Showing posts with label historical. Show all posts
Showing posts with label historical. Show all posts

Friday, April 9, 2021

Is Your Collarbone Size English, Irish, or French?

When I'm not playing Baldur's Gate 3, I'm generally trying to do some work on my writing. And that requires research. 

I love doing research. So much so, I am often guilty of going down rabbit holes that have nothing to do with what I started out researching. I'm not alone in this, right?  Right?

..... *crickets*

So anyway, I was doing some research amongst old newspapers, as you do, and one search keyword lead to another and I stumbled across this in The National Gazette (Philadelphia, Pennsylvania) from 5 November 1829.  

Okay.
So aside from that last remark about Irish women -- and just what is that, by the way? Is he saying Irish women are "open chested" like French women? Is this some weird way of coding English women as more demure and refined than French and Irish women?  

Ahem. 
Aside from that. 

This "eminent anatomist" has "noticed" French women are shorter and more "open chested" than English women, so decides to make a study of women's clavicles?  Is this science or an excuse to go around touching random women's décolletage? 

He measures the clavicles so... valid science. Definitely. And I have "noticed" that many European chocolates are more creamy and tasty than American ones, so please fund my study into eating chocolate from every country. 

Seriously, this clavicle research sounds more like a naughty schoolboy prank than science. 

The clavicle is your collarbone. So he's not really measuring chests/ribcages, he's measuring shoulders. But if he were talking about shoulder-wideness, the term would be "broad shouldered," not "open chested." 

So I think what he's really talking about is breast size. He's trying to determine which country's women have the larger breasts. 

What does this achieve? I mean, in the field of women's health. How does this study help... anything? 

It's almost as if the study is being done for men to be able to choose the breast-iest country to visit, not for the benefit of women. 

And, historically, that's kinda how the medical field rolled. It's always been done for the benefit of men. 

Women were treated as mere engines of childbirth, inferior to men. They didn't need their own medical research results. Men's results would do just fine.

Is it better today?

Women are underrepresented in clinical trials,  which means they can have more unexpected side effects from medication. 

Women are left out of much medical research,  so it is impossible to know if some diseases or vaccines affect women differently. 

Black women have to fight to get doctors to believe them about their symptoms. Plus size women have the same difficulty. Fighting their doctors' condescension, bias, and racism puts women's lives at risk. 

So, no. The medical field still has a distance to go.

But at least they're not trying to relate breast size to country of residence. 

Friday, April 2, 2021

Curse of the Vampyr || Series: Books Of Baldur's Gate III

This book, Curse of the Vampyr, can be found in the library right before the bridge to Minthara. Since Astarion is my game crush, I had to pick it up. 




Cold beauty? Check.

Pale noble? Check.

Charming, with a bite mark on his neck? Check. 

Yep, that's Astarion. 😊

Actually, that's Cazador. 

Cazador is Astarion's vampire sire. Astarion is only a vampire spawn, while Cazador is a cruel, evil vampire. Not sexy. Not sparkling. Cazador is a psychopathic serial murderer.  

And we Astarion-lovers can't wait to kill him, as he was not kind to his spawn.


Astarion's very real fear of returning to Cazador makes him the only companion who approves of continuing to use your special powers, even when negative side effects appear. 


One of those negative side effects is terrible nightmares. In Astarion's case, nightmares of Cazador:


If you've watched any of the many (many!) videos of Astarion out there, you will have noticed Astarion is a very unique sort of vampire.

"It doesn't look broken. Then again, none of us do."

Astarion is both giggly and sardonic, proud and self-effacing, insulting and sometimes kind, thoughtful and chaotic, brave and fearful, intent on saving himself and interested in the rest of his companions. He's multi-faceted and fascinating. 

And he's actually more of a vampire than Cazador. 

Or rather, Cazador is a modern literary vampire. He is a threat, as in Dracula (1897).

But Astarion is closer to the ORIGINAL literary vampire, seen in Lord Byron's Fragment of a Novel (1819) -- the Cool Best Friend

The Byronic vampire is the fascinating, talented guy everyone wants as a friend, and if you're lucky enough to become his best friend, you feel flattered and honored that he chose you. 

