Received: from [107.167.15.165] (port=48432 helo=mail.leadtheshops.com) by stodi.digitalkingdom.org with esmtp (Exim 4.87) (envelope-from ) id 1cjtfs-0005vt-MY for lojban@lojban.org; Fri, 03 Mar 2017 12:19:41 -0800 DKIM-Signature: v=1; a=rsa-sha1; c=relaxed/relaxed; s=dkim; d=leadtheshops.com; h=Date:From:To:Subject:MIME-Version:Content-Type:List-Unsubscribe:Message-ID; i=emmett-butler@leadtheshops.com; bh=KR458sBqIA+rg9ECuhE9fy5o3/A=; b=l9mezYY7BokrjEMQvjoFhdSu0QKqQYiBsiHtqqSg1LoIN3zLpKggAKBjSfgeLP7XzPN6n/yIJ+LW AiSQKhy59XYbNvJMgACjyYCMUHbA5Sfe5571Z7ntZ9VqiT1SGtBdDFJ+JzRS0xxdIHPFrbDIbtYU p6ex1B7vtPUsLhrMJFQ= DomainKey-Signature: a=rsa-sha1; c=nofws; q=dns; s=dkim; d=leadtheshops.com; b=InW4UKtcnvUuHI4HxSfXaFcE673acNYlcHhYduFw0TbchSUbJr5ZONbm2EWtC7oBk5KRqMSQHicT OIGVYS3bj7ncZvfnkYBxAawNunHa7q0JZZu4PA28HsgSlncYzevGj4YptIgqpziXnBZVptZ2dMgv 3l1pnmBAd+v2dffUrB4=; Received: by mail.leadtheshops.com id hn7lla0001gq for ; Fri, 3 Mar 2017 17:09:43 -0500 (envelope-from ) Date: Fri, 3 Mar 2017 17:09:43 -0500 From: "Emmett Butler" To: Subject: lojban you have walgreens-points ending tonight 55413985 MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: multipart/alternative; boundary="----=_Part_94_148796275.1488571892652" X-SMTPAPI: {"category": "20170303-150855-061-13"} List-Unsubscribe: Feedback-ID: 2017030315085506113 Message-ID: <0.0.0.A.1D2946ADC46ED3A.2831545@mail.leadtheshops.com> X-Spam-Score: 3.6 (+++) X-Spam_score: 3.6 X-Spam_score_int: 36 X-Spam_bar: +++ X-Spam-Report: Spam detection software, running on the system "stodi.digitalkingdom.org", has NOT identified this incoming email as spam. The original message has been attached to this so you can view it or label similar future email. If you have any questions, see the administrator of that system for details. Content preview: the shape pf you Your Walgreens-Weekend Card Ready Voch: 92659000 | Code: 55413985 [...] Content analysis details: (3.6 points, 5.0 required) pts rule name description ---- ---------------------- -------------------------------------------------- 0.0 URIBL_BLOCKED ADMINISTRATOR NOTICE: The query to URIBL was blocked. See http://wiki.apache.org/spamassassin/DnsBlocklists#dnsbl-block for more information. [URIs: leadtheshops.com] -0.0 SPF_PASS SPF: sender matches SPF record 0.0 HTML_FONT_LOW_CONTRAST BODY: HTML font color similar or identical to background 0.8 MPART_ALT_DIFF BODY: HTML and text parts are different 0.7 MIME_HTML_ONLY BODY: Message only has text/html MIME parts -1.9 BAYES_00 BODY: Bayes spam probability is 0 to 1% [score: 0.0000] 0.0 HTML_MESSAGE BODY: HTML included in message 0.0 MIME_QP_LONG_LINE RAW: Quoted-printable line longer than 76 chars 1.9 RAZOR2_CF_RANGE_E8_51_100 Razor2 gives engine 8 confidence level above 50% [cf: 100] 0.5 RAZOR2_CF_RANGE_51_100 Razor2 gives confidence level above 50% [cf: 100] 0.9 RAZOR2_CHECK Listed in Razor2 (http://razor.sf.net/) -0.1 DKIM_VALID Message has at least one valid DKIM or DK signature 0.1 DKIM_SIGNED Message has a DKIM or DK signature, not necessarily valid -0.1 DKIM_VALID_AU Message has a valid DKIM or DK signature from author's domain 0.8 RDNS_NONE Delivered to internal network by a host with no rDNS 0.0 MIME_HTML_ONLY_MULTI Multipart message only has text/html MIME parts ------=_Part_94_148796275.1488571892652 Content-Type: text/html; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable =20 =20 the shape pf you=20 =20 =20 =20




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=20 = The face was still in shadow, but the drifts of other-light that spun about her body shone brighter than before. Her bony wrists were tight against her side, the fingers bent like fishhooks. Her bare legs were very thin. What do you want I said. I listened. Words brushed soft as spiders touch against my ear. I m cold. Fragments. You seldom get more than fragments. The little voice was a whisper uttered at great distance, but it was also uncomfortably close at hand. It seemed an awful lot closer to me than Lockwood s reply had been. Oh, Lockwood! I cooed again. It s urgent.… Can you believe it I could detect a hint of annoyance in his answer. Just wait a sec, Lucy. There s something interesting here. I ve picked up a death-glowa really, really faint one. Something nasty happened in this front bedroom too! It s so hazy I almost missed it, so it must ve been a long while back. But, you know, I think it was traumatic.…Which meansit s only a theory, I m just playing with ideas herethere might possibly have been two violent deaths in this house.