text:
The day began with sun, but by the time he'd finished coffee the clouds of middle Europe had rolled in, a lead weight pressing down on the city, turning everything gray. They crossed the Vltava over a different bridge, downriver from the Mala Strana.
"Is this the right way?" Nick said. "I don't remember this."
"Just keep going to the end. Soviet Tank Square."
"They call it that?"
"Mm. Namesti sovetskych tankistu," she said, the accurate pronunciation its own joke. "Of course in those days they were liberating, not invading."
"How do you know all this?"
"All what? It's just tourist stuff. I had a lot of time to get to know the city."
"Are you going to see him, your friend?" Maybe the split hadn't been as casual as she had said.
"Jiri?" She was looking out the window. "No, not this trip. One reunion's enough, don't you think?"
There was no one near the tank and they drove around the traffic circle once, then parked near the corner and pulled out a map, pretending to plot the trip. The place names, brimming with consonants and accent marks, might have been Chinese.
"Let's hope he doesn't drive too fast," Nick said. "I could never follow this."
But his father had thought of everything. When the Skoda pulled alongside, he got out to switch cars. In the daylight he looked less drawn, more like himself, and Nick felt a jolt again, as if a photograph had come alive.
The woman in the passenger seat was handsome but full-faced, and when she stepped out to change sides he saw that her body was thick, rounded by time and gravity. To his surprise, she was shy and nervous, brushing a stray hair back in to place with the automatic gesture of a girl wanting to look her best, and Nick realized that she was apprehensive about meeting him. She smiled hesitantly, glancing into his eyes.
"Anicka, this is my son," his father said. "Nick, my wife, Anna." So easy. The whole tangled mess reduced to a simple introduction. She held out her hand.
"How do you do," she said, a formality from a phrasebook, but her eyes were warm, scanning his face now, tracing her husband's features. "You are very like," she said pleasantly.
"Miss Chisholm, would you go with Anna? Then no one gets lost."
"Molly," she said to Anna, shaking her hand too.
Anna placed her hand on Nick's father's sleeve, familiar and affectionate, and said something in Czech. Then she got in the car and started around the tank, noisily shifting gears.
"What did she say?" Nick asked.
"Not to be too long. I thought I'd show you the sights. We don't want to travel in convoy." He walked toward the passenger door.
"Why not? Do people follow you?"
"No." He smiled. "Force of habit, that's all."
Nick started the car. "Where to?"
"Just drive around. Head for the castle."
"Can I see where you live?"
"It's just up here. Up Holeckova. We'll come round the other way. We don't want to surprise anyone."
Nick drove along the river, then climbed the steep hill to Hradcany. His father said nothing, glancing in the rearview mirror.
"I suppose she's my stepmother," Nick said, and then, when his father didn't answer, "How did you meet?"
"At the institute. In Moscow. She was an archivist."
"When was this?"
"Well, when? Fifteen, sixteen years ago." Nick counted backward No, not right away. A decent interval.
"Do you love her?" he said, surprised at his own prurience. But how else could he ask it?
His father looked at him, then back at the street. "I married her. We've had a good life. I owe her this." He motioned his hand to take in the city. "I never would have got out of Moscow otherwise. She's a Czech national." He paused. "I loved your mother. It's different."
Nick looked straight ahead at a church with several towers, green copper domes. "How long have you been here?"
"Just a year. She retired, you see, so they let us settle here. Kind of a gold watch. Ordinarily you have to stay put. But I guess they knew I wasn't in any shape to worry about, so why not?"
"What's wrong with you?" Nick said quietly. "Is it cancer?"
"No, my heart. I've had one operation, but it doesn't seem to have done any good. That reminds me." He took out a plastic vial and opened it. A different pill from the one last night. "Thins the blood," he explained. "Of course, if you cut yourself you have a hell of a time, because it won't clot. Fix one thing and something else goes." He swallowed the pill without water. "Anyway," he said, steering away from the subject, "we came to Prague. My gold watch too, I guess."
"It's beautiful."
"Hitler thought so too. He made it an open city. That's why it's still beautiful-no bombs. Imagine, having Hitler to thank for this."
"What's Moscow like?"
"It's like Brooklyn. Everyone there thinks it's special and you can't imagine why."
Nick smiled. The same rhythm.
"At first I couldn't get used to the quiet," his father said. "It's very quiet for a big city. You never hear an ambulance or a fire truck. I don't know why. Not much traffic. And then in the winter the snow muffles everything. Sometimes I used to open the window and just listen to the quiet. It was like being deaf. You think you want quiet, and then when you get it-" He paused. "But after a while you get used to it. Like everything else." He took out a cigarette and rolled down the window. "The funny thing about that was in the bad old days, they used to send the cars at night, so no one would know. But it was so quiet everyone did know. You'd hear a car in the street-you couldn't miss it-and you'd know it was an arrest. The whole block. Maybe they planned it that way. You didn't go back to sleep after that. You'd just lie there, waiting to hear the next car. But that was before, when Stalin was alive. Turn here by the church. We'll swing around the Strahov."
Nick said nothing, imagining the nights, now just an anecdote. People talked about the knock on the door, but it had been something else, a car motor idling in a quiet street. No screaming, no people being dragged out, just the faint sound of a car door being shut, a deaf man's terror.
"Were you ever arrested?"
"No. Of course, I was debriefed. That took months. I still don't know where. But after there was a flat. In the Arbat. Two rooms-a palace, then. And a job. They gave me a medal."
Nick heard the tone, a hint of pride, and was disconcerted. Was he supposed to congratulate him?
"What kind of job?" he said, not sure again how to ask. "Did you-work for them?"
"As an agent, you mean?" his father said, almost amused. "No. Who would I spy on? The diplomats, the journalists — they were already taken care of. There wasn't anybody else. Just the defectors. We kept to ourselves-maybe we were kept to ourselves, I don't know. For a while I worked with Maclean on International Affairs. The magazine," he said to Nick's unspoken query. "Like your Foreign Affairs. I think with the same level of accuracy. A nice man. A believer, you know. Still. But the others-" He let the phrase drift off. "Not exactly people you want to spend the weekend with. Besides, I was trying to learn Russian, not speak English. I was never very good at languages. I still can't speak Czech, not really."
"I thought you could."
"You did? Oh, the committee. No, I never could. I picked up a few words from your grandparents. But they tried not to speak around me. They wanted me to be-" He paused, framing the words. "An all-American boy." Nick said nothing, letting the thought sit there. "I was, too. I had a paper route. I still fold a paper like that, like I'm going to throw it on a porch. Sixty subscribers-a lot for then. The things you remember."
Nick heard the fade in his voice and resisted its pull. "Too bad about the language. It would have come in handy," he said lightly, indicating the street.
"Well, Anicka takes care of all that. That's a little like being deaf too, when you can't speak the language. People talk to you and you just look. You even get to like it, not hearing things. When I first got to Moscow, I would spend days not hearing anything. It was quiet. Like the streets."
The sound, Nick thought, after a door had closed.
They had made the circle and were coming back down Holeckova. "Slow down a little if you want to see it. Where I live. Third building there on the left. The white one. Not too slow," his father added, automatically putting his elbow on the window to cover the side of his face.
It was a multistory apartment building with simple art moderne lines in a section of the street that must have been developed before the war, when straight edges and glass were still a style. The white was tired now, but had escaped the cracks and watermarks of the newer buildings across the river, put up on the cheap. It was set back from the street, reached by a flight of concrete steps set into the hill. There was nothing remarkable about it at all, except that his father lived there.
"We were lucky to get it," his father said. "The views are wonderful. Not the Old Town, but then the plumbing's better. Two bathrooms."
Nick glanced quickly at him, feeling again a peculiar sense of dislocation. He was in Prague with a ghost, discussing real estate. He noticed the hand at the side of the face.
"Does someone really watch the house?"
"Or do I just imagine it?" his father said wryly. "No, the Czechs take a look from time to time. The STB. You see, to them I'm a Russian. They want to know what I'm doing here."
Nick took this in, toying with it. A Russian. They passed the Soviet tank again and headed across the river.
"What did they give you a medal for?"
"Services to the state. All of us got one. Mostly for going there. Once they've brought you in, they don't know what to do with you, so they give you a medal. It's cheap and it gives you something to hold on to. So you don't wonder why you're not doing anything anymore. They don't trust foreigners-they can't help it, it's in the bone. After the magazine, I got the job at the institute, so at least they thought I wasn't going to do any damage. Some of the others-English lessons, make-work."
"What did you do?"
"Policy analyst. American policy. Of course, by the time they trusted me to do that, I'd been away from Washington so long I didn't know any more about American policy than the next man. They have a habit of defeating their own purpose. But maybe that's what they wanted all along. Anyway, they never listened to anything I had to say."
Nick realized that the answer, easy and smooth, was what he wanted to hear, and for the first time he wondered if his father could be lying. Had he really done so little? For an instant he felt as if he were back at the hearing. So plausible and persuasive, and all the while- Nick stopped. Was he Welles now? The inquisitor to outflank? Who cared whether they listened to him or not? And it might after all — which was worse? — be the truth, a glib answer to mask a marginal life.
"Seems a shame-for them, I mean," Nick said.
"Not taking advantage of my wisdom? Who knows? I was wrong about Cuba. I never thought we'd go that far."
Nick paused. "We who?"
"We Americans," his father said softly, clearly thrown by the question.
There was nothing to say to that and Nick drove quietly, skirting the top of Wenceslas to follow the streets behind the university. The mood in the car was uneasy now, as if, improbably, they had nothing more to say.
"Tell me about your mother," his father said finally. "Tell me about Livia."
"She's-fine. Busy. Lots of parties. You know."
"Yes, she loved parties." A beat. "Does she ever talk about me?"
The word, blunt and final, hung between them, and the instant Nick heard it he wished he had lied. Another door closing, louder this time. The silence, as leaden as the sky, was its own response, and there was nothing to break it but the sound of the car. At a corner, Nick stopped and reached into a back pocket for his wallet. He pulled out a photograph and handed it to his father, then put the car back in gear and drove on, allowing him to look in private.
"She's cut her hair," his father said quietly. "She used to wear it longer."
Nick kept driving, not wanting to intrude. From the corner of his eye he saw his father holding the picture, absorbed.
"I may have this?" he said finally, a foreign intonation. Nick nodded. "She's the same." He put the picture in the breast pocket of his jacket. "Don't tell Anna," he said, and Nick felt drawn against his will into some odd complicity. Why was even the simplest gesture tangled?
"Would she mind?"
"It's better this way," his father said, not answering.
"Sometimes the way she looks at me," Nick said, "I think I remind her of you." A small offering, to soften the no.
But his father wanted to move on. "No. Just the eyes." He was looking at Nick now. "So tall."
"We're the same height."
His father smiled. "Well, you used to be smaller. And now. You still bite your nails." Involuntarily Nick moved his hands on the wheel, turning in his fingers. "Always something going on inside."
You were going on inside, Nick wanted to shout. Instead, he said, "Do you have children? You and Anna."
"No, there's only you. We're not so young." He paused. "She's nervous, you know, about you."
His father shrugged. "She thinks you'll change things." He took out another cigarette. "But what is there to change?"
"Are you supposed to smoke those things? With your heart?"
"No, of course not. I'm not supposed to do anything. No excitement. If you listened to them, you'd be so careful you'd go without knowing the difference."
"Is it bad for you? My being here?" A new thought.
"Very bad," he said, teasing gently. "It's the best thing in the world."
The houses-smaller now, with patches of garden-were thinning out, and they could see the country ahead.
"Is this right?" Nick said.
"Yes, keep going. I want to show you something."
"Are you going to tell me what?"
"It's not a mystery," he said, making it one. "Everything in its time."
Nick glanced at him. There was an agenda, everything planned. And what was at the end? The Wallenstein, the switch of cars, the country. Step by step. Even their conversation now seemed to him a kind of testing, his father leading him further into his life, where nothing was open. Secrecy became a habit. He saw now that his father wanted to be sure of him somehow, and he felt unexpectedly wounded. Wasn't it enough that he had come?
In the woods there were still blossoms on the trees, not the lush flowering of Virginia but a thin sprinkling of white, a Bohemian lace.
"Remember the dogwood," his father said, seeing them too. "On 2nd Street? I wonder, is it still there?"
"Magnolia. I don't know. The neighborhood's changed."
"But not the trees," his father said, not hearing the shift in Nick's tone.
"I've never been back. We sold it. Right after."
"Ah. What became of Nora? Do you see her?"
"Just Christmas cards. She's still there somewhere. Arlington, I think."