The bond this type of vampire shares with his (male in this case) best friend is the most important part of his life (un-life).  His human is sworn to keep the secret of his vampire-ness, but honor is all that binds them. 

You'll notice this is the opposite of a Dracula-type vampire. No hypnosis. No madness and eating bugs a la Renfield. (You'll also have noticed Cazador treats Astarion in precisely this Dracula-defined manner, controlling his body, forcing him to eat rats and insects.)

The Byronic vampire may eat blood, but we never see it. It's not particularly important to his story. They are buddies who travel around together. That's the story as Byron wrote it. 

And that's precisely what Astarion offers. 

So if Larian allows the player character to affect their companions' alignment in Baldur's Gate 3, this will fit in perfectly with vampire canon. 

Swaying Astarion to evil, like Cazador, would make him a Dracula-type vampire. Swaying him to good would make him more of a Byronic vampire. 

I look forward to having a Byronic vampire at my side. 

Wednesday, March 31, 2021

Astarion's Historic and Literary References in Baldur's Gate 3 --- Or Any Excuse To Obsess About Astarion


I love this scene. It's so cute and romantic. 

And, for all those Medieval scholars out there, this scene reminds me of a posy that was often engraved inside Medieval marriage rings: 

Many are thee starrs I see, but in my eye no starr like thee.

This isn't the first time Astarion has made a literary reference. Well, it's not a reference per se. It's... a literary euphemism?
  


I just love the Larian writers. 

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Historical Cat and Dog Cuddling


I love the stuff one can find when researching in old newspapers. I also love that humans have been fascinated by cats and dogs cuddling for centuries. This would have been on I Can Has Cheezburger if it took place today.

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Salem Tales



It's Halloween.

And when many people think Halloween, they think Salem, Massachusetts. Because it's basically our Mardi Gras.

Want to know practically everything there is to know about Salem?

From witches to how a Salem boy became a Chinese god, to where the Murder of the Century occurred, and including where to find Salem's ghosts?


BUY HIDDEN HISTORY OF SALEM ON AMAZON

Thursday, February 23, 2012

Looking for Something New to Read?

My historical paranormal romance Dance Macabre has been chosen as one of their FREE Amazon promo books by my publisher Decadent Publishing! Whoot!! 

Consequently, if you ever even thought about trying one of my books, the time is NOW as it's only FREE ON AMAZON for the rest of THIS WEEK.

Here are some quick links to help you:

Free on Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/Dance-Macabre-Lords-Pendragon-ebook/dp/B005XO2INU

Free on Amazon UK:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dance-Macabre-Lords-Pendragon-ebook/dp/B005XO2INU

Free on Amazon Germany:
http://www.amazon.de/Dance-Macabre-Lords-Pendragon-ebook/dp/B005XO2INU

And you don't need a Kindle, either. Amazon has FREE Kindle apps so you can read on your PC, Mac, Android phone, iPhone, iPad, Blackberry, anything!

GO DOWNLOAD NOW!!!  ;)

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Tree Canopy of the United States of America

From Hardwood Floors News
This is a NASA map of the Tree Canopy of the United States.

It took six years to create, and lead to the determination that about one third of the US is currently forested.

First thing that struck me - Wisconsin. Only the far northern part, next to Michigan's Upper Peninsula, is heavily forested.

Well, of course, you say. Wisconsin is dairyland. Farmland.

It is NOW. But if you'll remember, Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House in the Big Woods is set in Wisconsin.

Wisconsin used to be massively forested, which led to a booming lumber industry and "lumber barons" who became rich off it and built mansions like these below:



After the trees were gone, then agriculture was promoted.

For more about Wisconsin's logging history click here.

How about your state? Are you surprised by its canopy, or lack thereof?

Monday, November 21, 2011

First Massachusetts Coffee License

Look! It's a piece of coffee history, one of my favorite kinds of history.
And the honor of possessing the first coffee & chocolate license in Massachusetts - possibly in the colonies - goes to a woman:  Dorothy Jones in 1670.
Yay for enterprising colonial women who know the value of providing coffee and chocolate!

