offline world this includes notice boards, traffic signs, billboards, shop windows, posters, flags, banners, graffiti, menus, T-shirts, tattoos, etcetera.

for Windows

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While reading Jingle Dancer, which is set in the present day,show the Muscogee Nation website as a complementary source. Jenna’s house is in an everyday neighborhood and she is wearing clothes similar to kids in the classroom. She is a person of the present day.

I have been adding a “curtain” to Bishop’s (1990) “mirrors, windows, and sliding glass doors” metaphor when I talk or write about Native stories.

ment environment the first thing you need to do is install h’s system dependen

It’s not only a big win for HP, but a big win for the Windows Mixed Reality (WMR) platform, which arrived with a bit of a thud, but now has a headset truly worthy of seriously competing with HTC and Oculus .

He notes that however bad your carbon dioxide levels are during the day they’re probably much worse at night, when you shut yourself up in a small room, close all the doors and windows, and just breathe for like eight hours straight

When the number of references drops to zero, the object deletes itself. The last part is worth repeating: The object deletes itself

CALLBACK is the calling convention for the functio

Then I poked through the house, in each cranny and nook,But I found somebody each place that I looked.

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“Windows, yes windows

Written up opposite us in the railway carriage are the words: “Do not lean out of the window.” At the first reading the useful meaning, the surface meaning, is conveyed; but soon, as we sit looking at the words, they shuffle, they change; and we begin saying, “Windows, yes windows — casements opening on the foam of perilous seas in faery lands forlorn.”

create publication quality figures

the middle of the Ocean

The thing that troubled me most was that I could not make out his face. It is very difficult to do so when you see a person only through two windows, your own and his.

Anzaldua, Gloria. “How to Tame a Wild Tongue.” Fifty Great Essays . Boston: Pearson, 2011. 30-41. Print King, Martin Luther Junior “Letter to Birmingham Jail.” King Research and Education Institute. 16 April 1963. file:///C:/Users/kxmen/AppData/Local/Microsoft/Windows/INetCache/IE/HAGD1H8E/630416-019.pdf Livingston, Donovan “Lift off.” Harvard Graduate School of Education. 25 May 2017. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9XGUpKITeJM

Its walls are built of coral, and the long, gothic windows are of the clearest amber

We open windows to each but we live alone in the house of the heart. Perhaps we must.

