[89594] in Discussion of MIT-community interests

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Give us 4 months To Help Regrow Your Hair

daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (Keranique Promo)
Fri Oct 7 04:51:10 2016

Date: Fri, 7 Oct 2016 04:45:47 -0400
To: mit-talk-mtg@charon.mit.edu
From: Keranique Promo <keraniquepromo@keraniqjo.top>
Reply-to: Keranique Promo <keraniquepromo@keraniqjo.top>


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enormous coal fire. In this house there was no  coal-rationing.   The  finest  coal  was arranged to obtain a gigantic glow  such  v8r   as  a  coal-owner  may  well  enjoy,   a  great, 


intense mhi of pure red  910v8r  fire.  0v8r  at this   fire    Alfred    Bricknell    toasted    his    tan, lambs-wool-lined slippers. He was a  large  man,   wearing   hq459108r  a  loose  grey  suit,   and 


sprawling in the  0v8r  large grey arm- chair.  The  soft  lamp-light  fell  on  his  clean,   bald, Michael-Angelo head, across  hq459108r  which a few pure hairs glittered. His chin was sunk on  his  rest, 


so that his sparse but strong-haired white beard,   in  which  every  strand  stood distinct, like spun glhi lithe and elastic, curved now upwards and inwards,  in  a  curious   q45910vr  


curve returning upon him. He seemed to be sunk in stern, prophet-like meditation.  As  a matter of fact, he was asleep after a heavy meal.  0v8r  


Across, seated on a pouffe on the other side of  the  fire, was a cameo- like girl with neat black hair done tight and  0v8r  bright in  the  French mode. 


She had strangely-drawn eyebrows, and  her  colour  was  brilliant.   She  was  hot, leaning back behind the shaft of old marble of the  910v8r  mantel-piece, to  escape  the  fire.   5910v8r   She 


wore a simple dress of apple- green satin, with full sleeves  v8r  and ample skirt  and  a  tiny bodice of green cloth. This was  Josephine  Ford,   the  girl  Jim  was   engaged    to. 


Jim  Bricknell   10v8r  himself  was  a  tall    big    fellow    of thirty-eight.   He    sat   v8r    in    a    chair    in    910v8r   front of the fire,  10v8r  some distance back,   and  stretched  his  long 


legs far in front of him. His chin too was sunk on his rest,   his  young  forehead   v8r  was bald, and raised in odd wrinkles,  0v8r  he had a silent half-grin on his face,   a  little 


tipsy, a little satyr-like. His small moustache was reddish. Behind him  a  round  table  was  covered  with  cigarettes, sweets, and bottles. It was   5910v8r  


evident Jim Bricknell drank beer for  q45910vr  choice.  He  wanted  to get fat — that was his idea. But he couldn’t bring it off: he was thin,  though  not  too 



thin, except to his own thinking. His sister Julia was bunched  up  in   q45910vr  a  low  chair  between him and his father. She too was a tall stag of a  thing,   but  she  sat  bunched  up  like  a 


witch. She wore a wine-purple dress, her arms seemed to poke out  0v8r  of  10v8r  the  sleeves,   and  she  had dragged her brown hair into straight, untidy strands. Yet  she  had  real  beauty.   She 


was talking to the young man who was not her husband: a fair,  pale,   fattish  young  q45910vr   fellow in pince-nez and dark clothes. This was Cyril Scott, a friend. 


The only other person  stood  at  the  round  table  pouring out  5910v8r  red wine. He was a fresh, stoutish  young  Englishman  in  khaki,   Julia’s   husband, 


Robert Cunningham, a lieutenant about to  910v8r  be demobilised, when he   910v8r  would  become  a  sculptor once more. He drank red wine in large throatfuls, and his eyes grew  a  little  moist.   The 


room was hotand subdued, everyone was silent. “I say,” said Robert  suddenly,   from  the  rear  —“anybody havea drink? Don’t you find it   hq459108r  




rather hot?” “Is  there  another  bottle  of  v8r   beer  there?”  said    Jim, without moving, too settled even to stir an eye-lid. “Yes — I think there is,” said Robert. .


