Murray. Davis, Mark Legal Issues in the Music Industry. Fleming, Ian [].

Casino Royale. London: Penguin Books. London: Titan Books. Griswold, John Bloomington, IN: AuthorHouse.

Kerr, Sheila Jan Manchester: Manchester University Press. Lycett, Andrew Ian Fleming. London: Phoenix. Parker, Matthew London: Hutchinson.

Pfeiffer, Lee; Worrall, Dave The Essential Bond. Seed, David In Priestman, Martin. The Cambridge Companion to Crime Fiction. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Simpson, Paul The rough guide to James Bond. London: Rough Guides. Upton, John August Ian Fleming Publications.

Retrieved 15 January The name's Secretan The Independent on Sunday. New Statesman. The Guardian. The Times Literary Supplement.

The Listener. The Times. Federal Reserve Bank of Minneapolis. Retrieved 20 January IGN Entertainment, Inc. Retrieved 19 January The Journal of Popular Culture 44 3 : — Ian Fleming Publications state that it was "in not much more than two months", [13] while the academic Jeremy Black states that it was on 18 March Ian's are the only modern thrillers with built-in commercials.

This led to Eon Productions making the film Casino Royale. Casino Royale is a reboot , [] showing Bond at the beginning of his career as a agent and overall stays true to the original novel.

Casino Royale was the first James Bond novel to be adapted as a daily comic strip ; it was published in The Daily Express and syndicated worldwide.

McLusky felt that Fleming's looked too "outdated" and "pre-war" and changed Bond to give him a more masculine look. Feldman represented Ratoff's widow and obtained the rights to make a film version.

For this Americanised version of the story, Bond is an American agent, described as working for "Combined Intelligence", while the character Leiter from the original novel is British, renamed "Clarence Leiter".

The agent for Station S. Writing for The New York Times , Anthony Boucher wrote that the book belongs "pretty much to the private-eye school" of fiction.

You should certainly begin this book; but you might as well stop when the baccarat game is over. The critic for Time magazine examined Raymond Chandler 's The Long Goodbye alongside Casino Royale ; he praised Casino Royale , saying that "Fleming keeps his incidents and characters spinning through their paces like juggling balls.

John Betjeman , writing in The Daily Telegraph , considered that "Ian Fleming has discovered the secret of the narrative art Thus the reader has to go on reading".

Casino Royale was first released on 13 April in the UK as a hardback edition by publishers Jonathan Cape, [73] with a cover devised by Fleming.

Black also identifies a mechanism Fleming uses in Casino Royale —and in subsequent Bond novels—which is to use the evil of his opponents both as a justification of his actions, and as a device to foil their own plans.

Black refers to the episode of the attempted assassination of Bond by Bulgarian assassins which results in their own deaths. Benson considers the most obvious theme of the novel to be good versus evil.

In light of Bond's conversation, Butterfield identifies a crisis of confidence in Bond's character, where he has "moved beyond good and evil" to the point where he does his job not because of principles, but to pursue personal battles.

The treachery of Le Chiffre, with the overtones of a fifth column , struck a chord with the largely British readership as Communist influence in the trade unions had been an issue in the press and parliament at the time.

Amis, in his exploration of Bond in The James Bond Dossier , pointed out that Leiter is "such a nonentity as a piece of characterization Casino Royale deals with the question of Anglo-American relations, reflecting the real-world central role of the US in the defence of the West.

In parts of central London, including Oxford Street and High Holborn still had uncleared bomb sites and, while sweets had ceased being rationed, coal and other food items were still regulated.

Casino Royale was written after, and was heavily influenced by, the Second World War; [40] Britain was still an imperial power, [56] and the Western and Eastern blocs were engaged in the Cold War.

The semiotician and essayist, Umberto Eco , in his examination of the Bond books, "The Narrative Structure of Ian Fleming", considered that Fleming "has a rhythm, a polish, a certain sensuous feeling for words.

That is not to say that Fleming is an artist; yet he writes with art. Fleming later said of his work, "while thrillers may not be Literature with a capital L, it is possible to write what I can best describe as 'thrillers designed to be read as literature ' ".

Bond's superior, M, was largely based on Godfrey, Fleming's NID superior officer; [42] Godfrey was known for his bellicose and irascible temperament.

His face was wooden and grey, but his eyes flickered and gleamed like a conjurers. His whole long body was restless and his hands shifted often on the brass rail.

Bond guessed that he would kill without interest or concern for what he killed and that he would prefer strangling. He had something of Lennie in Of Mice and Men, but his inhumanity would not come from infantilism but from drugs.

