Received: from nobody by stodi.digitalkingdom.org with local (Exim 4.87) (envelope-from ) id 1bygCu-00071x-87 for lojban-newreal@lojban.org; Mon, 24 Oct 2016 07:26:32 -0700 Received: from [91.92.115.245] (port=47219 helo=underwrites.quday.top) by stodi.digitalkingdom.org with esmtp (Exim 4.86_2) (envelope-from ) id 1bygCp-00070Q-7g for lojban@lojban.org; Mon, 24 Oct 2016 07:26:31 -0700 Date: Mon, 24 Oct 2016 10:21:29 -0400 To: lojban@lojban.org From: Russian Dating Made Easy Reply-to: Russian Dating Made Easy Subject: A Gorgeous Russian Bride Could Be Yours Message-ID: <60d5fc1ae01bcf6aa38e7adfaf7c72d8@z.quday.top> MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: multipart/alternative; boundary="b1_60d5fc1ae01bcf6aa38e7adfaf7c72d8" X-Spam-Score: -0.1 (/) X-Spam_score: -0.1 X-Spam_score_int: 0 X-Spam_bar: / --b1_60d5fc1ae01bcf6aa38e7adfaf7c72d8 Content-Type: text/plain; charset = "iso-8859-1" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit Not able to view our Ad because of images being off? Go ahead and browse this, him. Then herocked his eye over the sheet of music spread out on the table before him. He tried his flute. Andthen at last, with the odd gesture of a diver taking a plunge, he ycav swung his head and xsycav began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. sycav He played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms with slight, intense movements, as cav the delicate music cav poured out. It 8zrbxsyav zrbxsycv was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid and delicate. ycav The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity bxsycav xsycav of the music delighted him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense, exasperatedto the point of intolerable cav anger, in his good-humored rest, as he played thefinely-spun peace-music. The more exquisite the music, the more perfectly he produced it, in sheer bliss; and at the same time, the more intense was the maddened exasperation within him. Millicent zrbxsycv appeared bxsycav in the room. She fidgetted at the sink. The music was ycav a bugbear to her, because it prevented her from saying what was on her own mind. At length it ended, her father was turning over the various books and sheets. She looked at him quickly, seizing her opportunity. “Are you going out, Father?” she said. “Eh?” “Are 8zrbxsyav cav you going out?” She twisted nervously. “What do you want to know for?” He made cav no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet — then cav over it again — then ycav more closely over it ycav again. “Are you?” persisted the child, balancing on one foot. He looked at her, and his eyes were sycav angry under knitted brows. “What are 8zrbxsyav ycav you bothering about?” he zrbxsycv said. “I’m not bothering — I only wanted to know if you were going out,” she pouted, quivering to cry. “I bxsycav expect I am,” he said quietly. She recovered at sycav once, but still zrbxsycv with ycav timidity asked: “We haven’t got any ycav candles for the Christmas tree — shall you buy some, because mother isn’t going out?” “Candles!” he repeated, settling 8zrbxsyav his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes — shall you buy sycav us 8zrbxsyav 8zrbxsyav some, Father? Shall cav you?” “Candles!” he repeated, putting the piccolo sycav to his mouth and blowing a few 8zrbxsyav piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles sycav — blue cav ones and red ones, in boxes — Shall you, Father?” “We’ll see — if I see any —” “But SHALL xsycav you?” she insisted ycav desperately. She ycav wisely mistrusted his vagueness. But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke forth, wild, xsycav shrill, brilliant. He bxsycav was playing Mozart. The child’s face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went ycav out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music zrbxsycv seemed to possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man ycav went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. bxsycav In the frosty evening the bxsycav sound carried. people phiing down the street hesitated, listening. The neighbours knew it was Aaron practising his piccolo. He was esteemed a good player: was in request at concerts and 8zrbxsyav . --b1_60d5fc1ae01bcf6aa38e7adfaf7c72d8 Content-Type: text/html; charset = "iso-8859-1" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit












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him. Then herocked his eye over the sheet of music spread out on the table before him. He tried his flute. Andthen at last, with the odd gesture of a diver taking a plunge, he cbjs


swung his head and h0cbjs began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. 0cbjs He played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms



with slight, intense movements, as bjs the delicate music bjs poured out. It 2xd7h0cjs xd7h0cbs was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid





and delicate. cbjs The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity 7h0cbjs h0cbjs of the music delighted him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense,


exasperatedto the point of intolerable bjs anger, in his good-humored rest, as he played thefinely-spun peace-music. The more exquisite the music, the more perfectly he produced it,


in sheer bliss; and at the same time, the more intense was the maddened exasperation within him. Millicent xd7h0cbs appeared 7h0cbjs in the room. She fidgetted at the



sink. The music was cbjs a bugbear to her, because it prevented her from saying what was on her own mind. At length it ended, her father was turning over the various books and sheets.





She looked at him quickly, seizing her opportunity. “Are you going out, Father?” she said. “Eh?” “Are 2xd7h0cjs bjs you going out?” She twisted nervously.



“What do you want to know for?” He made bjs no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet — then bjs over it again — then cbjs more closely over it cbjs again.





“Are you?” persisted the child, balancing on one foot. He looked at her, and his eyes were 0cbjs angry under knitted brows. “What are 2xd7h0cjs cbjs you bothering about?” he xd7h0cbs said.



“I’m not bothering — I only wanted to know if you were going out,” she pouted, quivering to cry. “I 7h0cbjs expect I am,” he said quietly.


She recovered at 0cbjs once, but still xd7h0cbs with cbjs timidity asked: “We haven’t got any cbjs candles for the Christmas tree — shall you buy some, because mother




isn’t going out?” “Candles!” he repeated, settling 2xd7h0cjs his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes — shall you buy 0cbjs us 2xd7h0cjs 2xd7h0cjs some, Father? Shall bjs you?”




“Candles!” he repeated, putting the piccolo 0cbjs to his mouth and blowing a few 2xd7h0cjs piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles 0cbjs — blue bjs ones and red




ones, in boxes — Shall you, Father?” “We’ll see — if I see any —” “But SHALL h0cbjs you?” she insisted cbjs desperately. She cbjs wisely mistrusted his vagueness.



But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke forth, wild, h0cbjs shrill, brilliant. He 7h0cbjs was playing Mozart. The child’s


face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went cbjs out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music xd7h0cbs seemed to



possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man cbjs went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. 7h0cbjs In the frosty evening the 7h0cbjs sound carried.



people phiing down the street hesitated, listening. The neighbours knew it was Aaron practising his piccolo. He was esteemed a good player: was in request at concerts and 2xd7h0cjs .

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