"I always wondered, was she working for the FBI?" his father said easily. "Old Edgar had a real fondness for housekeepers."
The words, like a trigger, exploded something in Nick. This was crazy, yet another descent through the rabbit hole. Even Nora. Who cares? It's not important. He felt things fall away until there was nothing but the gulf of all the years between them. Why were they talking about this? The realtor view from Holeckova. Two bathrooms. Moscow in the snow. Surreal, all of it. They gave me a medal. Talk to me.
"I loved that house," his father said dreamily.
It snapped again. Everything in its time. Now. He felt his breath shortening and gripped the wheel, bringing the car to a stop on the side of the road, his foot on the brake. He heard the motor, his own breathing, sensed his father turning in alarm.
"Why did you do it?" he said, his voice wavering, staring straight ahead, pulling the words out of himself, not enough breath for a wail. "Why did you leave me?"
Then there was no sound at all, a suspension even of air.
"I didn't leave you," his father said finally, in a whisper. "I left myself." A distress real enough to touch. Nick knew it was true and knew that if he reached out for it they would lose the moment, put everything aside in some evasive forgetting.
"No," he said, still looking at the wheel. "Me. You left me. Why did you?"
His father said nothing. Nick kept his eyes ahead, afraid to look. What could there be on his face but loss?
"I want to explain-" his father said weakly, then stopped.
"Why did you ask me here? What do you want from me?"
At this his father stirred, flustered. "If we could wait," he said hoarsely. "The right time. So I can explain."
"Now," Nick said angrily, finally turning to him. "Tell me now. What do you want?"
His father met his eyes, the nervous fluttering gone, giving in. "I want to go home."
Nick started driving, too stunned to do anything else. "Please, let me explain in my own way," his father had said, and then, when he didn't, Nick didn't know how to press. The outburst had unnerved them both-they were afraid of each other now-so that driving seemed a form of apology. Don't worry, I won't do that again. It was safer to concentrate on the road.
"You know that's impossible," Nick said. But it had been impossible for him to come, and he had driven right in. A two-lane road, through the wire.
His father said nothing, determined to follow his own timetable, and Nick went back to the road, the ragged asphalt and lacy trees. Had he actually worked out the logistics? Nick's imagination couldn't take it in. Passports and border crossings and newsmen at the end, like the men in hats. No. Not that. It was a kind of metaphor, a way of talking, one of his father's riddles.
"Turn up here."
Nick saw the sign. "Terezin?"
"In German, Theresienstadt."
"The model camp. Where they took the Red Cross."
His father nodded. That's right. The model camp. In the museum, by the Jewish cemetery in Prague, they have the children's drawings. They are-well, you'll see them."
They parked outside an old fortress, the walls of a castle town.
"Why are we doing this?" Nick said. "I don't want a history lesson. I want to talk to you."
"This is what we're talking about. I want to start at the beginning. So you'll understand."
There were no other cars, and when a guard appeared, grumbling in Czech, Nick thought it must be closed, but his father flashed some card in his wallet and the guard, straightening himself, nodded a salute and passed them through.
The air was utterly still, not even moved by birds, and it carried the crunch of their shoes on the dirt. All the buildings were not just empty but abandoned, like a western ghost town whose mine had played out. There had been no attempt to turn it into a museum park, no flower beds or lawns, as if the ground itself had resisted any signs of new life. Just the graveyard stillness. The buildings, some of them old, pieces of architecture, had been left to rot, exhausted by their own terrible history. It was not the kind of concentration camp Nick had seen in a thousand photographs-the railway tracks to the smokestacks, the long barracks, wrought iron twisted into messages-but there was no mistaking the stillness. They had left their dread behind, and it still hung in the air, as real as blood.
"People have the idea that it wasn't so bad here," his father said, taking them farther into the compound. "You know-the orchestra, the children's drawings. Like summer camp. But sixty thousand died here. The rest they sent to Auschwitz, the other camps. Everybody died. You see the bunks." He gestured toward an open door, where Nick could see bunk beds stacked to the ceiling. "Nine in a bunk. Sometimes more. You can imagine. Typhus. Dysentery. Well, you can't imagine. Nobody can. People think that because there were no ovens-but over sixty thousand. Here, not shipped out. They didn't need gas chambers. They just shot them, one by one. Or the gallows. Not very efficient but maybe more satisfying. They could watch."
Nick followed him down the dusty street, saying nothing. This happened in my lifetime, he thought.
"At the end there, through that gate, is where they shot them."
"I don't want to see this," Nick said, claustrophobic.
"There's just one thing." He stopped at a house near the end. Next to it was an empty swimming pool, with bunches of old leaves stuck in rain puddles on the cracked concrete. "This was the commandant's house."
"He had a swimming pool?"
"For his daughters. Little girls. The prisoners would march by here on their way to the firing range." He pointed again to the open area through the gate. "They shot them over there."
So close. The sharp crack of gunfire. Not once. All day.
"They would hear," Nick said, picturing it.
"Yes. While they were swimming. The first time I saw this-what kind of people were these? Little girls swimming, and all the time-"
"Maybe there was a fence," Nick said dully. "So they couldn't see."
"No. No fence."
Then the prisoners would see them too, Nick thought. Splashing. The last thing they would see.
"Why are you showing me this?" he said, turning away from the pool.
"I want you to understand what they were. Nothing will make sense without that."
Nick looked at him, sensing where he was heading. "You don't have to explain yourself to me."
"No? I think I do. The politics of another generation — they're never real, are they? What was the point? Thirty years from now, they'll ask you. What was so important? But it was important."
Nick thought of Jan Palach. Important enough to light a match.
"In Prague," his father said, "you see all the statues. Hussites. Catholics. What was that? Nobody remembers. But at the time, if you lived then."
Nick looked down, moving his shoe across the dirt like a visible thought. "You didn't know about this. Not then."
"The swimming pool, no. But we knew what they were. All you had to do was listen."
"And no one was stopping them. No one. America First. It'll all just go away. Or maybe it's a good thing. People thought that then, you know. We had our own Nazis. My God, Jim Crow. People with sheets over their heads. That doesn't seem real anymore either, does it? Father Coughlin on the radio, that prick."
Nick glanced up, oddly reassured by the familiarity of his father's scorn. Still an anti-cleric. But his father was racing now.
"And you could see what the Nazis were doing. Austria-just like that. They weren't going to stop. Then Czechoslovakia. The Sudeten, but we knew it meant the whole thing. Why not just hand it over? The English," he said, waving his hand. "And nobody in Washington lifted a finger. Couldn't. It would have been bad politics. Nobody was trying to stop them."
"Except the Communists," Nick said quietly, following his logic. "That's when you became a Communist."
"Yes. After Munich. That was the last straw. Strange, in a way. I didn't have any special feeling for the Czechs. Your grandparents had family here-in the Sudeten, in fact — but I never felt Czech. I don't feel Czech now. I think it was the helplessness, the feeling that you had to do something." He stopped, then managed a shrug. "Another generation's politics. How do you explain it? Maybe I was ready, and then Munich came along." He glanced up at Nick. "I wasn't the only one, you know. A lot of people joined in the thirties. There were good reasons then. Well, we thought there were."
Nick looked at him. "They didn't become spies," he said. He turned back toward the entrance gate. "Let's go."
His father followed him. Outside the walls, near the car, he touched Nick's elbow. "Let's walk for a bit."
Involuntarily, Nick drew his elbow in. "Not in there," he said, but he began to walk. "What made you ready?"
"I was impatient." Nick caught the tiny barb and slowed to his father's pace. "The times," his father said vaguely. "You can't imagine what things were like then. You remember where Grandma lived?"
They had visited a few times when Nick was a child. Collieries and slag heaps and cookie-cutter company houses. The big coal stove in the basement kitchen, where his grandmother seemed to live, held by the warmth. A photograph of Roosevelt on the wall. The Last Supper, draped with a frond from Palm Sunday. Upstairs, the parlor with doilies where the priest visited once a year and no one sat.
"People literally went hungry in those days. I had friends, children, who worked in the breakers. Half the miners were on relief. You picked up coal by the tracks, the pieces that fell off the cars. In a burlap bag. You had to drag it home if it got too heavy. But I was lucky-I got out. I was going to change all that."
"She never believed you did it," Nick said. "Grandma. She wouldn't look at the papers. She said it was a mistake."
His father stopped and took a breath, as if he'd been punched.
"In the early days we did change things," he continued, refusing to be distracted. "Washington was exciting. The New Deal." He pronounced it for effect, like a foreign phrase. "We were just out of law school-what did we know? We thought we could change anything. Nothing could stop us. But they did. I think we just knocked the wind out of them, and then, when they caught their breath, there they were again. The Welleses, the Rankins-they were always there, you know. We didn't invent them after the war. Defenders of the faith. Whatever it was. Themselves, mostly."
He turned, looking at Nick. "You know, when I first went to Penn, I remember I had a suitcase. Your grandmother bought it for me, and I saw right away it was all wrong. I hid it in the closet. Embarrassed, you know? And then I thought, what the hell? I'll catch up. This was my chance. I had the scholarship and the job, and sometimes I didn't even sleep, there was so much I wanted to do. But what I couldn't understand-it was the first time I'd met people who thought they deserved their luck. They didn't know they were lucky. They didn't think at all about the ones who weren't there. How can people be like that? Not see they're lucky? Not have some-" He searched. "Compassion."
"They're afraid someone will take it away," Nick said simply.
"Yes." His father nodded. "But what makes them think they should have it in the first place? That's what's interesting. What do they believe in? What did Welles believe in? I still don't know. Of course," he said, a faint smile on his face, "they're not very bright, are they? Maybe that's all of it. Kenneth B. Welles. I remember when he first came to town. Not even a lightbulb on upstairs. He never did have anything except his amour propre."
"And the right suitcase."
His father glanced at him appreciatively. "Yes, he had that. His father-natural gas, of all things. That certainly ran in the family," he said, a throwaway. "Anyway, things just-stalled. Maybe we ran out of steam. Maybe Welles and the rest of them learned how to block. Bills just sat in committee. After a while all we were doing was fighting them. Not politics, schoolyard stuff. And meanwhile things kept going to hell-there wasn't time." He stopped. "Impatient, you see. So I was ready."
"What did you do? Walk into some office and sign up? Like that?" Nick said, sounding more sarcastic than he intended.
"No, they come to you," his father said, ignoring the tone. "They fish. First the bait, then they play the line-it turns out that's what they did best. In those days, that's all they were doing, but I didn't see that. No change. Just recruiting."
"Who recruited you?"
His father stopped and looked toward the fortress walls. "Names. Well, what difference does it make now? He's dead. Richard Schulman, a teacher at Penn. He was never exposed. You're the only one who knows this," he said, his voice suddenly conspiratorial.
Nick looked at him. "It was thirty years ago," he said. "No one-"
"Cares," his father finished. He shook his head. "Old battles. Still, it's not easy, you know, even now, giving names. Anyway, he kept in touch. He came to Washington now and then. We had dinner. I think he saw I was — what? Discouraged. Ready for something else. It was a long process. A seduction."
His father smiled. "Like the Brits? No, he had four wives. I think he changed them if they got suspicious. None of them knew, not even them. I think that's what he liked, the secrecy. Of course, in my case it made sense, being a secret member. If you were in government, you couldn't be public. That's how it started. We were secret for my protection, so I could keep the job. At least I didn't have to go to the meetings," he said lightly. "Self-criticism, that was the thing then, you know-all that breast-beating. I heard the stories later. I don't think I would have made it through that, so it's just as well."
He glanced at Nick, expecting him to be amused, but Nick was still looking at the ground, waiting. "So. I was in place. Secret and in place. What else could the next step have been? It started with the trade agreement. We were being stupid about that-still trying to collect old war debts. Anyone could see the Soviets didn't have that kind of money to spare. They couldn't rearm against Germany without hard currency. But the talks just dragged on and on."
"So you decided to give them a push."
"Yes, a push. A little one, to move things along. It was important for them to know how to speed up the negotiations. We're not talking about tank designs, just position papers, memos. Half the people involved had access to them. They weren't sensitive."
"Then what good were they?"
"Well, you have to understand the Soviets. They have a mania for information. It comes, I think, from feeling so isolated. During the war, they took planeloads of documents out. On the lend-lease planes-bags of them. Memos. Newspapers. Useless, most of it. Paper. But they always wanted more."
"I don't want to know what you gave them," Nick said, flustered. "What matters is, you did."