Increase Font Size Toggle Menu HomeReadSign in Search in book: Search Contents I. The Middle Ages (ca. 476-1485) 1. Bede (ca. 672-735) Bede: BiographyCaedmon’s Hymn 2. Dream of the Rood Dream of the Rood 3. Beowulf: Parts I & II Introduction: BeowulfStory SummaryThemesHistorical BackgroundLiterary StyleReading:Part IPart II 4. Beowulf: Part III Part III 5. Judith  Judith6. The Wanderer 7. Wulf and Eadwacer Wulf and Eadwacer 8. The Wife's Lament The Wife’s Lament 9. The Ruin The Ruin 10. Selection of Old English Riddles Selections from Old English Poems 11. The Myth of Arthur's Return Geoffrey of Monmouth: From The History of the Kings of BritainWace: From Roman de BrutLayamon: From Brut  II. Irish Literature 12. Cúchulainn’s Boyish Deeds Cúchulainn: IntroductionCuchulainn’s Boyish Deeds III. Anglo-Norman Literature 13. Tristan and Iseult Introduction: Tristan and IseultThe Story SummaryLiterary ThemesReading: Tristan and Yseult 14. Guide for Anchoresses (Ancrene Wisse) The Sweetness and Pain of Enclosure15. Romances of Marie de France IV. Middle English Literature in the 14th and 15th Century 16. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (ca. 1375-1400) 17. Sir Gawain: Parts I & II Part IPart II 18. Sir Gawain: Parts III & IV Part IIIPart IV19. Geoffrey Chaucer: The Canterbury Tales 20. Canterbury Tales: General Prologue Prologue 21. Canterbury Tales: Miller's Prologue and Tale The Miller’s PrologueThe Miller’s Tale22. Canterbury Tales: The Wife of Bath's Prologue and Tale23. Canterbury Tales: The Pardoner's Prologue and Tale24. Canterbury Tales: The Nun's Priest's Tale25. Canterbury Tales: Close of Canterbury Tales26. Julian of Norwich: Revelations of Divine Love (Selections) 27. Margery Kempe: Excerpts from The Book of Margery Kempe The Birth of Her First Child and Her First VisionHer Pride and Attempts to Start a Business28. The Wakefield Second Shepherd's Play29. Middle English Lyrics30. Robert Henryson: The Cock and the Jasp31. Everyman32. Thomas Malory: Le Morte d'Arthur V. The Sixteenth Century 33. Sir Thomas More: Utopia UTOPIA34. From: The Book of Common Prayer 35. WOMEN IN POWER: Selected Readings Mary I (Tudor)Lady Jane GreyMary Queen of ScotsElizabeth I36. Edmund Spencer: the Faerie Queene (Book I) 37. Sir Walter Raleigh: Poems and From: The Discovery of the Large, Rich and Beautiful Empire of Guiana Poems38. Sir Philip Sidney: From Astrophil and Stella 39. THE WIDER WORLD: Selected Readings The Wider World: Selected Readings Hakluyt’s Dedicatory Epistle to The Principal Navigations, 1589Leo Africanus on the North Africans, 1526An English Traveller’s Guide to the North Africans, 1547Voyage to the Arctic, 1577, with Reflections on Racial DifferenceAmadas and Barlowe’s Voyage to Virginia, 1584Hariot’s Report on Virginia, 1585General History of the Turks, 1603 40. Christopher Marlowe: Hero and Leander Hero and Leander 41. Christopher Marlowe: Doctor Faustus The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus 42. William Shakespeare: Selected Sonnets Selected Sonnets 43. William Shakespeare: Taming of the Shrew THE TAMING OF THE SHREW VI. Early Seventeenth Century 44. John Dunne: Selections Songs and SonnetsA Selection of Holy SonnetsFrom: Devotions upon Emergent Occasions45. Aemilia Lanyar: Salve Deus Rex Judaeorum 46. Ben Jonson: Epigrams and Poetry EpigramsPoemsFrom: Underwood 47. GENDER RELATIONS: Conflict and Counsel From: The Arraignment of Lewd, Idle, Froward, and Unconstant Women: Or the Vanity of Them Choose you WhetherRachel Speght: From A Muzzle for Melastomus William Gouge: From Domestical Duties48. Francis Bacon: Essays49. Margaret Cavendish: The Blazing World 50. George Herbert: The Temple The Temple 51. CRISIS OF AUTHORITY: The Beheading of Charles I From: King Charles, His Trial (1649)From: A Perfect Diurnal of Some Passages in Parliament, no. 288Robert Filmer: From Patriarcha John Milton: From The Tenure of Kings and Magistrates Gerrard Winstanley: From A New Year’s Gift Sent to the Parliament and ArmyThomas Hobbes: From Leviathan 52. CRISIS OF AUTHORITY: Political Writing Robert Filmer: From Patriarcha John Milton: From The Tenure of Kings and Magistrates Gerrard Winstanley: From A New Year’s Gift Sent to the Parliament and ArmyThomas Hobbes: From Leviathan 53. CRISIS OF AUTHORITY: Writing the Self Lucy Hutchinson: From Memoirs of the Life of Colonel John HutchinsonEdward Hyde, Earl of Clarendon: From The History of the RebellionLady Anne Halkett: From The Memoires 54. John Milton: Poems and Sonnets LycidasSonnets 55. John Milton: Paradise Lost (Books 1-3) BOOK 1BOOK 2BOOK 3 56. John Milton: Paradise Lost (Books 4-6) BOOK 4BOOK 5BOOK 6 57. John Milton: Paradise Lost (Books 7-9) BOOK 7BOOK 8BOOK 9 58. John Milton: Paradise Lost (Books 10-12) BOOK 10BOOK 11BOOK 12 Appendix An Open Companion for British Literature I 13 Tristan and Iseult Introduction: Tristan and Iseult by Noel Wallace Tristan and Isolde by Herbert James Draper (1863-1920). Wikimedia Commons. The story of Tristan and Iseult is an Anglo-Norman story of a love between two tragic lovers fated to be set apart.  The origins of the original text are unknown adding to the mystery of the story. There are also many different versions of the story. Each version just a little different. For clarity purposes of this paper, I will refer to the French version by Joseph Bedier. How daring the legend. How legendary. How incredibly naive. However, are not all young lovers naive? For it takes time to develop skepticism. Cynicism does not belong in the beginning of a story. It only belongs in the end. The lovers begin as two innocent and hopeful characters. Tristan represents the embodiment of all that is chivalrous. The desire to do only what is right by the laws his society. As the novel progresses, the audience will begin to question things as the characters change. At the very end both characters will die tragically apart. Both will have become cynical and heartbroken. Perhaps, you have heard of the two young lovers yourself? Perhaps you have heard how the tragedy of the poisonous wine brought about death and destruction? Was the wine an element of foreshadow? Maybe you are just looking for a great read. Either way the story of the two lovers will indeed be of interest. The Story Summary Set in the medieval era, this is the story of Tristan and Iseult and their tragic love affair. The story begins in Tristan’s childhood and covers a series of youthful adventures which shape him into a Knight. Then Tristan embarks on his biggest quest yet. He journeys to Ireland to obtain Princess Iseult. The plan was to bring the princess back to Ireland to marry King Mark of Cornwall. However, the Queen of Ireland was concerned for her daughter’s wellbeing and concocted an eternal love potion to be consumed by King Mark and Princess Iseult. Accidently Tristan and Iseult consume the potion and fall in love. King Mark and Iseult marry despite the potion. However, Tristan and Iseult are still in love. Though keeping pure, the two often meet in secret. King Mark eventually find out and banishes Tristan. Tristan goes off to another land and finds favor in a new king, marrying his daughter. Despite this Tristan still desperately loves Iseult and she him. In the final chapter Tristan falls ill after an ambus. He sends a messenger to retrieve Iseult the fair. However, he dies before she reaches him. Upon discovering Tristan’s death Iseult dies too. Literary Themes The story of Tristan and Iseult is filled with many themes. Morality was a common element in medieval literature. Thus, one can interpret many moral themes throughout the content. A few examples of these themes include: loyalty, love, fate, courage, and judgement. The theme of love is shown so many times. One could argue that if you took the theme of love out, there would be no story. How can you have a tragic love story without love? There is motherly love, fatherly love, romantic love, and love of a duty. Queen Blanchefleur demonstrates motherly love in that of her new born baby. King Mark, Rohalt, and Squire Gorvenal demonstrate fatherly love. Tristan and Iseult’s relationship demonstrate romantic love. Lastly, one can see love of duty in the actions of Tristan when he gives up his romantic love for a love of duty to King Mark. Another theme is loyalty. Tristan is constantly loyal to Mark even when Mark is not loyal in return. Mark betrays Tristan by allowing his advisors to manipulate his mind. Loyalty is even seen as soon in the story as the second paragraph when King Rivalen of Lyonesse comes to the aid of his ally, Mark of Cornwall. “When Mark was King over Cornwall, Rivalen, King of Lyonesse, heard that Mark’s enemies waged war on him; so, he crossed the sea to bring him aid (page 1).” The themes of Fate and judgement go together. This leads to the idea if something is truly fated, then how can one be judged? Works Cited: “Author ProfileJoseph Bedier.” PublicBookshelf, www.publicbookshelf.com/author/Joseph-Bedier. Britannica, The Editors of Encyclopaedia. “Tristan and Isolde.” Encyclopædia Britannica, Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 8 Feb. 2012, www.britannica.com/topic/Tristan-and-Isolde. “Joseph Bédier.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 14 Nov. 2018, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_Bédier. “Tristan and Iseult.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 18 Jan. 2019, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tristan and Iseult. “Tristan and Isolde.” Myths Encyclopedia, www.mythencyclopedia.com/Tr-Wa/Tristan-and-Isolde.html. Draper, Herbert James. Tristan and Isolde. 1901, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Herbert James Draper. Discussion Questions: Fate vs. accident: If Tristan and Iseult were fated to be together was it really the wine causing them to fall in love? If fate were in play and there was no wine, would they not have fallen in love anyway? A titanic question: Why do you think that Tristan and Iseult choose to stay in the woods rather than return to Ireland or Lyonesse? A perspective switch: Was King Mark a villain? Judgement Question: The hermit of Ogrin begged Tristan and Iseult to give penance under the laws of Rome for what he saw as a sin. However later Iseult is declared innocent by the hot-iron test. Give an example today that society may see as one thing as a sin, but may not be. Was Tristan wrong to return Iseult to Mark after he sent her to the lepers? At what point, would you consider a relationship over? Further Resources for Students: Fab Audio Books. “Tristan and Isolde: complete unabridged audiobook.” Youtube.com 17 Sept. 2013 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OelPOx-Xg5c&t=4s   WLMi5514. “Tristan and Isolde (2006) Trailer.” Youtube.com 24 Feb 2010 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LAJJay0Uv4M   WagneroperaNET. “Leonard Bernstein: Tristan und Isolde, Vorspiel Act 1.” Youtube.com 12 Jan. 2012 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xa7Wo8PkpBs   Carls, Alice-Catherine. “Love in the Last Days: After Tristan and Iseult.” World Literature Today, vol. 92, no. 2, Mar. 2018, pp. 86–87. EBSCOhost, lsproxy.austincc.edu/login?url=http://search.ebscohost.com.lsproxy.austincc.edu/login.aspx?direct=true&db=lfh&AN=128273558&site=eds-live&scope=site. http://eds.a.ebscohost.com.lsproxy.austincc.edu/eds/detail/detail?vid=0&sid=29ca0eca-ebb3-4339-88f3-a9326f4cf7c2%40sessionmgr4008&bdata=JnNpdGU9ZWRzLWxpdmUmc2NvcGU9c2l0ZQ%3d%3d#db=lfh&AN=128273558&anchor=TextToSpeech Reading: Tristan and Yseult PART THE FIRST THE CHILDHOOD OF TRISTAN My lords, if you would hear a high tale of love and of death, here is that of Tristan and Queen Iseult; how to their full joy, but to their sorrow also, they loved each other, and how at last they died of that love together upon one day; she by him and he by her. Long ago, when Mark was King over Cornwall, Rivalen, King of Lyonesse, heard that Mark’s enemies waged war on him; so he crossed the sea to bring him aid; and so faithfully did he serve him with counsel and sword that Mark gave him his sister Blanchefleur, whom King Rivalen loved most marvellously. He wedded her in Tintagel Minster, but hardly was she wed when the news came to him that his old enemy Duke Morgan had fallen on Lyonesse and was wasting town and field. Then Rivalen manned his ships in haste, and took Blanchefleur with him to his far land; but she was with child. He landed below his castle of Kanoël and gave the Queen in ward to his Marshal Rohalt, and after that set off to wage his war. Blanchefleur waited for him continually, but he did not come home, till she learnt upon a day that Duke Morgan had killed him in foul ambush. She did not weep: she made no cry or lamentation, but her limbs failed her and grew weak, and her soul was filled with a strong desire to be rid of the flesh, and though Rohalt tried to soothe her she would not hear. Three days she awaited re-union with her lord, and on the fourth she brought forth a son; and taking him in her arms she said: “Little son, I have longed a while to see you, and now I see you the fairest thing ever a woman bore. In sadness came I hither, in sadness did I bring forth, and in sadness has your first feast day gone. And as by sadness you came into the world, your name shall be called Tristan; that is the child of sadness.” After she had said these words she kissed him, and immediately when she had kissed him she died. Rohalt, the keeper of faith, took the child, but already Duke Morgan’s men besieged the Castle of Kanoël all round about. There is a wise saying: “Fool-hardy was never hardy,” and he was compelled to yield to Duke Morgan at his mercy: but for fear that Morgan might slay Rivalen’s heir the Marshal hid him among his own sons. When seven years were passed and the time had come to take the child from the women, Rohalt put Tristan under a good master, the Squire Gorvenal, and Gorvenal taught him in a few years the arts that go with barony. He taught him the use of lance and sword and ’scutcheon and bow, and how to cast stone quoits and to leap wide dykes also: and he taught him to hate every lie and felony and to keep his given word; and he taught him the various kinds of song and harp-playing, and the hunter’s craft; and when the child rode among the young squires you would have said that he and his horse and his armour were all one thing. To see him so noble and so proud, broad in the shoulders, loyal, strong and right, all men glorified Rohalt in such a son. But Rohalt remembering Rivalen and Blanchefleur (of whose youth and grace all this was a resurrection) loved him indeed as a son, but in his heart revered him as his lord. Now all his joy was snatched from him on a day when certain merchants of Norway, having lured Tristan to their ship, bore him off as a rich prize, though Tristan fought hard, as a young wolf struggles, caught in a gin. But it is a truth well proved, and every sailor knows it, that the sea will hardly bear a felon ship, and gives no aid to rapine. The sea rose and cast a dark storm round the ship and drove it eight days and eight nights at random, till the mariners caught through the mist a coast of awful cliffs and sea-ward rocks whereon the sea would have ground their hull to pieces: then they did penance, knowing that the anger of the sea came of the lad, whom they had stolen in an evil hour, and they vowed his deliverance and got ready a boat to put him, if it might be, ashore: then the wind, and sea fell and the sky shone, and as the Norway ship grew small in the offing, a quiet tide cast Tristan and the boat upon a beach of sand. Painfully he climbed the cliff and saw, beyond, a lonely rolling heath and a forest stretching out and endless. And he wept, remembering Gorvenal, his father, and the land of Lyonesse. Then the distant cry of a hunt, with horse and hound, came suddenly and lifted his heart, and a tall stag broke cover at the forest edge. The pack and the hunt streamed after it with a tumult of cries and winding horns, but just as the hounds were racing clustered at the haunch, the quarry turned to bay at a stones throw from Tristan; a huntsman gave him the thrust, while all around the hunt had gathered and was winding the kill. But Tristan, seeing by the gesture of the huntsman that he made to cut the neck of the stag, cried out: “My lord, what would you do? Is it fitting to cut up so noble a beast like any farm-yard hog? Is that the custom of this country?” And the huntsman answered: “Fair friend, what startles you? Why yes, first I take off the head of a stag, and then I cut it into four quarters and we carry it on our saddle bows to King Mark, our lord: So do we, and so since the days of the first huntsmen have done the Cornish men. If, however, you know of some nobler custom, teach it us: take this knife and we will learn it willingly.” Then Tristan kneeled and skinned the stag before he cut it up, and quartered it all in order leaving the crow-bone all whole, as is meet, and putting aside at the end the head, the haunch, the tongue and the great heart’s vein; and the huntsmen and the kennel hinds stood over him with delight, and the Master Huntsman said: “Friend, these are good ways. In what land learnt you them? Tell us your country and your name.” “Good lord, my name is Tristan, and I learnt these ways in my country of Lyonesse.” “Tristan,” said the Master Huntsman, “God reward the father that brought you up so nobly; doubtless he is a baron, rich and strong.” Now Tristan knew both speech and silence, and he answered: “No, lord; my father is a burgess. I left his home unbeknownst upon a ship that trafficked to a far place, for I wished to learn how men lived in foreign lands. But if you will accept me of the hunt I will follow you gladly and teach you other crafts of venery.” “Fair Tristan, I marvel there should be a land where a burgess’s son can know what a knight’s son knows not elsewhere, but come with us since you will it; and welcome: we will bring you to King Mark, our lord.” Tristan completed his task; to the dogs he gave the heart, the head, offal and ears; and he taught the hunt how the skinning and the ordering should be done. Then he thrust the pieces upon pikes and gave them to this huntsman and to that to carry, to one the snout to another the haunch to another the flank to another the chine; and he taught them how to ride by twos in rank, according to the dignity of the pieces each might bear. So they took the road and spoke together, till they came on a great castle and round it fields and orchards, and living waters and fish ponds and plough lands, and many ships were in its haven, for that castle stood above the sea. It was well fenced against all assault or engines of war, and its keep, which the giants had built long ago, was compact of great stones, like a chess board of vert and azure. And when Tristan asked its name: “Good liege,” they said, “we call it Tintagel.” And Tristan cried: “Tintagel! Blessed be thou of God, and blessed be they that dwell within thee.” (Therein, my lords, therein had Rivalen taken Blanchefleur to wife, though their son knew it not.) When they came before the keep the horns brought the barons to the gates and King Mark himself. And when the Master Huntsman had told him all the story, and King Mark had marvelled at the good order of the cavalcade, and the cutting of the stag, and the high art of venery in all, yet most he wondered at the stranger boy, and still gazed at him, troubled and wondering whence came his tenderness, and his heart would answer him nothing; but, my lords, it was blood that spoke, and the love he had long since borne his sister Blanchefleur. That evening, when the boards were cleared, a singer out of Wales, a master, came forward among the barons in Hall and sang a harper’s song, and as this harper touched the strings of his harp, Tristan who sat at the King’s feet, spoke thus to him: “Oh master, that is the first of songs! The Bretons of old wove it once to chant the loves of Graëlent. And the melody is rare and rare are the words: master, your voice is subtle: harp us that well.” But when the Welshman had sung, he answered: “Boy, what do you know of the craft of music? If the burgesses of Lyonesse teach their sons harp—play also, and rotes and viols too, rise, and take this harp and show your skill.” Then Tristan took the harp and sang so well that the barons softened as they heard, and King Mark marvelled at the harper from Lyonesse whither so long ago Rivalen had taken Blanchefleur away. When the song ended, the King was silent a long space, but he said at last: “Son, blessed be the master that taught thee, and blessed be thou of God: for God loves good singers. Their voices and the voice of the harp enter the souls of men and wake dear memories and cause them to forget many a mourning and many a sin. For our joy did you come to this roof, stay near us a long time, friend.” And Tristan answered: “Very willingly will I serve you, sire, as your harper, your huntsman and your liege.” So did he, and for three years a mutual love grew up in their hearts. By day Tristan followed King Mark at pleas and in saddle; by night he slept in the royal room with the councillors and the peers, and if the King was sad he would harp to him to soothe his care. The barons also cherished him, and (as you shall learn) Dinas of Lidan, the seneschal, beyond all others. And more tenderly than the barons and than Dinas the King loved him. But Tristan could not forget, or Rohalt his father, or his master Gorvenal, or the land of Lyonesse. My lords, a teller that would please, should not stretch his tale too long, and truly this tale is so various and so high that it needs no straining. Then let me shortly tell how Rohalt himself, after long wandering by sea and land, came into Cornwall, and found Tristan, and showing the King the carbuncle that once was Blanchefleur’s, said: “King Mark, here is your nephew Tristan, son of your sister Blanchefleur and of King Rivalen. Duke Morgan holds his land most wrongfully; it is time such land came back to its lord.” And Tristan (in a word) when his uncle had armed him knight, crossed the sea, and was hailed of his father’s vassals, and killed Rivalen’s slayer and was re-seized of his land. Then remembering how King Mark could no longer live in joy without him, he summoned his council and his barons and said this: “Lords of the Lyonesse, I have retaken this place and I have avenged King Rivalen by the help of God and of you. But two men Rohalt and King Mark of Cornwall nourished me, an orphan, and a wandering boy. So should I call them also fathers. Now a free man has two things thoroughly his own, his body and his land. To Rohalt then, here, I will release my land. Do you hold it, father, and your son shall hold it after you. But my body I give up to King Mark. I will leave this country, dear though it be, and in Cornwall I will serve King Mark as my lord. Such is my judgment, but you, my lords of Lyonesse, are my lieges, and owe me counsel; if then, some one of you will counsel me another thing let him rise and speak.” But all the barons praised him, though they wept; and taking with him Gorvenal only, Tristan set sail for King Mark’s land. THE MORHOLT OUT OF IRELAND When Tristan came back to that land, King Mark and all his Barony were mourning; for the King of Ireland had manned a fleet to ravage Cornwall, should King Mark refuse, as he had refused these fifteen years, to pay a tribute his fathers had paid. Now that year this King had sent to Tintagel, to carry his summons, a giant knight; the Morholt, whose sister he had wed, and whom no man had yet been able to overcome: so King Mark had summoned all the barons of his land to Council, by letters sealed. On the day assigned, when the barons were gathered in hall, and when the King had taken his throne, the Morholt said these things: “King Mark, hear for the last time the summons of the King of Ireland, my lord. He arraigns you to pay at last that which you have owed so long, and because you have refused it too long already he bids you give over to me this day three hundred youths and three hundred maidens drawn by lot from among the Cornish folk. But if so be that any would prove by trial of combat that the King of Ireland receives this tribute without right, I will take up his wager. Which among you, my Cornish lords, will fight to redeem this land?” The barons glanced at each other but all were silent. Then Tristan knelt at the feet of King Mark and said: “Lord King, by your leave I will do battle.” And in vain would King Mark have turned him from his purpose, thinking, how could even valour save so young a knight? But he threw down his gage to the Morholt, and the Morholt took up the gage. On the appointed day he had himself clad for a great feat of arms in a hauberk and in a steel helm, and he entered a boat and drew to the islet of St. Samson’s, where the knights were to fight each to each alone. Now the Morholt had hoisted to his mast a sail of rich purple, and coming fast to land, he moored his boat on the shore. But Tristan pushed off his own boat adrift with his feet, and said: “One of us only will go hence alive. One boat will serve.” And each rousing the other to the fray they passed into the isle. No man saw the sharp combat; but thrice the salt sea-breeze had wafted or seemed to waft a cry of fury to the land, when at last towards the hour of noon the purple sail showed far off; the Irish boat appeared from the island shore, and there rose a clamour of “the Morholt!” When suddenly, as the boat grew larger on the sight and topped a wave, they saw that Tristan stood on the prow holding a sword in his hand. He leapt ashore, and as the mothers kissed the steel upon his feet he cried to the Morholt’s men: “My lords of Ireland, the Morholt fought well. See here, my sword is broken and a splinter of it stands fast in his head. Take you that steel, my lords; it is the tribute of Cornwall.” Then he went up to Tintagel and as he went the people he had freed waved green boughs, and rich cloths were hung at the windows. But when Tristan reached the castle with joy, songs and joy-bells sounding about him, he drooped in the arms of King Mark, for the blood ran from his wounds. The Morholt’s men, they landed in Ireland quite cast down. For when ever he came back into Whitehaven the Morholt had been wont to take joy in the sight of his clan upon the shore, of the Queen his sister, and of his niece Iseult the Fair. Tenderly had they cherished him of old, and had he taken some wound, they healed him, for they were skilled in balms and potions. But now their magic was vain, for he lay dead and the splinter of the foreign brand yet stood in his skull till Iseult plucked it out and shut it in a chest. From that day Iseult the Fair knew and hated the name of Tristan of Lyonesse. But over in Tintagel Tristan languished, for there trickled a poisonous blood from his wound. The doctors found that the Morholt had thrust into him a poisoned barb, and as their potions and their theriac could never heal him they left him in God’s hands. So hateful a stench came from his wound that all his dearest friends fled him, all save King Mark, Gorvenal and Dinas of Lidan. They always could stay near his couch because their love overcame their abhorrence. At last Tristan had himself carried into a boat apart on the shore; and lying facing the sea he awaited death, for he thought: “I must die; but it is good to see the sun and my heart is still high. I would like to try the sea that brings all chances. … I would have the sea bear me far off alone, to what land no matter, so that it heal me of my wound.” He begged so long that King Mark accepted his desire. He bore him into a boat with neither sail nor oar, and Tristan wished that his harp only should be placed beside him: for sails he could not lift, nor oar ply, nor sword wield; and as a seaman on some long voyage casts to the sea a beloved companion dead, so Gorvenal pushed out to sea that boat where his dear son lay; and the sea drew him away. For seven days and seven nights the sea so drew him; at times to charm his grief, he harped; and when at last the sea brought him near a shore where fishermen had left their port that night to fish far out, they heard as they rowed a sweet and strong and living tune that ran above the sea, and feathering their oars they listened immovable. In the first whiteness of the dawn they saw the boat at large: she went at random and nothing seemed to live in her except the voice of the harp. But as they neared, the air grew weaker and died; and when they hailed her Tristan’s hands had fallen lifeless on the strings though they still trembled. The fishermen took him in and bore him back to port, to their lady who was merciful and perhaps would heal him. It was that same port of Whitehaven where the Morholt lay, and their lady was Iseult the Fair. She alone, being skilled in philtres, could save Tristan, but she alone wished him dead. When Tristan knew himself again (for her art restored him) he knew himself to be in the land of peril. But he was yet strong to hold his own and found good crafty words. He told a tale of how he was a seer that had taken passage on a merchant ship and sailed to Spain to learn the art of reading all the stars,—of how pirates had boarded the ship and of how, though wounded, he had fled into that boat. He was believed, nor did any of the Morholt’s men know his face again, so hardly had the poison used it. But when, after forty days, Iseult of the Golden Hair had all but healed him, when already his limbs had recovered and the grace of youth returned, he knew that he must escape, and he fled and after many dangers he came again before Mark the King. THE QUEST OF THE LADY WITH THE HAIR OF GOLD My lords, there were in the court of King Mark four barons the basest of men, who hated Tristan with a hard hate, for his greatness and for the tender love the King bore him. And well I know their names: Andret, Guenelon, Gondoïne and Denoalen. They knew that the King had intent to grow old childless and to leave his land to Tristan; and their envy swelled and by lies they angered the chief men of Cornwall against Tristan. They said: “There have been too many marvels in this man’s life. It was marvel enough that he beat the Morholt, but by what sorcery did he try the sea alone at the point of death, or which of us, my lords, could voyage without mast or sail? They say that warlocks can. It was sure a warlock feat, and that is a warlock harp of his pours poison daily into the King’s heart. See how he has bent that heart by power and chain of sorcery! He will be king yet, my lords, and you will hold your lands of a wizard.” They brought over the greater part of the barons and these pressed King Mark to take to wife some king’s daughter who should give him an heir, or else they threatened to return each man into his keep and wage him war.

