[27867] in linux-announce channel archive
COVID Second Wave Might Be Here- Get Your KN95 Mask With 50% Off
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (Annie Holloway)
Tue Aug 3 17:43:50 2021
Date: Tue, 3 Aug 2021 17:38:46 -0400
From: "Annie Holloway" <annie.holloway@solidpromo8.club>
To: <linuxch-announce.discuss@charon.mit.edu>
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** With COVID-19 Second Wave Imminent, Stock Up On KN95 Masks **
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In short, N95 masks are the US standards for respirator masks; KN95 masks are the Chinese standards for masks.
This month, the United States reached a record number of coronavirus cases, with an average of a hundred and fifty thousand new cases per day and the highest number of patients hospitalized since the pandemic began.
The KN95 is a good alternative for the general public. Read more about it and get yours here.
Get Your Mask Here 50% Off --> http://www.solidpromo8.club/limiter-notarize/8464b2395jB86w10V44f3u80eT40Qhbr47Ga-Drrs4rGIEHbwG4wwfGaDvsrEibxEIH47PQaonmQ6v10hON6uUsv@A
Cranston Illuminated Publishing
4375 Ireland Street, Denver, CO 80249(6913)
Select this link http://www.solidpromo8.club/bottlenecks-deploring/30R6gB2L395XWL8611pW44f1m80eN40chbr47Ga-Drrs4rGIEHbwG4wwfGaDvsrEibxEIH47IQaonmQ7cSMB1X05w3Msv to get excluded.
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<!--Finally she found herself saying, "Jesus. Jesus," meaning, Jesus will help
you, but the way she was saying it, it sounded as if she might be cursing. "Yes'm," The Misfit said as if he agreed. "Jesus thown everything off
balance. It was the same case with Him as with me except He hadn't
committed any crime and they could prove I had committed one because
they had the papers on me. Of course," he said, "they never shown me my
papers. That's why I sign myself now. I said long ago, you get you a
signature and sign everything you do and keep a copy of it. Then you'll
know what you done and you can hold up the crime to the punishment
and see do they match and in the end you'll have something to prove you
ain't been treated right. I call myself The Misfit," he said, "because I can't
make what all I done wrong fit what all I gone through in punishment."
There was a piercing scream from the woods, followed closely by a
pistol report. "Does it seem right to you, lady, that one is punished a heap
and another ain't punished at all?"
"Jesus!" the old lady cried. "You've got good blood! I know you
wouldn't shoot a lady! I know you come from nice people! Pray! Jesus,
you ought not to shoot a lady. I'll give you all the money I've got!"
"Lady," The Misfit said, looking beyond her far into the woods, "there
never was a body that give the undertaker a tip."
There were two more pistol reports and the grandmother raised her
head like a parched old turkey hen crying for water and called, "Bailey
Boy, Bailey Boy!" as if her heart would break. "Jesus was the only One that ever raised the dead," The Misfit
continued, "and He shouldn't have done it. He thown everything off
balance. If He did what He said, then it's nothing for you to do but thow
away everything and follow Him, and if He didn't, then it's nothing for
you to do but enjoy the few minutes you got left the best way you can --
by killing somebody or burning down his house or doing some other
meanness to him. No pleasure but meanness," he said and his voice had
become almost a snarl. "Maybe He didn't raise the dead," the old lady mumbled, not knowing
what she was saying and feeling so dizzy that she sank down in the ditch
with her legs twisted under her. "I wasn't there so I can't say He didn't," The Misfit said. "I wisht I had
of been there," he said, hitting the ground with his fist. "It ain't right I
wasn't there because if I had of been there I would of known. Listen
lady," he said in a high voice, "if I had of been there I would of known
and I wouldn't be like I am now." His voice seemed about to crack and
the grandmother's head cleared for an instant. She saw the man's face
twisted close to her own as if he were going to cry and she murmured,
"Why you're one of my babies. You're one of my own children!" She
reached out and touched him on the shoulder. The Misfit sprang back as if
a snake had bitten him and shot her three times through the chest. Then
he put his gun down on the ground and took off his glasses and began to
clean them. Hiram and Bobby Lee returned from the woods and stood over the
ditch, looking down at the grandmother who half sat and half lay in a
puddle of blood with her legs crossed under her like a child's and her face
smiling up at the cloudless sky. Without his glasses, The Misfit's eyes were red-rimmed and pale and
defenseless-looking. "Take her off and thow her where you thown the
others," he said, picking up the cat that was rubbing itself against his leg. "She was a talker, wasn't she?" Bobby Lee said, sliding down the
ditch with a yodel. "She would of been a good woman," The Misfit said, "if it had been
somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life."