"No. It's important for you to know. For what I'm going to tell you."
Nick waited.
"It was never anything military. Office paper. Like emptying a wastebasket. Things we should have told them in the first place. Why not? We could tell England, but not them. They had to rely on-people like me. Just to know. But what could I tell them? Diplomatic reports. What Ambassador so-and-so thought, assuming he thought anything. What was the harm? I never gave them anything that would hurt us. I never had anything like that. Just my in-box."
"Your in-box," Nick said, facing him. "Is that why you sent for me? To tell me how innocent it all was? Just a little private Lend-Lease, out of the goodness of your heart? My God. Don't you think it's a little late for this?"
"No," his father said, shaking his head. "I didn't mean that. I knew what I was doing. I thought they had a right to know. It was never-innocent. The point is, I never gave them anything important."
"So why bring me out? Do you think I was Philby? I wasn't. What made me so important to them?" It was a new idea to Nick, unexpected, but his father's voice was even, the patient tone of a teacher leading him through a theorem proof. "All that trouble for me. Why?"
"You got caught."
"No. I was accused. I was never caught." Nick looked at him, picking up the odd, twisted pride in his voice. "What did they have? A salesgirl who said she knew me. Her word. My word. We could have beat it," he said, a lawyer again, still preparing the case.
"The papers said she had more."
His father waved his hand, an easy dismissal. "What more could she have? She was the messenger. That was Welles grabbing a headline. He did that, you know. On Fridays. By Monday people would forget he hadn't actually told them anything. He was just trying to turn up the pilot light, make that poor girl think he had something. Shake her up a little and see if any more came out. It's been known to work. Anyway, this time it went with her. But he didn't have anything."
"Maybe she'd already talked to him."
"No, we'd have heard. Why would he keep it to himself? It cost him, that hearing. Smoke and no fire. People get fed up. He started looking like a bully. She didn't tell him anything about me. She couldn't have-there was nothing to tell. She sold the shirt, I left the papers. That's all there was to it. Simple. Nothing to connect either of us. Of course, one way or the other, after the hearing I'd be out of business. That kind of spotlight doesn't go away. As far as they were concerned, I was finished. But Welles was stuck-he didn't have enough to put me away. So why not just retire me? Why bring me out?"
Nick stopped, rattled. "I thought it was your idea."
"No." His father slowly shook his head. "I had no choice, Nick. You believe that, don't you?" He took Nick's elbow, a physical plea. "To leave everything- No. I thought we could sit it out." He took his hand away, dropping it with his voice. "We could have."
"What are you trying to say? That it was all a mistake? Somebody jumped the gun?" This was worse somehow, their whole lives turned around in a careless haste.
"I did think that at first," his father said, starting to walk again. "I tried to tell them. But there were orders. You didn't argue with that. Ever."
"In the phone booth," Nick said quietly. "In Union Station."
His father turned, amazed. "How did you know that?"
"I followed you."
"You followed me," he repeated. When he looked at Nick, he softened, as if he could see a child's face again. "Why?"
"I knew something bad was happening. I thought, in case-" He stopped, surprised to find himself embarrassed.
"In case," his father said, still looking at him. "So I made you a spy too." Then he smiled. "A better one, it seems. I had no idea."
"You weren't looking."
"We're supposed to, you know," he said wryly.
Nick shrugged. "People don't see kids. You had things on your mind." He saw him again, in the herringbone coat, walking slowly up the hill, looking down at the snow, preoccupied. "Is that when you decided? After the phone call?" As if the chronology mattered.
"I didn't decide, Nick. I did what I was told."
"But if Welles didn't have anything?"
"We didn't know that then, only later. I suppose I believed him too. That there was something. I didn't want to go to prison." He stopped, turning. "So I went."
"Without us," Nick said, picking at it.
"Yes. Without you. It was usual to have the families follow. Like Donald's."
"But we didn't."
"No. Did I think your mother would come? I don't know. At first I hoped, but I never heard. And then-well, by that time I knew Moscow better. It was the terror all over again, until Stalin died. No one was safe. War heroes." He snapped his fingers, making them vanish as casually as the black cars in the night. "Even Molotov. He denounced his wife. The fool thought it would save his job. She spent seventeen years in the camps. Soviet justice." He turned to Nick. "It was no place for you. I didn't want you there, can you understand that? It would have killed your mother, that life. Later, when things got better-" He spread his hands. "You were already someone else."
They had made a circle through some trees and were heading back to the fortress, to the stillness. The guard had left his post and in their absence was inspecting the car, running his hand along the smooth finish as if it were an exotic animal.
"It's clearing," his father said, looking up. "We'll have sun."
"Then let's finish."
"Yes." He stopped, touching Nick's elbow again. "A moment."
The words sounded translated. Nick looked at him quickly, wondering whether the walk had tired him. Or was he trying to keep a distance from the guard? But his face, lost in thought, showed something else: an old man trying to find his place in a prepared speech.
"So why bring me out?" he said finally, picking up the thread. "The propaganda? That was part of it. Just being there. They like to show us off. Like the Africans they bring to the university. Living proof. Marx is everywhere-even in the jungle. No color bar in the International. Of course, the people think they're savages-they just stare at them in the metro-so who's fooling whom?" He paused, catching himself. "But they never used me that way."
"They gave you a medal."
"Yes. One press appearance, then no more. A lot of trouble to take, don't you think, for a minute on the stage?"
"They had to help you. Isn't that part of the deal?"
"For a Russian, yes, they would do that. But the rest of us — it would depend on what we knew. And what did I know? So why take the chance, if I was being watched, for instance?" he said, glancing slyly at Nick. "Someone had to get me out. Why put anyone at risk? Why not just leave me to the wolves?"
"Okay, why?"
His father looked at him, his eyes burning, finally there. "To protect someone else."
For a moment Nick was silent, trying to take it in. "Do you know that?" he said quietly.
His father nodded. "I've had a lot of time to think about it. At first you flatter yourself-you want to believe you are important. But I wasn't. It was never about me, Nick, what happened. It was always about someone else."
Nick stared at him, so carefully led to the point that now he felt pinned by its sinking inevitability, the event of his life reduced to an accident. Not about them at all.
"Who?" he said.
His father began to walk again, his voice slipping back to its instructor tone. "Well, who did I know? The logical person was Schulman. It fit. He recruited me. He must have been valuable to them. He would insist on being protected. Richard Schulman. I didn't know it was possible to hate someone that much. During the bad times I had that to hang on to. He'd get caught-it would happen to him, too. It didn't, though." He took a breath. "Which was just as well. It wasn't him, you see. It was someone else."
"Who?" Nick repeated.
"That's what I want to find out."
For an instant Nick wondered if his father was all right, his anger finally curdled over the years into an old man's obsession. "Find out? How?"
"The woman is the key. I was sent away and she-died. So someone would be safe. Schulman? No. It should have been him, but he died too." He glanced at Nick. "Quite naturally — later. There was no question about that. I saw the coroner's report."
Nick looked at him, appalled. How long had his father been working out his old puzzle, playing detective while his life passed by? Then he saw himself in London, arranging index cards like clues.
"So," his father said, a blackboard pointer in his voice, "a new question. Who else did she know? Who recruited her?"
They were almost at the car now, and Nick turned to him, away from the guard. "Does it matter anymore?" he said gently. "So many years. Maybe he's dead too."
His father shook his head. "No, you don't understand. It does matter. He's still there."
The guard, no longer shy, called over to them in rapid Czech, and Nick stepped aside when his father answered, jarred by the sudden volley of foreign words. Even the familiar voice seemed different, guttural and slurred. He looked at him, half expecting to see his face changed too, broad and Slavic.
"He wants to know what it can do on the highway, how fast," his father said.
"I don't know," Nick said, his mind elsewhere. "What do you mean, he's still there?"
"Later," his father said quietly, then spoke in Czech again, affable now, sharing a foreign joke. Nick watched the guard widen his eyes, then shrug. "I told him ninety easy before it starts to rattle. He says his Tatra would fall apart." The guard gave the car an admiring pat. "I think you've made a convert to the West."
"Stop it," Nick said, annoyed at his tone.
"Just smile and get in the car," his father said, almost under his breath, and then spoke Czech to the guard again. Nick watched them chat for a minute, idle car talk outside the old camp walls, and felt again how surreal ordinary life was here. The past wasn't forgotten, just ignored. Down the road, little girls had played in a pool.
"Never leave a bad impression," his father said, getting in the car. "People remember."
Nick put the car in gear and pulled away. "How do you know he's still there?"
His father lit a cigarette. "Because I've been following him. Every agent has a pattern."
"Following how?"
"Well, at first by accident," he said, blowing smoke, easing into it. "We always acted alone in Washington. Burgess staying at Philby's house-that kind of thing would have been impossible for us. We never knew each other. I had my contact, my control, at the Russian embassy, and that was it. No one else."
"Then how do you know-"
"The code names. They liked to group us-it's a convenience. Fish. Birds. Mythology. Whatever came to someone's mind. I've often wondered who did that, who assigned the names. They're supposed to be completely at random, but you know how it is, someone can't help being clever. San Francisco was Babylon, Washington Carthage. Capitals of fallen empires. Some clerk's idea of a joke."
"What was yours?"
"Coal. I thought it was because of the union work, but it turned out we were all minerals. It had no significance at all. Schulman was Gold. Panning for gold? Maybe he was just first. Of course, I never had the cross-files, only the code names. But it became a kind of game to figure it out, to see whether I might have known any of them. I was pretty sure Iron was Carlson over in Commerce-the reports had his tone, just as dull as talking to him, and sure enough, when he died the reports stopped, so it must have been. Copper was someone at the Post, but I'm still not sure who. The others were mostly illegals, Soviets who were there without diplomatic immunity, so I wouldn't have known them even if I had had the cross-files. Not that it mattered. It was just a game, to help pass the time."
Nick stared ahead, amazed. A boys' game for grownups, code names and passwords.
"Of course, this was all later," his father continued. "After Josef, my embassy control, came home. At first I didn't see anything. They had me reading newspapers. I was a sort of Reader's Digest for Moscow Central. Then I got the traffic from the San Francisco residency."
"They had an office in San Francisco? What for?"
"Originally to monitor the UN conference in '45," his father said easily. "Afterward, well, some of the old GRU contacts were still there. It was useful to keep tabs on the Soviet merchant marine. Sailors had a bad habit of jumping ship once they were in Babylon. Defectors. That kept the office busy."
"What happened to them, the sailors?"
"Does it matter?" his father said quietly.
"They were found and shipped back home."
Not a game. Hunted down, thrown into ships, sent back to prison camps.
"With your help," Nick said.
His father was quiet, then sighed. "Yes, with my help. What do you want me to say, Nick? That I didn't know?"
"No," Nick said, absorbing it. "Go on."
"So Josef came back-this would be after they finally got rid of Beria, lots of changes then-and we got together. He liked a drink. I'm a political analyst, I said. Isn't it time I had something to analyze? I'm wasting my time here. No one is going to waste time now, he says. We're going to clean house. You'll see. Very important. As if it were up to him. It's the drink talking, I thought. But no, reports did start coming. They threw out half the section, Beria's goons, and Josef had everything his way for a while. He liked me, I don't know why. I never liked him much, but we don't pick our commissars, do we? I finally had some real work to do.
"Then, one day, a funny thing. Josef used to assign the reports, but he was out, so his secretary brought them straight over from cryptology. She was the type who knew everything-she came with the place. No one could ever get rid of her, not even Josef. I think maybe she had a protector. Anyway, she handed me a report and said, 'So Silver's back. Now we'll really have something,' as if I knew all about it. "Good," I said. 'It's about time.' Conspirators, you see. And she was right-we did have something. Committee minutes. House appropriations. Much better than the other stuff I was seeing. So where did this come from? I wondered. Not Carlson. Not an illegal-the access was too good. The next day I said to Josef, 'Who's Silver?' Not that he would tell me-that wasn't allowed. But I thought he might say something, a hint. For the old network. It only took a second, that look of surprise. He shouldn't have hesitated — we live for seconds like that."
Nick thought of the guard, of his father's seamless affability, not even a second's pause.