“I didn’t realize that other people went through the same things we [African Americans] did.”

leaving the Cloud and Enterprise team and Applications and Services Group free to focus on building their businesses on top of all platforms

Smartphones first addressed needs the PC couldn’t, then over time started taking over PC functionality directly

Because the latest version of Windows is always asking for information in the guise of being helpful, it's easy to think that Microsoft's the poster child for the collective attack on your digital privacy. But it's not.In fact, there are plenty of other companies who feel perfectly entitled to require you to hand over your personal info before they open their doors

Software WiBe 21 (Version 3.0) wurde 2000/2001 für die Betriebssysteme MS Win-dows®1 95, 98 und Windows NT

Differidoo is a 100% pure Java application and runs on all operating systems for which a Java Virtual Machine version 8 or higher is available (including Linux, macOS and Windows).

Část A: Vytvoření bootovacího USB

The average print run of Pote and Poets Press, for instance, which publishes poets like Rachel Blau du Plessis, is less than one thousand copies; the average print run of a university press poetry series is two thousand; Louise Glück's books sell more than 50,000 copies; a book by Billy Collins might sell 100,000 copies. Compare this to the million copies sold of every novel featured on Oprah's book club. Historically, of course, poetry has always had a smaller audience than fiction because reading poetry--even that of Billy Collins--takes more effort than reading prose. Poetry offers, in Emily Dickinson's words, "more windows and doors" than prose. In other words, to various degrees, poetry challenges the dominant ideology because it emphasizes convention and form--the white space that makes us read differently and changes the rhythms of our breath and speech. Readers of poetry can change themselves--and subsequently their worlds--because they breathe "outside the box" of convention.

but 64-bit compiler can only run on 64-bit Windows

Finding the right compiler for your operating platform (Windows, Mac OS X, Ubuntu), for your JDK (32-bit, 64-bit), and figuring out the correct compiler options is the hardest part to get the JNI working!!!

The SSISDB catalog and the SSISDB database support Windows PowerShell.

One morning, as Gregor Samsa was waking up from anxious dreams, he discovered that in bed he had been changed into a monstrous verminous bug.

beyond these windows the government buildings smothered, schools and libraries buried, the post office lost

beyond these windows

Coral in North Carolina?

Examples

Sources × Sources... News API Books API YouTube API Coding for modal windows Google Font Images

summer collection to he

without opening a separate tab)

Its Functions in a similar fashion as the Sliding Windows, The Panels are made to Slide on the Track, The are used for Commercial Building and Residential Building.

It functions by Tilting and Turning 180 degrees, It is used for Commercial building and Residential Building.

It can be opened horizontally and Vertically. It is used for both Commercial buildings and Residential Buildings. It’s a Solution for High rises where periodic cleaning are required.

Functioms by pushing out the Panels and are used for Toilets in both Commercial and Residential Buildings

Are windows that open outward,it is used for Residential buildings

t

A bed supported on massive pillars of mahogany, hung with curtains of deep red damask, stood out like a tabernacle in the centre; the two large windows, with their blinds always drawn down, were half shrouded in festoons and falls of similar drapery; the carpet was red; the table at the foot of the bed was covered with a crimson cloth; the walls were a soft fawn colour, with a blush of pink in it; the wardrobe, the toilet-table, the chairs were of darkly polished old mahogany

Win+Prntscrn on Windows 10

Evernote Web Clipper is a simple extension for your web browser that lets you capture full-page articles, images, selected text, important emails, and any web page that inspires you. Save everything to Evernote and keep it forever. Available for Chrome, Safari, Internet Explorer (IE) 7+, Firefox, Opera, and Microsoft Edge (for Windows 10 or higher)

Windows

I’m currently running chrome on Windows 10 (no insider build). Go to chrome://flags and disable the Direct Manipulation Stylus option.

Ash’s apartment was incredibly clean, there was very few places to hide something. Mav checked behind tapestries and paintings for hidden safes, underneath the bed and rugs for trap doors, and inside the cabinets, dresser and closet for hidden compartments.  Despite searching the apartment quite thoroughly, Mav couldn’t find anything. He was still suspicious of Ash and her actions, but he couldn’t justify them. Standing facing the floor-to-ceiling windows Mav looked out over the downtown heart of the Hub, the neon lights on full blast and a new storm seemed to be approaching off the horizon. Before leaving Ash’s apartment Mav set about preparing all of his gear, an old school hunting rifle, sleeping gear, ammunition for both the rifle and handgun, meal rations, camouflage,  and a telephoto lense camera. With his gear set up and his route planned Mav set out for his final destination, closing the door to Ash’s apartment behind him.

locking every single window

The client and server computers must be part of the same Windows domain, or in trusted domains. A Service Principal Name (SPN) must be registered with Active Directory, which assumes the role of the Key Distribution Center in a Windows domain. The SPN, after it is registered, maps to the Windows account that started the SQL Server instance service. If the SPN registration has not been performed or fails, the Windows security layer cannot determine the account associated with the SPN, and Kerberos authentication will not be used.

exec master.sys.xp_loginconfig 'login mode'

Why does Microsoft Windows play music upon startup?

EMEL BUILDING MATERIALS

Building Products Our building products include Windows, Doors, Partitioning, Roofing, Hand Railings,Curtain Walling, etc.

Emel Projects Solutions Is A Division Of Emel Building Materials That Offers The Building Materials Products Which Include A Varied Range Of Aluminium Windows, Doors, Partitioning, Roofing, Stainless Steel Hand Railings, Aluminium Composite Panels (ACP), Curtain Walling, Frameless Glass Doors, Wooden Doors, Security Doors, Suspended Ceiling (False Ceiling),Automatic Doors, Danpalone etc.

With over 60 years of providing world class service to their customers on the asset side, a need to provide a one stop shop for a” true customer service logistic solution” was introduced. By adding this dimension to an already dynamic and customer centric asset based provider, we feel we bring a total solution

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Morbi ac neque at mi elementum gravida elit.

Building Products Our building products include Windows, Doors, Partitioning, Roofing, Hand Railings,Curtain Walling, etc.

Emel Projects Solutions is a Unit in Emel Building Materials that offers the Building Materials Products which include a varied range of Aluminium Windows, Doors, Partitioning, Roofing, Stainless Steel Hand Railings, Aluminium Composite Panels (ACP), Curtain Walling, Frameless Glass Doors, Wooden Doors, Security Doors, Suspended Ceiling (False Ceiling),Automatic Doors, Danpalone etc.

Board Meeting Q1/2018|MINUTESMeeting date | time14 June| 1 10 0hr s| Meeting l ocationRaffles H otel Confer ence Room 1Meeting called byMichelle LaiType of meetingBo

Camtasia Studio (With .edu license for $179 PC; $75 Mac). Camtasia Studio is robust. It can take you through every step of the production process from recording, editing, and formatting your video for the web. This program is ideal if you want your videos to look professional, plan to do extensive editing, and it has some great options for integrating PowerPoint presentations (such as generating a table of contents and captions from your presentations notes). Snagit (With .edu license $29.95). From the same developers as Camtasia, Snagit is great if you're only looking to record your screen and want to forego extensive editing and formatting. This is ideal if you just want to record what's on your screen with a voiceover and then quickly publish to the web. Explain Everything - (iOS, Android, Windows, $4.99/month with group education licenses available). This app is great if you're working with a touch interface (i.e. tablet or touch enabled screen) and can incorporate images, illustrations, and animation. The app lets you edit on the fly, and given the relatively low monthly fee, it could be good for a trial run.

Oh! It's then I realize that I am locked up to the metallic ceiling and not  just a wall, where the floor is heated up and probably the sensors would be detecting as soon as I'd step on the floor. I think hard and analyze the room, empty with strong neon lights on the ceiling which I was locked to and luckily on of it right above my head; with no windows just one door that too didn't have any knobs or slits to it and a small exhaust turbo to the opposite corner.