Marihuana, decided Bond. The other man looked like a Corsican shopkeeper. He was short and very dark with a flat head covered with thickly greased hair.

He seemed to be a cripple. A chunky malacca cane with a rubber tip hung on the rail beside him. He must have had permission to bring the cane into the Casino with him, reflected Bond, who knew that neither sticks nor any other objects were allowed in the rooms as a precaution against acts of violence.

He looked sleek and well fed. His mouth hung vacantly half-open and revealed very bad teeth. He wore a heavy black moustache and the backs of his hands on the rail were matted with black hair.

Bond guessed that hair covered most of his squat body. Naked, Bond supposed, he would be an obscene object. The game continued uneventfully, but with a slight bias against the bank.

The third coup is the sound barrier at chemin-de-fer and baccarat. Your luck can defeat the first and second tests, but when the third deal comes along it most often spells disaster.

Again and again at this point you find yourself being bounced back to earth. It was like that now. Neither the bank nor any of the players seemed to be able to get hot.

But there was a steady and inexorable seepage against the bank, amounting after about two hours play to ten million francs.

Bond had no idea what profits Le Chiffre had made over the past two days. He estimated them at five million and guessed that now the bankers capital could not be more than twenty million.

In fact, Le Chiffre had lost heavily all that afternoon. At this moment he only had ten million left.

Bond, on the other hand, by one oclock in the morning, had won four million, bringing his resources up to twenty-eight million. Bond was cautiously pleased.

Le Chiffre showed no trace of emotion. He continued to play like an automaton, never speaking except when he gave instructions in a low aside to the croupier at the opening of each new bank.

Outside the pool of silence round the high table, there was the constant hum of the other tables, chemin-de-fer, roulette and trente-et-quarante, interspersed with the clear calls of the croupiers and occasional bursts of laughter or gasps of excitement from different corners of the huge salle.

In the background there thudded always the hidden metronome of the Casino, ticking up its little treasure of one-per-cents with each spin of a wheel and each turn of a card - a pulsing fat-cat with a zero for a heart.

It was at ten minutes past one by Bonds watch when, at the high table, the whole pattern of play suddenly altered. The Greek at Number 1 was still having a bad time.

He had lost the first coup of half a million francs and the second. He passed the third time, leaving a bank of two millions. Carmel Delane at Number 2 refused it.

So did Lady Danvers at Number 3. The Du Ponts looked at each other. Banco, said Mrs Du Pont, and promptly lost to the bankers natural eight.

Un banco de quatre millions, said the croupier. Banco, said Bond, pushing out a wad of notes. Again he fixed Le Chiffre with his eye. Again he gave only a cursory look at his two cards.

No, he said. He held a marginal five. The position was dangerous. Le Chiffre turned up a knave and a four. He gave the shoe another slap. He drew a three.

Sept … la banque, said the croupier, et cinq, he added as he tipped Bonds losing cards face upwards. He raked over Bonds money, extracted four million francs and returned the remainder to Bond.

Un banco de huit millions. Suivi, said Bond. And lost again, to a natural nine. In two coups he had lost twelve million francs.

By scraping the barrel, he had just sixteen million francs left, exactly the amount of the next banco. Suddenly Bond felt the sweat on his palms. Like snow in sunshine his capital had melted.

With the covetous deliberation of the winning gambler, Le Chiffre was tapping a light tattoo on the table with his right hand.

Bond looked across into the eyes of murky basalt. They held an ironical question. Do you want the full treatment?

Suivi, Bond said softly. He took some notes and plaques out of his right hand pocket and the entire stack of notes out of his left and pushed them forward.

There was no hint in his movements that this would be his last stake. His mouth felt suddenly as dry as flock wall-paper. He looked up and saw Vesper and Felix Leiter standing where the gunman with the stick had stood.

He did not know how long they had been standing there. Leiter looked faintly worried, but Vesper smiled encouragement at him.

He heard a faint rattle on the rail behind him and turned his head. The battery of bad teeth under the black moustache gaped vacantly back at him.

Le jeu est fait, said the croupier, and the two cards came slithering towards him over the green baize - a green baize which was no longer smooth, but thick now, and furry and almost choking, its colour as livid as the grass on a fresh tomb.

The light from the broad satin-lined shades which had seemed so welcoming now seemed to take the colour out of his hand as he glanced at the cards.

Then he looked again. It was nearly as bad as it could have been - the king of hearts and an ace, the ace of spades. It squinted up at him like a black widow spider.

A card. He still kept all emotion out of his voice. Le Chiffre faced his own two cards. He had a queen and a black five.

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