"'There is no Silver,' he said. 'What are you talking about?' But I knew. It was that second. I showed him the report. 'Oh, this,' he said. 'That idiot in cryptology — he keeps getting the names wrong. There is no Silver.' So I went along with it-what else could I do? I waited for the next one. Of course it never came. So one day I took a report back to the secretary and said, casually, you know, 'This one's no Silver. When's he going to deliver again?' and the old cow smiled that little superior smile of hers. 'Oh, Josef Ivanovich reads those himself.' So there it was. But what? Why not let me see them? I was reading everything else. We used to cross-check the reports, to verify information when we could. Evidently these didn't need verification. Josef never said a word. I would get him drunk, talk about the old days, but never a word. The others, yes. How Carlson used to bungle the meetings. Lots of stories.
"Then one night he said something interesting. We were talking about the Cochrane woman. 'That was wrong,' he said, 'which surprised me. I thought he was talking about her being killed. Josef wasn't the squeamish type. His hands were never- Then he said, 'You can't run things that way. The postman shouldn't know anyone.' 'She knew me,' I said, thinking I'd catch him, but he just shrugged it off. 'From the newspapers.' He wagged his finger at me, I remember. 'I always said, stay out of the newspapers.' Scolding me, a joke. So we laughed. But all I could think was, she knew somebody else."
"Silver," Nick said.
"Yes. It had to be. No one else was that important. Maybe Schulman-he was a talent spotter, he would have known names, but he had a different contact. Not in Washington. She never knew him. It had to be Silver. No one in the old network was worth protecting. Not that way-killing somebody. Josef wouldn't talk about him. They were still protecting him, even from me."
"What made him so important?"
"His information. They were right-it didn't need verification. No guesswork, no mistakes."
Nick glanced over. "You got this from one report?"
"No, I saw others. I told you, I followed him. Nothing lasts forever in the service. Including Josef. He was a good man, too, as far as that went. His problem was, he was from the old days, all the way back to the Comintern, when people believed in things. He didn't grasp what it had all become. Just smoke and mirrors. And perks, if you knew how to work them. Which he didn't."
"What happened to him?"
"I don't know. We never asked."
"You never asked?"
"Does that seem strange to you? You see how long I've been here. You have to live through the terror to understand. You'd hear the cars. The next morning no one would say a thing, even the neighbors. It happened in my building once. Like a plague-no one wanted to touch the sick. You went to work. You went about your business. After Stalin died it was different, but who knew for how long? It was always better not to ask. So we didn't. People just-went away." He paused and lit another cigarette, coughing slightly. "Once a whole hockey team, the WS, national heroes. That was Vasily's pet project-Stalin's son, a drunk. Vasya ordered them to fly to Kazan in a storm, on a Politburo plane, no less. It went down. But there were no disasters in the Soviet Union, not even natural ones. So no publicity. They just disappeared, the whole team. No one said a word." He drew on the cigarette. "Vasya," he said scornfully. "His father was always cleaning up one mess or another. He tortured people, I heard. For the practice. But what could they expect, given the father? They had to wait until Stalin died before they could send him away. Then he disappeared too."
His voice had begun to drift, an old man's ramble, away from Nick, and Nick saw now that he would never know his father's other life. Even the palace gossip was as chilling and remote as whispers from outer space.
"We were talking about your boss," he said.
"Yes. Josef. Another victim. But in this case also an opportunity. Now we had Alexei, somebody's nephew, a kid. He didn't even know where the files were. Josef's secretary ran things, when he let her. He was suspicious of everybody — well, he was right to be suspicious-but he trusted me. An American defector. I'd be the one person who'd never have his job. So I helped him. Among other things, I told him that the Silver reports were supposed to come to me, no one else. Of course, it was his department now, and if he felt it would be better to change the procedures- He didn't. He brought me the first one himself, like a puppy. So I followed Silver."
"Who was he?"
His father shook his head.
"You never figured it out?"
"Neither did Hoover. But I knew where. Hoover showed me where."
"Strange, isn't it, to end up on the same side. We were both looking for him. And he helped me." A small smile, a twist of history. "You see, I thought it had to be somebody I knew. The mind plays these funny tricks when you don't know where to look. You turn things over and over-you suspect everybody. Everybody. Your best friend. Why not? He took my wife. Or your housekeeper." He nodded. "Even Nora. Imagine. The best one was Welles himself. Just the kind of elaborate bluff the comrades would like."
He stopped and shook his head. "So much time wasted. Then Hoover showed me. I got some of Silver's early reports, the ones Josef had kept to himself, and that's when everything began to fall into place. After I left Hoover went on another witch-hunt, this time internal. Right through the Bureau. Now that was interesting. He had never done this before, at least that we knew. So how did we know now? I studied those reports over and over. You see, we'd never been able to crack the Bureau. And now here it was, details, how he was turning the place inside out, what he was thinking. Not low-level information-someone close to him. And everything else began to make sense. The access everywhere, not just one department. The personal information-who else had files like that? Why he had to be protected-Dzerzhinsky would have done anything to keep someone close to Hoover. A prize. And that hunt, for Hoover to go after his own-I know what that's like. It's always the worst fear in the service, a renegade agent, someone who knows. Now it made sense why it was so hard for me to track him. The others, they'd reveal themselves one way or the other. You can't imagine the mistakes. They don't follow their own rules. Sometimes, by accident, even their own names, or their colleagues'. But Silver was different. He was a professional, careful. Nothing to indicate where he was. But when Hoover knew, then I knew too. He was there. Our man in the Bureau. If it hadn't been for Hoover, I never would have known where to look."
"But you said there's always a pattern."
"To the reports, yes. A certain style. But never how he knew. The others, they made regular reports, even when they had nothing to report. But with Silver, months would go by. No unnecessary risks. Then, when he had something, there'd be several in a row, all complete. Then nothing again. You had to wait. When he stopped, I didn't know it for months. I kept waiting. But he was gone."
"What do you mean, he stopped?"
"No reports. No documents. It got to be a year. That's a long time. I thought he was dead, or Hoover had finally got him and covered it up. What else? The others were all gone, one way or another. He had a long run, longer than most. People get caught, or die. Schulman. Carlson. Now Silver. It was the logical thing. You don't retire, you know."
"You did," Nick said.
"I wasn't in the field," his father said smoothly. "Just an office worker. With a pension. In the field it's different. You keep going until something happens. But he was never caught. We would have heard that. He had to be dead."
"But he wasn't."
"No. I didn't know for years. Of course, I wasn't in a position to know. They reorganized the department again. I had other things to do. But I could still hear the gossip, and I never heard anything."
"Then how do you know he's still there?"
"The secretary again. What was her name? You'd think I'd remember. Pani Know-it-all. She finally retired, just before Christmas. They gave her a party." He caught Nick's surprise. "They have parties, you know, just like everyone else. A big one this time. Toasts all night. Sturgeon. For a secretary. Maybe they wanted to make sure she wouldn't come back. Anyway, they invited all the old crowd, those of us who were left."
"This was here?"
"No, in Moscow. I was there at the time."
"It's not important, Nick," he said, impatient at the interruption. "Anicka had to go. I'm not in prison. I'm allowed to travel."
"That's right. I forgot. You have a medal."
"Yes," he said quietly. "A medal. All the privileges. They gave the secretary one too. Not Lenin," he added quickly, as if it mattered, "just a service medal. She wore it all night. Pinned here." He put his hand on his chest. "She was glad to see me. Sentimental. You know how those things are. The good old days. My God, the good old days-Beria. We saw the best of it, she said. Nonsense like that. Tears even, with the drink. So what can you do? You play along. 'It won't be the same without you,' I said. I wonder if she thought I meant it. I suppose so. What else did she have then? A room somewhere out in Sokol? Her medal? 'You were the last.' And she nods, the cow. Yes, yes, we were the last. She takes my arm, all tears-I thought she was going to kiss me. 'Now there's only Silver,' she says. 'He never stops.' I remember she had my arm and it jerked-I couldn't help it. 'I thought he was dead,' I said. 'Him?' She just shook her head, Miss Know-it-all again. 'Not him. He's too clever for them. Not like the ones they have now. Amateurs. Not like the old days.' As if it had been different then," he said to Nick. "What did she think we were? 'I can't believe it,' I said. 'All this time.' She patted my arm, like a child. 'Yes, just like before,' she said. 'Just like before. They don't retire him.' And I knew then she'd been forced out-she wanted to die at her desk, I suppose. In the saddle. Nina, that was it. Her name." He smiled to himself, as if remembering it had been the point of the story.
"And was he?" Nick said. "Still there?"
"Oh, yes. I checked. I still have some friends inside-I saw one of the reports. She was right. It was the same. Same style, same name. So I knew he was operating again. He's still there, Nick. The one who sent me here. And now I know how to get him. Not Hoover. Me."
Nick waited, but his father seemed to have finished.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"So you would know it's not just for me. In case-" He hesitated. "I didn't know if you would do it for me."
Nick felt the soft words like a slap. In case.
"Do what?"
"I told you. I need your help. To come out."
"You can't be serious."
"Yes. It's possible."
"What am I supposed to do? Hide you in a trunk and drive across the border?"
"No," his father said steadily. "I would never put you at risk, never. You believe that, don't you? I want you to take a message, that's all."
"That's all," Nick repeated dully.
"Something for your country," his father said. "Call it that. You were a soldier. You were willing to-now, just take a message. I can expose Silver. It's important. Do it for that, not for me."
Nick was quiet, following his father's logic. "Sort of a patriotic act," he said finally, his voice unexpectedly sarcastic. "One for our side."
"Yes, one for your side."
"And whose side are you on now?"
He meant to provoke, unable to stop himself, but his father just shrugged. "Sides. We both lost this war. What was it all about-does anybody know? Like the statues. Hussites. Catholics. No one remembers. What war?"
"You're living behind barbed wire."
His father shook his head. "It's over. Look at us here. All those ideas. Pan-Slavism. Only twenty years ago. Now look. There are half a million troops in Czechoslovakia. We're at war with ourselves. No idea survives that. And America. Communists in the State Department. Now Communists in Asia. They don't know it's already over. We're fighting our children now. That's how it's ending for both of us."
Nick said nothing, surprised at the outburst. What had he been like young, before everything turned to disappointment?
"Then let it go. Make peace."
"I can't," his father said, quiet again. "I can't let it go. For me it's personal." His voice picked up, ironic. "But for you. A spoil of war for your side. I owe that much."
Nick lowered his voice, sensible. "You can't go back, you know. It's impossible."
"No," his father interrupted, "it's possible. I have it all worked out. I can make it worth it to them."
"Is it worth it to you? To go to prison? They're all still there. Welles, all of them-Nixon's the President, for God's sake. There was a Communist in the State Department — you. Do you want to go through all that again?"
"I won't go to prison," he said calmly. "I'm an old man. Aside from anything else, there's the statute of limitations. That ran out a long time ago. Anyway, I was never charged with anything. Who's going to charge me now? The witch-hunts are over. Nobody wants that again."
"Yes, they do. You were a spy. You said so. In public."
"And now they'll have a bigger one, brand-new. It can work, Nick. I'm not asking them to roast a fatted calf. Just make a quiet deal. They will."
"It won't be quiet," Nick said, seeing the flashbulbs.
"Maybe they'll like that. Who knows? Nobody's ever asked to come home."
Nick felt the sinking sensation again. The almost jaunty self-importance. The old game. One for our side. Brass bands and bunting. But that was now a country of the imagination, as distant as an old grudge. Maybe it happened like that. Maybe after all the years of dingy streets and bad clothes, America began to be a dream. He didn't know he'd been forgotten.
"They'll never let you go. Here."
He turned to Nick. "That's the risk. But I can do it."
"I'll come see you," Nick said, a last try. "It's easy for me. You don't have to risk anything. We can start over."
His father was quiet. "I don't want to die here, Nick. Not here." He placed his hand on Nick's arm, a reassurance, not a plea. All worked out. "We'll talk more," he said, patting him. "Take that next turning, by the plum tree."
The tree, heavy with blossoms, had scattered white markers over the one-lane road. Nick thought of Hansel's pebbles, leading deeper into the forest. A mile later, they forked onto a narrower dirt road dotted with mud puddles.
"It's almost time for lunch," his father said, glancing at his watch. "I didn't realize."
"What kind of message?" Nick asked, still absorbed.
"Not now," his father said quickly, as if they could be overheard. "And nothing in front of Anicka."
"She doesn't know?" Nick said.
"No. It could be dangerous for her."
"Why does she think I'm here?"
"I wanted to see you, before it's too late. It's natural."
"Yes," Nick said flatly. A cover story.
"She'll be worried," his father said. "She worries when I'm late."