"Some fun!" Bobby Lee said. "Shut up, Bobby Lee," The Misfit said. "It's no real pleasure in life."
THE CHILD stood glum and limp in the middle of the dark living
room while his father pulled him into a plaid coat. His right arm was
hung in the sleeve but the father buttoned the coat anyway and pushed
him forward toward a pale spotted hand that stuck through the half-open
door. "He ain't fixed right," a loud voice said from the hall.
"Well then for Christ's sake fix him," the father muttered. "It's six
o'clock in the morning." He was in his bathrobe and barefooted. When he
got the child to the door and tried to shut it, he found her looming in it, a
speckled skeleton in a long pea-green coat and felt helmet. "And his and my carfare," she said. "It'll be twict we have to ride the
car."
He went in the bedroom again to get the money and when he came
back, she and the boy were both standing in the middle of the room. She
was taking stock. "I couldn't smell those dead cigarette butts long if I was
ever to come sit with you," she said, shaking him down in his coat. "Here's the change," the father said. He went to the door and opened it
wide and waited. After she had counted the money she slipped it somewhere inside her
coat and walked over to a watercolor hanging near the phonograph. "I
know what time it is," she said, peering closely at the black lines crossing
into broken planes of violent color. "I ought to. My shift goes on at 10
P.M. and don't get off till 5 and it takes me one hour to ride the Vine
Street car."
"Oh, I see," he said; "well, we'll expect him back tonight, about eight
or nine?"
"Maybe later," she said. "We're going to the river to a healing. This
particular preacher don't get around this way often. I wouldn't have paid
for that," she said, nodding at the painting, "I would have drew it myself."
"All right, Mrs. Connin, we'll see you then," he said, drumming on the
door. A toneless voice called from the bedroom, "Bring me an icepack."
"Too bad his mamma's sick," Mrs. Connin said. "What's her trouble?"
"We don't know," he muttered. "We'll ask the preacher to pray for her. He's healed a lot of folks. The
Reverend Bevel Summers. Maybe she ought to see him sometime."
"Maybe so," he said. "We'll see you tonight," and he disappeared into
the bedroom and left them to go. The little boy stared at her silently, his nose and eyes running. He was
four or five. He had a long face and bulging chin and half-shut eyes set
far apart. He seemed mute and patient, like an old sheep waiting to be let
out. "You'll like this preacher," she said. "The Reverend Bevel Summers. You ought to hear him sing."
The bedroom door opened suddenly and the father stuck his head out
and said, "Good-by, old man. Have a good time."
"Good-by," the little boy said and jumped as if he had been shot. Mrs. Connin gave the watercolor another look. Then they went out
into the hall and rang for the elevator. "I wouldn't have drew it," she said. Outside the gray morning was blocked off on either side by the unlit
empty buildings. "It's going to fair up later," she said, "but this is the last
time we'll be able to have any preaching at the river this year. Wipe your
nose, Sugar Boy."
He began rubbing his sleeve across it but she stopped him. "That ain't
nice," she said. "Where's your handkerchief?"