…What do you say to that I chuckled hollowly. I say that it s a theory I can maybe help you with, I sang, if you ll only come out here. The thing is, he went on, I don t see how the first death s got anything to do with the Hopes. They were only here two years, weren t they So perhaps the disturbances we re experiencing aren t actually caused by the husband I cried. Yes, well done! They re not! A brief pause. Finally he was paying attention. What I said it s not the husband, Lockwood! Now, get out here! You might notice I d slightly abandoned my attempts at keeping it lighthearted. That was because the thing in the study had already picked up on my agitation and was now drifting through the door. The toenails on the thin, pale feet were long and curled. Both my hands were at my belt. One gripped the rapier hilt; the other had closed on a canister of Greek Fire.=20





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=20 = utter paralysis of movement were all I could aspire to, all that I deserved. In other words, I was experiencing ghost-lock, which is the effect Type Twos have when they choose to direct their power on you. An ordinary person might have stood there helpless and let the Visitor work its will upon her. But I m an agent, and I d dealt with this before. So I wrested savage, painful breaths from the frigid air, shook the mist clear of my brain. I forced myself to live. And my hands moved slowly toward the weapons at my belt. The stood halfway across the floor of the study-bedroom, directly ahead of me. I could see her framed by the open door. She was fairly faint, but I saw she stood barefoot on the rolled-up rugor, more precisely, in it, for her ankles were sunk into the fabric as if she were paddling in the sea. She wore a pretty summer-print dress, knee-length, decorated with large, rather garish orange sunflowers. It was not a modern design. The dress and her limbs and her long fair hair all shone with dim, pale other-light, as if lit by something far away. As for her face… Her face was a solid wedge of darkness. No light reached it at all. It was hard to tell, but I guessed she d been eighteen or so. Older than me, but not by too many years. I stood there for a time dering about this, with my eyes locked on the faceless , and my hands inching to my belt. Then I remembered I was not alone in the house. Lockwood, I called. Oh, Lockwood… I said it as lightly as I could. Shog signs of fear is best avoided where Visitors are concernedfear, anger, and other strong emotions. They feed on it too easily; it makes them faster and more aggressive. No answer came, so I cleared my throat and tried again. Oh, Lockwood…! I was using a merry singsong intonation here, as if I were speaking to a little babe or cuddly pet or something. As I might as well have been, in fact, because he didn t bloody respond. I turned my head and called a little louder. Oh, Lockwood, please come here.… His voice sounded muffled, back along the landing. Hold on, Luce. I ve got something.… Jolly good! So have I.… When I looked back, the was closer, almost out onto the landing.=20 =20 = reading: 48°, this time. At the front of the building were two squarish rooms, one on either side of the hall. One had a television set, a sofa, two comfy armchairs; here the temperature was warmer, back to the level of the kitchen. We looked and listened anyway, and found nothing. On the opposite side, a formal sitting room contained the usual chairs and cabinets, arranged before large net-swathed dows, and three enormous ferns in terra-cotta pots. It seemed a little chilly. Fifty-four degrees showed on the luminous dial. Colder than the kitchen. Might mean nothing, might mean a lot. I closed my eyes, composed myself, and prepared to listen. Lucy, look! Lockwood s voice hissed. There s Mr. Hope! My heart jolted. I spun around, rapier half-drawn…only to find Lockwood stooped and casual, peering at a photo on a side table. He had his flashlight trained on it: the image hung in a little circle of floating gold. Mrs. Hope s here as well, he added. You idiot! I hissed. I might have run you through. He chuckled. Oh, don t be so grumpy. Take a look. What do you think It was a gray-haired couple standing in a garden. The woman, Mrs. Hope, was an older, happier version of the daughter we d met outside: round-faced, neat-clothed, wearing a radiant smile. Her head was level with the chest of the man beside her. He was tall, and balding, with sloped, rounding shoulders, and big, rather cumbersome forearms. He too smiled broadly. They were holding hands. Seem cheerful enough there, don t they Lockwood said. I nodded dubiously. Got to be a reason for a Type Two, though. George says Type Two always means someone s done something to somebody. Yes, but George has a nasty, gruesome little mind. Which reminds me: we should find the phone and call him. I left a message on the table, but he ll probably be worrying about us, even so. Let s finish off the survey first. He didn t find any death-glows in the little sitting room and I couldn t hear anything; and that was the ground floor done. Which told us what we d already guessed. What we were looking for was upstairs. Sure enough, the moment I set foot on the lowest step, the knocking began again.