In the workplace, the barriers and hierarchies have started to come down as women have become more prominent. With Mother Nature becoming more important, sustainability started coming into play, and an emphasis on windows, daylight, and views has accompanied that. People are also craving more softness in interiors, with the open plan, the influence of hospitality, and an emphasis on tactile and textural materials like carpeting and textiles.

But I can write when she is out, and see her a long way off from these windows.

But hey, we're not running Windows 95 anymore! The current branch of windows is based on Windows NT, not Win95. But Windows NT wanted compatibility with DOS/Windows programs. And XP merged the two lines. So these special files still work, FORTY FOUR FUCKING YEARS LATER

my harts theese

The symbol is monolingual (Spanish), and is located in Woodside, on Northern Blvd and 53rd Street. I drive past there nearly everyday on my way home, and it is there, or in that area, quite often.

bilingual sign

This sign is multilingual meaning it contains several different languages to help distribute an important message to the public.

It was subordinately surrounded by a cluster of other and smaller buildings, some of which, from their cheap, blank air, great length, gregarious windows, and comfortless expression, no doubt were boarding-houses of the operatives.

While banner is mostly in English, the actual name is in Chinese

English and Chinese

Even though anime is a huge part of the Japanese culture, the size of the community overseas is way better than it is in Japan.

This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight; The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves; The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves, And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows. Under a tree in the park, Two little boys, lying flat on their faces, Were carefully gathering red berries To put in a pasteboard box.

