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Gifts to Tirupur
Lovenwishes provides services to send gifts in Tirupur. We deliver gifts to Tirupur same day. One can send gifts to Tirupur. Sending gifts in Tirupur is very easy. You can place online order to deliver gifts in Tirupur from USA, gifts to Tirupur from UAE, gifts to Tirupur from UK, gifts to Tirupur from Australia. Place your online orders now to send gifts to India for same day delivery. We deliver gifts on special occasions. Visit Lovenwises.com to send valentines day gifts to Tirupur, mothers day gifts to Tirupur, fathers day gifts to Tirupur, rakhi gifts to Adyar, Diwali gifts to Tirupur, Christmas gifts to Tirupur, New Year gifts to Tirupur. We also deliver midnight gifts to Tirupur
Flowers to Tirupur
Lovenwishes is an online florists in Tirupur to send flowers to Tirupur. We deliver flowers to India. You can place online orders with us to send flowers for Tirupur. Lovenwishes.com offers a wide range of flowers in Tirupur. We deliver roses, gerbera, carnations, lily, orchids etc. These flowers are arranged in various kind of exotic arrangement. You can send flower bouquet to Tirupur, flowers arrangements to Tirupur, heart shape arrangements to Tirupur, vase arrangements to Tirupur. We ensure the order placed to send flowers to Tirupur is delivered same day. We provide quality and fresh flowers in Tirupur. On occasion, you can place order for Valentines day flowers to Tirupur, mothers day flowers to Tirupur, fathers day flowers to Tirupur, rakhi flowers to Tirupur, Diwali Flowers to Tirupur, Christmas flowers to Tirupur, New Year Flowers to Tirupur.
Cakes to Tirupur
We also deliver cake in Tirupur. We deliver fresh cake to Tirupur from one of the best bakery in Tirupur. To send Birthday Cakes to Tirupur or to send Birthday cake in Tirupur place online orders with Lovenwishes. We deliver cakes in Tirupur. We are Online Cakes shop to send Online Cakes to India. You can place order for Eggless Cakes to Tirupur, Wedding Cakes to Tirupur, Taj Cakes to Tirupur. We also provide Midnight Delivery in Tirupur. Place order for Midnight Gifts to Tirupur, Midnight Flowers to Tirupur, Midnight Cakes to India
Father's Day Gifts to Tirupur
One should not compare fathers and mother love. But father love is different than mothers. Most Fathers don't show their love to there children, they show they are strict with rule regulation but Internally a father loves his children as much as Mother. As like Mothers day 13 May, we also show our loves on Fathers day. Now show your love to your father on this father's day 17 June by sending online gifts with Lovenwishes. We offer same day delivery of father's day gifts in Tirupur. You can send watch, Shirts, Books, Flowers, and Cakes as fathers day gifts. We have Dryfruits gifts pack and fresh fruits basket as a healthy gift option. We provide the fastest gifts delivery in Tirupur so give surprise to your father by sending an online Fathers day gifts to Tirupur. Flowers are the best gift option for any occasion, so send beautiful flower bouquets, basket or vase with cakes as fathers day gifts to India.
Christmas Gifts to Tirupur
This year on Christmas, send Christmas Gifts to Tirupur. Christmas is celebrated on 25th December every year. In Tirupur, Christmas is celebrated with great joy. On this day, people celebrate a real event that happened 2000 years ago. On Christmas, Church plays an important role in celebrations. Churches start planning their celebrations and masses while people start planning food and decorations. On Christmas, people exchange gifts among them. They place order for online Christmas Gift Delivery in Tirupur. Lovenwishes.com offers wide range of Christmas Gifts in Tirupur. You can send Christmas Trees, Christmas Cakes, Christmas Decors and Christmas Flowers to Tirupur and let your loved ones in Tirupur know, how much you care for them. Place your online order to send Christmas Gifts to India and Christmas Gifts to Tirupur.
Diwali Gifts to Tirupur
Diwali is the festival of light. On Diwali people in Tirupur enlighten their houses and exchange gifts with their loved ones in Tirupur. On this auspecious occasion, Lovenwishes beings a range of Diwali gifts in Tirupur. You can browse the site and place online order to send Diwali Gifts to Tirupur. If you are not with your loved ones you can place order for online Diwali Gifts delivery in Tirupur. You can also place order to send Diwali Gifts to India from Tirupur. Place your order now to send Diwali Gifts to Tirupur.
Mothers Day Gifts to Tirupur
This year on Mothers Day, celebrate the motherhood by sending flowers and gifts to Tirupur. Say thanks to your mother for what she did for you. All the pains and suffering she went through for you. Lovenwishes helps customers send Mothers Day gifts to India. We offer a wide range of Mother's Day gifts that includes flowers, cakes, chocolates, sarees, dress materials, fresh fruits and many more Mother's Day gifts in India. For online Mother's Day gifts delivery in Tirupur, place order now.
Valentine's Day Gifts to Tirupur
On Valentine's Day, 14th February, place online order to send Valentine's Day Gifts to Tirupur for your loved fiancée, girl friend, boy friend, spouse and significant others. Convey your best Valentine's Day wish in Tirupur through Lovenwishes. We have expertise in delivering fresh flowers and cakes to Tirupur on Valentine's Day. You can send Valentine's Day Flowers to Tirupur, Valentines Day Cakes to Tirupur, Chocolate Day Chocolates to Tirupur and Rose Day roses to Tirupur. You can also place order to send Valentine's Day Flowers to India and Valentine's Day Gifts to India from Tirupur. Place your order now to send Valentine's Day Gifts to Tirupur, Valentine's Day Gifts to India, Valentine Flowers to India and Valentine's Day Cakes to Tirupur and convey the message of love to your Valentine in Tirupur. Place your order now.
Rakhi Gifts to Tirupur
On Rakhi, communicate the message of love and affection to your beloved brothers and sisters in India by sending them Rakhi Gifts to India and letting them know how much you care for them. Lovenwishes.com offers a wide range of Rakhi gifts in Tirupur and Rakhi to Tirupur. The gifts are appropriate gift choice for your siblings. Place order now to send Rakhi Gifts to India and Rakhi Gifts to Tirupur.
Send Gifts to Tirupur, Flowers to Tirupur, Cakes to Tirupur
Send Flowers to India
Gifts to Tirupur
Flowers to Tirupur
Cakes to Tirupur
Diwali Gifts to Tirupur
Diwali Flowers to Tirupur
Diwali Cakes to Tirupur
Diwali Gifts Delivery to Tirupur
Send Diwali Roses to Tirupur
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Midnight Gifts to Tirupur
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Midnight Cakes to Tirupur
Gifts to Tirupur
Cakes to Tirupur
Flowers to Tirupur


text: Hello all, This is a preliminary announcement, due to change of date (next week, not today, not April 12th as published earlier) and location (Taub 8). Also, please note that the lecture queue is almost empty. Feel free to propose talks to webmaster at haifux.org. This is a great opportunity to learn a new subject and to contribute to the community! Thanks Orna. --------------------------------------- On Monday, March 15th at 18:30, Haifux will gather in room Taub 8 (note change of place) to hear Shimon Panfil, Ph. D. (http://industrialphys.com), talk about: Scientific programming with modern Fortran Abstract Fortran is the most known language for scientific and engineering problems. However growth of popularity of C/C++,Java, Matlab etc has shadowed the development and mere existence of Fortran from wider community. Situation may change know. Fortran 2003 standard provides all language features, one expects from modern programming language and gfortran which replaced g77 in gcc starting from version 4.0 implements this standard. Slides are already available from http://haifux.org/lectures/231/ . ================================================================= We meet in Taub building, room 6. For instructions see: http://www.haifux.org/where.html Attendance is free, and you are all invited! ================================================================== Future lectures: 12/4/2010 Omer Boehm, Genetic Algorithms ================================================================== We are always interested in hearing your talks and ideas. If you wish to give a talk, hold a discussion, or just plan some event haifux might be interested in, please contact us at webmaster at haifux.org ~ ~ ~ ~ -- Orna Agmon Ben-Yehuda. http://ladypine.org -------------- next part -------------- An HTML attachment was scrubbed... URL: http://hamakor.org.il/pipermail/haifux/attachments/20100308/6c76b964/attachment.htm

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PM, President resolve to ensure social justice for every citizen
In his massage, Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif reiterated the resolve to ensure freedom, equality and social justice for every citizen of Pakistan as enshrined in the teachings of Islam.
He said the government has taken landmark initiatives to safeguard the minorities living in Pakistan and empower Pakistani women.
The Prime Minister expressed optimism that our collective efforts based on plurality, equality and justice would make Pakistan a state as dreamt by Quaid-i-Azam Muhammad Ali Jinnah.
President Mamnoon called for promoting the spirit of tolerance and patience which are the fundamentals of democracy.
He said it is an unfortunate reality that terrorism has affected all segments of the Pakistani society while the whole nation is united against this menace.


