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22 January 2009

Quotes from Books thread [More:]"Master Skylark" by John Bennett, on Fullbooks.com

There was such a sudden world of weariness and sorrow in his voice that Nick felt a pity for he knew not what, and lifting up his clear young voice, he sang the quaint old madrigal.

Carew sat with his face in his hand, and after it was done arose unsteadily and said, "Come, Golden-heart; 'tis music such as charmeth care and lureth sleep out of her dark valley--we must be trotting off to bed."

That night Nick slept upon a better bed, with a sheet and a blue serge coverlet, and a pillow stuffed with chaff.

But as he drifted off into a troubled dreamland, he heard the door-bolt throb into its socket, and knew that he was fastened in.
When a stub manager is created, its Object Identifier (OID) is registered with COM's distributed garbage collector, which currently is implemented by the OXID Resolver service. The OR keeps track of which OIDs are exported from each apartment on the local host machine.


Essential COM by Don Box

Or, did you have something else in mind?
posted by trinity8-director 22 January | 15:05
On the thirteenth of April in the year 1785 I was sitting in a ditch in Derbyshire, convinced I was dying.

The ditch was unremarkable: a straggly hawthorn hedge behind a damp, stony bottom full of the usual crawly things, a fringe of grass in front and beyond that the rutted road. I was not particularly remarkable either: I suppose I looked then like any undersized lad who was both starving and cold. In fact the only thing that made us of note was that our temporary and unsought association seemed about to become a permanence: the ditch would soon be elevated to the distinction of a grave whilst I should be reduced to the provision of the corpse.


Playing the Jack, Mary Brown :)
posted by eatdonuts 22 January | 19:12
I didn't even finish reading the first half of that sentence before I recognised it!

(p.s. halfway through, and loving it)
posted by jonathanstrange 22 January | 19:28
'Merde, alors!' I said. Loudly. That wretched apple was still just out of reach.

At the very end of the last branch of the last tree in the orchard, the one that hung precariously over the high wall that surrounded our chateau, was an apple that had been missed in the annual picking, and it was the reddest, ripest one. I deserved something special to mark my birthday, especially since everyone else was far too busy preparing for our Visitor to remember that the youngest daughter of the Marquis de Villeneuve was fourteen years old today: St Luke's Day, 18 October 1787.


The Heart Has its Reasons, Mary Brown
posted by jonathanstrange 22 January | 20:18
arg! shuddup! shuddup! shuddup! i now think i have two copies on their way to me, both ordered in case one doesn't make it. one from the UK and one from Germany... oh my dear GOD, HAVE YOU NO PITY IN YOUR SOUL?
posted by eatdonuts 22 January | 20:46
wait... halfway through? did you sleep at all last night? that's about 400 pages woman!
posted by eatdonuts 22 January | 20:48
About 300 pages... I *could* have finished it, but I'm taking my time, and I had guests until 10pm or so.

I'm a super quick reader. :)
posted by jonathanstrange 22 January | 20:54
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