=20 =20 = You shouldn t really use magnesium flares in a domestic environment, of course, but I wasn t taking chances. My fingertips were icy, but sweaty too; they slipped against the metal. A movement on my left. From the corner of my eye, I saw Lockwood emerge onto the landing. He, too, stopped dead. Ah, he said. I nodded grimly. Yes, and the next time I call you while in an operative situation, do me a favor and get your butt out here double-quick. Sorry. But I see you ve got it well in hand. Has she spoken Yes. What did she say She says she s cold. Tell her we can fix that for her. No, don t fiddle-faddle with your weapon, that ll only make it worse. The had drifted a little closer across the landing; in response, I d begun to draw my blade. Tell her we can fix it, Lockwood said again. Tell her we can find whatever she s lost. I did so, in as steady a voice as I could manage. It didn t have much effect. The shape neither shrank nor changed, nor became vaporous, nor departed, nor did any of the other things the Fittes Manual claims they ll do when you give them hope of release. I m cold, the little voice said; and then again, much louder, Lost and cold. What was that Lockwood had sensed the contact, but he couldn t hear the sound. Same words, but I ve got to tell you, Lockwood, this time it wasn t much like a talking. It sounded really deep and hollow and echoed like a tomb. That s never good, is it No. I think we should take it as a sign. I drew my rapier. Lockwood did likewise. We stood facing the shape in silence. Never attack first. Always wait, draw out its intentions. Watch what it does, where it goes, learn its patterns of behavior. It was so close now that I could make out the texture of the long, fair hair sweeping down around the neck, see individual moles and blemishes on the skin. It always surprised me that the visual echo could be this strong. George called it the will to exist, the refusal to lose what once had been.=20 =20 = Home Sweet Home. Done years ago, when homes were sweet and safe, and no one hung iron charms above their s beds. Before the Problem came. The landing was L-shaped, comprising a small, square space in which we stood, and a long spur running behind us parallel to the stairs. It had a polished wooden floor. There were five doors leading off: one on our right, one straight ahead, and three at intervals along the spur. All the doors were closed. Lockwood and I stood silently, using our eyes and ears. Nothing, I said at last. As soon as I got to the top, the knocking noises stopped. Lockwood took a while to speak. No death-glows, he said. From the heaviness in his voice, I knew that he too felt malaisethat strange sluggishness, that dead weight in the muscles that comes when a Visitor is near. He sighed faintly. Well, ladies first, Lucy. Pick a door. Not me. I picked a door in that orphanage case, and you know what happened then. That all turned out fine, didn t it Only because I ducked. All right, let s take this one, but you re going in first. I d chosen the nearest, the one on the right. It turned out to lead to a recently remodeled bathroom. Modern tiling gleamed eagerly as the flashlight swept by. There was a big white bathtub, a sink and toilet, and also a distant smell of jasmine soap. Neither of us found anything noticeable here, though the temperature was the same as on the landing. Lockwood tried the next door. It opened into a large back bedroom, which had been converted into possibly the messiest study in London. The flashlight beam showed a heavy wooden desk set beneath a curtained dow. The desk was almost invisible under stacks of papers, and further teetering piles were placed, higgledy-piggledy, all across the room. A row of dark bookshelves, chaotically filled, ran down three-quarters of the far side wall. There were cupboards, an old leather chair beside the desk, and a faintly masculine smell about the room. I tasted aftershave, whisky, even tobacco. It was bitterly cold now. The dial =20 3D""/ ------=_Part_94_148796275.1488571892652--