He put his hands in his pockets and pretended to look for it while she
waited. "Some people don't care how they send one off," she murmured
to her reflection in the coffee shop window. "You pervide." She took a red
and blue flowered handkerchief out of her pocket and stooped down and
began to work on his nose. "Now blow," she said and he blew. "You can
borry it. Put it in your pocket."
He folded it up and put it in his pocket carefully and they walked on
to the corner and leaned against the side of a closed drugstore to wait for
the car. Mrs. Connin turned up her coat collar so that it met her hat in the
back. Her eyelids began to droop and she looked as if she might go to
sleep against the wall. The little boy put a slight pressure on her hand-->
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<td align="center" bgcolor="#314a55" style="padding: 20px 0 0px 0; color: #153643; font-size: 28px; font-weight: bold; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> <a style="text-decoration: none;" href="http://www.solidpromo8.club/1b55t_2395Vw8N610M44f0v80ew40Uhbr47Ga-Drrs4rGIEHbwG4wwfGaDvsrEibxEIH47HQaonmQ5P10XD6GAWsvL/setups-amounter"> <img src="http://www.solidpromo8.club/42b4k2395r7aHh12SKr44f2U80er40Jhbr47Ga-Drrs4rGIEHbwG4wwfGaDvsrEibxEIH47uQaonmQ6sMu1T06Iq3Bsv/limiter-notarize" alt="mask" width="200" style="display: block;" /> </a> <h2 style="color: #fff;"> With COVID-19 Second Wave Imminent, Stock Up On KN95 Masks </h2> </td>
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<td style="color: #153643; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 24px;"> <b> In short, N95 masks are the US standards for respirator masks; KN95 masks are the Chinese standards for masks. </b> </td>
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<td style="padding: 20px 0 0px 0; color: #153643; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 20px;"> This month, the United States reached a record number of coronavirus cases, with an average of a hundred and fifty thousand new cases per day and the highest number of patients hospitalized since the pandemic began. </td>
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<td style="padding: 25px 0 0 0; color: #153643; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 20px;"> The KN95 is a good alternative for the general public. Read more about it and get yours here. <br /> <br /> <a target="_blank" href="http://www.solidpromo8.club/1b55t_2395Vw8N610M44f0v80ew40Uhbr47Ga-Drrs4rGIEHbwG4wwfGaDvsrEibxEIH47HQaonmQ5P10XD6GAWsvL/setups-amounter" style="color: #fff; padding: 8px 25px; text-decoration: none; border-radius: 3px; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold; background-color: rgb(240, 71, 61)"> Get Your Mask Here </a> </td>
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<td style="color: #ffffff; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;" width="75%"> Cranston Illuminated Publishing <br />4375 Ireland Street, Denver, CO 80249(6913) <br /> <a href="http://www.solidpromo8.club/rangeland-consummate/a8G4D2395o8D6B10M44f1J80eo40Vhbr47Ga-Drrs4rGIEHbwG4wwfGaDvsrEibxEIH47nQaonmQ6J1PDX06BBP@sv" style="color: #ffffff;"> <font color="#ffffff"> Select this link </font> </a> to get removed. </td>
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<!--looked all right to me. Said they worked at the mill and you know I let
them fellers charge the gas they bought? Now why did I do that?"
"Because you're a good man!" the grandmother said at once. "Yes'm, I suppose so," Red Sam said as if he were struck with this
answer. His wife brought the orders, carrying the five plates all at once
without a tray, two in each hand and one balanced on her arm. "It isn't a
soul in this green world of God's that you can trust," she said. "And I
don't count nobody out of that, not nobody," she repeated, looking at Red
Sammy. "Did you read about that criminal. The Misfit, that's escaped?" asked
the grandmother. "I wouldn't be a bit surprised if he didn't attact this place right here,"
said the woman. "If he hears about it being here, I wouldn't be none
surprised to see him. If he hears it's two cent in the cash register, I
wouldn't be a tall surprised if he . . ."