text:
Bathroom Cabinet With Mirror And Lights
WHY DO YOU NEED A BATHROOM MIRROR WITH LIGHTS. Fab Glass and Mirror Bathroom Mirror Cabinet with LED. Illuminated Bathroom Mirror Cabinet. Modern Lighted Bathroom Mirror Cabinet With Standalone. LED Bathroom Illuminated Cabinet with Over Mirror Light. oak medicine cabinet with lights Roselawnlutheran. Bathroom Medicine Cabinet with Mirror and Lights. Top Mean Bathroom Side Mirror Glass Wall Magnifying With. Mirror Medicine Cabinet With Lights. bathroom cabinet with mirror and lights

subset: commoncrawl


text:
You have no items in your shopping cart.
Soft Ice Packs
Soft Ice Packs are microwaveable at a medium heat setting. When used as a heat pack, Soft Ice retains its consistency and does not become a liquid. Store the Soft Ice Packs in the freezer. Remove when ready and insert directly into the wrap. Position over the targeted area and secure with hook and loop tab closure.
-Please Note that Doctors typically recommend the application of cold or heat therapy not exceed 20 minutes at a time. Allow 20 minutes between applications.
Soft Ice Ankle Wrap holds two 3" x 6" Soft Ice Packs around your ankle or foot. Relieve your ankle or foot pain.


