Received: from nobody by stodi.digitalkingdom.org with local (Exim 4.87) (envelope-from ) id 1clG5L-0006MQ-6X for lojban-newreal@lojban.org; Tue, 07 Mar 2017 06:27:31 -0800 Received: from [108.61.131.133] (port=56758 helo=mail.topsmoneys.com) by stodi.digitalkingdom.org with esmtp (Exim 4.87) (envelope-from ) id 1clG5F-0006Kv-W2 for lojban@lojban.org; Tue, 07 Mar 2017 06:27:30 -0800 DKIM-Signature: v=1; a=rsa-sha1; c=relaxed/relaxed; s=dkim; d=topsmoneys.com; h=Date:From:To:Subject:MIME-Version:Content-Type:List-Unsubscribe:Message-ID; i=gary.bishop@topsmoneys.com; bh=4UuLVDOfkz0bcS0zvygrl92zhuA=; b=GSt5qRmyVOJ/rLU8XKLNIj1HqDBR9CRml5Ebwot4MRrw+nf4yEgPuVELLR9HiZcj9ICcKmhR0hDz MLtV1fQGz+x3T/+9+kbbKyaJcw7xoRC9jMXRgBb7tDeqSHHMKe+FaGQ4YAw2KUkYqpBhTA1oiZIw CB3NGa78of1eY/rYZrc= DomainKey-Signature: a=rsa-sha1; c=nofws; q=dns; s=dkim; d=topsmoneys.com; b=gKV3N+5XZYE9NmJrlm6yo6FiUubKvZbuAT55se72NfwT7sL8HJlTp0UxqJldAS6MdQlb+DRpL5op CqE/sQgK6GSr0TmLxWuZmVavZfVqbHmgtEMfndigENz8BVvUp5Aa0FX8YWL7+0CrudXvOTDgzkAx JAuCb0pVJb0KKk1c0xI=; Received: by mail.topsmoneys.com id hnrfce0001g1 for ; Tue, 7 Mar 2017 11:17:15 -0500 (envelope-from ) Date: Tue, 7 Mar 2017 11:17:15 -0500 From: "Gary Bishop" To: Subject: FOX: Trumps staff walks out on him last night lojban MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: multipart/alternative; boundary="----=_Part_3_183890151.1488896393353" X-SMTPAPI: {"category": "20170307-091830-263-34"} List-Unsubscribe: Feedback-ID: 2017030709183026334 Message-ID: <0.0.0.0.1D2975E4942E7E0.1DB372C@mail.topsmoneys.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: got it Trump Does The Unthinkable See what caused his White-House staff to walk out on him Full Report > > > > [...] 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: topsmoneys.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_3_183890151.1488896393353 Content-Type: text/html; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable =20 =20 got it=20 =20 =20
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  • Trump Does T= he Unthinkable
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  • = the fading ribbons of yellow plasm and closed in, swiping blindly with my rapier. The man fled past the stairs and through the arch into the front office. For a moment his silhouette was illuminated by the faint light seeping through its dow, and I understood what he was going to do. Lockwood! I cried. Quick! He ll Lockwood already knew the danger; even as he ran, he reached to his belt, plucked out a canister of Fire. The intruder put on a spurt, drew near my desk. He leaped upon it and, as he did so, threw his arms across his face. He collided with the dow in a crouched position, smashing through the pane in a whirl of spinning shards. Lockwood cursed; from the far end of the office, he hurled the flare. It passed straight through the broken dow and out into the yard. We heard the canister crack upon the stones. A silver-white explosion lit up the night, sending the remaining fragments of dow glass hurtling back into the room. They spilled across the desk, clattering against the ghost-jar, so the head inside it ced and goggled. Shards like spilled ice fanned out across the floor. Lockwood sprang onto the table, sword in hand; I came to a halt behind him. We went no farther. We knew we were too late. Out in the yard, little white fires flickered in the broken flowerpots, and danced and ddled like Christmas lights across the hanging ivy. Smoke rose toward the street; somewhere up above us, a variety of car alarms beeped and yammered. But it had all been for nothing. The intruder was gone. At the top of the steps, the front gate swung gently, gently. It came slowly to a halt. Lockwood jumped back to the floor. Behind us, a shape emerged: George, shuffling painfully, clutching the side of his jaw. He was bleeding from a cut to his lower lip. I gave him a wan smile of sympathy; Lockwood patted his arm. That was exciting, George said thickly. We should have guests over more often. All at once I felt lightheaded. My legs gave way; I supported myself upon the desk. For the first time since