The advancing speck was observed by the blacks. Their shouts attracted the attention of Don Benito, who, with a return of courtesy, approaching Captain Delano, expressed satisfaction at the coming of some supplies, slight and temporary as they must necessarily prove. Captain Delano responded; but while doing so, his attention was drawn to something passing on the deck below: among the crowd climbing the landward bulwarks, anxiously watching the coming boat, two blacks, to all appearances accidentally incommoded by one of the sailors, violently pushed him aside, which the sailor someway resenting, they dashed him to the deck, despite the earnest cries of the oakum-pickers. “Don Benito,” said Captain Delano quickly, “do you see what is going on there? Look!” But, seized by his cough, the Spaniard staggered, with both hands to his face, on the point of falling. Captain Delano would have supported him, but the servant was more alert, who, with one hand sustaining his master, with the other applied the cordial. Don Benito restored, the black withdrew his support, slipping aside a little, but dutifully remaining within call of a whisper. Such discretion was here evinced as quite wiped away, in the visitor’s eyes, any blemish of impropriety which might have attached to the attendant, from the indecorous conferences before mentioned; showing, too, that if the servant were to blame, it might be more the master’s fault than his own, since, when left to himself, he could conduct thus well. His glance called away from the spectacle of disorder to the more pleasing one before him, Captain Delano could not avoid again congratulating his host upon possessing such a servant, who, though perhaps a little too forward now and then, must upon the whole be invaluable to one in the invalid’s situation. “Tell me, Don Benito,” he added, with a smile–“I should like to have your man here, myself–what will you take for him? Would fifty doubloons be any object?” “Master wouldn’t part with Babo for a thousand doubloons,” murmured the black, overhearing the offer, and taking it in earnest, and, with the strange vanity of a faithful slave, appreciated by his master, scorning to hear so paltry a valuation put upon him by a stranger. But Don Benito, apparently hardly yet completely restored, and again interrupted by his cough, made but some broken reply. Soon his physical distress became so great, affecting his mind, too, apparently, that, as if to screen the sad spectacle, the servant gently conducted his master below. Left to himself, the American, to while away the time till his boat should arrive, would have pleasantly accosted some one of the few Spanish seamen he saw; but recalling something that Don Benito had said touching their ill conduct, he refrained; as a shipmaster indisposed to countenance cowardice or unfaithfulness in seamen. While, with these thoughts, standing with eye directed forward towards that handful of sailors, suddenly he thought that one or two of them returned the glance and with a sort of meaning. He rubbed his eyes, and looked again; but again seemed to see the same thing. Under a new form, but more obscure than any previous one, the old suspicions recurred, but, in the absence of Don Benito, with less of panic than before. Despite the bad account given of the sailors, Captain Delano resolved forthwith to accost one of them. Descending the poop, he made his way through the blacks, his movement drawing a queer cry from the oakum-pickers, prompted by whom, the negroes, twitching each other aside, divided before him; but, as if curious to see what was the object of this deliberate visit to their Ghetto, closing in behind, in tolerable order, followed the white stranger up. His progress thus proclaimed as by mounted kings-at-arms, and escorted as by a Caffre guard of honor, Captain Delano, assuming a good-humored, off-handed air, continued to advance; now and then saying a blithe word to the negroes, and his eye curiously surveying the white faces, here and there sparsely mixed in with the blacks, like stray white pawns venturously involved in the ranks of the chess-men opposed. While thinking which of them to select for his purpose, he chanced to observe a sailor seated on the deck engaged in tarring the strap of a large block, a circle of blacks squatted round him inquisitively eying the process. The mean employment of the man was in contrast with something superior in his figure. His hand, black with continually thrusting it into the tar-pot held for him by a negro, seemed not naturally allied to his face, a face which would have been a very fine one but for its haggardness. Whether this haggardness had aught to do with criminality, could not be determined; since, as intense heat and cold, though unlike, produce like sensations, so innocence and guilt, when, through casual association with mental pain, stamping any visible impress, use one seal–a hacked one. Not again that this reflection occurred to Captain Delano at the time, charitable man as he was. Rather another idea. Because observing so singular a haggardness combined with a dark eye, averted as in trouble and shame, and then again recalling Don Benito’s confessed ill opinion of his crew, insensibly he was operated upon by certain general notions which, while disconnecting pain and abashment from virtue, invariably link them with vice. If, indeed, there be any wickedness on board this ship, thought Captain Delano, be sure that man there has fouled his hand in it, even as now he fouls it in the pitch. I don’t like to accost him. I will speak to this other, this old Jack here on the windlass. He advanced to an old Barcelona tar, in ragged red breeches and dirty night-cap, cheeks trenched and bronzed, whiskers dense as thorn hedges. Seated between two sleepy-looking Africans, this mariner, like his younger shipmate, was employed upon some rigging–splicing a cable–the sleepy-looking blacks performing the inferior function of holding the outer parts of the ropes for him. Upon Captain Delano’s approach, the man at once hung his head below its previous level; the one necessary for business. It appeared as if he desired to be thought absorbed, with more than common fidelity, in his task. Being addressed, he glanced up, but with what seemed a furtive, diffident air, which sat strangely enough on his weather-beaten visage, much as if a grizzly bear, instead of growling and biting, should simper and cast sheep’s eyes. He was asked several questions concerning the voyage–questions purposely referring to several particulars in Don Benito’s narrative, not previously corroborated by those impulsive cries greeting the visitor on first coming on board. The questions were briefly answered, confirming all that remained to be confirmed of the story. The negroes about the windlass joined in with the old sailor; but, as they became talkative, he by degrees became mute, and at length quite glum, seemed morosely unwilling to answer more questions, and yet, all the while, this ursine air was somehow mixed with his sheepish one. Despairing of getting into unembarrassed talk with such a centaur, Captain Delano, after glancing round for a more promising countenance, but seeing none, spoke pleasantly to the blacks to make way for him; and so, amid various grins and grimaces, returned to the poop, feeling a little strange at first, he could hardly tell why, but upon the whole with regained confidence in Benito Cereno. How plainly, thought he, did that old whiskerando yonder betray a consciousness of ill desert. No doubt, when he saw me coming, he dreaded lest I, apprised by his Captain of the crew’s general misbehavior, came with sharp words for him, and so down with his head. And yet–and yet, now that I think of it, that very old fellow, if I err not, was one of those who seemed so earnestly eying me here awhile since. Ah, these currents spin one’s head round almost as much as they do the ship. Ha, there now’s a pleasant sort of sunny sight; quite sociable, too. His attention had been drawn to a slumbering negress, partly disclosed through the lacework of some rigging, lying, with youthful limbs carelessly disposed, under the lee of the bulwarks, like a doe in the shade of a woodland rock. Sprawling at her lapped breasts, was her wide-awake fawn, stark naked, its black little body half lifted from the deck, crosswise with its dam’s; its hands, like two paws, clambering upon her; its mouth and nose ineffectually rooting to get at the mark; and meantime giving a vexatious half-grunt, blending with the composed snore of the negress. The uncommon vigor of the child at length roused the mother. She started up, at a distance facing Captain Delano. But as if not at all concerned at the attitude in which she had been caught, delightedly she caught the child up, with maternal transports, covering it with kisses. There’s naked nature, now; pure tenderness and love, thought Captain Delano, well pleased. This incident prompted him to remark the other negresses more particularly than before. He was gratified with their manners: like most uncivilized women, they seemed at once tender of heart and tough of constitution; equally ready to die for their infants or fight for them. Unsophisticated as leopardesses; loving as doves. Ah! thought Captain Delano, these, perhaps, are some of the very women whom Ledyard saw in Africa, and gave such a noble account of. These natural sights somehow insensibly deepened his confidence and ease. At last he looked to see how his boat was getting on; but it was still pretty remote. He turned to see if Don Benito had returned; but he had not. To change the scene, as well as to please himself with a leisurely observation of the coming boat, stepping over into the mizzen-chains, he clambered his way into the starboard quarter-gallery–one of those abandoned Venetian-looking water-balconies previously mentioned–retreats cut off from the deck. As his foot pressed the half-damp, half-dry sea-mosses matting the place, and a chance phantom cats-paw–an islet of breeze, unheralded, unfollowed–as this ghostly cats-paw came fanning his cheek; as his glance fell upon the row of small, round dead-lights–all closed like coppered eyes of the coffined–and the state-cabin door, once connecting with the gallery, even as the dead-lights had once looked out upon it, but now calked fast like a sarcophagus lid; and to a purple-black tarred-over, panel, threshold, and post; and he bethought him of the time, when that state-cabin and this state-balcony had heard the voices of the Spanish king’s officers, and the forms of the Lima viceroy’s daughters had perhaps leaned where he stood–as these and other images flitted through his mind, as the cats-paw through the calm, gradually he felt rising a dreamy inquietude, like that of one who alone on the prairie feels unrest from the repose of the noon. He leaned against the carved balustrade, again looking off toward his boat; but found his eye falling upon the ribbon grass, trailing along the ship’s water-line, straight as a border of green box; and parterres of sea-weed, broad ovals and crescents, floating nigh and far, with what seemed long formal alleys between, crossing the terraces of swells, and sweeping round as if leading to the grottoes below. And overhanging all was the balustrade by his arm, which, partly stained with pitch and partly embossed with moss, seemed the charred ruin of some summer-house in a grand garden long running to waste. Trying to break one charm, he was but becharmed anew. Though upon the wide sea, he seemed in some far inland country; prisoner in some deserted château, left to stare at empty grounds, and peer out at vague roads, where never wagon or wayfarer passed. But these enchantments were a little disenchanted as his eye fell on the corroded main-chains. Of an ancient style, massy and rusty in link, shackle and bolt, they seemed even more fit for the ship’s present business than the one for which she had been built. Presently he thought something moved nigh the chains. He rubbed his eyes, and looked hard. Groves of rigging were about the chains; and there, peering from behind a great stay, like an Indian from behind a hemlock, a Spanish sailor, a marlingspike in his hand, was seen, who made what seemed an imperfect gesture towards the balcony, but immediately as if alarmed by some advancing step along the deck within, vanished into the recesses of the hempen forest, like a poacher. What meant this? Something the man had sought to communicate, unbeknown to any one, even to his captain. Did the secret involve aught unfavorable to his captain? Were those previous misgivings of Captain Delano’s about to be verified? Or, in his haunted mood at the moment, had some random, unintentional motion of the man, while busy with the stay, as if repairing it, been mistaken for a significant beckoning? Not unbewildered, again he gazed off for his boat. But it was temporarily hidden by a rocky spur of the isle. As with some eagerness he bent forward, watching for the first shooting view of its beak, the balustrade gave way before him like charcoal. Had he not clutched an outreaching rope he would have fallen into the sea. The crash, though feeble, and the fall, though hollow, of the rotten fragments, must have been overheard. He glanced up. With sober curiosity peering down upon him was one of the old oakum-pickers, slipped from his perch to an outside boom; while below the old negro, and, invisible to him, reconnoitering from a port-hole like a fox from the mouth of its den, crouched the Spanish sailor again. From something suddenly suggested by the man’s air, the mad idea now darted into Captain Delano’s mind, that Don Benito’s plea of indisposition, in withdrawing below, was but a pretense: that he was engaged there maturing his plot, of which the sailor, by some means gaining an inkling, had a mind to warn the stranger against; incited, it may be, by gratitude for a kind word on first boarding the ship. Was it from foreseeing some possible interference like this, that Don Benito had, beforehand, given such a bad character of his sailors, while praising the negroes; though, indeed, the former seemed as docile as the latter the contrary? The whites, too, by nature, were the shrewder race. A man with some evil design, would he not be likely to speak well of that stupidity which was blind to his depravity, and malign that intelligence from which it might not be hidden? Not unlikely, perhaps. But if the whites had dark secrets concerning Don Benito, could then Don Benito be any way in complicity with the blacks? But they were too stupid. Besides, who ever heard of a white so far a renegade as to apostatize from his very species almost, by leaguing in against it with negroes? These difficulties recalled former ones. Lost in their mazes, Captain Delano, who had now regained the deck, was uneasily advancing along it, when he observed a new face; an aged sailor seated cross-legged near the main hatchway. His skin was shrunk up with wrinkles like a pelican’s empty pouch; his hair frosted; his countenance grave and composed. His hands were full of ropes, which he was working into a large knot. Some blacks were about him obligingly dipping the strands for him, here and there, as the exigencies of the operation demanded. Captain Delano crossed over to him, and stood in silence surveying the knot; his mind, by a not uncongenial transition, passing from its own entanglements to those of the hemp. For intricacy, such a knot he had never seen in an American ship, nor indeed any other. The old man looked like an Egyptian priest, making Gordian knots for the temple of Ammon. The knot seemed a combination of double-bowline-knot, treble-crown-knot, back-handed-well-knot, knot-in-and-out-knot, and jamming-knot. At last, puzzled to comprehend the meaning of such a knot, Captain Delano addressed the knotter:– “What are you knotting there, my man?” “The knot,” was the brief reply, without looking up. “So it seems; but what is it for?” “For some one else to undo,” muttered back the old man, plying his fingers harder than ever, the knot being now nearly completed. While Captain Delano stood watching him, suddenly the old man threw the knot towards him, saying in broken English–the first heard in the ship–something to this effect: “Undo it, cut it, quick.” It was said lowly, but with such condensation of rapidity, that the long, slow words in Spanish, which had preceded and followed, almost operated as covers to the brief English between. For a moment, knot in hand, and knot in head, Captain Delano stood mute; while, without further heeding him, the old man was now intent upon other ropes. Presently there was a slight stir behind Captain Delano. Turning, he saw the chained negro, Atufal, standing quietly there. The next moment the old sailor rose, muttering, and, followed by his subordinate negroes, removed to the forward part of the ship, where in the crowd he disappeared. An elderly negro, in a clout like an infant’s, and with a pepper and salt head, and a kind of attorney air, now approached Captain Delano. In tolerable Spanish, and with a good-natured, knowing wink, he informed him that the old knotter was simple-witted, but harmless; often playing his odd tricks. The negro concluded by begging the knot, for of course the stranger would not care to be troubled with it. Unconsciously, it was handed to him. With a sort of congé, the negro received it, and, turning his back, ferreted into it like a detective custom-house officer after smuggled laces. Soon, with some African word, equivalent to pshaw, he tossed the knot overboard. All this is very queer now, thought Captain Delano, with a qualmish sort of emotion; but, as one feeling incipient sea-sickness, he strove, by ignoring the symptoms, to get rid of the malady. Once more he looked off for his boat. To his delight, it was now again in view, leaving the rocky spur astern. The sensation here experienced, after at first relieving his uneasiness, with unforeseen efficacy soon began to remove it. The less distant sight of that well-known boat–showing it, not as before, half blended with the haze, but with outline defined, so that its individuality, like a man’s, was manifest; that boat, Rover by name, which, though now in strange seas, had often pressed the beach of Captain Delano’s home, and, brought to its threshold for repairs, had familiarly lain there, as a Newfoundland dog; the sight of that household boat evoked a thousand trustful associations, which, contrasted with previous suspicions, filled him not only with lightsome confidence, but somehow with half humorous self-reproaches at his former lack of it. “What, I, Amasa Delano–Jack of the Beach, as they called me when a lad–I, Amasa; the same that, duck-satchel in hand, used to paddle along the water-side to the school-house made from the old hulk–I, little Jack of the Beach, that used to go berrying with cousin Nat and the rest; I to be murdered here at the ends of the earth, on board a haunted pirate-ship by a horrible Spaniard? Too nonsensical to think of! Who would murder Amasa Delano? His conscience is clean. There is some one above. Fie, fie, Jack of the Beach! you are a child indeed; a child of the second childhood, old boy; you are beginning to dote and drule, I’m afraid.” Light of heart and foot, he stepped aft, and there was met by Don Benito’s servant, who, with a pleasing expression, responsive to his own present feelings, informed him that his master had recovered from the effects of his coughing fit, and had just ordered him to go present his compliments to his good guest, Don Amasa, and say that he (Don Benito) would soon have the happiness to rejoin him. There now, do you mark that? again thought Captain Delano, walking the poop. What a donkey I was. This kind gentleman who here sends me his kind compliments, he, but ten minutes ago, dark-lantern in had, was dodging round some old grind-stone in the hold, sharpening a hatchet for me, I thought. Well, well; these long calms have a morbid effect on the mind, I’ve often heard, though I never believed it before. Ha! glancing towards the boat; there’s Rover; good dog; a white bone in her mouth. A pretty big bone though, seems to me.