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One topic that never ceases to amaze me is the manipulation and editing of images. It's a fascinating world at which I stare at in awe. But when I open Photoshop to give it what feels like the quadrillionth try, I turn away in disappointment within minutes because I simply don't have the patience and determination it takes to master a professional image editing program. CorelDraw may be an exception, I've actually grown quite used to it.
So when I ran across Splashup, an online image editing tool, I was fascinated by a very well designed website. I hope they made it all using their own application. Well, probably not. Anyways, when I opened Splashup I was a little turned off. It looks a lot like Photoshop and it also works a lot like Photoshop. Needless to say, it comes with only a small fraction of Photoshop's features, and turns out to be quite valuable even for the novice user.
You can "jump right in" without signing up, but of course membership has its advantages. You can save your images locally and continue working on them later on.
You can start with a blank image or open images from your browser, your Splashup, Facebook, Flickr or Picasa accounts or using a mundane URL to an image of your choice.
To open images from Facebook, Flickr or Picasa, you first need to authenticate and allow Splashup to connect to your account on the respective site. For Flickr, a successful authentication will look like this:
Once you're happy with your image you can also save it back to any of the above mentioned accounts, with the exception of "http" that is, and of course you can download it to your computer. But we're not that far yet…
The canvas opens in a separate window, so it's almost like running a separate program, only this one runs within your browser. You can even go full screen and give your full attention to the program.
As you may be able to guess from the screenshot above, Splashup works with layers, the Photoshop-typic feature that probably makes the program both most useful and most annoying. I'm not a great fan of layers the way Photoshop deals with them, but I know many people find them quite helpful, if not indispensable.
I'm assuming that most of you will recognize the standard tools, what they can do and how to apply them, so I will not go into great detail here.
What I found a bit confusing though is that boxes, circles, and polygons added to a layer will melt with it and can not be selected or moved afterwards. You can however fill them with a different color, which seems a bit awkward to me. It's been a while since I used Photoshop CS, but that's a drawback I don't recall. In other words, if you don't want to mess up a layer, create a new layer for every new thing you add.
Splashup comes with a nice selection of layer effects and filters. In the example below I created several layers of the same gradient and added (from bottom to top) gradient glow, bevel, drop shadow, and gradient bevel layer effects. I will leave the discovery of filters to your own adventurous nature.
The Layers window is one of the most powerful tools. This is not just where you control the positioning and visibility of your layers. You can also add some more effects, like changing the opacity (as seen in the example below), multiply, screen, lighten, darken, difference, add, subtract, invert, alpha, erase, overlay, and hardlight your layers in relation to each other.
There is a lot more you can do, for example capture images from any camera source connected to your computer. Whatever you do, always keep in mind that the undo option doesn't go back very far, so better save or download your work at different stages, just to be sure you won't lose anything.
Finally a bit of trivia. Splashup used to be called Fauxto and was mentioned on MakeUseOf earlier in 5 Really Powerful Online Image Editing Tools 5 Really Powerful Online Image Editing Tools 5 Really Powerful Online Image Editing Tools Read More . Interestingly enough this is undoubtedly revealed when you open the File menu. At the very bottom it still says Exit Fauxto. :)
In the opinion of the experienced Photoshop user, how does Splashup compare to Photoshop in the light of minor editing tasks? I would love to read your comments!
Leave a Reply
Can you help me Please ? I down loaded splashup as you syuggested
When I try to open picasa through splashup I grant access to google chrome but splashup can not gain access.
Is there something in the security settings I should be aware of ?
I am running Google Chrome 18.104.22.168 (36714)
On Windows Xp
Can you please help me.
very interesting..
I couldn't get SPLASHUP to work. Every time I opened an image it disappeared as soon as I clicked on it. No balloon or any other help. It's a total bomb for me.
Great info thanks. Here is drop shadow generator: dropshadowz.net Drop Shadow Generator
Howabout Sumopaint which seems to be currently the only browser based image editor that
provides functional and profefessional tools for digital painters.
Adobe released a web based photoshop called photoshop express.
It looks good, but I'm an Aviary beta user and it's looking good.
i use picnik...will try this one...sdhould have compared
It's Pain.net on the net.
Nice apps, but some bugs and missing function : the clone stamp for example that i really like (but paint.net is my friend too and online, none of the apps got it).
For the bugs, i have problem exporting a good quality jpg to my computer, everything is compress. This is bad for photography transformation because some artefacts is showing even in 100 % quality.
A nice apps, but it could be better ! But for now, online, it's the best !
For people that don't use Photoshop, you could try pic nik online, more simpler.
I'm a PS user, though not an expert.
I use PicNik.com for my basic image editing needs like cropping, resizing, resampling etc. And PS for everything else.
I love designing logos, backgrounds (which end up as wallpapers) and I don't think that SplashUp will hook me to it.
But, the whole app is seriously nice and great and hats off to the creators behind it.
Beautifully Designed and decent feature sets.
In a case where, PS is not possible, that is at some remote computer or smthng, this is a great blessing.
This killer app could become DEADLY is they added PSD support :P :P
I suppose that I'll still have to use PS for my hadrcore .tga editing for games, but this looks like it would be an excellent alternative to PS for minor GFX mashups or whipping something up from scratch. I'm definitely gonna try it out.
I gave up photoshop a few years ago and have been using gimp and paint.net.
Splashup is actually a very good useable program if I happen to be without the gimp.
And I am preparing for the Cloud. Thanks for sharing MUO!
Disclaimer: I'm not photoshop expert.
Well, I've been looking for a photoshop alternative, however I can't one that fits my needs.
I need the filter tools and actions that photoshop provides for the work I do ( I dont work with photoshop as a job just use it as a tool to enhance drawings I do ( AutoCAD ). I wish I could find a free alternative such as Gimp, but not sure if it can do the actions/filter things I need.


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Sunday, May 3, this message was posted ... Subject: Reminder: how to unsubscribe Date: Sun, 03 May 1998 08:56:18 -0700 I thought, yeah, a lot of good it will do. Will see how long it takes before the next one does it the wrong way. WELL, Monday, May 4th, THIS was posted ... Subject: unsubscribe Date: Mon, 4 May 1998 12:29:07 +0200 Didn't take too long!! People ... PLEASE READ your e-mail!!!! Sorry nothing SAREX or AMSAT related, but I don't think I'm the ONLY one getting tired of seeing how ignorant some people can be. By the way, what happened to your 7 pages of instructions on how to use the list you got, when you signed on?? OH yeah, probably didn't read that either. 73, Ron -- Ron Wetjen mailto:firstname.lastname@example.com WD4AHZ Homepage - http://home1.gte.net/wd4ahz/index.htm Sarasota Emergency Radio Club - http://home1.gte.net/wd4ahz/serc.htm Florida Contest Group - http://www.4w.com/deemer/fcg.htm Florida QSO Party - http://home1.gte.net/wd4ahz/fcg/ssqp.htm
AMSAT Home


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بررسی معماری سنتی از نظر فیزیک ساختمان: خانه های قدیمی دیاربکر
|کد مقاله
|سال انتشار
|مقاله انگلیسی
|ترجمه فارسی
|تعداد کلمات
|سفارش دهید
|2905 کلمه
Publisher : Elsevier - Science Direct (الزویر - ساینس دایرکت)
Journal : Building and Environment, Volume 42, Issue 4, April 2007, Pages 1810–1816
چکیده انگلیسی
Diyarbakır is located in the southestern part of Turkey. Traditional Diyarbakır houses are successful examples of buildings adapted to a hot dry climate. This is achieved by conforming to an old style of living and by the requirements and the use of local materials. In this study, the general architectural properties of the traditional houses of Diyarbakır, their layouts, plan types, building envelope and facade elements are evaluated in terms of building physics criteria. Today, in spite of new technological advances, techniques and materials, identical buildings are still being built, and climatic design is not considered important in Diyarbakır. As a result these buildings do not provide shade and cool spaces, and thus cause thermal discomfort, or increase in the use of energy. The aim of this study is to emphasize the importance of the features of traditional buildings in terms of designing energy efficient, to provide appropriate buildings for the environment.


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I would like to hire a Videographer
Budget $3000-5000 USD
Coveteur, one of the world's fastest growing fashion and lifestyle media brands, is looking for a talented freelance/independent videographer for high-volume video production for our online channels (web, Facebook, Instagram, and YouTube. The videographer will concept, shoot, and work with a video editor when necessary. You will be required to work with a makeup artist, 2 models, and bring a smart, fun approach and distinctly "Coveteur" style -- everything from a quick Facebook Live, to a beauty how-to, to an interview with a fashion icon, models, or celebrity.
Responsibilities and Job Details
1. You will shoot videos of makeup artists working on 2 models
2. Concept, pitch, shoot high volume of short-form videos for our channels
3. Work independently
4. Focus on storytelling, bringing our followers along with us as we explore behind the scenes of fashion, beauty, health, wellness and entertainment
5. Responsible for producing video that will resonate with our audience, and drive a high level of engagement and sharing
6. Coordinate with freelance video editor(s) as needed
7. Total budget for the gig is $12000 (videographer gets $5000 while the artists get $7000)
8. You will be required to work with a talent broker that will provide the artists and makeup artist.
1. You will deliver 2 short videos
2. Original video will be10 mins long, shortened to 5 mins after editing
3. Transfer method: Fileshare or Dropbox
4. Images delivery deadline: December 29th
1. Experience shooting video of all types, including social media
2. A natural born storyteller with a nonstop flow of creative ideas to engage video viewers
3. Knowledge and love of luxury fashion, beauty, health and wellness and entertainment
4. Expertise with a variety of cameras, mics, lighting, sound and other necessary equipment
5. Working knowledge of editing software
6. Deep understanding of the video ecosystem, distribution, competition and trends
Known for delivering stunning original content and an intimate look at luxury lifestyles and global tastemakers, Coveteur was established in 2011 as a passion project to explore the homes and closets of global street style stars and influencers. Since then, Coveteur has evolved and expanded into a global media brand, offering a behind-the-scenes look at all things fashion, beauty and culture.
If you think you're the right candidate for this gig, apply
1 freelancer byder i gennemsnit $5000 på dette job
With just my iPhone and my Macbook Pro, I'll deploy the imagination and creativity necessary to bring the best vibe out of any scene before editing the whole thing and delivering. I can create a social media followu Flere


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Nourison is a leading global floor covering company that produces extensive collections of area rugs, broadloom carpet and home accessories at multiple price points from low to mid-market to luxury. A fully vertically integrated company, Nourison oversees almost every aspect of the manufacturing process and produces over 85% of their product assortment from sustainable, natural fibers. Their quality, extensive inventory and speed to market has made them valuable partners in the home furnishings and hospitality industries. Their product assortment includes licensed collections from well-known brands including Calvin Klein, Kathy Ireland, Waverly, Barclay Butera, Joseph Abboud, Peanuts and more.
Nourison was founded in 1980 by the Peykar brothers in New York and still remains a family-owned company.