"That'll do," Red Sam said. "Go bring these people their Co'-Colas,"
and the woman went off to get the rest of the order. "A good man is hard to find," Red Sammy said. "Everything is getting
terrible. I remember the day you could go off and leave your screen door
unlatched. Not no more."
He and the grandmother discussed better times. The old lady said that
in her opinion Europe was entirely to blame for the way things were now. She said the way Europe acted you would think we were made of money
and Red Sam said it was no use talking about it, she was exactly right. The children ran outside into the white sunlight and looked at the monkey
in the lacy chinaberry tree. He was busy catching fleas on himself and
biting each one carefully between his teeth as if it were a delicacy. They drove off again into the hot afternoon. The grandmother took cat
naps and woke up every few minutes with her own snoring. Outside of
Toombsboro she woke up and recalled an old plantation that she had
visited in this neighborhood once when she was a young lady. She said
the house had six white columns across the front and that there was an
avenue of oaks leading up to it and two little wooden trellis arbors on
either side in front where you sat down with your suitor after a stroll in
the garden. She recalled exactly which road to turn off to get to it. She
knew that Bailey would not be willing to lose any time looking at an old
house, but the more she talked about it, the more she wanted to see it
once again and find out if the little twin arbors were still standing. "There
was a secret panel in this house," she said craftily, not telling the truth but
wishing that she were, "and the story went that all the family silver was
hidden in it when Sherman came through but it was never found . . ."
"Hey!" John Wesley said. "Let's go see it! We'll find it! We'll poke all
the woodwork and find it! Who lives there? Where do you turn off at?
Hey Pop, can't we turn off there?"
"We never have seen a house with a secret panel!" June Star shrieked. "Let's go to the house with the secret panel! Hey Pop, can't we go see the
house with the secret panel!"
"It's not far from here, I know," the grandmother said. "It wouldn't
take over twenty minutes."
Bailey was looking straight ahead. His jaw was as rigid as a
horseshoe. "No," he said. The children began to yell and scream that they wanted to see the
house with the secret panel. John Wesley kicked the back of the front seat
and June Star hung over her mother's shoulder and whined desperately
into her ear that they never had any fun even on their vacation, that they
could never do what THEY wanted to do. The baby began to scream and
John Wesley kicked the back of the seat so hard that his father could feel
the blows in his kidney. "All right!" he shouted and drew the car to a stop at the side of the
road. "Will you all shut up? Will you all just shut up for one second? If
you don't shut up, we won't go anywhere."
"It would be very educational for them," the grandmother murmured. "All right," Bailey said, "but get this: this is the only time we're going
to stop for anything like this. This is the one and only time."
"The dirt road that you have to turn down is about a mile back," the
grandmother directed. "I marked it when we passed."
"A dirt road," Bailey groaned. After they had turned around and were headed toward the dirt road,
the grandmother recalled other points about the house, the beautiful glass
over the front doorway and the candle-lamp in the hall. John Wesley said
that the secret panel was probably in the fireplace. "You can't go inside this house," Bailey said. "You don't know who
lives there."
"While you all talk to the people in front, I'll run around behind and
get in a window," John Wesley suggested. "We'll all stay in the car," his mother said. They turned onto the dirt road and the car raced roughly along in a
swirl of pink dust. The grandmother recalled the times when there were
no paved roads and thirty miles was a day's journey. The dirt road was
hilly and there were sudden washes in it and sharp curves on dangerous
embankments. All at once they would be on a hill, looking down over the
blue tops of trees for miles around, then the next minute, they would be in
a red depression with the dust-coated trees looking down on them. "This place had better turn up in a minute," Bailey said, "or I'm going
to turn around."