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Most Unique Use of Figural Cat Ceramic Ever


Chinese
urinal
1830-1850
Container; Medical
ceramic: hard paste porcelain, underglaze cobalt enamel, overglaze black enamel, iron slip
Historical Deerfield

Friday, November 11, 2011

Remembrance Day 11-11-11-11

I originally published this Veteran's Day/Remembrance Day post 2 years ago. Figure it could use a re-run, especially as this Remembrance Day is 11-11-11-11
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The Red Poppy is the symbol of Remembrance Day, 11 NovemberRemembrance Day was started in 1919 as Armistice Day, to honor the end of The Great WarThe War to End Wars.

Which came to be known as World War I.

After World War II, the name was changed to Remembrance Day to honor the dead of all wars.

This year is the 91st (2011 = 93rd) anniversary of the end of World War I. Did you realize that? I only know because last year - the 90th anniversary - was covered extensively by the BBC. They put up amazing content on the BBC website. Why don't US news organizations have similar content?

Possibly because in the US this is known as Veterans' Day, when we honor living veterans of war. The US has Memorial Day to honor its war dead.

Personally, I think we should nominate another day as Veterans' Day and return November 11 to Remembrance Day. Why? I am so glad you asked.....

We are traveling back in time to the final days of The Great War (this is "great" as in BIG HUGE GINORMOUS, not great as in cool). No one is winning and the cost in human lives has been enormous. It is agreed between the warring nations that an armistice should be called. An armistice is when countries just stop fighting. No one is the winner. No one is the loser. They just stop.  This cease-fire is signed at 5:00am on the 11th day of November, 1918.


But the war didn't end.

Because this had been The War To End All Wars. Millions of people had died.

Quoting from the 
Imperial War Museum:

"One in three families in Britain had a loved one killed, wounded or taken prisoner. In other warring nations, the figures were even higher; France lost nearly a million and a half men – double that of Britain – while nearly two million Germans and a similar number of Russians died."

They couldn't just end the war and walk away - not with all those dead. Their deaths had to mean something. There had to be something, something memorable, that people could point to and say, "This is when the last war ended."

They chose 11-11-11. War would end at the 11th hour on the 11th day of the 11th month

So they KEPT THE WAR GOING until 11:00 amMEN DIED so that we would have the symbol 11-11-11

Of course, we all know war didn't end. But what is even more tragic is the fact that soldiers died for a symbol that is no longer remembered in the US.

Quoting from the BBC

"The respected American author Joseph E Persico has calculated a shocking figure that the final day of WWI would produce nearly 11,000 casualtiesmore than those killed, wounded or missing on D-Day, when Allied forces landed en masse on the shores of occupied France almost 27 years later."

Wrap your mind around that, if you can.

And if that didn't blow your mind, this will: Again quoting the same BBC article

"What is worse is that hundreds of these soldiers would lose their lives thrown into action by generals who knew that the Armistice had already been signed."

Yup.

For example, the 89th American Division was sent to take the town of Stenay by a general who knew the Armistice had been signed, but he'd heard that Stenay had bathing facilities. And apparently he couldn't wait until 11am.

"That lunatic decision cost something like 300 casualties, many of them battle deaths, for an inconceivable reason," says Mr Persico.

Those were American casualties, did you notice? They died because of a "lunatic decision" and for a symbol of which most Americans aren't even aware.

In fact, the last soldier killed in action in World War I was an American boy from Baltimore. He was shot at 10:59am. His name was Henry Gunther.

Does he get a mention over here? Not that I'm aware of. We don't even have a moment of silence at 11:00am. Because it isn't Remembrance Day for us. It's Veteran's Day.


"No man surely has so short a memory as the American." - Rebecca H. Davis

Prove her wrong. Today, remember poor Henry and all the others who died for 11-11-11.

Monday, November 7, 2011

Song from The Coffee House

Who hasn't wanted to sing a song about coffee?

The original scan was blurry, so this is the best I could do, but those of you who can read sheet music can at least hum or play the melody even if the words are difficult to decipher.