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You are here
Get Answers
Reason for late period?
1 answers
My husband had a vasectomy 4 years ago. I am extremely regular in my cycle, however this month I am late by 5 days now. Any other reasons besides pregnancy to have a late period? I'm 38yrs old. Thanks!
answers (1)
maybe the fact that your 38 has something to do with it. your not far from menopause.
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We wholesale best quality mohair yarn from Nepal which is soft and lovely and fun to work available assorted colors. It is the finest quality of yarns. Mohair, from the Mohair goat, is a luxurious fiber highly prized for its sheen, strength and flexibility. It is characteristically resistant to soil, shrinkage, wrinkling, and is non-flammable


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The winners of this years College Photographer of the Year have been announced; and it is quite interesting to look at the winning portfolios. As can be expected, there is a correlation with the topics that people are obsessed about (sex, religion, and violence). Needless to say, that's just how most photojournalism works.
In any case, here is a list of the people/projects that struck me the most - I think you definitely want to look at all the other stuff, too (especially since there is a large "sports photography" section - I think sports photography is even less interesting than for example still lives, but that's just me).
Elyse Butler's "Sexual Tension" won gold in the "documentary" category. In this category, it's hard to pick a winner given the quality of the different projects. Check out Uwe H. Martin's "Tales from Bangladesh" and especially Evan Semon's untitled project (you need to scroll down for that on the page - this particular page isn't set up very well). I think my favourite in this category is Evan Semon's project. The story of a married couple where the husband is undergoing sex change surgery alone is very interesting; and Evan Semon did an amazing job to portray what they're going through.
In the "picture story" category, I was impressed with Krisanne Johnson's "The Old German Baptists" and Denis Rochefort's "Scene of Identity".
Lots of interesting photos can also be found on page that shows the winning images in the personal vision and the portrait categories.


text: Spring 2008, Redmond, Washington DLNA Device Implementation Edwin Heredia Program Manager Windows Devices & Media Rally Technologies www.microsoft.com/rally Digital Media Server (DMS) Rally Technologies www.microsoft.com/rally DMS Protocols and Services UPnP MediaServer Content Directory Service (CDS) Connection Manager Service (CMS) Media Streaming UPnP DA (Device) HTTP TCP/IP Wi-Fi and/or Ethernet Rally Technologies www.microsoft.com/rally CDS The CDS provides a logical structure for the media library available in the Server: Containers Collection of other containers or items Items Single entity that users perceive as one piece of content Resources Binary representation of the content (a file or a stream) DMCs and DMPs retrieve media library information from a DMS using different CDS actions Rally Technologies www.microsoft.com/rally Windows CDS (partial view) ROOT (0) MUSIC (1) VIDEO (2) PICTURES (3) PLAYLISTS (12) All Music (4) All Video(8) All Pictures(B) All Playlists(13) Genre (5) Genre (9) Date Taken(C) Folders (17) Artist (6) Actor (A) Albums (D) Album (7) Series (E) Keyword (D2) Folders (14) Playlists (10) Playlists (11) Album(7) Folders (15) Rating (101) Rating (200) Folders (16) Rating (300) Rally Technologies www.microsoft.com/rally Item and Resources One "Item" can have more than one "Resource" Example: The Item describes the movie "Terminator" Resource 1: MPEG-2 version Resource 2: WMV version Resource 3: Low res MPEG4 version Most implementations select only the first Resource (not the best approach) A good implementation selects a Resource based on Available bandwidth Native vs. Transcoded Receiver features (cell phone vs. TV, etc) Rally Technologies www.microsoft.com/rally <item ….. > <dc:title> …… </dc:title> <upnp:class> ….. </upnp:class> <res …….> URI </res> <res …….> URI </res> <res ……..> URI </res> </item> protocolInfo The most important attribute in DLNA! In a DMS, it describes all the server features per resource Divided in 4 fields: 1st Field Defines the streaming protocol (http vs. rtp/rtsp) 2nd Field Empty 3rd Field MIME type 4th Field DLNA parameters: •ProfileID • Time Seek, Byte Seek, Server-driven play speeds • Transcoding flag • Streaming, Interactive, Background flags • Others… Rally Technologies www.microsoft.com/rally CDS Actions (partial) GetSearchCapabilities GetSortCapabilities CDS By title By date By creator Etc CDS By title By date By creator Etc Search SearchCriteria Browse BrowseFlag CDS CDS Containers Items Rally Technologies www.microsoft.com/rally Optional Containers Items Windows DMS For more information about the parameters and the implementation features of the Windows DMS, please use the following document: http://www.microsoft.com/whdc/device/media/ NetCompat_WMP11.mspx Rally Technologies www.microsoft.com/rally Digital Media Renderer (DMR) Rally Technologies www.microsoft.com/rally DMR Protocols and Services UPnP MediaRenderer Connection Manager Service (CMS) AVTransport Service (AVT) Rendering Control Service (RCS) Media Decoding UPnP DA (Device) HTTP TCP/IP Wi-Fi and/or Ethernet Rally Technologies www.microsoft.com/rally UPnP Optional, DLNA required Typical sequence of operations 1. Get Media Library info 3. User selects content 2. Send me the "Profiles" that you can play (protocolInfo) 4. Pass URI & metadata for selected item; Play 5. Pause, Stop, Seek, FF, Rewind, etc 6. Adjust volume, brightness, etc Rally Technologies www.microsoft.com/rally Typical sequence of operations CDS operation 1. Get Media Library info 3. User selects content 2. Send me the "Profiles" that you can play (protocolInfo) CMS operation 4. Pass URI & metadata for selected item; Play AVT operation 5. Pause, Stop, Seek, FF, Rewind, etc AVT operation 6. Adjust volume, brightness, etc RCS operation Rally Technologies www.microsoft.com/rally DLNA upgrades for DMR/DMC DMRs return a "protocolInfo" that includes the ProfileIDs they support DMRs always have available a default connection, a default AVT service, and a default RCS service DMCs pass the content URI but also must pass associated metadata DMCs can make seek requests to a DMR using Time or Byte information Actual content seek operations and play speed operations can happen locally (DMR) or with the help of a networked Server (DMS) DMRs have the means to communicate to DMCs the list of play speeds, and the flavor of seek operations available per resource Upgrades described in recently approved documents CR13, CR58, CR155 Rally Technologies www.microsoft.com/rally List of relevant actions 1. Get Media Library info 2. Send me the "Profiles" that you can play (protocolInfo) CMS:GetProtocolInfo 3. User selects content 4. Pass URI & metadata for selected item; Play AVT:SetAVTransportURI AVT:Stop AVT:Pause AVT:Play (Speed = 1) 5. Pause, Stop, Seek, FF, Rewind, etc AVT:Play (Speed = 3) AVT:Seek (REL_TIME = 0:05:35) RCS:SetVolume Rally Technologies www.microsoft.com/rally AVT:Seek (X_DLNA_REL_BYTE = 224688) RCS:SetBrightness 6. Adjust volume, brightness, etc Certification of DLNA devices Rally Technologies www.microsoft.com/rally A sketch of the process Become a DLNA member Participate in plugfests Do internal testing; use the CTT tool Ensure compliance with pre-requisites (UPnP certification, Wi-Fi certification, etc) Contact DLNA to start the certification program Submit your device to Certification Labs After passing tests, get a DLNA Certificate A DLNA Certificate (version 1.5) will be a requirement for Networked Media Devices that apply for the new Certified for Windows Logo Program Rally Technologies www.microsoft.com/rally DLNA Certification Conformance Interoperability Test Lab - Independent Certification Vendor (ICV) Conformance Test Tool (CTT) Rally Technologies www.microsoft.com/rally Interop Testing with Test Bed Reference Devices Certification Logo and Certificate DLNA Certification Labs XXCAL Yokohama, Japan Professional Multimedia Test Centre (PMTC) Hasset, Belgium Rally Technologies www.microsoft.com/rally Allion Computer Taipei, ROC University of New Hampshire Interoperability Lab. UNH-IOL Additional Resources DLNA web site: www.dlna.org DLNA Technical Operations Manager (certification program): Andi Hall ([email protected]) Program Manager for Windows Networked Media Services: Scott Manchester ([email protected]) Program Manager for the Windows Logo program for Networked Media Devices: Kevin Larkin ([email protected]) Questions about the Windows program for Networked Media Devices: [email protected] Questions or comments about this presentation: Edwin Heredia ([email protected]) Rally Technologies www.microsoft.com/rally Spring 2008, Redmond, Washington © 2006 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Microsoft, Windows, Windows Vista and other product names are or may be registered trademarks and/or trademarks in the U.S. and/or other countries. The information herein is for informational purposes only and represents the current view of Microsoft Corporation as of the date of this presentation. Because Microsoft must respond to changing market conditions, it should not be interpreted to be a commitment on the part of Microsoft, and Microsoft cannot guarantee the accuracy of any information provided after the date of this presentation. MICROSOFT MAKES NO WARRANTIES, EXPRESS, IMPLIED OR STATUTORY, AS TO THE INFORMATION IN THIS PRESENTATION. Rally Technologies www.microsoft.com/rally


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This charming home conveniently located on State Road 18 East in Marion offers 4 rooms–3 queens, 1 king or 2 twin beds. Each room features a private bath, cable TV, telephone with dataports, fax and copier, wireless internet available. All non-smoking rooms. Spacious lawn and porch for the enjoyment of guests. Full breakfast served. Lighted off-street parking, complimentary soft drinks and snacks, and many more amenities. Centrally located, convenient to Hostess House, IWU, Marion General Hospital, Riverwalk. Special dinner packages available for your special occasions.