text:
MOTHER IS A VERB An Unconventional HistoryBy Sarah Knott
The other day, a woman stopped me to ask if I had been eating watermelon seeds. I looked at her blankly until she pointed at my very pregnant belly. "Oh!" I said. In 1753, I might have turned to her and agreed that "I am as Fleshy and Fresh that you ever saw me!" Or a hundred years before that, I might have clarified that actually, I was bagged, bound and teeming with child. But such bodily, lusty terms went out of fashion in the Victorian era, the historian Sarah Knott explains in her new book, "Mother Is a Verb." Privileged women of the 1800s preferred to elevate rationality and sentimentality — their minds, not their flesh. Out went all the physical descriptions. Now women with rising aprons experienced "the first pledge of matrimonial love," and awaited their "little stranger." Even the working classes preferred euphemisms, though theirs were decidedly better: "in the pudding club," or "up the duff." Given the watermelon comment, not a lot has changed.
But of course, so much has changed, especially if you look back hundreds of years, tracing the origins of contemporary mothering. Knott, a professor at Indiana University, uses her own path to motherhood, which includes a miscarriage and two successful pregnancies, as the scaffolding for her engaging and pleasingly radical "unconventional history" of this subject. She's not interested, really, in what patriarchal culture has historically envisioned motherhood to be. Instead, she seeks out a truer, detailed set of accounts: the micro-histories. She combs through letters, diaries, anthropology field notes, doctor's notes and memoirs to create a "trellis of tiny scenes" that illuminate what mothering truly entailed throughout the last four centuries. "Conceiving, miscarrying, quickening, carrying, birthing," she writes. "And then, cleaning, feeding, sleeping, not sleeping, providing, being interrupted, passing back and forth. These make up the visceral ongoingness, the blood and guts of being 'with child.' The verbs." So these are the subjects she covers.
Simply put, the book is a joy to read, borne of raw curiosity and intelligence, nurtured into the world to fill a gap in understanding. I tend to toss mom books into the Goodwill bag faster than my daughter's outgrown clothes. I want to know everything about the complete physical and spiritual metamorphosis I went through when I had my first daughter, and that I am soon to undergo again, as well as everything about how best to parent, but so many books confidently opine about subjects that barely apply to real life (my real life: a NICU baby with reflux who wouldn't nurse or sleep), or they elevate someone's idea of mom humor, or they leave a mother wondering why so many of the books geared toward her assume childbirth came with a partial lobotomy.
Of course, there are exceptions, books that take the intelligence of mothers seriously, including Emily Oster's overview of seminal pregnancy studies, "Expecting Better," Daniel Siegel and Mary Hartzell's "Parenting From the Inside Out" and Anne Enright's sharp and witty essay collection, "Making Babies."
Knott's book sits among these spicy, smart selections in my bedroom now. It's a deeply human book, imperfect by design. There's a richness to some details, a paucity to others, and the unevenness highlights an essential fact about the history of motherhood: It has not been methodically recorded. "The richest records, such as letters and diaries, often stop exactly as they are getting interesting," she notes. "A piece of correspondence is left off, midsentence, the letter writer called away by a cry, or a diary suspends, because both hands are needed to hold the baby."
Knott revels in the details she strings together, imagining the "quickening" of Lady Castlemaine, King Charles II's mistress. (Quickening, another term for the first "signs of life," used to be the first real indicator of a viable pregnancy.) She sets Castlemaine in London in winter, in a "teeth-rattling carriage that conducts her along … filthy pebbled streets," describing the buildings, the clothing. She imagines a minister's wife in 1640s East Anglia, hearing her husband cough through the thin walls as she labors (men were not allowed into the birthing room), knowing that he believed her labor was "punishment for Eve's sin … to be patiently borne." She describes the birthing osi of Cherokee women in the 1700s, wattle-and-daub cabins where laboring women heard maternal myths while held by other women as their babies came. She offers these images and scenes with limited editorial direction, her implicit trust in her readers a mercy in itself.
Often the details provide a stark reminder of how much has changed. In the 1600s, wet nurses were frequently recommended to women who could afford them. Poor women might take in several babies at a time, living with and nursing them for months, until Victorian ideas took hold about nursing and mother-child bonding. Then, wet nurses became domestic servants, living among the wealthy and frequently leaving their own children behind. Knott tells the story of one Irish wet nurse, employed by an upper-class Victorian woman in Massachusetts. Her own baby, left in the hands of someone else, became ill, and she sought to resign. The panicked employer arranged for the nurse's baby to live with them. But she provided subpar servant's quarters, and the wet nurse's milk dried up from stress. She lost her job. We have no idea what became of her baby.
Such stories can help readers place their own beliefs and customs in cultural and historical context. The hardships and ethical impurities of the past complicate any rosy notions of how motherhood used to be. Yes, Cherokee women could rest assured that their female family would take the baby in immediately and breast-feed it should they die in childbirth. On the other hand, it was much more likely in those days that they would, in fact, die in childbirth. And no, those long-ago mothers didn't always nurse their babies effortlessly, basking in the oxytocin and dispensing immune-system benefits with ease. They frequently exploited poorer women to do the hard labor for them. Knowing the complexity of our collective history might empower new mothers who, like me, struggled mightily with things that were supposed to be "innate" and "natural." Mothering, Knott's project suggests, has always been a distinctly cultural act, both noble and flawed. Using formula may not be ideal in today's "breast is best" landscape, but it beats trying to keep a baby alive on a diet of fish roe and liquor, or exploiting a wet nurse who must abandon her own children to feed yours.
But Knott doesn't glorify the present, either. British herself, she longs for her mother, far from Indiana, and notes with painful precision the pitfalls of modern mothering: isolation and lack of support. She mentions the women in her community group with only six weeks of leave, struggling to find care for their tiny infants. She longs for the N.H.S. and reflects, after reading of all the sisters, nurses, tribes and "othermothers" of yore: "In this small American city, we are left to our own devices. Who watches our upheaval, makes sure we survive and thrive?"
With this excellent tribute to the past, complete with dispatches from her very raw, real postpartum present, Knott provides a partial answer to that question: We have to contribute our own intellect and gifts, in order to look out for one another.B:
【车】【轮】【滚】【滚】,【李】【俊】【和】【宗】【爱】【柔】【握】【手】【而】【坐】,【在】【这】【个】【浪】【漫】【的】【春】【天】,【他】【终】【于】【做】【出】【了】【一】【个】【惊】【天】【动】【地】【的】【决】【定】。 【他】【要】【让】【位】! 【那】【日】,【从】【大】【明】【宫】【走】【出】【来】,【当】【他】【看】【到】**【基】【咄】【咄】【逼】【人】【的】【眼】【神】【的】【时】【候】,【他】【就】【知】【道】,【一】【旦】【他】【登】【上】【皇】【位】,【一】【场】【争】【夺】【就】【立】【刻】【会】【拉】【开】【帷】【幕】。 【他】【不】【愿】【再】【看】【到】,【兄】【弟】【相】【争】,【相】【残】【的】【景】【象】,【既】【是】【如】【此】,【不】【如】【趁】【着】【你】【好】【我】
【风】【卷】【沉】【沙】【起】,【云】【化】【雨】【落】【地】。 【地】【面】【上】【狂】【风】【吹】【散】【水】【汽】【席】【卷】【两】【岸】,【天】【空】【中】【已】【有】【水】【滴】【落】【下】,【黑】【云】【压】【顶】,【银】【龙】【翻】【腾】,【奏】【响】【大】【自】【然】【的】【战】【鼓】,【照】【这】【趋】【势】,【不】【出】【一】【分】【钟】,【佐】【助】【就】【会】【举】【手】【高】【喊】【一】【声】【宇】【智】【波】【遗】【孤】【请】【求】【支】【援】,【然】【后】【麒】【麟】【洗】【地】,【水】【解】【氢】【氧】,【被】【火】【点】【燃】【又】【变】【成】【水】,【战】【场】【弥】【漫】【起】【氤】【氲】【的】【臭】【氧】【之】【息】。 【鸣】【人】【是】【不】【会】【给】【他】【这】【个】【机】【会】【的】。和尚心水报彩图201714【司】【机】【的】【话】【音】【还】【没】【落】【下】,【他】【就】【看】【到】【宋】【明】【一】【把】【把】【那】【扇】【木】【门】【举】【到】【了】【头】【顶】,【健】【步】【如】【飞】【的】【走】【去】【车】【里】,【轻】【轻】【的】【放】【下】。 【司】【机】【愣】【了】【愣】,【咽】【了】【咽】【口】【水】,【摸】【了】【摸】【身】【旁】【的】【那】【只】【炼】【丹】【鼎】,【给】【自】【己】【找】【台】【阶】【下】。 "【这】【个】【鼎】【这】【么】【结】【实】,【少】【说】【有】【五】【六】【百】【斤】【重】" 【宋】【少】【宗】【不】【知】【何】【时】【来】【到】【了】【炼】【丹】【鼎】【的】【面】【前】,【悄】【无】【声】【息】【的】【搬】【走】【了】。 "【我】【去】!【鼎】
"【是】【吗】?"【听】【到】【韩】【公】【子】【的】【话】,【元】【龙】【也】【是】【大】【吃】【一】【惊】,【赶】【忙】【俯】【身】【蹲】【下】。 【这】【树】【丛】【狭】【小】【仅】【能】【容】【一】【人】【藏】【身】,【没】【有】【办】【法】【元】【龙】【只】【得】【再】【次】【蹲】【在】【了】【韩】【公】【子】【身】【后】,【探】【头】【探】【脑】【的】【隔】【着】【韩】【公】【子】【向】【山】【下】【望】【去】。 【山】【下】【一】【众】【蛊】【人】【在】【面】【具】【巫】【师】【的】【带】【领】【下】,【正】【在】【慢】【慢】【向】【山】【上】【靠】【近】,【但】【似】【乎】【他】【们】【并】【没】【有】【详】【细】【确】【定】【元】【龙】【两】【人】【的】【所】【在】,【只】【有】【一】【个】【大】【概】。 【巫】
【从】【东】【吴】【那】【边】【调】【来】【的】【一】【支】【军】【队】,【大】【约】【有】1【万】【人】,【这】【一】【万】【人】【算】【是】【暂】【时】【借】【给】【孔】【明】【的】,【但】【这】【并】【不】【是】【孔】【明】【捡】【了】【一】【个】【大】【便】【宜】,【随】【行】【的】【还】【有】【周】【瑜】、【吕】【蒙】【两】【人】。 【这】【两】【人】【也】【是】【监】【视】【孔】【明】,【避】【免】【孔】【明】【让】1【万】【人】【当】【了】【炮】【灰】。 【虽】【然】【孔】【明】【从】【未】【这】【么】【说】,【但】【不】【代】【表】【他】【不】【这】【么】【想】,【反】【正】【死】【道】【友】【不】【死】【贫】【道】,【这】【么】【合】【适】【自】【己】【真】【没】【来】,【虽】【然】【多】【少】【有】【些】【龌】【龊】
【没】【想】【到】【有】【一】【天】【也】【会】【这】【样】,【以】【一】【个】【作】【家】【的】【身】【份】,【敲】【下】【这】【四】【个】【字】。 【虽】【然】【吧】,【现】【在】【其】【实】【还】【远】【远】【配】【不】【上】【作】【家】【这】【两】【个】【字】,【但】【就】【趁】【着】【这】【完】【结】【的】【奇】【妙】【心】【境】,【这】【么】【自】【我】【标】【榜】【一】【次】【吧】。 【海】【贼】【之】【曜】,【其】【实】【一】【开】【始】【写】,【目】【的】【就】【很】【明】【确】,【一】【是】【出】【于】【对】【海】【贼】【王】【这】【个】【故】【事】【的】【热】【爱】,【想】【留】【下】【感】【动】【自】【己】【的】,【并】【按】【照】【自】【己】【的】【设】【想】,【写】【出】【新】【的】【感】【动】,【二】【嘛】


text:
" I am satisfied working with Sky Lark Research. In market time he supports me a lot. He gives full satisfaction in working in equity market. "- Rajendra Verma -
" I am satisfied working with Sky Lark Research. In market time he supports me a lot. He gives full satisfaction in working in equity market. "- Rajendra Verma -
" I am very satisfied from the Sky Lark Research services one of my executive provide me very good follow up his name is Mr Aryan, he always receive my call and provide me very good profit. "- Sumit Mall -
" It has been great working with Sky Lark Research. Also a special thank you to Kirti, she supported so well with her correct and updated feedback on time "- Varun Rastogi -
5500/- Monthly
15000/- Quarterly
27500/- Half yearly
51000/- Yearly
In this service we provide intraday trading recommendations in Nifty and Bank Nifty Futures. Providing tips in Nifty and Bank Nifty requires a deep understanding of economy and fundamental factors affecting economy. The movement in Nifty and Bank nifty is not confined to a sector and requires expertise in analyzing all sectors combined together. SkyLark Research, over the years, has gained experience in analyzing broader market and Our Alliance analysts have deeper understanding of all the sectors which make nifty and bank nifty move in the intraday basis. Based on this expert research, intraday trading tips in nifty and bank nifty futures are generated for traders, to help them extract maximum returns out of intraday movement in index futures. Refer to our service features to get an understanding on how it works. Kindly note this package does not include every day calls our research analyst analyze the technical & fundamental ranges of NIFTY & BANK NIFTY Futures to delivers calls.
Security Market Investment Is Subject To Market Risk And Past Performance Is Not a Guarantee Of Future Performance.