Sunday, October 30, 2011

Witches of Salem


Witches have become an intrinsic part of Salem, Massachusetts.
You don't see ads like the above anymore, of course. Although that sort of positive, Witches Can Help philosophy is much present. Very unlike the ad I describe in HIDDEN HISTORY OF SALEM (an ad that uses the hanging of Salem witches to sell a product and can be found if you search my website - it's hidden).
You can't find the famous Witch Spoon at Daniel Low anymore (the building currently houses Rockafella's) but you can find all sorts of authentic experiences, such as at the Witch House
where witch trials' Judge Jonathan Corwin lived. 
Or you can sit in the Salem Witch Trials Memorial and commune with the spirits of those who died.
Each of the stones jutting from the walls represents a person, and is inscribed with their name and the date they were hanged (or in one case, crushed). We don't know where their actual bodies are, or even where they were executed (something I address in HIDDEN HISTORY).

You can also learn to be a witch from the Official Witch of Salem herself

No, not like that.

Witchcraft involves studying and classes and workshops. Not near Salem? Check out Laurie Cabot, our Official Witch on YouTube.

Of course, some would rather Salem not focus on the witch aspect so much, but when your local police department's official patch looks like this:
You should really just accept that witches and Salem go together and are here to stay.


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Saturday, October 29, 2011

Solving Bioshock Cats on National Cat Day

Today, October 29, is National Cat Day and to celebrate I shall share with you a partial SOLUTION to the BIOSHOCK Cats Mystery.

Including cats for the player to discover actually IS a game-within-the-game.

While it is still unknown who originally designed the black-and-white cat and put him/her in the original Bioshock, all the level designers of Bioshock 2 participated in finding fun places to stash kitties. And...

We have Steve Gaynor to thank for putting NAMED cats in Minerva's Cave.
All Hail Steve!!

There are THREE cats - one for each level of Minerva's Cave. The names of each feline honor someone important to the development of computing - which is of course very important in the Cave storyline. I found Babbage and Turing, you may remember.

Armed with this information, I set about to find the third kitty on my second playthrough - and discovered:
Lovelace

According to Wikipedia, Augusta Ada King, Countess of Lovelace is recognized as the World’s First Computer Programmer, having written the first algorithm intended to be processed by a machine.
For whose computer did she write this? Charles Babbage’s.

Babbage called her the Enchantress of Numbers and wrote of her in his Passages from the Life of a Philosopher (1864):
I then suggested that she add some notes to Menabrea's memoir, an idea which was immediately adopted. We discussed together the various illustrations that might be introduced: I suggested several but the selection was entirely her own. So also was the algebraic working out of the different problems, except, indeed, that relating to the numbers of Bernoulli, which I had offered to do to save Lady Lovelace the trouble. This she sent back to me for an amendment, having detected a grave mistake which I had made in the process.
Fun facts:
 - Ada was the only legitimate child of the poet Lord Byron.
 - The computer language Ada created by the US Department of Defense is named after her.
 - The British Computer Society awards a medal in her name.
 - There is a movement to have an Ada Lovelace Day (which this year was October 7).

I didn't know any of that, so I am now a better informed person because of Bioshock's dead cats.  :)

Many thanks and virtual cupcakes to Steve for allowing me to interview him on the subject of virtual kitties. He's a wonderful fellow and you can follow his tumblr and his twitter.

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Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Abducting Heiresses


Abduction is a popular storytelling device when it comes to historical romance, which isn't surprising since you can trace its place in romance literature right back to the Abduction of Persephone.

When you're talking historical romance set in England or Wales, abductors - and elopers, for that matter - are usually racing to Gretna Green in Scotland to take their vows.

Gretna Green was the Vegas of its day, in terms of quickie marriages. The marriage laws of England and Wales, requiring amongst other things parental consent for marriages of those under 21 years of age, did not apply in Scotland and Gretna Green was right across the border.

Photo by Niki Odolphie from Frome, England

But things that can seem romantic in fiction are often far from it in real life.

Edward Gibbon Wakefield, who is apparently something of a hero to New Zealand, tried his hand at heiress abduction in 1826.

He happened to hear of Ellen Turner, a beautiful 16 year old heiress, from an acquaintance who mentioned her as being a neighbor. So Wakefield moved to her neighborhood, learned the family's circumstances and habits, and then appeared at Ellen's school with a letter informing the headmistress that Ellen's ill father had taken a turn for the worse and the girl must accompany him at once.

This was entirely plausible - her father was sick, in an age of primitive medicine sudden deterioration was not uncommon, and a friend or servant would often be asked to carry an important letter (there being no FedEx service or the like).