–What? Yes, she has fallen afoul of the bubbling tide-rip there. It sets her the other way, too, for the time. Patience. It was now about noon, though, from the grayness of everything, it seemed to be getting towards dusk. The calm was confirmed. In the far distance, away from the influence of land, the leaden ocean seemed laid out and leaded up, its course finished, soul gone, defunct. But the current from landward, where the ship was, increased; silently sweeping her further and further towards the tranced waters beyond. Still, from his knowledge of those latitudes, cherishing hopes of a breeze, and a fair and fresh one, at any moment, Captain Delano, despite present prospects, buoyantly counted upon bringing the San Dominick safely to anchor ere night. The distance swept over was nothing; since, with a good wind, ten minutes’ sailing would retrace more than sixty minutes, drifting. Meantime, one moment turning to mark “Rover” fighting the tide-rip, and the next to see Don Benito approaching, he continued walking the poop. Gradually he felt a vexation arising from the delay of his boat; this soon merged into uneasiness; and at last–his eye falling continually, as from a stage-box into the pit, upon the strange crowd before and below him, and, by-and-by, recognizing there the face–now composed to indifference–of the Spanish sailor who had seemed to beckon from the main-chains–something of his old trepidations returned. Ah, thought he–gravely enough–this is like the ague: because it went off, it follows not that it won’t come back. Though ashamed of the relapse, he could not altogether subdue it; and so, exerting his good-nature to the utmost, insensibly he came to a compromise. Yes, this is a strange craft; a strange history, too, and strange folks on board. But–nothing more. By way of keeping his mind out of mischief till the boat should arrive, he tried to occupy it with turning over and over, in a purely speculative sort of way, some lesser peculiarities of the captain and crew. Among others, four curious points recurred: First, the affair of the Spanish lad assailed with a knife by the slave boy; an act winked at by Don Benito. Second, the tyranny in Don Benito’s treatment of Atufal, the black; as if a child should lead a bull of the Nile by the ring in his nose. Third, the trampling of the sailor by the two negroes; a piece of insolence passed over without so much as a reprimand. Fourth, the cringing submission to their master, of all the ship’s underlings, mostly blacks; as if by the least inadvertence they feared to draw down his despotic displeasure. Coupling these points, they seemed somewhat contradictory. But what then, thought Captain Delano, glancing towards his now nearing boat–what then? Why, Don Benito is a very capricious commander. But he is not the first of the sort I have seen; though it’s true he rather exceeds any other. But as a nation–continued he in his reveries–these Spaniards are all an odd set; the very word Spaniard has a curious, conspirator, Guy-Fawkish twang to it. And yet, I dare say, Spaniards in the main are as good folks as any in Duxbury, Massachusetts. Ah good! At last “Rover” has come. As, with its welcome freight, the boat touched the side, the oakum-pickers, with venerable gestures, sought to restrain the blacks, who, at the sight of three gurried water-casks in its bottom, and a pile of wilted pumpkins in its bow, hung over the bulwarks in disorderly raptures. Don Benito, with his servant, now appeared; his coming, perhaps, hastened by hearing the noise. Of him Captain Delano sought permission to serve out the water, so that all might share alike, and none injure themselves by unfair excess. But sensible, and, on Don Benito’s account, kind as this offer was, it was received with what seemed impatience; as if aware that he lacked energy as a commander, Don Benito, with the true jealousy of weakness, resented as an affront any interference. So, at least, Captain Delano inferred. In another moment the casks were being hoisted in, when some of the eager negroes accidentally jostled Captain Delano, where he stood by the gangway; so, that, unmindful of Don Benito, yielding to the impulse of the moment, with good-natured authority he bade the blacks stand back; to enforce his words making use of a half-mirthful, half-menacing gesture. Instantly the blacks paused, just where they were, each negro and negress suspended in his or her posture, exactly as the word had found them–for a few seconds continuing so–while, as between the responsive posts of a telegraph, an unknown syllable ran from man to man among the perched oakum-pickers. While the visitor’s attention was fixed by this scene, suddenly the hatchet-polishers half rose, and a rapid cry came from Don Benito. Thinking that at the signal of the Spaniard he was about to be massacred, Captain Delano would have sprung for his boat, but paused, as the oakum-pickers, dropping down into the crowd with earnest exclamations, forced every white and every negro back, at the same moment, with gestures friendly and familiar, almost jocose, bidding him, in substance, not be a fool. Simultaneously the hatchet-polishers resumed their seats, quietly as so many tailors, and at once, as if nothing had happened, the work of hoisting in the casks was resumed, whites and blacks singing at the tackle. Captain Delano glanced towards Don Benito. As he saw his meagre form in the act of recovering itself from reclining in the servant’s arms, into which the agitated invalid had fallen, he could not but marvel at the panic by which himself had been surprised, on the darting supposition that such a commander, who, upon a legitimate occasion, so trivial, too, as it now appeared, could lose all self-command, was, with energetic iniquity, going to bring about his murder. The casks being on deck, Captain Delano was handed a number of jars and cups by one of the steward’s aids, who, in the name of his captain, entreated him to do as he had proposed–dole out the water. He complied, with republican impartiality as to this republican element, which always seeks one level, serving the oldest white no better than the youngest black; excepting, indeed, poor Don Benito, whose condition, if not rank, demanded an extra allowance. To him, in the first place, Captain Delano presented a fair pitcher of the fluid; but, thirsting as he was for it, the Spaniard quaffed not a drop until after several grave bows and salutes. A reciprocation of courtesies which the sight-loving Africans hailed with clapping of hands. Two of the less wilted pumpkins being reserved for the cabin table, the residue were minced up on the spot for the general regalement. But the soft bread, sugar, and bottled cider, Captain Delano would have given the whites alone, and in chief Don Benito; but the latter objected; which disinterestedness not a little pleased the American; and so mouthfuls all around were given alike to whites and blacks; excepting one bottle of cider, which Babo insisted upon setting aside for his master. Here it may be observed that as, on the first visit of the boat, the American had not permitted his men to board the ship, neither did he now; being unwilling to add to the confusion of the decks. Not uninfluenced by the peculiar good-humor at present prevailing, and for the time oblivious of any but benevolent thoughts, Captain Delano, who, from recent indications, counted upon a breeze within an hour or two at furthest, dispatched the boat back to the sealer, with orders for all the hands that could be spared immediately to set about rafting casks to the watering-place and filling them. Likewise he bade word be carried to his chief officer, that if, against present expectation, the ship was not brought to anchor by sunset, he need be under no concern; for as there was to be a full moon that night, he (Captain Delano) would remain on board ready to play the pilot, come the wind soon or late. As the two Captains stood together, observing the departing boat–the servant, as it happened, having just spied a spot on his master’s velvet sleeve, and silently engaged rubbing it out–the American expressed his regrets that the San Dominick had no boats; none, at least, but the unseaworthy old hulk of the long-boat, which, warped as a camel’s skeleton in the desert, and almost as bleached, lay pot-wise inverted amidships, one side a little tipped, furnishing a subterraneous sort of den for family groups of the blacks, mostly women and small children; who, squatting on old mats below, or perched above in the dark dome, on the elevated seats, were descried, some distance within, like a social circle of bats, sheltering in some friendly cave; at intervals, ebon flights of naked boys and girls, three or four years old, darting in and out of the den’s mouth. “Had you three or four boats now, Don Benito,” said Captain Delano, “I think that, by tugging at the oars, your negroes here might help along matters some. Did you sail from port without boats, Don Benito?” “They were stove in the gales, Señor.” “That was bad. Many men, too, you lost then. Boats and men. Those must have been hard gales, Don Benito.” “Past all speech,” cringed the Spaniard. “Tell me, Don Benito,” continued his companion with increased interest, “tell me, were these gales immediately off the pitch of Cape Horn?” “Cape Horn?–who spoke of Cape Horn?” “Yourself did, when giving me an account of your voyage,” answered Captain Delano, with almost equal astonishment at this eating of his own words, even as he ever seemed eating his own heart, on the part of the Spaniard. “You yourself, Don Benito, spoke of Cape Horn,” he emphatically repeated. The Spaniard turned, in a sort of stooping posture, pausing an instant, as one about to make a plunging exchange of elements, as from air to water. At this moment a messenger-boy, a white, hurried by, in the regular performance of his function carrying the last expired half hour forward to the forecastle, from the cabin time-piece, to have it struck at the ship’s large bell. “Master,” said the servant, discontinuing his work on the coat sleeve, and addressing the rapt Spaniard with a sort of timid apprehensiveness, as one charged with a duty, the discharge of which, it was foreseen, would prove irksome to the very person who had imposed it, and for whose benefit it was intended, “master told me never mind where he was, or how engaged, always to remind him to a minute, when shaving-time comes. Miguel has gone to strike the half-hour afternoon. It is now, master. Will master go into the cuddy?” “Ah–yes,” answered the Spaniard, starting, as from dreams into realities; then turning upon Captain Delano, he said that ere long he would resume the conversation. “Then if master means to talk more to Don Amasa,” said the servant, “why not let Don Amasa sit by master in the cuddy, and master can talk, and Don Amasa can listen, while Babo here lathers and strops.” “Yes,” said Captain Delano, not unpleased with this sociable plan, “yes, Don Benito, unless you had rather not, I will go with you.” “Be it so, Señor.” As the three passed aft, the American could not but think it another strange instance of his host’s capriciousness, this being shaved with such uncommon punctuality in the middle of the day. But he deemed it more than likely that the servant’s anxious fidelity had something to do with the matter; inasmuch as the timely interruption served to rally his master from the mood which had evidently been coming upon him. The place called the cuddy was a light deck-cabin formed by the poop, a sort of attic to the large cabin below. Part of it had formerly been the quarters of the officers; but since their death all the partitioning had been thrown down, and the whole interior converted into one spacious and airy marine hall; for absence of fine furniture and picturesque disarray of odd appurtenances, somewhat answering to the wide, cluttered hall of some eccentric bachelor-squire in the country, who hangs his shooting-jacket and tobacco-pouch on deer antlers, and keeps his fishing-rod, tongs, and walking-stick in the same corner. The similitude was heightened, if not originally suggested, by glimpses of the surrounding sea; since, in one aspect, the country and the ocean seem cousins-german. The floor of the cuddy was matted. Overhead, four or five old muskets were stuck into horizontal holes along the beams. On one side was a claw-footed old table lashed to the deck; a thumbed missal on it, and over it a small, meagre crucifix attached to the bulk-head. Under the table lay a dented cutlass or two, with a hacked harpoon, among some melancholy old rigging, like a heap of poor friars’ girdles. There were also two long, sharp-ribbed settees of Malacca cane, black with age, and uncomfortable to look at as inquisitors’ racks, with a large, misshapen arm-chair, which, furnished with a rude barber’s crotch at the back, working with a screw, seemed some grotesque engine of torment. A flag locker was in one corner, open, exposing various colored bunting, some rolled up, others half unrolled, still others tumbled. Opposite was a cumbrous washstand, of black mahogany, all of one block, with a pedestal, like a font, and over it a railed shelf, containing combs, brushes, and other implements of the toilet. A torn hammock of stained grass swung near; the sheets tossed, and the pillow wrinkled up like a brow, as if who ever slept here slept but illy, with alternate visitations of sad thoughts and bad dreams. The further extremity of the cuddy, overhanging the ship’s stern, was pierced with three openings, windows or port-holes, according as men or cannon might peer, socially or unsocially, out of them. At present neither men nor cannon were seen, though huge ring-bolts and other rusty iron fixtures of the wood-work hinted of twenty-four-pounders. Glancing towards the hammock as he entered, Captain Delano said, “You sleep here, Don Benito?” “Yes, Señor, since we got into mild weather.” “This seems a sort of dormitory, sitting-room, sail-loft, chapel, armory, and private closet all together, Don Benito,” added Captain Delano, looking round. “Yes, Señor; events have not been favorable to much order in my arrangements.” Here the servant, napkin on arm, made a motion as if waiting his master’s good pleasure. Don Benito signified his readiness, when, seating him in the Malacca arm-chair, and for the guest’s convenience drawing opposite one of the settees, the servant commenced operations by throwing back his master’s collar and loosening his cravat. There is something in the negro which, in a peculiar way, fits him for avocations about one’s person. Most negroes are natural valets and hair-dressers; taking to the comb and brush congenially as to the castinets, and flourishing them apparently with almost equal satisfaction. There is, too, a smooth tact about them in this employment, with a marvelous, noiseless, gliding briskness, not ungraceful in its way, singularly pleasing to behold, and still more so to be the manipulated subject of. And above all is the great gift of good-humor. Not the mere grin or laugh is here meant. Those were unsuitable. But a certain easy cheerfulness, harmonious in every glance and gesture; as though God had set the whole negro to some pleasant tune. When to this is added the docility arising from the unaspiring contentment of a limited mind and that susceptibility of blind attachment sometimes inhering in indisputable inferiors, one readily perceives why those hypochondriacs, Johnson and Byron–it may be, something like the hypochondriac Benito Cereno–took to their hearts, almost to the exclusion of the entire white race, their serving men, the negroes, Barber and Fletcher. But if there be that in the negro which exempts him from the inflicted sourness of the morbid or cynical mind, how, in his most prepossessing aspects, must he appear to a benevolent one? When at ease with respect to exterior things, Captain Delano’s nature was not only benign, but familiarly and humorously so. At home, he had often taken rare satisfaction in sitting in his door, watching some free man of color at his work or play. If on a voyage he chanced to have a black sailor, invariably he was on chatty and half-gamesome terms with him. In fact, like most men of a good, blithe heart, Captain Delano took to negroes, not philanthropically, but genially, just as other men to Newfoundland dogs. Hitherto, the circumstances in which he found the San Dominick had repressed the tendency. But in the cuddy, relieved from his former uneasiness, and, for various reasons, more sociably inclined than at any previous period of the day, and seeing the colored servant, napkin on arm, so debonair about his master, in a business so familiar as that of shaving, too, all his old weakness for negroes returned. Among other things, he was amused with an odd instance of the African love of bright colors and fine shows, in the black’s informally taking from the flag-locker a great piece of bunting of all hues, and lavishly tucking it under his master’s chin for an apron. The mode of shaving among the Spaniards is a little different from what it is with other nations. They have a basin, specifically called a barber’s basin, which on one side is scooped out, so as accurately to receive the chin, against which it is closely held in lathering; which is done, not with a brush, but with soap dipped in the water of the basin and rubbed on the face. In the present instance salt-water was used for lack of better; and the parts lathered were only the upper lip, and low down under the throat, all the rest being cultivated beard. The preliminaries being somewhat novel to Captain Delano, he sat curiously eying them, so that no conversation took place, nor, for the present, did Don Benito appear disposed to renew any. Setting down his basin, the negro searched among the razors, as for the sharpest, and having found it, gave it an additional edge by expertly strapping it on the firm, smooth, oily skin of his open palm; he then made a gesture as if to begin, but midway stood suspended for an instant, one hand elevating the razor, the other professionally dabbling among the bubbling suds on the Spaniard’s lank neck. Not unaffected by the close sight of the gleaming steel, Don Benito nervously shuddered; his usual ghastliness was heightened by the lather, which lather, again, was intensified in its hue by the contrasting sootiness of the negro’s body. Altogether the scene was somewhat peculiar, at least to Captain Delano, nor, as he saw the two thus postured, could he resist the vagary, that in the black he saw a headsman, and in the white a man at the block. But this was one of those antic conceits, appearing and vanishing in a breath, from which, perhaps, the best regulated mind is not always free. Meantime the agitation of the Spaniard had a little loosened the bunting from around him, so that one broad fold swept curtain-like over the chair-arm to the floor, revealing, amid a profusion of armorial bars and ground-colors–black, blue, and yellow–a closed castle in a blood red field diagonal with a lion rampant in a white. “The castle and the lion,” exclaimed Captain Delano–“why, Don Benito, this is the flag of Spain you use here. It’s well it’s only I, and not the King, that sees this,” he added, with a smile, “but”–turning towards the black–“it’s all one, I suppose, so the colors be gay;” which playful remark did not fail somewhat to tickle the negro. “Now, master,” he said, readjusting the flag, and pressing the head gently further back into the crotch of the chair; “now, master,” and the steel glanced nigh the throat. Again Don Benito faintly shuddered. “You must not shake so, master. See, Don Amasa, master always shakes when I shave him. And yet master knows I never yet have drawn blood, though it’s true, if master will shake so, I may some of these times. Now master,” he continued. “And now, Don Amasa, please go on with your talk about the gale, and all that; master can hear, and, between times, master can answer.” “Ah yes, these gales,” said Captain Delano; “but the more I think of your voyage, Don Benito, the more I wonder, not at the gales, terrible as they must have been, but at the disastrous interval following them. For here, by your account, have you been these two months and more getting from Cape Horn to St. Maria, a distance which I myself, with a good wind, have sailed in a few days. True, you had calms, and long ones, but to be becalmed for two months, that is, at least, unusual. Why, Don Benito, had almost any other gentleman told me such a story, I should have been half disposed to a little incredulity.” Here an involuntary expression came over the Spaniard, similar to that just before on the deck, and whether it was the start he gave, or a sudden gawky roll of the hull in the calm, or a momentary unsteadiness of the servant’s hand, however it was, just then the razor drew blood, spots of which stained the creamy lather under the throat: immediately the black barber drew back his steel, and, remaining in his professional attitude, back to Captain Delano, and face to Don Benito, held up the trickling razor, saying, with a sort of half humorous sorrow, “See, master–you shook so–here’s Babo’s first blood.” No sword drawn before James the First of England, no assassination in that timid King’s presence, could have produced a more terrified aspect than was now presented by Don Benito. Poor fellow, thought Captain Delano, so nervous he can’t even bear the sight of barber’s blood; and this unstrung, sick man, is it credible that I should have imagined he meant to spill all my blood, who can’t endure the sight of one little drop of his own? Surely, Amasa Delano, you have been beside yourself this day. Tell it not when you get home, sappy Amasa. Well, well, he looks like a murderer, doesn’t he? More like as if himself were to be done for. Well, well, this day’s experience shall be a good lesson. Meantime, while these things were running through the honest seaman’s mind, the servant had taken the napkin from his arm, and to Don Benito had said–“But answer Don Amasa, please, master, while I wipe this ugly stuff off the razor, and strop it again.” As he said the words, his face was turned half round, so as to be alike visible to the Spaniard and the American, and seemed, by its expression, to hint, that he was desirous, by getting his master to go on with the conversation, considerately to withdraw his attention from the recent annoying