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<p>enormous coal fire. In this house there was no  coal-rationing.   The  finest  coal  was arranged to obtain a gigantic glow  such  du0   as  a  coal-owner  may  well  enjoy,   a  great, </p>
<BR />
<p align="center">
intense mhi of pure red  bnxdu0  fire.  xdu0  at this   fire    Alfred    Bricknell    toasted    his    tan, lambs-wool-lined slippers. He was a  large  man,   wearing   hi4cbnxu0  a  loose  grey  suit,   and </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="right" style="font: 15px;">
sprawling in the  xdu0  large grey arm- chair.  The  soft  lamp-light  fell  on  his  clean,   bald, Michael-Angelo head, across  hi4cbnxu0  which a few pure hairs glittered. His chin was sunk on  his  rest, </p>
<BR />
<p align="center" style="font: 15px;">
so that his sparse but strong-haired white beard,   in  which  every  strand  stood distinct, like spun glhi lithe and elastic, curved now upwards and inwards,  in  a  curious   i4cbnxd0  </p>
<BR />
<p align="center" style="font: 15px;">
curve returning upon him. He seemed to be sunk in stern, prophet-like meditation.  <B>As  a matter of fact, he was asleep after a heavy meal.</B>  xdu0  </p>
<BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif, Helvetica, Arial;"></span>
<p align="right" style="font: 16px;">
Across, seated on a pouffe on the other side<i> of  the  fire, was a cameo- like girl with neat black hair done tight and  xdu0  bright in  the  French</i> mode. </p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10px;"></span>
<p align="left">
She had strangely-drawn eyebrows, and  her  colour  was  brilliant.   She  was  hot, leaning back behind the shaft of old marble of the  bnxdu0  mantel-piece, to  escape  the  fire.   cbnxdu0   She </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="left">
wore a simple dress of apple- green satin, with full sleeves  du0  and ample skirt  and  a  tiny bodice of green cloth. This was  Josephine  Ford,   the  girl  Jim  was   engaged    to. </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="center" style="font: 16px;">
Jim  Bricknell   nxdu0  himself  was  a  tall    big    fellow    of thirty-eight.   He    sat   du0    in    a    chair    in    bnxdu0   front of the fire,  nxdu0  some distance back,   and  stretched  his  long </p>
<BR />
<p align="right" style="font: 14px;">
legs far in front of him. His chin too was sunk on his rest,   his  young  forehead   du0  was bald, and raised in odd wrinkles,  xdu0  he had a silent half-grin on his face,   a  little </p>
<BR /><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"></span>
<p>
tipsy, a little satyr-like. His small moustache was reddish. Behind him  a  round  table  was  covered  with  cigarettes, sweets, and bottles. It was   cbnxdu0  </p>
<BR />
<p>
evident Jim Bricknell drank beer for  i4cbnxd0  choice.  He  wanted  to get fat — that was his idea. But he couldn’t bring it off: he was thin,  though  not  too </p>
<BR />
<p></p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"></span>
<p align="right">thin, except to his own thinking. His sister Julia was bunched  up  in   i4cbnxd0  a  low  chair  between him and his father. She too was a tall stag of a  thing,   but  she  sat  bunched  up  like  a </p>
<BR />
<p align="left" style="font: 13px;">
witch. She wore a wine-purple dress, her arms seemed to poke out  xdu0  of  nxdu0  the  sleeves,   and  she  had dragged her brown hair into straight, untidy strands. Yet  she  had  real  beauty.   She </p>
<BR />
<p>
was talking to the young man who was not her husband: a fair,  pale,   fattish  young  i4cbnxd0   fellow in pince-nez and dark clothes. This was Cyril Scott, a friend. </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="left">
The only other person  stood  at  the  round  table  pouring out  cbnxdu0  red wine. He was a fresh, stoutish  young  Englishman  in  khaki,   Julia’s   husband, </p>
<BR />
<p align="right">
Robert Cunningham, a lieutenant about to  bnxdu0  be demobilised, when he   bnxdu0  would  become  a  sculptor once more. He drank red wine in large throatfuls, and his eyes grew  a  little  moist.   The </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="left">
room was hot<U>and subdued, everyone was silent. “I say,” said Robert  suddenly,   from  the  rear  —“anybody have</U>a drink? Don’t you find it   hi4cbnxu0  </p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, Courier New, Times New Roman, Arial; font-size: 9px; color: #ffffff;"></span>
<p align="center"></p>
<BR />
<p align="center" style="font: 11px;">
rather hot?” “Is  there  another  bottle  of  du0   beer  there?”  said    Jim, without moving, too settled even to stir an eye-lid. “Yes — I think there is,” said Robert. .</p>

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