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At 10:02 AM 5/23/01 -0400, Margaret Leber <firstname.lastname@example.com> wrote: >Vince? What exactly is a "straight keyboard" in this context, RTTY? :-) > >73 de Maggie K3XS, Straight keyboarding is attended operation, where one operator attempts to break through APRS and beacon congestion to have a mini qso with someone else who's actually at their keyboard. A straight keyboard is also the opposite of a gay keyboard. KB7ADL ---- Via the sarex mailing list at AMSAT.ORG courtesy of AMSAT-NA. To unsubscribe, send "unsubscribe sarex" to email@example.com
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I love "The Hook" and always look forward to your episodes. In the event you get McConaughey on your show would you please teach him how to do the "Hook 'Em Horns" hand signal correctly. He does it back words therefore an entire generation of young people look funny at sporting events. Please help!
Thank you,
Episode 39 is a work of art.
Landmarks: https://landmarks.utexas.edu/


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Sports have always been a rich source of humor in Beetle Bailey. General Halftrack is an avid golfer. Sarge likes to bowl. Beetle and Sarge get in some lively games of ping pong. Team sports have also been spoofed.
This is my all-time favorite baseball gag. Jerry Dumas was a devoted fan of the game, so it was, presumably, written by him.


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T_Visionarium : A User Guide, Interactive Cinema Edition
- Jill Bennett
- 2008
- Book and DVD
Published by ZKM/UNSW Press
This book is a comprehensive analysis of the ground-breaking T_Visionarium media art project developed by Neil Brown, Dennis Del Favero, Jeffrey Shaw and Peter Weibel at the iCinema Centre, Sydney, in collaboration with ZKM, Karlsruhe. It reveals how this immersive interactive environment generates new insights into the workings and consumption of televisual media, extending the boundaries of both art and media studies. Using contemporary theory to analyse gesture and emotion in art and media, Jill Bennett's text explores the dynamics of new media narratives, demonstrating how both TV and media art operate in a transnarrative dimension where media images take on their own life.
"Situating T_Visionarium in terms of wider cultural shifts, the book is a 'user's guide', both to T_Visionarium, and to screen culture in general. Jill Bennett's 'guide' to the kinds of discoveries possible in the complex space created by T_Visionarium opens up questions about what media art can do. Drawing in particular on knowledge of the televisual genre of forensic detection, and of affect and gesture, Bennett traces the lineaments of T_Visionarium, with unpredictable and often unimaginable results." Associate Professor Anna Gibbs, School of Communication Arts, University of Western Sydney.


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Black Monday, well remembered as the stock markets worse day ever. It was October 19, 1987, and on that day the stock market plummeted 508 points or 22.6%.
During the two months prior to "Black Monday", the Market was jumping all over the place, even peaking at some point. What was most unsettling about the Crash of 1987, was that nothing precluded it. There was no logical explanation for the Stock Market to dive down like it did on that day, and it hasn't done it since.
The Oxford Club is a group of international investment entrepreneurs, who have learned ways to beat the stock market's ups and downs by using their own methods of time-tested strategies. Their mission, "To help their members create long-lasting wealth."
The Oxford Club has been around for more than two decades, They share unique, and generally all around investment ideas through publications which focus on investments and maintain a successful balance throughout all the markets conditions.
"Investment U" was founded in 1999, as an educational extension of "The Oxford Club". Investment U offers a free e-letter, along with other educational information to its members, in an attempt to provide the answers to the long asked question, "How do I find ultimate financial freedom?"
The Oxford Club does its best to research the best possible investments, then share with its members only the ones most likely to profit most, with the least risk involved.
The Oxford Club was founded in 1989, in Baltimore, Maryland. It is a "for-profit" company with currently 51-100 employees. Members of the club have high levels of social as well as business connections shared from within their club. Most known for offering stock market assistance on numerous market investments, such as real estate, equities, bonds, collectibles, precious metals and currency.


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This scenic tarred pass connects the lovely riverside town of Bonnievale with the R60 a few kilometres to the east of Ashton. Its a fairly short pass at 3 km and gains 94m in altitude, producing an average gradient of 1:32. There are five relatively easy curves and bends along the pass as it meanders up towards the neck and summit called Skilpadshoogte, which translates into Tortoise Heights. The steepest section is the final 600m on the southern side of the summit where the gradient ramps up to a stiff 1:7
This short, but scenic gravel pass traverses the Wadrift farm approximately 30 km north of Heidelberg in the Western Cape. It follows immediately where the Seekoeigat Pass ends and is flanked to the north by the towering Kanetberg (one of the main mountains within the Langeberg range) and the gentle waters of the Duiwenhoks River can be seen to the south. This is the final of the five access passes for those wishing to drive the historic (and rough) Gysmanshoek Pass, which is accessed where this pass ends.
This substantial gravel pass can be found in the foothills of the Langeberg about 15 km north west of Heidelberg in the Western Cape. It provides exceptional views and interesting driving on a gravel road that can get very tricky when wet. In addition frequent flooding of the low level bridge at the Seekoeigat farm can be problematic after rain. The 11,3 km long pass has an altitude variance of 387m with some very stiff gradients of up to 1:5. Most of these occur on the first southern ascent. This pass also has the unusual feature of having a major and minor summit within its length.
The Doringkraal Pass is a short, low altitude gravel pass on a farm road approximately 10 km north-west of Heidelberg in the foothills of the Langeberg. The road follows the southern side of the Duiwenhoksrivier (Dove Cage River) and terminates at the point where the road crosses the river over a low level concrete bridge. This road is drivable in a normal sedan vehicle, but traction issues can happen if conditions are muddy.
The Remhoogte Pass (Brake Heights Pass) is one of three back to back passes on the R60 between Swellendam and Ashton. The other two are the Bakoondhoogte and Leeuriviershoogte Passes. This is the biggest of the three in terms of altitude gained and when summiting from the eastern approach, it provides exceptional views over the valley around Ashton with the vista of a semi circle of mountains to the right and ahead.
This pass is located close to the western side of Swellendam on the tarred R60. It should be viewed in conjunction with its sister pass Bakoondhoogte which starts where this one ends, making it, to all intents and purposes, one long pass. The scenery is exceptional as the road runs along the foothills of the Langeberg Mountains. The Leeurivier (Lions River) has cut a deep gorge through the mountains and the eastern hills of this gorge are named Leeuriviershoogte (Lions River Heights), after which the pass is named.
Moodies Pass is not known by many and taken for granted by those who use it on a daily basis. It is situated on the gravel road designated as the R322, and connects the Moravian settlement of Suurbraak to the West with Heidelberg to the East. It primarily serves the farming community and those adventure and nature lovers wanting to access the Boosmansbos Wilderness area and Grootvadersbosch Nature Reserve. The pass is on the short side at 3,34 km but it rises a substantial 185m vertical meters over that distance to produce an average gradient of 1:18 with the steeper sections being at 1:6.
The Gysmanshoek Pass follows an historical ox wagon route dating back to the mid 1700's. This is an old gravel pass through a natural cleft in the Langeberg Mountains between Heidelberg in the south and the Little Karoo/ Ladismith area in the north. It is driveable in a normal car in good weather, but if it's been raining, a 4x4 will be a better option. Depending on the weather, things can get tricky on this pass. Not too many people have travelled this delightfully scenic and off the beaten track, pass. It was originally named Hudson's Pass after the local magistrate.
This pass holds at least one South African pass record - it has the longest name, with 21 letters! The name translates from Afrikaans into "Wild Dogs Ravine Heights" It can be found in the Langeberg mountains on the R62 between Montagu and Barrydale and precedes the Op de Tradouw Pass on its western side. The two passes form one long continuous pass. The road ascends the southern side of a ravine formed by the Goedgeloofrivier. It's a long pass at 11,2 km and although the average gradient is a mild 1:37, the steep sections are quite long and sustain some stiff gradients at around 1:10.
Mountain Passes South Africa is a website dedicated to the research, documentation, photographing and filming of the mountain passes of South Africa.
Passes are classified according to provinces and feature a text description, Fact File including GPS data, a fully interactive dual-view map and a narrated YouTube video.
We are as passionate about maps as we are about mountain passes. A good map is a thing of beauty that can transport you into the mists of time or get your sense of adventure churning. It is a place to make discoveries about deserts and seas, mountains and lakes; of roads leading into places you have not been before; a place to pore over holiday destinations or weekend camping trips. A map is your window to the world.