accident. As if glad to snatch the offered relief, Don Benito resumed, rehearsing to Captain Delano, that not only were the calms of unusual duration, but the ship had fallen in with obstinate currents; and other things he added, some of which were but repetitions of former statements, to explain how it came to pass that the passage from Cape Horn to St. Maria had been so exceedingly long; now and then, mingling with his words, incidental praises, less qualified than before, to the blacks, for their general good conduct. These particulars were not given consecutively, the servant, at convenient times, using his razor, and so, between the intervals of shaving, the story and panegyric went on with more than usual huskiness. To Captain Delano’s imagination, now again not wholly at rest, there was something so hollow in the Spaniard’s manner, with apparently some reciprocal hollowness in the servant’s dusky comment of silence, that the idea flashed across him, that possibly master and man, for some unknown purpose, were acting out, both in word and deed, nay, to the very tremor of Don Benito’s limbs, some juggling play before him. Neither did the suspicion of collusion lack apparent support, from the fact of those whispered conferences before mentioned. But then, what could be the object of enacting this play of the barber before him? At last, regarding the notion as a whimsy, insensibly suggested, perhaps, by the theatrical aspect of Don Benito in his harlequin ensign, Captain Delano speedily banished it. The shaving over, the servant bestirred himself with a small bottle of scented waters, pouring a few drops on the head, and then diligently rubbing; the vehemence of the exercise causing the muscles of his face to twitch rather strangely. His next operation was with comb, scissors, and brush; going round and round, smoothing a curl here, clipping an unruly whisker-hair there, giving a graceful sweep to the temple-lock, with other impromptu touches evincing the hand of a master; while, like any resigned gentleman in barber’s hands, Don Benito bore all, much less uneasily, at least than he had done the razoring; indeed, he sat so pale and rigid now, that the negro seemed a Nubian sculptor finishing off a white statue-head. All being over at last, the standard of Spain removed, tumbled up, and tossed back into the flag-locker, the negro’s warm breath blowing away any stray hair, which might have lodged down his master’s neck; collar and cravat readjusted; a speck of lint whisked off the velvet lapel; all this being done; backing off a little space, and pausing with an expression of subdued self-complacency, the servant for a moment surveyed his master, as, in toilet at least, the creature of his own tasteful hands. Captain Delano playfully complimented him upon his achievement; at the same time congratulating Don Benito. But neither sweet waters, nor shampooing, nor fidelity, nor sociality, delighted the Spaniard. Seeing him relapsing into forbidding gloom, and still remaining seated, Captain Delano, thinking that his presence was undesired just then, withdrew, on pretense of seeing whether, as he had prophesied, any signs of a breeze were visible. Walking forward to the main-mast, he stood awhile thinking over the scene, and not without some undefined misgivings, when he heard a noise near the cuddy, and turning, saw the negro, his hand to his cheek. Advancing, Captain Delano perceived that the cheek was bleeding. He was about to ask the cause, when the negro’s wailing soliloquy enlightened him. “Ah, when will master get better from his sickness; only the sour heart that sour sickness breeds made him serve Babo so; cutting Babo with the razor, because, only by accident, Babo had given master one little scratch; and for the first time in so many a day, too. Ah, ah, ah,” holding his hand to his face. Is it possible, thought Captain Delano; was it to wreak in private his Spanish spite against this poor friend of his, that Don Benito, by his sullen manner, impelled me to withdraw? Ah this slavery breeds ugly passions in man.–Poor fellow! He was about to speak in sympathy to the negro, but with a timid reluctance he now re-entered the cuddy. Presently master and man came forth; Don Benito leaning on his servant as if nothing had happened. But a sort of love-quarrel, after all, thought Captain Delano. He accosted Don Benito, and they slowly walked together. They had gone but a few paces, when the steward–a tall, rajah-looking mulatto, orientally set off with a pagoda turban formed by three or four Madras handkerchiefs wound about his head, tier on tier–approaching with a saalam, announced lunch in the cabin. On their way thither, the two captains were preceded by the mulatto, who, turning round as he advanced, with continual smiles and bows, ushered them on, a display of elegance which quite completed the insignificance of the small bare-headed Babo, who, as if not unconscious of inferiority, eyed askance the graceful steward. But in part, Captain Delano imputed his jealous watchfulness to that peculiar feeling which the full-blooded African entertains for the adulterated one. As for the steward, his manner, if not bespeaking much dignity of self-respect, yet evidenced his extreme desire to please; which is doubly meritorious, as at once Christian and Chesterfieldian. Captain Delano observed with interest that while the complexion of the mulatto was hybrid, his physiognomy was European–classically so. “Don Benito,” whispered he, “I am glad to see this usher-of-the-golden-rod of yours; the sight refutes an ugly remark once made to me by a Barbadoes planter; that when a mulatto has a regular European face, look out for him; he is a devil. But see, your steward here has features more regular than King George’s of England; and yet there he nods, and bows, and smiles; a king, indeed–the king of kind hearts and polite fellows. What a pleasant voice he has, too?” “He has, Señor.” “But tell me, has he not, so far as you have known him, always proved a good, worthy fellow?” said Captain Delano, pausing, while with a final genuflexion the steward disappeared into the cabin; “come, for the reason just mentioned, I am curious to know.” “Francesco is a good man,” a sort of sluggishly responded Don Benito, like a phlegmatic appreciator, who would neither find fault nor flatter. “Ah, I thought so. For it were strange, indeed, and not very creditable to us white-skins, if a little of our blood mixed with the African’s, should, far from improving the latter’s quality, have the sad effect of pouring vitriolic acid into black broth; improving the hue, perhaps, but not the wholesomeness.” “Doubtless, doubtless, Señor, but”–glancing at Babo–“not to speak of negroes, your planter’s remark I have heard applied to the Spanish and Indian intermixtures in our provinces. But I know nothing about the matter,” he listlessly added. And here they entered the cabin. The lunch was a frugal one. Some of Captain Delano’s fresh fish and pumpkins, biscuit and salt beef, the reserved bottle of cider, and the San Dominick’s last bottle of Canary. As they entered, Francesco, with two or three colored aids, was hovering over the table giving the last adjustments. Upon perceiving their master they withdrew, Francesco making a smiling congé, and the Spaniard, without condescending to notice it, fastidiously remarking to his companion that he relished not superfluous attendance. Without companions, host and guest sat down, like a childless married couple, at opposite ends of the table, Don Benito waving Captain Delano to his place, and, weak as he was, insisting upon that gentleman being seated before himself. The negro placed a rug under Don Benito’s feet, and a cushion behind his back, and then stood behind, not his master’s chair, but Captain Delano’s. At first, this a little surprised the latter. But it was soon evident that, in taking his position, the black was still true to his master; since by facing him he could the more readily anticipate his slightest want. “This is an uncommonly intelligent fellow of yours, Don Benito,” whispered Captain Delano across the table. “You say true, Señor.” During the repast, the guest again reverted to parts of Don Benito’s story, begging further particulars here and there. He inquired how it was that the scurvy and fever should have committed such wholesale havoc upon the whites, while destroying less than half of the blacks. As if this question reproduced the whole scene of plague before the Spaniard’s eyes, miserably reminding him of his solitude in a cabin where before he had had so many friends and officers round him, his hand shook, his face became hueless, broken words escaped; but directly the sane memory of the past seemed replaced by insane terrors of the present. With starting eyes he stared before him at vacancy. For nothing was to be seen but the hand of his servant pushing the Canary over towards him. At length a few sips served partially to restore him. He made random reference to the different constitution of races, enabling one to offer more resistance to certain maladies than another. The thought was new to his companion. Presently Captain Delano, intending to say something to his host concerning the pecuniary part of the business he had undertaken for him, especially–since he was strictly accountable to his owners–with reference to the new suit of sails, and other things of that sort; and naturally preferring to conduct such affairs in private, was desirous that the servant should withdraw; imagining that Don Benito for a few minutes could dispense with his attendance. He, however, waited awhile; thinking that, as the conversation proceeded, Don Benito, without being prompted, would perceive the propriety of the step. But it was otherwise. At last catching his host’s eye, Captain Delano, with a slight backward gesture of his thumb, whispered, “Don Benito, pardon me, but there is an interference with the full expression of what I have to say to you.” Upon this the Spaniard changed countenance; which was imputed to his resenting the hint, as in some way a reflection upon his servant. After a moment’s pause, he assured his guest that the black’s remaining with them could be of no disservice; because since losing his officers he had made Babo (whose original office, it now appeared, had been captain of the slaves) not only his constant attendant and companion, but in all things his confidant. After this, nothing more could be said; though, indeed, Captain Delano could hardly avoid some little tinge of irritation upon being left ungratified in so inconsiderable a wish, by one, too, for whom he intended such solid services. But it is only his querulousness, thought he; and so filling his glass he proceeded to business. The price of the sails and other matters was fixed upon. But while this was being done, the American observed that, though his original offer of assistance had been hailed with hectic animation, yet now when it was reduced to a business transaction, indifference and apathy were betrayed. Don Benito, in fact, appeared to submit to hearing the details more out of regard to common propriety, than from any impression that weighty benefit to himself and his voyage was involved. Soon, his manner became still more reserved. The effort was vain to seek to draw him into social talk. Gnawed by his splenetic mood, he sat twitching his beard, while to little purpose the hand of his servant, mute as that on the wall, slowly pushed over the Canary. Lunch being over, they sat down on the cushioned transom; the servant placing a pillow behind his master. The long continuance of the calm had now affected the atmosphere. Don Benito sighed heavily, as if for breath. “Why not adjourn to the cuddy,” said Captain Delano; “there is more air there.” But the host sat silent and motionless. Meantime his servant knelt before him, with a large fan of feathers. And Francesco coming in on tiptoes, handed the negro a little cup of aromatic waters, with which at intervals he chafed his master’s brow; smoothing the hair along the temples as a nurse does a child’s. He spoke no word. He only rested his eye on his master’s, as if, amid all Don Benito’s distress, a little to refresh his spirit by the silent sight of fidelity. Presently the ship’s bell sounded two o’clock; and through the cabin windows a slight rippling of the sea was discerned; and from the desired direction. “There,” exclaimed Captain Delano, “I told you so, Don Benito, look!” He had risen to his feet, speaking in a very animated tone, with a view the more to rouse his companion. But though the crimson curtain of the stern-window near him that moment fluttered against his pale cheek, Don Benito seemed to have even less welcome for the breeze than the calm. Poor fellow, thought Captain Delano, bitter experience has taught him that one ripple does not make a wind, any more than one swallow a summer. But he is mistaken for once. I will get his ship in for him, and prove it. Briefly alluding to his weak condition, he urged his host to remain quietly where he was, since he (Captain Delano) would with pleasure take upon himself the responsibility of making the best use of the wind. Upon gaining the deck, Captain Delano started at the unexpected figure of Atufal, monumentally fixed at the threshold, like one of those sculptured porters of black marble guarding the porches of Egyptian tombs. But this time the start was, perhaps, purely physical. Atufal’s presence, singularly attesting docility even in sullenness, was contrasted with that of the hatchet-polishers, who in patience evinced their industry; while both spectacles showed, that lax as Don Benito’s general authority might be, still, whenever he chose to exert it, no man so savage or colossal but must, more or less, bow. Snatching a trumpet which hung from the bulwarks, with a free step Captain Delano advanced to the forward edge of the poop, issuing his orders in his best Spanish. The few sailors and many negroes, all equally pleased, obediently set about heading the ship towards the harbor. While giving some directions about setting a lower stu’n’-sail, suddenly Captain Delano heard a voice faithfully repeating his orders. Turning, he saw Babo, now for the time acting, under the pilot, his original part of captain of the slaves. This assistance proved valuable. Tattered sails and warped yards were soon brought into some trim. And no brace or halyard was pulled but to the blithe songs of the inspirited negroes. Good fellows, thought Captain Delano, a little training would make fine sailors of them. Why see, the very women pull and sing too. These must be some of those Ashantee negresses that make such capital soldiers, I’ve heard. But who’s at the helm. I must have a good hand there. He went to see. The San Dominick steered with a cumbrous tiller, with large horizontal pullies attached. At each pully-end stood a subordinate black, and between them, at the tiller-head, the responsible post, a Spanish seaman, whose countenance evinced his due share in the general hopefulness and confidence at the coming of the breeze. He proved the same man who had behaved with so shame-faced an air on the windlass. “Ah,–it is you, my man,” exclaimed Captain Delano–“well, no more sheep’s-eyes now;–look straight forward and keep the ship so. Good hand, I trust? And want to get into the harbor, don’t you?” The man assented with an inward chuckle, grasping the tiller-head firmly. Upon this, unperceived by the American, the two blacks eyed the sailor intently. Finding all right at the helm, the pilot went forward to the forecastle, to see how matters stood there. The ship now had way enough to breast the current. With the approach of evening, the breeze would be sure to freshen. Having done all that was needed for the present, Captain Delano, giving his last orders to the sailors, turned aft to report affairs to Don Benito in the cabin; perhaps additionally incited to rejoin him by the hope of snatching a moment’s private chat while the servant was engaged upon deck. From opposite sides, there were, beneath the poop, two approaches to the cabin; one further forward than the other, and consequently communicating with a longer passage. Marking the servant still above, Captain Delano, taking the nighest entrance–the one last named, and at whose porch Atufal still stood–hurried on his way, till, arrived at the cabin threshold, he paused an instant, a little to recover from his eagerness. Then, with the words of his intended business upon his lips, he entered. As he advanced toward the seated Spaniard, he heard another footstep, keeping time with his. From the opposite door, a salver in hand, the servant was likewise advancing. “Confound the faithful fellow,” thought Captain Delano; “what a vexatious coincidence.” Possibly, the vexation might have been something different, were it not for the brisk confidence inspired by the breeze. But even as it was, he felt a slight twinge, from a sudden indefinite association in his mind of Babo with Atufal. “Don Benito,” said he, “I give you joy; the breeze will hold, and will increase. By the way, your tall man and time-piece, Atufal, stands without. By your order, of course?” Don Benito recoiled, as if at some bland satirical touch, delivered with such adroit garnish of apparent good breeding as to present no handle for retort. He is like one flayed alive, thought Captain Delano; where may one touch him without causing a shrink? The servant moved before his master, adjusting a cushion; recalled to civility, the Spaniard stiffly replied: “you are right. The slave appears where you saw him, according to my command; which is, that if at the given hour I am below, he must take his stand and abide my coming.” “Ah now, pardon me, but that is treating the poor fellow like an ex-king indeed. Ah, Don Benito,” smiling, “for all the license you permit in some things, I fear lest, at bottom, you are a bitter hard master.” Again Don Benito shrank; and this time, as the good sailor thought, from a genuine twinge of his conscience. Again conversation became constrained. In vain Captain Delano called attention to the now perceptible motion of the keel gently cleaving the sea; with lack-lustre eye, Don Benito returned words few and reserved. By-and-by, the wind having steadily risen, and still blowing right into the harbor bore the San Dominick swiftly on. Sounding a point of land, the sealer at distance came into open view. Meantime Captain Delano had again repaired to the deck, remaining there some time. Having at last altered the ship’s course, so as to give the reef a wide berth, he returned for a few moments below. I will cheer up my poor friend, this time, thought he. “Better and better,” Don Benito, he cried as he blithely re-entered: “there will soon be an end to your cares, at least for awhile. For when, after a long, sad voyage, you know, the anchor drops into the haven, all its vast weight seems lifted from the captain’s heart. We are getting on famously, Don Benito. My ship is in sight. Look through this side-light here; there she is; all a-taunt-o! The Bachelor’s Delight, my good friend. Ah, how this wind braces one up. Come, you must take a cup of coffee with me this evening. My old steward will give you as fine a cup as ever any sultan tasted. What say you, Don Benito, will you?” At first, the Spaniard glanced feverishly up, casting a longing look towards the sealer, while with mute concern his servant gazed into his face. Suddenly the old ague of coldness returned, and dropping back to his cushions he was silent. “You do not answer. Come, all day you have been my host; would you have hospitality all on one side?” “I cannot go,” was the response. “What? it will not fatigue you. The ships will lie together as near as they can, without swinging foul. It will be little more than stepping from deck to deck; which is but as from room to room. Come, come, you must not refuse me.” “I cannot go,” decisively and repulsively repeated Don Benito. Renouncing all but the last appearance of courtesy, with a sort of cadaverous sullenness, and biting his thin nails to the quick, he glanced, almost glared, at his guest, as if impatient that a stranger’s presence should interfere with the full indulgence of his morbid hour. Meantime the sound of the parted waters came more and more gurglingly and merrily in at the windows; as reproaching him for his dark spleen; as telling him that, sulk as he might, and go mad with it, nature cared not a jot; since, whose fault was it, pray? But the foul mood was now at its depth, as the fair wind at its height. There was something in the man so far beyond any mere unsociality or sourness previously evinced, that even the forbearing good-nature of his guest could no longer endure it. Wholly at a loss to account for such demeanor, and deeming sickness with eccentricity, however extreme, no adequate excuse, well satisfied, too, that nothing in his own conduct could justify it, Captain Delano’s pride began to be roused. Himself became reserved. But all seemed one to the Spaniard. Quitting him, therefore, Captain Delano once more went to the deck. The ship was now within less than two miles of the sealer. The whale-boat was seen darting over the interval. To be brief, the two vessels, thanks to the pilot’s skill, ere long neighborly style lay anchored together.