The road looked as if no one had traveled on it in months. "It's not much farther," the grandmother said and just as she said it, a
horrible thought came to her. The thought was so embarrassing that she
turned red in the face and her eyes dilated and her feet jumped up,
upsetting her valise in the corner. The instant the valise moved, the
newspaper top she had over the basket under it rose with a snarl and Pitty
Sing, the cat, sprang onto Bailey's shoulder. The children were thrown to the floor and their mother, clutching the
baby, was thrown out the door onto the ground; the old lady was thrown
into the front seat. The car turned over once and landed right-side-up in a
gulch off the side of the road. Bailey remained in the driver's seat with the
cat -- gray-striped with a broad white face and an orange nose -- clinging
to his neck like a caterpillar. As soon as the children saw they could move their arms and legs, they
scrambled out of the car, shouting, "We've had an ACCIDENT!" The
grandmother was curled up under the dashboard, hoping she was injured
so that Bailey's wrath would not come down on her all at once. The
horrible thought she had had before the accident was that the house she
had remembered so vividly was not in Georgia but in Tennessee. Bailey removed the cat from his neck with both hands and flung it out
the window against the side of a pine tree. Then he got out of the car and
started looking for the children's mother. She was sitting against the side
of the red gutted ditch, holding the screaming baby, but she only had a cut
down her face and a broken shoulder. "We've had an ACCIDENT!" the
children screamed in a frenzy of delight. "But nobody's killed," June Star said with disappointment as the
grandmother limped out of the car, her hat still pinned to her head but the
broken front brim standing up at a jaunty angle and the violet spray
hanging off the side. They all sat down in the ditch, except the children,
to recover from the shock. They were all shaking. "Maybe a car will come along," said the children's mother hoarsely
"I believe I have injured an organ," said the grandmother, pressing her
side, but no one answered her. Bailey's teeth were clattering. He had on a
yellow sport shirt with bright blue parrots designed in it and his face was
as yellow as the shirt. The grandmother decided that she would not
mention that the house was in Tennessee. The road was about ten feet above and they could see only the tops of
the trees on the other side of it. Behind the ditch they were sitting in there
were more woods, tall and dark and deep. In a few minutes they saw a car
some distance away on top of a hill, coming slowly as if the occupants
were watching them. The grandmother stood up and waved both arms
dramatically to attract their attention. The car continued to come on
slowly, disappeared around a bend and appeared again, moving even
slower, on top of the hill they had gone over. It was a big black battered
hearse-like automobile. There were three men in it. It came to a stop just over them and for some minutes, the driver
looked down with a steady expressionless gaze to where they were sitting,
and didn't speak. Then he turned his head and muttered something to the
other two and they got out. One was a fat boy in black trousers and a red
sweat shirt with a silver stallion embossed on the front of it. He moved
around on the right side of them and stood staring, his mouth partly open
in a kind of loose grin. The other had on khaki pants and a blue striped
coat and a gray hat pulled down very low, hiding most of his face. He
came around slowly on the left side. Neither spoke.
The driver got out of the car and stood by the side of it, looking down
at them. He was an older man than the other two. His hair was just
beginning to gray and he wore silver-rimmed spectacles that gave him a
scholarly look. He had a long creased face and didn't have on any shirt or
undershirt. He had on blue jeans that were too tight for him and was
holding a black hat and a gun. The two boys also had guns. "We've had an ACCIDENT!" the children screamed. The grandmother had the peculiar feeling that the bespectacled man
was someone she knew. His face was as familiar to her as if she had
known him all her life but she could not recall who he was. He moved
away from the car and began to come down the embankment, placing his
feet carefully so that he wouldn't slip. He had on tan and white shoes and
no socks, and his ankles were red and thin. "Good afternoon," he said. "I
see you all had you a little spill."
"We turned over twice!" said the grandmother. "Oncet," he corrected. "We seen it happen. Try their car and see will it
run, Hiram," he said quietly to the boy with the gray hat. "What you got that gun for?" John Wesley asked. "Whatcha gonna do
with that gun?"
"Lady," the man said to the children's mother, "would you mind.-->
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