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Disclaimer: The Big O does not belong to me. It belongs to Sotsu Agency, Sunrise, etc. However, this story and the characters (or versions of the characters, as it may be) belong to ME. Don't plagiarize or I'll send the Big O after you!
Note: "Pianissimo" is a term used in music meaning that this part of the piece should be played "very softly."
by Fushigi Kismet
The keys were ivory and shining.
Her fingers ran along the length of them, feeling their smoothness against her skin. She wondered if their notes still sounded as clear as she remembered, tuned daily to an impersonal precise perfection.
She struck a high C and listened for a moment, her eyes shut, to the sound of the note filling the air around her and felt the answering vibration in her bones.
'Pianissimo,' she reminded herself as she struck another note, aware that the rest of the house was sleeping and that she wanted to keep this moment for herself alone.
She played mechanically for a bit, wandering through bits of Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Pachelbel, Tchaikovsky with all the accuracy and feeling of a brilliantly gifted machine built to surpass all the musical skill of anything living, but lacking, still, the emotions that made any music radiantly alive. Then, suddenly, abruptly, her playing changed, mellowed . . . twisted and fell, rose up and was reformed, remolded, like liquid metal being shaped into something beautiful, like blown glass as fragile and beautiful as a soap bubble shimmering with rainbows and about to burst . . . as she herself underwent a transfiguration from mechanical being to human being, and what before might have been mistaken as cleverly concealed metal and wire suddenly softened into the fluidity and reality of flesh and bone.
The notes now blossoming beneath the touch of her fingertips were not anyone's but her own . . . a reflection of her soul and self, drawn out and expressed with the magnitude and intimacy of music for the pleasure of oneself, of being able to glorify oneself in that instant of release from reality when there is nothing but fingers pressed to flashing white and black keys, sound rising up in response to one's desire . . . one's much-touted and valued skill, but with no one to please but oneself as the music washes over and over and away like the tide or the insistent lap of a playful wave until it draws one into the water, deeper and deeper, until the bottom vanishes and then comes the falling and the sinking into the beautiful black depths of the water of one's soul where there is peace, and quiet, and the motion of the sea with the sparkle of the sun on the surface of the water above . . . and then there is the breaking through, the meeting of water and sky, of dark and light, and then the first, precious breath.
The last note echoed for a long instant before fading and she opened her eyes to see the piano before her and her fingers resting limply on the keys. She ran one finger along the top of the shining keys in silent reverence, acknowledging the instrument's ability to release the shadows of her soul, to unlock the doors within her heart, to bring her, once again, to herself.
"That was very nice."
Her head turned to look at the source of the laughing voice that had interrupted her reverie, that had broached her solitude, that had been present at the moment of her personal homecoming.
The unwanted intrusion upon her self-imposed isolation.
Her dark brown eyes met a pair of laughing blue ones, and she glimpsed them in a blurred instant along with light gold hair, and the amused smile of a man leaning against the side of the instrument as she stood and violently whirled from the grand piano in a sharply awkward motion full of anger and confusion.
"Hey, now." The laughter had fled from the voice and had been replaced by something more solemn and disturbing to her for its touch of concern.
"Please remove your hand," she bit out.
He looked down and saw the hand holding fast to her arm. "No," he replied steadily, "I don't think so. Not yet."
"Release me. Now."
"Not until you listen to what I have to say," he said firmly, exerting enough pressure on his grip on her arm that she had to sit down on the bench and stare resolutely and unseeing at the piano. He remained standing, looking down at her. "Look, Miss, I'm sorry if I've disturbed you tonight or invaded your privacy or simply intruded. I simply heard your playing and my curiosity simply prompted me to come and see who it was. I didn't mean to upset you."
"Fine," she snapped, "will you let me go now?"
He opened his hand and took a step back. "My apologies."
She rubbed at her arm for a moment where the skin was slightly reddening and continued staring at the piano. When her fingers had ceased to move against her flesh, something in her seemed to give way, and the hardness in her form and features imperceptibly softened. "It's all right. I'm sorry for being overly harsh with you. I just didn't expect anyone to still be up."
"Nor did I," he admitted. "I couldn't sleep and was wandering around rather aimlessly, I must admit. Oh, by the way, I'm-"
"Rodney Smith," she finished for him, finally turning to face him. "Oh, don't look like that," she said to his startled expression. "Your reputation proceeds you, and despite not having been properly introduced, I have seen you before, and I ought to know who's staying in my own home, after all."
"Then you're . . . ?"
"Dorothy Wayneright," she affirmed with a laugh that sounded remarkably cheerful. "Surprised, are you?"
"A little, yes."
"Not what you expected, I suppose." She turned her attention back to the piano, her hands lightly resting once more on the keys. "Well, schooling abroad doesn't alter one as much as people expect. I really don't think it changed me at all."
"I wouldn't say that," he said to her surprise. "From what I hear you were quite the tomboy when you were younger. I remember seeing a picture of you in the paper once, taken, oh, eight or nine years back."
"What was I doing?" she asked softly.
"Climbing a tree."
She laughed and again he found himself surprised by the liveliness of her laughter. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you but I still climb them on occasion. Any changes you may have noticed are purely superficial and probably have more to do with the passage of time than anything else. Well, except for the shorn hair. My boarding school rules at the time were rather strict," she said, wrinkling her nose in remembered distaste.
He looked at her long auburn hair pinned halfway up and arranged artfully about her shoulders, and reached out a hand to stroke one soft curl. "I see."
She flinched and inched away from him along the length of the bench.
"You're just back from University, right?" he asked, pretending not to notice her movement as he leaned once more against the piano, one arm draped over it in the manner of a close friend.
She eyed the arm. "Yes. I just graduated last week."
"Top of the class? With honors?"
"Of course, I was forgetting all that I've heard about Miss Dorothy Wayneright."
"Which is?"
"That she is an exceedingly beautiful, accomplished woman."
She laughed. "About half of that is accurate."
"Ah, but I think you're accomplished as well." He smiled.
"Don't," she said, accompanying the statement with a frown.
"I've heard a great deal about you, too," she replied. "Rodney Smith, rich playboy extraordinaire. Not a woman in the city he can't seduce. Well, I'm afraid you've just found one. I'm not about to succumb to your charms."
"Of course not," he said easily. "Dorothy Wayneright is our fair city's most renowned vestal virgin . . . something to aspire to but never to attain."
She turned away. "Is that what you've heard?"
He looked at her in amusement. "What? Isn't it accurate, Miss Wayneright?"
"That's none of your business!"
"A little too accurate, I see."
Her head whipped back around. "I SAID-"
"Quiet," he murmured, suddenly seated next to her on the bench, his arm draped around her shoulders. "We wouldn't want to wake the rest of the house, now, would we?"
"If you would kindly distance yourself-"
"No." His blue eyes looked down at her in thinly veiled amusement.
"No, I don't want to. Does that make it more clear?"
She looked away from him. "You're insufferable."
"Quite. Now, how about you play that piece of yours again?"
"What for?"
He arched an eyebrow. "It is yours, isn't it, Miss Wayneright?"
"And have you written it down?"
"Well, then, I shall." He smiled at the question in her eyes. "It's quite extraordinary, like yourself, and I should think that you wouldn't object to having a written copy."
"You can write music?" she asked cautiously with a faint glimmer of interest.
"I'm not just a rich playboy, you know." He winked. "One would like to perceive a little depth in oneself. I find that it's easier for me in the medium of music. I am afraid that I'm serious about few things. Not women, as you seem to think. Certainly not business. No, I prefer to stick to notes and chords, myself."
She burst into laughter. "Rodney Smith? Struggling musician? Now I've heard everything!"
He gave her an affronted look of hurt, which she couldn't decipher as either genuine or mocking. "Really, Miss Wayneright, is it so impossible?"
"Play something then," she demanded, uncertain whether to be sorry or annoyed. "Show me." She moved over on the bench to give him more room and he lifted the arm about her shoulders, resting his hands lightly on the keys.
There was a pause and she entertained the notion that he really didn't know how to play at all, but then his fingers pressed down on the keys and her eyes turned to him in unfeigned surprise.
The song was something foreign and haunting, a loneliness crystallized in the pristine notes of music, something that she feared would shatter if she were to breathe too deeply. It came tenuously to her, notes threading about a melody too poignant for her to bear. She shut her eyes against it, closed her mind and heart to it, and, suddenly, it stopped.
She opened her eyes to find her hand pressed against Rodney Smith's shoulder, her fingers twisted about the cloth of his shirt, and she realized that she had been whispering, "Stop."
The look he turned to her was searching. "A happier tune then, Miss Wayneright?"
"Can you play one?" she asked, and there was a note in her voice that sounded like a plea.
He glanced at her a moment longer before looking away. "I can pretend."
"Then don't play anything!" she said, forcing herself to let go of his shirt.
He gave her a nod, a hint of mockery in his smile. "As you please. Then I shall expect you to play," he said, lifting her hands and placing them on the keys as he shifted to give her more space. "Play, Miss Wayneright, and erase these last few minutes."
"Was that it?" she asked him, not moving, her eyes fixed on his face. "Was that yourself?"
"Yes. I suppose you can say it was."
"Then I shall never be able to erase that song."
"Then transform it," he urged her. "You may have the talent to ease it into something a bit more cheerful."
"I haven't the talent."
"No." His eyes were sharp. "It isn't the talent you lack. If anything, it's the will."
"Yes, and if I lack the will?"
"Then you have nothing."
A note split the silence; a clear high "C."
Their eyes met. He smiled without smiling, and, turning her face away from him, she went on.
He listened to her for several minutes, his eyes closed, and she tried valiantly to ignore his presence but the feeling of his body near hers was disconcerting. She wanted to hide but there was nowhere to hide when she was laying bare her soul. It was disconcerting.
There was no way to transform his music, so she focused on her own instead and found, to her dismay, that it had altered in the instant between then and now. Still, it was recognizably her own self and she let it take her where it would, forgetting about time and Rodney and anything but her music.
She did not hear the scratch of the pen against a piece of paper and she did not see the way his eyes were looking at her.
It was only when startled her into stopping by saying, "Yes," and touching her shoulder with the barest brush of his fingertips that she noticed the paper covered with note-markings. "I should very much like to transcribe your music."
She looked at him, ready to argue again that she had no use for him and any type of offer he was making her when they both heard the heavy tread of footsteps from down the hall.