his glance fell upon the row of small, round dead-lights–all closed like coppered eyes of the coffined–and the state-cabin door, once connecting with the gallery, even as the dead-lights had once looked out upon it, but now calked fast like a sarcophagus lid

efugees streamed out of Boston; we saw them on the roads, carrying everything they owned. Many had no place to go. The plague banners still hung from the windows of our house

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For most of human history, it would be taken for granted that a great story would take many different forms, enshrined in stain glass windows or tapestries, told through printed words or sung by bards and poets, or enacted by traveling performers.

Something even stranger happens to her, some time later, in the Salle de la Joconde in the Louvre. To get to this cult icon of the Da Vinci code, hundreds of thousands of visitors enter through two doors that are separated by a huge framed painting, Veronese’s Nozze di Cana, a dark giant of a piece that directly faces the tiny Mona Lisa, barely visible through her thick antifanatic glass. Now the visitor is really stunned. In the Hollywood machinery of the miraculous wedding, she no longer recognizes the facsimile that she had the good fortune of seeing at the end of 2007 when she was invited by the Fondazione Cini to the island of San Giorgio, in Venice. There it was, she remembers vividly, a painting on canvas, so thick and deep that you could still see the brush marks of Veronese and feel the cuts that Napoleon’s orderlies had to make in order to tear the painting from the wall, strip by strip, before rolling it like a carpet and sending it as a war booty to Paris in 1797-a cultural rape very much in the mind of all Venetians, up to this day. But there, in Palladio’s refectory, the painting (yes, it was a painting, albeit produced through the intermediary of digital techniques) had an altogether different meaning: it was mounted at a different height, one that makes sense in a dining room; it was delicately lit by the natural light of huge east and west windows so that at about 5 p.m. on a summer afternoon the light in the room exactly coincides with the light in the painting; it had, of course, no frame; and, more importantly, Palladio’s architecture merged with admirable continuity within Veronese’s painted architecture, giving this refectory of the Benedictine monks such a trompe l’oeil depth of vision that you could not stop yourself from walking slowly back and forth and up and down the room to enter deeper and deeper into the mystery of the miracle.

Pages 144-145.

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For what is happiness but growth in peace, The timeless sense of time when furniture Has stood a life's span in a single place, And as the air moves, so the old dreams stir The shining leaves of present happiness? No one has heard thought or listened to a mind, But where people have lived in inwardness The air is charged with blessing and does bless; Windows look out on mountains and the walls are kind.

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featuring overturned cars, smashed windows, a shot fired from somewhere and 137 arrests.

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rickety wooden building stood in its place, with great gaping windows, some of them broken

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The men overwhelmed law and order. They pulled down road signs. They smashed windows of the congested streetcars. They toppled telephone booths and lit newspaper kiosks on fire. They heaved bricks from a nearby construction site through the Forum windows

paying law-enforcement attention to minor infractions because ignoring them encourages worse offenses by sending the signal that the social order is breaking down

... And so the church is finished-a beautiful stone church, with pictures on the walls and coloured glass in the windows ... How splendid that must be!

n atmosphere of disorder in a neighbor-hood. This scared law-abiding citizens away. The dark and empty streets they left behind were breeding grounds for serious crime. The antidote was for society to resist the spread of disorder. This included fixing broken windows, cleaning up graffiti-covere

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Its walls are built of coral, and the long, gothic windows are of the clearest amber.

For today’s students, who are used to multiple windows being opened on their desktops and multiple things happening simultaneously, this space seems second nature.

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This leads me to say that delicate persons do not know, in France, how to protect themselves from the cold; those rooms so well carpeted, those doors so well fitted, and those windows closed with so much care, serve only to make its effects more keenly felt; it is an enemy from whom one wins almost more by holding out one's hands to him than by waging a cruel war upon him.

Paintings crowd the walls. Works of sculpture, antiquities, and musical instru-ments share the space with a globe, maps, and exotic warm-water shells. The table by the windows at left displays an early version of the barometer, a device renowned in the seventeenth century as a perpetual motion machine.

Her refugee students, she said, have had coffee or other objects thrown at them from windows

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we see something different”(70) through each of these windows; and because, as Marx stressed, wecannot properly understand circulation as a whole without examining (allof) its component parts and the specialized roles taken on at differentjunctures by productive capitalists, merchant (commodity) capitalists,and money (finance) capitalists.

Any alternative, which even may be superior technically, while not resolving anything socially, must be said to be in fact inferior, on proper accounting

All the native Indians of this land relate and affirm that the Incas Ccapac originated in this way. Six leagues S.S.W. of Cuzco by the road which the Incas made, there is a place called Paccari-tampu, at which there is a hill called Tampu-tocco, meaning "the house of windows." It is certain that in this hill there are three windows, one called "Maras-tocco," the other "Sutic-tocco," while that which is in the middle, between these two, was known as "Ccapac-tocco," which means "the rich window," because they say that it was ornamented with gold and other treasures. From the window called "Maras-tocco" came forth, without parentage, a tribe of Indians called Maras. There are still some of them in Cuzco. From the "Sutic-tocco" came Indians called Tampus, who settled round the same hill, and there are also men of this lineage still in Cuzco. From the chief window of "Ccapac-tocco," came four men and four women, called brethren. These knew no father nor mother, beyond the story they told that they were created and came out of the said window by order of Ticci Viracocha, and they declared that Viracocha created them to be lords. For this reason they took the name of Inca, which is the same as lord. They took "Ccapac" as an additional name because they came out of the window "Ccapac-tocco," which means "rich," although afterwards they used this term to denote the chief lord over many.

They said that they were the sons of Viracocha Pachayachachi, the Creator, and that they had come forth out of certain windows to rule the rest of the people. As they were fierce, they made the people believe and fear them, and hold them to be more than men, even worshipping them as gods. Thus they introduced the religion that suited them. The order of the fable they told of their origin was as follows.

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The mural is both funny and gorgeous, but its expression of personal pique disrupts the room’s serenity like a street noise in the night. On one count, the new installation adds a new poetic charm. So interesting, individually, are Freer’s pieces that you may feel frustrated as the room’s higher shelves raise scores of them far above the reach of scrutiny. But I was put in mind of a painting by Fra Angelico in which saints and angels ascend, dancing, to Heaven. As my gaze moved upward, I rather felt that I was tagging along toward such a destination, too. ♦

Dirk and his classmates didn’t care just about themselves, their neighborhood, and their city, they cared about other people’s lives too.

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just as the swallows fly into our houses when we open the windows; only the fishes swam up to the princesses, ate out of their hands, and allowed themselves to be stroked.

Its walls are built of coral, and the long Gothic windows are of the clearest amber. The roof is formed of shells that open and close as the water flows over them.

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} #t25_3 { left:331px; top:2601.599962234497px; FONT-SIZE: 12px; FONT-FAMILY: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; color:rgb(0,0,0); } #t26_3 { left:50px; top:2634.599962234497px; FONT-SIZE: 12px; FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-FAMILY: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; color:rgb(0,0,0); } #t27_3 { left:141px; top:2634.599962234497px; FONT-SIZE: 12px; FONT-FAMILY: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; color:rgb(0,0,0); } #t28_3 { left:50px; top:2649.599962234497px; FONT-SIZE: 12px; FONT-FAMILY: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; color:rgb(0,0,0); } #t29_3 { left:50px; top:2664.599962234497px; FONT-SIZE: 12px; FONT-FAMILY: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; color:rgb(0,0,255); } #t30_3 { left:562px; top:2664.599962234497px; FONT-SIZE: 12px; FONT-FAMILY: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; color:rgb(0,0,0); } #t31_3 { left:50px; top:2680.599962234497px; FONT-SIZE: 12px; FONT-FAMILY: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; color:rgb(0,0,0); } .text { position:absolute; white-space:nowrap; overflow:visible; } Reference 18: Medicare National Plans Coverage of Alzheimer�??s Drugs for 2018. Alzheimer�??s Association. https://www.alz.org/media/Documents/medicare-natl-drug-plans-coverage.pdf . Published October 12, 2017. Accessed August 13, 2018. Reference 19: Doody RS, Ferris S, Salloway S, Yijun S, Goldman R, Yikang X, et al. Safety and tolerability of donepezil in mild cognitive impairment: open-label extension study. American Journal of Alzheimer�??s Disease and Other Dementias. 2010 March;25(2):155-9. Doi: 10.1177/1533317509352334. Reference 20: Gharaei H, Shadlou H. A brief report on the efficacy of donepezil in pain management in Alzheimer�??s disease. Journal of Pain and Palliative Care Pharmacotherapy. 2014 March;28(1):37-9. Doi: 10.3109/15360288.2013.876484. Reference 21: Berman BD. Neuroleptic Malignant Syndrome. The Neurohispitalist . 2011 January;1(1):41-47. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3726098/ . Accessed August 14, 2018. Reference 22: Rhabdomyolysis. MedlinePlus. U.S. National Library of Medicine. https://medlineplus.gov/ency/article/000473.htm . Updated August 2, 2018. Accessed August 14, 2018. Reference 23: Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices. Centers of Disease Control and Prevention. Recommended Immunization Schedule for Adults Age 19 Years or Older, United States, 2018. https://www.cdc.gov/vaccines/schedules/downloads/adult/adult-combined-schedule.pdf . Updated: February 2018. Accessed August 14, 2018.

In addition to the escalators and new forms of lighting, new department stores featured another marvel of modern technology: central air. The heating, air-conditioning, and bright lights eliminated the need for windows, so in the 1950s and ’60s, stores without windows were built inside new shopping malls.

It was a bright Sunday morning of early summer, promising heat, but with a fresh breeze blowing. All the windows of the boarding house were open and the lace curtains ballooned gently towards the street beneath the raised sashes.

the Dr. Memory directory inside your profile directory