So Ellen was packed off in Wakefield's carriage.

Which headed north to Scotland.

Now alone with her, Wakefield told the teen her father's business had collapsed, sheriff's officers were in pursuit of her family (for debt), and only through marrying him could she hope to save her father from jail and her family from the poor house. He said he would use his (nonexistent) fortune to save them, but only once he and she were wed.

Remembering that she was a sheltered 16 year old, in an age when women of her class were not taught anything about business and economics, trapped in a small space with a stranger - and Wakefield was known for being a smooth talker, it's pretty easy to see how she would come to believe him over the many hours to Gretna Green.

This is Wakefield & Ellen's marriage license:


Successfully married, Wakefield informed the Turners where to send his checks and promptly took his new wife off to France, where he thought he would be safe from any repercussions. He was wrong. Ellen's family contacted the French police.

Extradited, Wakefield stood trial at Lancaster Assizes, was convicted of abduction and sentenced to three years imprisonment.

This had no affect on his marriage, which was still valid.

An Act of Parliament was obtained to annul the marriage, so Ellen finally could be free.

(Yes, an Act of Parliament. You couldn't get out of a marriage without one. So those Regency romances you read with divorce treated as if it were nothing? Yeah. Not happening.)

Just so you know, some time after his release from prison, Wakefield relocated to the Australian colonies and did something more honorable with his life.

So why is today's post about heiress abductions?

Because today in Salem Massachusetts history:  October 25 1736 a Mr. McIntosh is bound at Salem court for trial, charged with attempting to abduct his two nieces, who are heiresses, and carry them off to England.

Heiress abductions happened in America, too.

Isn’t it cool when truth and fiction converge?

Saturday, October 22, 2011

Excerpt from Dance Macabre


London 1897 

Lily Rafferty would never become accustomed to unfamiliar men embracing her in public. She stiffened involuntarily, but if he noticed her reluctance, it did not dampen her partner’s enthusiasm. Seizing her body, he pulled her away from the relative safety of the shadowed wall. His careless speed gave her an excuse to keep her eyes riveted to the pointed tips of her black satin slippers as they appeared and disappeared under the swishing accordion gores of her yoke skirt. It fit snug and sleek down to her knees before flaring out like a bell, and moving quickly was a dangerous proposition on the slick wooden floorboards. The last thing she wanted was to fall. Not here. 

Elegant music soared above the crowded dancehall floor as the shop-soiled quartet on stage launched into a waltz. He flung her into position. Lily felt one of her little puff sleeves slip farther down her shoulder and gave it a quick tug. Her décolletage was quite low enough, thank you. For a moment he looked disappointed she hadn’t popped out of her bodice, then he started to dance. She found her steps and followed his lead. 

His hand pressed against the back of her corset. Not for the first time, she wished her undergarments were fashioned from solid steel. She glanced at his other hand, at the stubby bare fingers. At least her hands were protected from his rude skin by her long white gloves.

She risked a look at his face. Flushed cheeks. Watery eyes. A high forehead from which heavily macassar-oiled hair lay slicked back. Her gaze traveled down, past his fierce moustache, to his neck. He wore a diamond tie pin. No need to look further. Decidedly a gentleman. Yet another toff come to enjoy the pursuits of the lower orders. As if being poor were an exhibit in Regent’s Park Zoological Garden. 

He noticed her attention and smiled. “Like what you see, m’dear?” He leaned down. His face was close to hers now. Too close. He panted against her cheek, his breath hot and reeking of liquor. “I like what I see. And I’ve got streamers of tickets to give to a welcoming sort of wench.” 

Stomach churning, she struggled to hide her distaste. If she wrinkled her nose he surely would not dance with her again, and she needed every ticket she could collect. 

“Thank you, sir.” She fixed her lips in a smile. 

“Nice, ripe partridge, you are.” He removed his arm from her back and suddenly his bare hand was roaming the low neckline of her gown, where the tight lacing of her corset had affected an impressive cleavage. 

As she started to object, he abruptly switched from waltzing to walking. She stumbled. Before she could completely recover, he had maneuvered her past a screen of potted aspidistras and into one of the dance hall’s dark corners. Inwardly she groaned. The management of the Barbary Coast Dance Hall arranged these corners deliberately—and for one reason. Any man without a Malthus sheath to contain his effluxion could release his seed upon the floor in the semi-privacy of such a corner.