They stared at each other in mutual dismay for it was a common rule in the house that one was not to wander outside of one's room in the middle of the night. It was something everyone who stayed in the house had to agree to obey. On this rule Dorothy's father was adamant and no one, least of all Dorothy herself, was excluded.
Dorothy shut off the piano lamp with haste and glanced about in alarm. Rodney ducked behind the couch and, snagging her wrist, pulled her down with him. She landed ungracefully next to him and they held very still as the housekeeper entered, circled the floor in the middle of the room, glanced suspiciously at the piano, then walked over to the sliding glass door and shut it firmly, locking it. The floor creaked from the heavy tread of her feet. The couch caught her attention for an instant, but as she advanced towards it, her ankle let out a sharp crack and she stopped, wincing. There was no use checking behind the couch in a deserted room after all. Looking highly disgruntled and a bit nervous, she left the room, shutting the solid wooden door behind her.
Dorothy and Rodney waited a good five minutes hardly daring to breathe before they were sure she had gone. Dorothy broke the silence with a laugh that Rodney quickly supplemented with his own until they were shaking with laughter. It was due, one would suppose, to a case of nerves rather than anything amusing about their own situation.
When their laughter had died down, she turned to him, ready to thank him for his quick thinking, but the touch of his lips on hers forestalled the escape of any words she might have said. Her eyes widened, but she didn't pull away, caught in the strange web of attraction and fascination he had somehow managed to weave about her. She felt herself responding to his kiss, and when he finally pulled away it was not without regret that she let him go.
"Now, Miss Wayneright," he said, blue eyes strangely dark, "that wasn't so bad, was it?"
The flush spreading across her cheeks was enough of an answer for him as she quickly rose to her feet, muttering a jumble of thanks and excuses. "Thanks, it was lovely. I mean the music was . . . and I really have to go to bed now . . . by myself! Oh look, it's quite late! I've no time to be kis - wasting!"
"I'll see you tomorrow night then?" he asked, with an arched eyebrow.
She paused in her litany to look at him. "No!"
"Same time, same place?"
She turned and ran out of the room, a whispered, "No," lingering in the air behind her.
He smiled.
She stepped into the room, her eyes alighting on the dark and solitary piano. Everything was quiet and dark, and she let out an indrawn breath as she stretched her hand out to turn on the lamp resting atop the instrument.
She felt a hand reach out and cover hers and the light went on with a flick of her wrist which he immediately turned over and pressed a gentle kiss to, smiling at her.
"Hello, Dorothy."
In the golden pool of light that the lamp cast amidst the drifting shadows of the room, she gazed steadily back at him, frozen like an animal in a predator's gaze with nowhere left to hide or run but straight into the predator's waiting jaws. "Rodney."
"Well," he said easily, "let's get to that music, shall we?" He moved away from her and she silently asked herself where he had sprung from in the stillness of the room, where in the darkness he had been sitting, patiently waiting for her entrance. She wondered anew why she had come again, this night of all nights, venturing forth to this one lonely corner of the house. But the piano drew her, and he, too, drew her with some subtle magic all his own.
Had she fallen, then, so easily into his spell?
She seated herself at the piano, he beside her, and she noted that he had transcribed the previous night's hasty notation onto actual music sheets, and that he had prepared by bringing several more blank sheets with him and what looked like a well-sharpened crayon but in reality was a mere stub of a disfigured pencil. Yes, he was a musician.
"Why aren't you happy, Rodney?" she demanded quietly, looking at him.
"Such a prying question. Are you always so forthright?"
She made no answer, her eyes resting on him. She had never made it a habit to insist on anything. Waiting for what she wanted to come to her was far more satisfying.
She did not have long to wait as he fiddled with the pencil, his eyes looking into some inner darkness. "Why do people have to be happy? What is this human obsession with happiness?"
"People strive to banish pain from their lives."
An upward quirk of the lips which she realized now was an expression of profound pain. "Must happiness and pain exist separately then?"
"Then," he said, "I have never been happy."
She began to play.
"Stop, stop!" he said, a few stanzas into the song. "Again from the top, if you will."
"Whatever for?"
There was something harsh beneath his equanimity. "I don't settle for anything less than perfection. You must always be true to yourself, darling. If you cannot achieve perfection, you must at least strive towards some higher plane. There is nothing pleasing in mediocrity."
"And if one were to achieve perfection?"
"Ah, but that is, my dear Miss Wayneright, quite impossible. We live only to attain those moments of higher exultation. If we were ever once perfect, there would be no point to living. If you please, from the beginning. Let's start again."
She didn't know whether to be bemused or offended or merely politely indifferent. Indeed, she knew not what to make of him.
So, seeing as there was nothing else to do, she played.
They went on for a while, Rodney stopping her every so often and checking his notations for himself by playing the passages himself.
It was strange for her to hear her expression of herself coming from someone else. It was strange as well to watch him playing and realize that she liked his hands. They were strong and long-fingered and she liked them. They were piano-playing hands.
When she began playing again her mind was thinking of hands and she could not help but notice Rodney now when before she had attempted to ignore him.
And so, the music faltered and died.
She played the last chord over, staring at the piano in frustration. "It's never happened before. I don't know what comes next."
"Bad piano! Bad piano!" Rodney chided it, smacking it lightly with his hand.
"Rodney!" Dorothy exclaimed, grabbing his hand away. "Stop it! You shouldn't abuse the piano. It's not to bla . . ." Her words trailed away upon seeing the expression in his eyes. They held no amusement.
"Well then," he murmured, removing his hand from hers and cupping her face in it, and pulling it closer to his, "I ought to be punishing you then, oughtn't I? Bad Dorothy. Bad."
There was the brief pressure of his lips against hers and she felt her eyes closing as he kissed her lightly, once. Twice. Then he bent his head and captured her lips against his, more forcefully, and, unable to resist, she submitted readily to the pressure of his mouth. There was the click of the light turning off, and his voice said in the darkness, his lips pressing against her closed eyelids, "That's enough work for tonight."
His lips traveled from her eyelids back down to her mouth, and they spent a good long time with her mouth before she flicked the light back on. "That's enough play," she said sweetly, standing. "You may be Rodney Smith, playboy, but you've been underestimating this vestal virgin."
The grin didn't leave his lips. "Ah, but you haven't been fighting very hard, Miss Wayneright, if at all. And I'm the kind that will take what he's given and make the most of it."
"I'm not giving myself to you," she shot back, slightly flustered.
His eyes were a cool shade of blue as he replied, "But I'm taking you anyway."
The nights followed one after another in rapid, ceaseless procession, like scenes ripped from unfinished romances, endless and forever unconcluded, build-up that veered too far from conclusion, tantalizing unrealized promises and intimations in the dark, seduction without the ability to seduce, words and intent without meaning, confined passion and rampant virtue . . . .
It was Heaven and Hell in a flimsy masquerade.
Dorothy lived in the night and wandered in a daze through the day, associating with no one but her father and on rare occasions stumbling across some other guest in an unexpected twist of the mansion's deserted hallways. Sometimes that person was even Rodney, but she would disregard him as carelessly as though he were an ill- placed stone gargoyle that had wandered aimlessly inside from its quite proper perch on the roof. He would smile quite politely, like a stranger, and they would pass each other without a second glance.
They were not living in the day. Only at night would they acknowledge one another and dare to tackle the knife-edge that separated both them and their world from everyone else and each other. Along it they would run screaming. It cut them impartially and their feet left marks of blood behind them.
But still, they played together like children.
Of all illusions, naiveté is the most dangerous.
Of this, Rodney was only too aware.
She was driving him mad, or as near to madness as a man can come and still retain a reasonable semblance of control over himself. Nightly, he felt his control slipping. Daily, he slipped into a type of intelligent stupor in which he would think of things other than Dorothy's polite evasions and the pleasant taste of her lips. It was not that he did not have things to occupy his mind. He was much more than the rampant playboy and casual musician Dorothy thought him to be, but his work held not the tantalizing promise of pleasure for him, he was sure, that Miss Wayneright's flushed face and chaste conduct did.
Indeed, it did not.
He came later than usual one night and saw her sitting on the piano bench, her hands folded primly in her lap, staring at the keys. He wondered what it was she was waiting for and when she turned her head towards him, he knew.
She stood as he entered and made as though to walk past him. She thought she was angry with him but he knew better.
"I shan't come late again, darling," he said, trapping her against the wall with his arms.
"I don't care if you don't come at all," she replied icily but he knew it was a lie.
Her lips were soft and yielding.
"Don't give me that," he told her, kissing her again and pushing his fingers through her hair.
"Why . . . not?"
"Don't say anything if you don't mean it."
She was sinking against the wall as though her ability to stand had evaporated, and he was sinking with her.
His lips found her throat and her arms tightened about him as he kissed his way down to the low neckline of her dress.
"You want me, don't you, Dorothy?" he murmured, his teeth nipping at her skin.
She made a small noise of protest, but her body strained towards him, prompting the appearance of his devilishly pleased grin. "Don't you?"
There was a brief scuffle between them as she tried to pull away and he trapped her against the floor, his weight pressing her down. "Don't be a child," he chastised her, nibbling at one of her ears.
"I don't want you," she protested, helplessly.
"Don't lie."
"I DON'T - Mmphf!"
He pulled away from her slowly, his mouth lingering on hers for an instant, savoring the taste of her.
He could feel her heart beating frantically and he wondered if he were to pierce her chest with his fingers if he could catch it before it fluttered away. Her eyes were half-shut, her lips still slightly parted, her hair spread out over the ground, and her dress exposing one pale shoulder.
The perfect image of a wanton.
-That pure image of yours. I'll shatter it.-
He ran a finger lazily down the side of her face. "Your words say one thing, but your body is telling me something quite different. I've always held that the body and the mind are one complete entity, not separate halves acting on their own . . . So, you tell me, Dorothy, what is it that you want?"
Her eyes closed fully. "I don't know."
"Yes, I think you do. You just don't want to open your eyes to see. Shall I awaken your sleeping self?"
"You can try."
His fingers undid the top two buttons of her shirt before her eyes could snap open and his mouth began kissing the curve of her breasts as his fingers undid two more buttons.
He felt her stiffen beneath him.
Blue eyes looked to brown. "Are you waking?"
She struck him hard, high on his left cheek beneath the eye. "Let me alone."