text:
General Assisted Living System Architecture Model
Published on Sep 22, 2014
Novel information and communication technologies create possibilities to change the future of health care and support. Ambient Assisted Living (AAL) is seen as a promising alternative to the current care models so a number of researchers have developed AAL systems with promising results. The main goal of AAL solutions is to apply ambient intelligence technologies to enable people with specific needs to continue to live in their preferred environments. In this paper, we are presenting a general architecture of system for assisted living that supports most of the use cases for such system.


text:
Sorry, map view is not available right now. Please search by seller location to enable map view.
We have an Air Compressor for sale.
Approx 20 CFM
No Branding
In working order
This air compressor is in our warehouse so please feel free to pop in to inspect the machine at your convenience.
We have an excellent used condition ex RMIT, CIG TRANSTIG 180, 415V tig welder for sale.
This TIG welder is in our warehouse so please feel free to call us for more information or pop in to inspect the welder at your convenience.
Newmac Equipment is a proudly Australian owned company founded in 1983, we supply many industries with quality second hand and new products, Please add us to your favourite sellers list and visit our store when looking for quality products. We have our own web site where we regularly update our stock & have lots more engineering machinery & equipment for sale. Just google Newmac Equipment & you will find us. Call us for more information, you can also welcome to pay us a visit at our Bayswater North warehouse, see details below.
Newmac Equipment Pty Ltd,
10 Stephenson Rd,
Bayswater North,
Victoria 3153,
Our regular opening hours are
Monday to Friday 8.30 to 4.45pm.
We have a good working condition Hebco 3HP pedestal polishing machine for sale.
Call us for more information or pop in to inspect the machine at your convenience.
We have a Mobile A frame Gantry with 2 Ton block & tackle for sale.
Distance between the A frames 2.9m
Max height under the hook 2m
This gantry crane is in our warehouse so feel free to pop in to inspect at your convenience or give us a ring on for more information.
We are always interested in purchasing metalworking machinery, if you have machines surplus to requirements or you are closing down, please feel free to contact us here at Newmac Equipment
We have a very good used condition, 3 phase, Accumax PD40 geared head pedestal drill for sale.
Manual geared table rise and fall on table
Adjustable depth stop
Tapping operation with auto reverse
Coolant system
Specifications as follows:
MT4 spindle taper
Maximum drilling capacity 40mm
Variabe Spindle Speed Low range 80-460rpm High Range 480-1440rpm
table size 450mm x 600mm
Testing of Machinery Try Before You Buy
We are happy to test run machinery in our warehouse, that way it gives you piece of mind that the machine will do your job prior to purchase.
This machine is in our warehouse so please feel free to pop in to inspect the machine at your convenience.
We are always interested in purchasing metalworking machinery & surplus equipment, if you have one machine or a quantity of machines you need gone, please feel free contact us here at Newmac Equipment
The item you are attempting to add to compare is a different subtype to the items(s) in your list.
Only items of the same subtype may be compared.


text:
Oxted, Surrey, Surrey
Oxted, Surrey, Surrey
We are experts in exterior cleaning including; pressure washing, gutter clearance, UPVC cleaning, window cleaning, render cleaning, conservatory cleaning, roof de-moss and treatment, tarmac restoration and wood care. Domestic or commercial, if it's outside your property we can clean it!
Baram Qandil
5 star
Ryan Painter
Professional, reasonably priced and trustworthy. Superior exterior live up to their name. They have done an amazing job on my workplaces roof leaving myself and my bosses very happy with the results. Thank you superior exterior.
Alpa Patel
Superior Exterior provided excellent service in cleaning up a much neglected brick patio. Thank you!
Caroline Hart
Loads of Indian sandstone in paths and patios which always look a good as new when the team has been in.... fabulous service. Thank you
Rebecca Louise
Friendly professional service, would highly recommend!
Jean-Marc Morel
Great job done by Rob. Would highly recommend.
Simon Marus
Top job by Superior Exterior. Indian sandstone patio cleaned and restored to it's former glory as were the pathway stones. Highly recommended
Very efficient and I am very happy with window cleaner
Thank you Pamela, we're happy to succeed where many others have failed you!
Alex Pratt
Excellent service and result was definitely worth the money - Will definitely use again
Ed Riggs
Fantastic first class service from Rob. Polite, friendly & professional. My drive & decking came out looking like new & at a very reasonable cost. Highly recommend!!
Steve O'Hara
Superb and professional. Absolutely no hesitation in recommending you to anyone. Your knowledge and helpfulness was very reassuring, and your attention to detail puts so many others to shame. Nice one!
Marsha Gair
Excellent service. Quick to visit and quote and then complete the work. My patio looks amazing. Highly recommend.
Alison Storey
Great service from Rob. Prompt, worked hard, great communication throughout and a fantastic result. Patio and paths look like new, which is saying something given the state they started in! Highly recommend.
Nicky Payne
Rob did a wonderful job cleaning my patio. Had forgotten what the stone looked like when it was laid all those years ago! Would highly recommend Rob and his very professional attitude . Absolutely delighted with the results. More...
Katie Alexander
Rob cleaned a large patio for me. Very pleased with the job and happy to recommend.
Tony Ogden
I highly recommend.
Really impressed with the job done. Gutters, eaves, fall pipes, decking driveway and path.
I am sure to book again for next spring:-)
I wish I had decided on a professional years ago. You saved me days of suffering the annual stiff back of trying to DIY. Where as I get to enjoy the outstanding results and two spare days of leisure time a year. Result!
Thanks More...
Nick Jones
Wow! We'd not cleaned our large front red brick driveway since we moved in 6 years ago and Rob has cleaned it up better than new! Not only was the finish job exceptional, he left no mess, fairly priced and managed to do us a favour by squeezing us in as we were time pressured. Highly recommended. More...
Great job!!! Decent pricing, impeccable brick ways, on time, everything was excellent. Rob even cleaned the windows that he had splashed. I recommend this Pro.
Thank you Patrice, I'm glad you're happy with your pressure washing job. All the best
Excellent service no problems on time very tidy and reliable.
Thank you Terry. Happy to have you as one of our regular window cleaning clients!
Colette O'Donnell
I just wanted to say what a great service you provided. Very professional from quote to completion. The result was amazing. We will definitely get you back next year. I highly recommend. More...
Vicky Birchmore
Highly recommend! Very professional service
Jonathan Treagus
Cleaned around our pool and also cleaned our windows. No fuss. Polite. Professional. Really helpful nice people. Will absolutely use again and would recommend to anyone! Thanks
What do you love most about your job?
Bringing a dirty exterior surface to a fresh clean one is extremely satisfying. The surprise and delight on our client's faces keeps us striving for superb results
What inspired you to start your own business?
The freedom to be master of my own destiny, to make the business what I want it to be. Success and happiness
Why should our clients choose you?
We strive for only the highest standards and won't leave a job half done, it's all or nothing. We are reliable and honest; if we say we'll do something or be somewhere you can count on it!


text:
May 08, 2009 07:11 AM|cunver|LINK
I have successfully setup and converted the IssueTracker source code on my Vista Premium machine. Now i have a build error saying:
Error 1 Could not load type 'ASPNET.StarterKit.IssueTracker.Global'. C:\Program Files\ASP.NET Starter Kits\ASP.NET IssueTracker (CSVS)\IssueTrackerStarterKit\Global.asax 1
Well, i'm a bit unfamiliar with web programming. Any help would be appreciated.
ps: I was getting the same error when i try to connect to the web site when i first install the IssueTrackerStarterKit before i converted and build the source code. So i assume it is nothing to do with the conversion process and/or .net framework version.
300 Points
May 08, 2009 09:16 AM|Xanderno|LINK
May 08, 2009 09:58 AM|cunver|LINK
Yes, i have built the solution with VS 2005 and this is the error i'm getting (only one as of moment). I see only one dll file in the bin directory which is "ASPNET.StarterKit.IssueTracker.dll" and a .pdb file with the same name. The root direct for the
project is set up as virtual directory in IIS.
May 14, 2009 10:46 AM|cunver|LINK
I have downloaded the Issuetracker source code for the .net 2.0 from the following link;
This source code hasn't even got any global.asax.cs file. This solved the global.asax problem but now i have another problems. Seems i have a long way to have a working issuetracker.


text:
Call Us Today On: 0330 808 1074
Double Glazing Funding - UK Funding for Home Improvements
Homeowners could be entitled to Funding or Grants for Double Glazing
Home » Double Glazing Litmarsh
Are you looking to revive your house in Litmarsh, Herefordshire. Not sure what the best solution to replace your old doors is?
Now, please select from the dropdown menus below, how many windows & doors you would like us to replace.
Number Of WindowsBelow 5678910111213141516171819More Than 20 Number Of External Doors012345More Than 6
Are You A Homeowner?YesNo Reason For Changing The WindowsDraughtsLeaksNot SecureCondensationImprove The LookOther
Great You're nearly there, just complete the form to receive a detailed explanation of the Funding & Grants available to you.
If your windows have become Draughty, have started to leak, are no longer secure, or condensate you could receive quality, state of the art double glazed windows. You could Get the new windows you have always dreamed of just by replacing your old doors.
Window & Door Funding / Free windows & Doors help 2 buy window grant scheme / Best 4 Less Guaranteed
Double Glazing Funding are able to offer a number of house upgrades including bow, patio doors, bow, casement, bow. No matter where in the UK your house happens to be, double glazing funding will provide you with the first-rate double glazing installer in Litmarsh.
Read our latest guide to Double Glazing
Double glazing funding has a number of double glazing installers in Litmarsh, Herefordshire
When Selecting a double glazing fitter to install your doors it is imperative that you make sure they hold the correct permissions to accomplish your windows installation. Double Glazing Funding cut the commotion out of Selecting esteemed fitters to undertake the installation of your new windows & doors. Regrettably, there are many installation companies that do not carry the correct permissions and this gives esteemed doors installers a bad name.
Apply for grant
Double Glazing Funding
From Start to finish I've received the best service. I would highly recommend Double Glazing Funding, Because of them I've had brand new windows fitted at my home in Oaksey with a huge discount. I couldn't be happier and I would 100% use this company again for Double Glazing in Oaksey.
June 12, 2019 5/5 stars
So how much should you pay for new Windows the price may vary from fitter to fitter due to the quality of the product installed. We recommend that you pay somewhere in the middle of the average prices below.
These prices should include installation warranty you can expect to pay up to 25% more for coloured frames. It would be absurd to give exact prices without visiting the property to carry out a full survey of the windows as there are lots of options on offer that will influence the final price.
Thanks to our partnership with H2B Windows LTD we are able to offer you the opportunity to apply whether you qualify for replacement doors as part of their non-government allocation scheme in Litmarsh. It's very painless to apply, and you can find out within minutes if you have obtained funding.
It is not always appropriate to go with the cheapest option when choosing double glazing in Litmarsh although there may be some applications where the cheapest option is the best option. For example, when selecting new windows for a shed or outbuilding. When selecting new windows for your home it is important to consider paying slightly more for energy rated windows, energy rated windows will help to insulate your home and reduce your energy bills.
Litmarsh, Herefordshire, England is a Hamlet that lies in the West Midlands region it has a local government of County of Herefordshire and the local postcode sector is HR1 3.
June 12, 2019
Double Glazing


text:
Eating for Health
Monday, December 9, 2019 | 1:30 p.m. to 3:30 p.m. (in English)
Accès–Access Saint-Boniface |
Eating for Health is a nutrition education program to help you better understand healthy eating and how it relates to cardiovascular disease risk and chronic disease prevention.
This program is offered in collaboration with My Health Team.
Online registration for this program is now closed. Please call 204-940-1150 for more details.