Her French heels slipped and she clutched her partner’s sleeve. While the night’s fluids had been tracked around much of the dance hall, the floor was still slicker at the scene of the unmentionable deeds. She tried to wipe all such details from her mind. Thinking about it made her feel unwell. 

“Eager, are you?” He chuckled. “Excellent. Excellent.” With drink-clumsy fingers, he stroked the skin of her breasts. 

The effrontery of his actions was compounded by his bare hands. Gentlemen were supposed to wear gloves. Such crude undress would not have got him past the door of any other place but here. Here, where men with money could throw away their manners. 

Closing her eyes, she choked back the protests raging to escape her lips. Kitty had warned her there would be men who wished for services beyond dancing. Touching him would earn her extra tickets and, since the girls were paid for every ticket they turned in, it meant her wages for the evening might grow considerably. 

But her stomach threatened to rid itself of her meager dinner at the prospect of seeing his unmentionables. 

She hadn’t wanted to be a Cyprian—in fact, she’d been fired from her last job for refusing her employer’s advances. But times were so hard, especially for orphan girls without references, and a doss house charged tuppence just to sleep standing up. She needed money. 

Kitty didn’t mind the unspeakable work. Less tiring than a dance but just as quick, she said. Plus you got better paid. Getting pulled into a corner was an unparalleled opportunity in Kitty’s opinion.


His sloppy kiss upon her neck jerked Lily’s thoughts back to the present. An unparalleled opportunity, I don’t think. She’d gain more coin but lose her self-respect. 

“Sir….” Politely, she tried to extricate herself from his embrace. “Sir! Sir, the music will end soon….” She turned her face away, hoping if she concentrated fixedly upon the dance floor she could get back out to it. 

He mumbled something, his lips pressed against the curve of her jawbone, and continued to fondle the tops of her breasts. Her skin crawled at his touch. Not that he was behaving any worse than the other dancehall customers. Small wonder a steady trickle of girls walked out without notice each week. 

“Do you not wish to finish our dance?” She attempted to pull away again, but he jerked her close. 

“No, I’d much rather you finish off this.” His hand fumbled with the opening to his trousers as his hips furtively thrust against her. Not on my lovely dress! She shuddered to think what his abrasion, let alone his eventual wetness, would do to the fabric…. And she still owed money on it. 

“Truthfully, sir, I am not…I don’t…I would really rather not….” 

Laughter trickled through his sneering mouth. “That’s what you’re meant to say, I know. But you strumpets are never in earnest with your protests and false modesty.” 

“Oh, I can assure you I am in earnest.” She endeavored to pull away once more. 

He grabbed hold of her by her neck. “No, you don’t. I can’t stop now.” His voice sounded strained, and she didn’t like the look in his eyes.

“If you please,” she whispered, attempting a smile so as not to betray her growing horror, “I’ll just take the one ticket, sir. For the dance.” 

“You’ll take what I give you and like it.” 

Panic clutched at her heart. She couldn’t escape. She did not wish to do this—and he didn’t care. Flailing her fists, she pummeled him about the head and shoulders. His hand tightened about her throat. Changing tactics, she tried to pry his fingers loose, to no avail. 

His grip hurt. She felt her lungs struggling for air as if they were battering against her corset’s constraints. No air. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart pounded wildly. She had to get out of here. Get…run…. 

“No!” She had meant it to be a scream. Instead she produced a breathless whisper the music easily drowned. No one would have paid her cries the least bit of attention anyway. A woman’s willingness did not matter. Most customers assumed this was what she was paid to do. 

She kept scuffling despite the increasing heaviness of her limbs, despite the pointlessness. He was going to spend himself right here, in public, on her, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. With a biting stab of terror, she realized he might even kill her. And she would die in a stained dress. That relatively inconsequential concern almost made her smile at herself as dark spots obstructed her vision. What a ridiculous last thought to have. 

“Hartengate.” It was a male voice, a stranger’s, rich, raspy and aloof, slicing like flint across the scuffle to pierce the haze in her brain. 



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Friday, October 21, 2011