"God!" He sat upright and pulled away, the slap leaving reddening skin behind. "The vestal virgin strikes again!"
She looked up at him and pulled away, drawing tightly closed her open shirt, auburn hair serving as a further shield. Her cheeks were flushed red.
"Shall I play you a song?" he asked her.
"Stop it!" she hissed. "I hate you when you're like that! I hate you when you treat everything like it doesn't matter!"
"Then does it matter? Are there times when you don't hate me?"
Her eyes were startled, her words falling over themselves in confusion. "I don't . . . I don't hate you . . . all the time."
"I don't hate you all the time either," he said and she could not tell if the light tone in his voice was faked or not.
"Then do you hate me sometimes?" she asked.
"Sometimes. Yes. When you deny me."
"I always deny you!"
"No." He tipped her chin up so he could look into her face. "You rarely deny me. And even when you do . . . you don't want to."
"Do you . . . Do you still think I want you?" she asked haltingly, a note of bitterness lingering in the words.
"Yes. Otherwise, you wouldn't fight so hard. You want me . . . almost as much as I want you when you deny me."
"And if you get me? What then?"
"I don't know."
"Are all your conquests that way? You pursue until you get what you want, and then you don't want it anymore?"
"More or less. If you wanted to escape, you would have given in by now."
"I don't want to give in to you."
A smile. "Only because you want to so desperately. That's why you're fighting it."
"I won't let you have me."
"Feeling as you do, I won't force you to submit. I never force an issue. I shall wait for you to come to me."
"There's only way that would ever happen. I would have to be willing to be nothing more than one of your soon-to-be-forgotten conquests."
"A brief and fleeting dream? But a beautiful one."
"That's all I'll ever be to you. Just that. Nothing more."
"I suppose that no more work is going to be accomplished tonight," he mused, glancing over at the last half-filled sheet.
"No," she said firmly. "Good night."
"Good night."
She woke in the dark.
It was an abrupt awakening and she could not fathom why her sleep had been so suddenly and completely disrupted.
Her body burned from where he had kissed her that night. Her chest felt strangely tight.
She wanted to . . . she wanted to . . .
She didn't know what she wanted.
Pressing a hand to her lips, she bit back a sob.
"It was a fleeting dream."
Turning over, she shut her eyes. And tried to sleep.
Still, unreasonably, inexorably, she was drawn to the music room, night after night. She tried not to think of reasons. In this matter logic would trouble her more than her apparent lack of it. But the music soothed her despite Rodney's presence, she would think, ignoring the fact that Rodney himself did anything but soothe her. Her arguments convinced no one, certainly not herself. If she had mentioned them to Rodney, he would have surely laughed.
Work was slowly progressing on the music, since it was impossible to accomplish much at all on a nightly basis. It was difficult for her to play amidst all the distractions Rodney managed to provide, even as he diligently copied down the notes of music while doing so.
She almost wondered if he would still be copying down music notes if they were to make love, but that thought was something she struck quickly from her mind lest she dwell too long on that unsavory prospect.
But she could not deny that her heart beat faster when she saw him framed against the doorway or seated amidst the glow of the piano lamp waiting for her.
So she went, unable to deny herself that secret pleasure.
Sometimes it was not so unpleasant. Most times it was not.
She wondered if she was in love with him.
She was too afraid of the answer to want to know.
That night he was seated next to her on the bench, his arms around her, his lips kissing her neck in the manner he had that would send shivers up and down her body.
"Don't you have any secrets, Dorothy?" he murmured against her throat, pencil numbering the fresh sheet of paper he held in his hand.
"No," she said immediately, playing a selection of Mozart with blinding speed to work out the stiffness in her fingers and hoping to hit him with her elbows.
"Surely you must have some."
"And if I did, must I tell you?"
"And why not?"
"I haven't asked you what your secrets are."
He pulled away, eyeing her suddenly. "What makes you think I have any? Haven't I been perfectly aboveboard?"
She did not look at him but the corner of her lips twitched in what might have been a suppressed smile. "My father told me something when I was very young. I have never forgotten it because I was never allowed to forget it. He said, 'This house is not like other people's homes. No one ever comes into this house without a reason. Ask no questions and seek no answers . . . don't even attempt it. The consequences will not be pleasant.'"
"Surely, he was joking."
Dorothy noted that he had not quite recovered his equilibrium. His comment had been strained; his eyes looked a little wild.
"Don't fret," she said, reassuring him for no reason she could fathom. "I won't ever ask. I don't care about whatever your business with my father and the other people staying in this house is. This house holds its secrets well. I am not privy to them nor do I wish to be. That world is one I have never sought to be part of."
"Dorothy, I . . ."
She leaned towards him and kissed him once, very briefly, on the lips. "You what?"
He pulled her towards him as she began pulling away and their lips met again. "I don't give a damn about my business with your father right now. All I can see before me is you."
Their lips met and parted with the easy familiarity that comes with the act of breathing. He pushed her back against the piano and her elbow banged the keys. The jangle of notes introduced discordance in their harmony and she pulled away quickly, turning to stare at the piano. She was short of breath.
"A nice little interlude, that," he commented lazily, reaching out a hand to finger a lock of her brilliant red hair.
She stood swiftly, the hair sliding between his fingers like water. "I think that's it for tonight. Good evening." She was halfway across the room when he caught her, having taken an instant to pull the piano lamp's cord and leaving the room in darkness. He kissed the back of her neck, turned her in his arms and kissed her mouth once more.
"Won't you, darling?" he whispered in her ear.
"No, I don't think I will."
He opened his arms and she slipped effortlessly from both his arms and the room.
He didn't watch her go. Instead, he sat down on the bench and fingered the keys in the darkness.
"Brahms, then," he murmured quietly. "A lullaby."
He had been waiting for her for a very long time. That night the clock had ticked past two and three and four. He had sat in the darkness and played quietly, fingers touching the keys as though they were made of paper-thin glass. His mood was colored with melancholy. The music was heartbreaking but somehow still an octave away from sadness all the same.
His fingers flowed over the keys and something in the music seemed to splash and fall, having cascaded from some place far . . . but it was falling in reverse without rising. He did not know whether to laugh or weep at the change the music reflected. So he played, sound rising about him like invisible pillars that unraveled and bled together until he was safely encased in a nexus of sound. And yet, it was still quiet.
She was not coming, he thought desolately. She had finally decided that enough was enough and would never grace his presence again. It was to be expected, he supposed. It was stupid to think otherwise, that she might have fallen, after all, for his charms. Tonight she had gone to the opera with her father. She had returned alone four hours ago and retreated to her room. They typically met in the hour after midnight.
She had not appeared.
It was to be expected.
He knew enough of the workings of this house to expect it. He should have known as much long ago and given in to futility.
He should not have allowed himself to get caught in his own snare.
Of all his failings, that was the worst.
He stopped playing mid-note and stared at the white and black keys. He turned on the lamp. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his mind and focused only on the glossy contrast of the keys in the dim puddle of light. Trying not to think, he pressed his fingers to the keys.
The first note was different.
It rang out clearly, in its own voice, but as the rest of the notes followed, he realized, belatedly, that the music had gotten away from him after all. It was speaking his mind for him and he both hated and loved it for it.
The keys glowed.
The music rippled and faded, rose and fell like breathing. It made his heart ache because it spoke to him in her voice and he played through the nights of her evasion, of his pursuit, of the brief moments of understanding that passed between them . . . .
It hurt him to do it.
Somehow, he was evoking her in the music. The passage that gentled the motion of his fingers was her name and he took the time to caress it, drawing the notes closely about him.
Then, because there was no escape from it, he took her music and threaded it through his own. There, he made love to her, and the trembling of the music was that of her body, and the notes flowed quickly and lightly like careless kisses.
And as the music had promised, he could feel her. She was leaning against the doorway behind him, thin and bright like a shaft of moonlight. He closed his eyes.
He shouldn't have let himself get caught.
He felt arms wrap around his shoulders from behind, felt the smoothness of her cheek pressed against his, felt, against his back, the steady beating of her heart. Felt, too, her tears.
He played.
She didn't want to listen. Didn't want to hear. Couldn't help hearing. Couldn't help wanting to hear. Wasn't this what she had been waiting for all this time?
Why? Her mind was a-whirl. There was nothing to hope for anymore. There was no more reason to pretend. Not when her fate had been so neatly signed and sealed.
So why did she still hope for things that could never come to pass? Why did she still persist in deluding herself?
The things she wanted were unattainable.
And still the music was calling.
She reached out and covered his hand, stilling it. Silence fell like a curtain dropped across the room.
There was no sense of time or motion but somehow her body was in his embrace, her lips were on his lips, and there was nothing else - not the pretense of work or the presence of music - there was nothing but the two of them in all the world.
Rodney knew there were to be no more evasions. Dorothy knew it too. She made no objection as Rodney gathered her in his arms and rose from the piano bench, as he roughly deposited her on the couch. His eyes were hungry and faintly luminous. He crouched beside her and opened the jeweled clasps in her hair, allowing it to fall freely about her shoulders. His fingers undid the fastenings of her necklace; it fell into her outstretched hand in a tangled heap of glittering gold.
His lips met the nape of her neck; she shivered a little and turned to face him, lips parting in what might have been his name. He took those lips, took them as he would take her that night, and as she responded without hesitation he found that her need went even deeper than his own. He had never before known this side of her; she had kept him from her with outstretched hands.
Those hands were now wandering as they had never seen fit to wander before, and he found that he was savagely glad that he had not been alone in the flames of his desire but that she, too, had suffered. That she would now show any sort of need meant that somehow, something had changed between them. It was not just he who had been altered by those interminable nights alone.
Rodney Smith was tired of playing.
"I want you, Dorothy," he breathed into her hair. "God, I want you more than I've ever wanted any woman. You, just you."
"Do you?" The question was almost a sob. "Do you really? I'm not just another one of your conquests?"
Incredulous, he laughed. "You're not just another anything. I've never spent this much time pursuing any woman. None of them were worth it. I've never wanted anyone this badly. But, I will have you, before this night is through, won't I, darling?"
He did not wait for her answer, but her arms tightened around him as he kissed her again.