text:
Prime Cups Large tits bounce during double penetration threesome. Lesbian bdsm a comment This video has not been commented yet. Tattooed older gets double penetration 6 min Sayreanderson -
Ads by TrafficFactory. Email Password Keep me logged in. Comments 0:
Email Send Password Already have an account? Big boobs Georgiana gets her tits fucked gonzo style on Prime Cups. Add this video to one of my favorites list: View High Qual.


text:
Fifa 15 Pack Provider
Budget $250-750 AUD
Hi i would like you to make a fifa 15 ultimate team online application. For this project you should have knowledge of fifa 15 ultimate team. I would like you to create a similar website to this one [url removed, login to view] where players transfer there coins onto an account on our website and then they open packs with the coins they added. This will require the price of players to be updated automatically every day or maybe every few days find prices here [url removed, login to view] . Should work on both xbox one and ps4. There should be multiple packs to choose from including packs like 25k,50k,100k,500k,1mil etc. It needs to be automated so that when someone wants to open a pack they choose how much coins they want to add via slider feature, then a player will be automatically listed up for them to buy, then the coins are added to the website they select there packs and can then retrieve there coins by adjusting the slider and detailing the player they listed so the automated system can buy it. Every gold rare player should be available in each pack you can find the players here http://www.futhead.com. Other website similar to the one we want to create is [url removed, login to view] The colour scheme we want are bright and simple similar to the one on the fifa-central.com. Heres a video of fifaluck website working [url removed, login to view] It needs to be programmed so the odds are in our favour i can talk to you about this later but on average we want to be making around 40% coins spent by customers being banked into our accounts.
Thanks hope you can help me and my colleagues with this project.
19 freelancers are bidding on average $782 for this job
Hello Sir, First of all, we would like to tell you how we will initialize the project with you. We insist to follow these steps before you award the project to us: - We (technical team) will review the job and More
Dear Sir. We claim to get it done perfectly for you EXACTLY in the way you want it - Kindly give we a chance and we will prove myself - Ready to prove our words, let's get it done right away and I mean RIGHT AWAY !! More
I am offering my services to do this job. I am confident that I will provide you what actually you are looking for. I am available any time that you need to discuss this posting in more detail.
Hi, I don't want to bother you with those standards offers.. so I will be going straight to the point. I'm leading an efficient team ready to make a good job for this project. Here you have the link to my profile to ch More
Hi, Whats up. I am not going to bore you with some repeated scripts that all freelancers use. I am trying to get to a point. If i write some stuffs here. I would like to know about some of your preferences. I h More
Hello, I have gone through your project description and i am very much interested in this project.9 years of experience in Adobe Photoshop,PHP,HTML5,CSS3,WordPress,Joomla,magneto,JavaGraphic Design(Logo,Flyer,Broch More
Hello There, Thanks for sharing your requirements with us. We are very much interested in doing the project as we are very much experienced in website design and development. We are expert in every HTML5,CMS/framework More
Hi, Greetings of the day...!! designs. Codes is an ISO 9001:2008 certified web site designing and development company. We have highly proficient team in designing and development. Our experienced designing team will More
Hi, I am a professional having experience in Information Systems domain for past 9 years i have pretty fine knowledge of the project summary which you have mentioned it can be done with a economic bid, which i hav More


text:
Haldol | How To Buy
Looking for a haldol? Not a problem! Buy haldol online ==> http://newcenturyera.com/med/haldol ---- Guaranteed Worldwide Shipping Discreet Package Low Prices 24/7/365 Customer Support 100% Satisfaction Guaranteed. Tags: buy haldol hydrochloride 50 mg buy 150 haldol tablets haldol echeck store hydrocortisone haldol nepal buy efcorlin want to buy haldol cheap price haldol comprar haldol buying barato on sale order on line haldol rebate order prescription haldol http://drugmedsgroup.top/haldol kopen low cost haldol haldol cheapest website without insurance how to buy haldol buy haldol in south australia haldol 20gm mail order buy haldol without doctor rx haldol overnight price per 300 want to purchase haldol where to order next haldol buy haldol and valium average price of generic haldol can i order haldol fast haldol soft delivery buy haldol cc online discount haldol ordering online buy cheapest haldol 5 mg haldol pills no rx how to purchase haldol can i purchase haldol buy cheapest online haldol buy haldol without credit card get haldol express delivery can i purchase haldol korting how to order haldol cheap haldol 300 no prescription haldol store next day delivery of haldol where to purchase next haldol #haldol where to buy next haldol order haldol safely online us haldol sales no prescription order haldol ultram haldol cod no prescription required categoriesdrugs haldol order now cod buying haldol pills haldol overnight cod no script haldol fedex cod safest site to buy haldol licensed store haldol buying selling buy haldol canadian pharmacy delivery haldol in mexico can i buy haldol thorazine price in india forum buy haldol online want to order haldol buy haldol online fast delivery buy haldol in hong kong where can i buy haldol haldol fast delivery no doctor cod saturday haldol haldol mononitrate fed ex cheap legally buy haldol order cod haldol purchase france maine buy haldol 0.25 mg need haldol discount samples online haldol buying buy haldol bulk buy haldol alprazolam haldol get legit overnight delivery haldol cod cst haldol pharmacy coupon buy haldol cod overnight haldol online store buy haldol online cheapest place buy haldol online buy haldol liniment mg online order haldol with no prescription However, the FDA reports that inside US, there is absolutely no known arrest of anyone caught getting a prescription drug from an internet Canadian pharmacy doctors office for personal use. Questions about the prescriptions are referred to the pharmacist, however the pharmacy technician handles other duties for example filling the prescriptions, stocking the shelves, cashiering, delivering medical devices, reviewing information in order to avoid drug interactions and verifying received prescriptions. Many independent pharmacies offer home overall medical aids, for example walkers and bathroom safe practices units. From some time it opens to time it closes, a pharmacy team is busy. This is why Can - Med - Global partners with pharmacies around the globe to provide access on the highest quality of over-the-counter, generic and brand drugs discounted rates. Cu transformed a fairly easy data entry service company into becoming one of the country's largest outsourcing service providers. You will either be given a call or free will happen. The survey says that if you use this kind of medicine to cure the long curable, incurable and curable diseases, the cost from the medicine will likely be about 50% lower that this brand medicine. The profession enjoys an improvement rate of 16 percent through 2018, that's higher than the normal for all occupations. The pharmaceutical industry especially cannot afford to allow its practitioners to delay or refuse treating clients due towards the perceived use of any medical device, be it a pill or even a syringe. College pre-pharmacy study as little as a day or two and will still pass the exam. However, by exercising with adequate practice pharmacy technician test questions we've got better odds of being successful. ' Sri Venkateshwara College of Pharmacy - Hyderabad. tools which are engineered by technologies, profit the medical fraternity to locate. This adds on the already heavy workload due dropping off prescriptions and phone in prescription refills.


text: Gilliatt's fourth collection of stories is perhaps her weakest--with an almost astonishing falling-off in quality from the variety and vigor of Splendid Lives (1978). Arch, brittle, dissociated nearly to the point of nonexistence, most of the twelve pieces here involve the sort of well-off, well-educated, preciously eccentric sorts who were only one small segment of Gilliatt's world before; and the narratives tend to be either cold, slightly absurdist life-histories or limp anecdotes--delivered in a deadpan, telegraphic style which now rarely delivers the oblique emotional impact of prime Gilliatt. There's the affect-less tale of shipyard-owner Stephen, who loses his wife, his wits, and his fortune--but lives through daughter Stephanie, who loves her tutor Steve. (The characters comment on the name-game throughout.) Similarly, chunks of time pass to little effect in the stiff playlet ""In Trust"" (grandparents watching their virtually parent-less, rich-girl granddaughter grow). And even when the focus is more intimate, in stories of romantic semi-attachments, the involvement remains slight: an independent-minded sculptor stews over whether to marry her dentist-lover; an American woman in London (constantly asked ""When Are You Going Back?"") finds some sense of place with a middle-aged waiter who's ""learning electroencephalography""; a young Englishwoman stands by her love for an elderly American professor of musicology (who's also a magician), despite the jealous snipings of an aging Polish ÉmigrÉe physicist; a couple's relationship intertwines with their work at a company that creates messages for fortune cookies; young lovers and old lovers meet, trade eccentricities, and more or less settle for each other. Only two stories break the mold: a surreal fable involving a Polish ÉmigrÉ who returns to his home-town and finds a doppelganger; and ""One Asks Oneself,"" in which a leftwing woman tells the life story of her semi-beloved Tory cousin--a piece with more color and texture than the rest. Throughout, of course, there are stylish satiric touches, erudite allusions, and hints of familiar Gilliatt themes. But this is coolly mannered work overall (so mechanical that you're not surprised when a catch-phrase like ""the sticks and stones of New York"" reappears, glibly, in different stories), with neither the comedy nor the pathos of this uneven writer's best fiction.


text:
Reference No : 19170656
Business Lead : Selling Offer
We manufacture and supply best quality series of Bath Towels. Also accessible in different designs. Presented array is made using best quality raw materials which are taken from reliable vendors of the industry. Also accessible as per our customers' requirements. Apart from this, these can be availed from us at affordable price range.
Material type : 100% cotton, Cotton Satin, Antibacterial Bamboo, 100% Organic Cotton
Techniques : Woven
Features : Quick-Dry
Min Order :
300 Pieces
Export Market : Worldwide
Payment Terms : L/C
Price :
Price on request
Profile / Brief Description :
Swaddle Baby Blankets
Price on request
Baby Bridal Bed Linen Set
Price on request
Baby Duvet Cover Sets
Price on request
Price on request
Mattress Protectors
Price on request
Hotel Bed Sheets
Price on request
Soft Bath Towels
Price on request
White Terry Bath Towel
240 INR / Pieces
Cotton Beach Towel
4.20 EUR / Pieces
Bath Towels
5 USD / Pieces
Bath Towels
4.70 USD / Pieces
Bath Towels
3.70 USD / Pieces
Bath Towels
1 USD / Pieces
Woven Towels
Price on request
Towels Manufacturers &
5 USD / Pieces
White Hydrophil Towels
1.05 USD / Pieces