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    = polished silver-coated grilles on the dows, and threads of silver tracery running down the sides. On the hood, a small silver figurehead glinted in the ter sun. The chauffeur emerged; smoothing down his crisp gray uniform, he marched around the car to open a rear door. I ducked back inside, where Lockwood was frantically plumping cushions, and George brushed cake crumbs beneath the sofa. He s here, I hissed. Lockwood took a deep breath. Okay. Let s try to make a good impression. We stood up when Mr. John Fairfax entered the room, not that it made much difference. He was a very tall, thin man. He towered over me, towered over Lockwood. George, trailing in his wake, was entirely in his shadow. Even at seventy or eighty, or whatever age he d reached, he was built on an impressive scale, like something you d expect to launch down a slip at Southampton docks. Yet his limbs were thin and wasted. The sleeves of his long silk jacket hung loose; his legs, despite the walking stick that supported him, trembled as he walked. My immediate impression was of a peculiar mix of strength and weakness. In a room of a hundred people, he would have been impossible to ignore. Good morning, sir, Lockwood was saying. This is Lucy Carlyle, my associate. Delighted. The voice was deep, the outstretched hand vast and all-encompassing. A great square head, bald and liver-spotted, bent in my direction from on high. The nose was hooked, the black eyes bright and shining; the lines on the brow were heavy. When he smiled (it was scarcely a smile at all, rather an acknowledgment of my existence) I saw the teeth were capped in silver. It was a face used to exerting authority and command. Pleased to meet you, I said. We sat. Our guest engulfed his chair. His walking stick was

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    = and productivity were low. No one wanted late-shifts. In ter, businesses closed mid-afternoon. But some companies did flourish, because they fulfilled a vital need. One of these was Fairfax Iron. Already a leading manufacturer of iron products when the crisis began, Fairfax Iron immediately set about supplying seals, filings, and chains to the Fittes and Rotwell agencies. As the Problem worsened, and the government began to mass-produce ghost-lamps, it was Fairfax Iron that provided the vast quantities of metal required. This alone secured the company s fortune. But, of course, there was more. Those ugly iron gnomes that people dotted around their gardens Those dorky Protecto?? necklaces Those little plastic bracelets with the smiley iron faces they put on babies wrists before they left the hospital Fairfax products, every one. The company s owner, John William Fairfax, was, as a result, one of the richest men in the country, up there with the silver barons, with the heirs of Marissa Fittes and Tom Rotwell, and with that bloke who owns the great lavender farms on the Lincolnshire Wolds. Fairfax lived somewhere in London, and when he snapped his fingers, the ministers of whichever government was currently in office scampered hot-foot to his house. Now he was coming here in person. You can be sure we tidied that living room double-quick. A few minutes later, the purr of a large vehicle sounded in the street. I peeped out, to see a shiny Rolls-Royce idling to a halt. It seemed to fill the street. It had

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    = of hair, maybe A photograph People keep things in lockets. That s what they re for. As one, we stared at the locket s open halves. There wasn t any hair. Or a photograph, a keepsake, or a tiny folded letter. But that didn t mean the locket was empty. No. There was something there. It was another inscription, neatly scored into the smooth gold of the interior: A ??? W H.II.2.115 Here it is, Lockwood said. The hidden clue. This is what he wanted to hide. The AW s obviously Annabel Ward, I said. And the H is for Hugo, George breathed. As in Hugo Blake??? Lockwood frowned. That s good as far as it goes. But there must be more. What about these numbers This is some kind of code.??? We d better give this to DEPRAC, I said suddenly. We can t hold on to it. This is serious evidence, which the police will need to see. And Blake knows it s here. You re probably right, Lockwood said. Not that I really want to come clean with Barnes. I d rather we figured this out ourselves. Still??? The phone rang shrilly in the office. Maybe we haven t got much choice. Answer that, would you, George George departed and was gone for a long time. When he returned, Lockwood had returned the locket to its case and I d started sweeping up the debris on the floor. Don t tell me, Lockwood said. Barnes again George s features were slightly flushed. Actually, no. A new client. I assume some old lady with a ghost-cat up a tree Nope, and you might want to leave that, Lucy, and start tidying upstairs. That was Mr. John Fairfax, Chairman of Fairfax Iron, and he s coming over now. It was generally accepted that the Problem afflicting the British Isles was a bad thing for the economy. The dead returning to haunt the living, apparitions after darkthese things had consequences. Morale

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    = the fight began, I remembered the aches and strains left over from the Sheen Road fall. Lockwood must have experienced a similar come-down. It took him two or three tries to fix his rapier back into his belt. George, he said. The Annabel Ward necklace. You said you put it with the trophies. Mind going to see if it s still there George dabbed at his lip with his shirtsleeve. Don t need to. I already thought of that. Just had a look. It s gone. You re sure you put it on the shelves This very morning. It s definitely not there. There was a silence. You think that s what he came for I asked. Lockwood sighed. It s possible. Anyway, he s clearly got it now. No, I said. He hasn t. At which I pulled my collar aside, to reveal the silver-glass case with the pendant in it, hanging safely on its cord around my neck. I should point out, I guess, that I m not in the habit of secreting haunted objects on my person. I certainly don t have any other sinister artifacts stuffed down my socks, as George suggested. The necklace was a weird one-off for me. I d seen it the previous afternoon, as we got ready for the assignment by the willow tree. George had put it on the trophy shelf along with all the other curios. It just lay there in its little protective case, sparkling dully behind the glass. And instead of leaving it, as any ordinary person would have, I d picked the case up, hung it around my neck, and simply walked away. Explaining why I d done this wasn t exactly easy, especially considering the state we were all in after the fight. So it wasn t until after a very late breakfast the follog day that I tried to give my reasons. I just wanted to keep the necklace close at hand, I said. Not shoved in with all the other trophies. I think it s because of what happened when I touched it, when I got that psychic connection with Annie Ward. The sensations I experienced then were her

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