He had been waiting for her for so long.
She was afraid. She knew it as fear. She tasted it and felt it flowing through her body. Before tonight she might have been safe, hiding behind pretenses and denying everything, but after tonight she would not have that false security again. After tonight she could not afford these ill spent evenings.
That had been made absolutely clear to her.
It wasn't enough to want it, she thought, desperately. It wasn't enough. Not when you would be forced to make it disappear with your own hands. Not when your actions were predetermined to hurt you. To hurt him.
Not when it was living inside nothing more than a dream.
She pulled away.
"I can't!"
There was a hard set to his eyes and mouth but the look he gave her was a mild one. "Can't, darling? You mustn't use words that don't carry the correct meaning."
"Won't, then," she snapped, trying not to look at him. "I won't!"
"Much better."
"I don't see why it's such a surprise to you," she said, shaking. "I mean, I'm the vestal virgin, after all, aren't I? Isn't that what you called me when we first met? You knew all about me then . . . what made you think that you could change me!"
"Yes," there was a note of wry wistful wonder in his voice, "what made me think it? It isn't much of a surprise after all, now is it? I knew you were an engaged woman since before I laid eyes on you."
The color fled from her face and her eyes went wide in something akin to terror. "How did you . . . ?"
"Oh, word gets around," he said lightly. "He's had his eye on you for years. And naturally I've seen how he looks at you. Besides, your father owes him quite a lot of money, doesn't he? Among many other things. He owes him so much that the only way he can even think to repay him is with his only daughter. It's a good thing you're beautiful, Dorothy."
She flinched as though it had been a physical blow. "I had no choice. I only just found out myself."
"Yes, of course." His gaze was genuinely pitying. "My poor little Dorothy. Nothing but a pawn to be used and discarded on the playing field. I know you haven't any choice in the matter. Not if you love your father, and you do, don't you?"
Her eyes held a mute appeal to stop.
"Am I hurting you?" His mouth twisted in a motion of agony. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to . . . I never meant to. God, who knew that I would learn to love you? I didn't at first . . . I've never loved any woman, and yes, you were right, there's never been a woman I couldn't have. So I thought it would be a pleasant diversion to tease myself with an unattainable woman and see if even that could be overcome. And dammit all if I can't have you after all! When you're the only one I want."
He laughed, but the sound as it met both their ears was something tortured and tormented. A muffled scream. "I'm sorry, darling. I'm sorry that I did this to us."
He reached out a hand and pulled her into his arms. His lips met hers bruisingly for an instant as he crushed her against him. "This was mine, Dorothy. For a short time, anyway. But you, my darling, it seems you never were." His fingers trailed along her face for an instant more before he turned and, releasing her, stalked through the door.
She stood, her shaking fingers finding the edge of a table for support as her body shuddered and her legs threatened to collapse beneath her. She unsteadily made her way to the piano and sitting before it, touched the keys with fingers grown suddenly weak and limp. They reached up to touch the music, but as they did so gained sudden strength, and, curling in on themselves, she lashed out, striking the music from the stand.
The pages softly fluttered to the ground like birds alighting from a short, frenzied flight.
She did not move for a long time, her eyes staring, unseeing. When she finally gained the ability to move, she stood, and, bending down, gathered the scattered sheets of music, tapped them together, and laid them gently back against the stand. Only then did she permit herself to touch stiff fingers to the silver streaking her cheeks.
A pale wraith haunted the corridors of the Wayneright manor. Something with no more substance than a will-o-the-wisp. It could barely be distinguished from the long shadows that clung to the edges and the corners of the building if not for the brief gleam of moonlight on ivory skin from a solitary window.
It paused before a door, and a shiver seemed to go through it, like the wind through the trees. She raised slim fingers that curled in on themselves, then knocked, once, softly against the wood of the door.
One heartbeat. Two.
The door opened and he looked at her, trembling before him. The door opened wider and he stepped to one side, inclining his head, as his hand made a sweeping motion to usher her inside. She stepped in and he swung the door back.
It made a clicking sound as it closed firmly behind her. He looked at her for an instant, taking in the insubstantial gossamer negligee that clung to her body but did nothing to conceal it, took in the sight of that thinly veiled body, and perceived the paleness of her face, before asking quietly, "Why are you here?"
"I don't know. I-" She faltered and feel silent.
"There's only one reason for you to be here, and that one is impossible."
"That I want to be here?" Her voice was quiet.
He let out a breath, his eyes resting on her. "Yes."
She looked away. "I don't know what I want anymore."
"You should leave." The words were harsh and unrelenting.
She turned and walked silently past him towards the door, but he grabbed her wrist and she turned to him, eyes wide and tortured, as he pulled her into his arms. "You should know better than to walk into the lion's lair, my darling. There's very little chance you'll walk back out again."
"I don't care." Her lips trembled. "Even if it's self-immolation. As long as you still want me, despite everything. Even if it's for only one night. For me, always . . . there was only you."
There were no more words as their lips met, as her fingers undid the buttons of his shirt, as his hands tore at the thin cloth covering her, as skin touched skin and body met body.
Then she was sinking against the bed, and he was pressed against her, and she felt his fingers gliding over her body, felt them running over her with the skill born of practice, felt sound rising from herself in response to his promptings, felt the music being drawn from her, a melody she hadn't known before tonight rising and falling, a tortured exquisite song as she sang like an instrument alive beneath a master musician's hands.
She was saying something but she couldn't hear the words, couldn't comprehend what she was saying, couldn't do anything but feel, and love, and let herself be loved as he guided her body into a rhythm more ancient than man, into a rhapsody of motion and sensation, their bodies melding in harmony, the beat the primal pounding of her heart.
She was hot and she was rising as though she were a bird who had flown too close to the sun and she wondered if the wax on her wings was melting . . . if she could continue to fly, or if she would falter and fall . . .
And she was falling through the black depth of water . . .
God, it felt good to sink for a while with nothing but the coolness of the water against the burning of her body. With nothing but the still and quiet of the water without to calm the turmoil and maddening tumult within. To float in oblivion for a moment and wonder at existence . . . and why one had to exist, could not simply let go and allow oneself to descend forever through the water.
But then there was pain, and she found that she couldn't breathe . . . that she was going to die, was going to die, here, now, because of the pain of her body of the breath she couldn't take, of the pounding explosion of her heart . . . Then she was rising, rising, bursting through the shining surface of the water, surrounding by nothing but the water and the sky and the sun beating of her face as she took a life-giving breath and the pain went, swept away by pleasure. The pleasure of being alive, of breathing, of returning . . . returning to herself.
"It's all right, Dorothy," she distantly heard his voice saying. "It's all right now. You're all right."
She discovered that she was clinging to him, clinging as a drowning person will cling to any bit of flotsam floating past, desperate to survive, to find some way of escaping . . . of living.
"You're all right," he repeated, as the last vestiges of pleasure washed over her and left her like the fast receding tide.
She was trembling. Her whole body was shaking with the memory of a joy too profound to be expressed in mere speech. She looked up at him, at the face of the man who had brought her to this, who had done what nothing but music had been able to do before . . . who had brought her to pain and pleasure, to the brink of death and the birth of life, and returned her to herself.
She wondered how she could have ever been anything but all right in the whole of her life when it had all led to this one complete moment, to this miraculous discovery of self and purpose . . . to the will and desire to live.
He ran a finger lightly down the side of her face and she shivered at the intimacy of his touch, at the remembered earlier caresses of those hands. "Dorothy." His voice was heavy with emotion, and she could see that he, too, was trembling. She thought, wonderingly, that she had brought him to this . . . that she had returned him to himself as no other woman had been able to. That she had brought him to happiness.
His lips met hers softly, almost hesitantly, and the way he kissed her now was different than before, less demanding. But the desire was still there and she was glad that his hunger had been lessened but not sated. He pulled away and rolled onto his back, looking up at the ceiling.
She reached over and took his hand in hers, and they continued to look up at the ceiling, not speaking, content with their silence, knowing that more had been imparted to the other silently than could ever be through words.
After a while, she turned to him, the smile on her lips matching the one in her eyes. "It seems I've learned the melody."
He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her, their lips meeting. He traced a delicate pattern on her body with his fingertips, looking at her face as he did so. Bending forward, he pressed a kiss to each of her fluttering eyelids. Pushing a fallen lock of hair gently behind one of her ears, he proceeded to nibble on the exposed flesh. His breath was warm against her ear and she shivered pleasantly. He murmured chidingly, "From the beginning, my darling. Let's start again."
For the remainder of that time of peace, that silent, serene time before the coming of the end and the destruction of all happiness, all memories, all joys . . . they loved each other in the only way they knew how, completely, with pain and joy, knowing that each night could be their last . . . each touch, kiss, caress, might never come again.
Then came the day when the memory of those times was washed away with the abruptness and absoluteness of footprints in the wet sand.
He sat in front of the piano in the ruins of the house, his hands resting lightly on the keys. He felt the touch of the breeze against his face and it was as though a hand were ruffling his hair, and she was peering over his shoulder at the half-written composition that still rested on the piano.
He wished he could remember her face . . . or her name . . . or anything but the half-formed memories that clung to him like partially dissolved shadows and held no more meaning than the dirt that clung to the soles of his shoes.
His hair was silvering along the temples, the blue in his eyes had faded to a melancholy grey, and the smile had fled with the boyish enthusiasm, but there was still something within him that seemed to call out to those days . . . to invoke the memory of them to return.
But like this house, ancient and rotting, falling apart timber by timber with the years, encroached upon by weeds and moss and dust, the memory was nearly gone . . . Nothing remained except for his body's memory of pleasure and his mind's memory of words whispered in the still of the night, when darkness was all about them and he could not even see her face, only feel her heart beating in the body beneath his, feel the trembling of her arms and the brush of her lips against his skin,


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