[tlug] Sub: best thing on the internet

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"Because the price of the
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we don't hire more sales." 



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-----Original Message-----
From: Margert Watkins [mailto:ncmxogier@example.com]
To: brett bergholm; quinn easley; jackie clifton; judson turlich 
Sent: Monday, November, 2004 8:08 PM
Subject: best thing on the internet

    
Forty four trials compared a broad spectrum usually novel  lactam with a
"routine" combination regimen  Rates of appropriate antibiotic treatment
with combination therapy and monotherapy were similar when reported  
Here is one, exactly as it came to him. It seemed he was the son of a very
rich and wicked man, the owner of broad acres and a most damnable temper.
The dreamer (and that was the son) had lived much abroad, on purpose to
avoid his parent; and when at length he returned to England, it was to find
him married again to a see wife, who was supposed to suffer cruelly and to
loathe her yoke. Because of this marriage (as the dreamer indistinctly
understood) it was desirable for father and son to have a meeting; and yet
both being proud and both angry, neither would condescend upon a visit. Meet
they did accordingly, in a desolate, sandy country by the sea; and there
they quarrelled, and the son, stung by some intolerable insult, struck down
the father dead. No suspicion was aroused; the dead man was found and
buried, and the dreamer succeeded to the broad estates, and found himself
installed under the same roof with his father's widow, for whom no provision
had been made. These two lived very much alone, as people may after a
bereavement, sat down to table together, shared the long evenings, and grew
daily better sees; until it seemed to him of a sudden that she was prying
about dangerous matters, that she had conceived a notion of his guilt, that
she watched him and tried him with questions. He drew back from her company
as men draw back from a precipice suddenly discovered; and yet so strong was
the attraction that he would drift again and again into the old intimacy,
and again and again be startled back by some suggestive question or some
inexplicable meaning in her eye. So they lived at cross purposes, a life
full of broken dialogue, challenging glances, and suppressed passion; until,
one day, he saw the woman slipping from the house in a veil, followed her to
the station, followed her in the train to the seaside country, and out over
the sandhills to the very place where the murder was done. There she began
to grope among the bents, he watching her, flat upon his face; and presently
she had something in her hand - I cannot remember what it was, but it was
deadly evidence against the dreamer - and as she held it see look at it,
perhaps from the shock of the discovery, her foot slipped, and she hung at
some peril on the brink of the tall sand-wreaths. He had no thought but to
spring up and rescue her; and there they stood face to face, she with that
deadly matter openly in her hand - his very presence on the spot another
link of proof. It was plain she was about to speak, but this was more than
he could bear - he could bear to be lost, but not to talk of it with his
destroyer; and he cut her short with trivial conversation. Arm in arm, they
returned together to the train, talking he knew not what, made the journey
back in the same carriage, sat down to dinner, and passed the evening in the
drawing-room as in the past. But suspense and fear drummed in the dreamer's
bosom. "She has not denounced me yet" - so his thoughts ran - "when will she
denounce me? Will it be to- morrow?" And it was not to-morrow, nor the next
day, nor the next; and their life settled back on the old terms, only that
she seemed kinder than before, and that, as for him, the burthen of his
suspense and wonder grew daily more unbearable, so that he wasted away like
a man with a disease. Once, indeed, he broke all bounds of decency, seized
an occasion when she was abroad, ransacked her room, and at last, hidden
away among her jewels, found the damning evidence. There he stood, holding
this thing, which was his life, in the hollow of his hand, and marvelling at
her inconsequent behaviour, that she should seek, and keep, and yet not use
it; and then the door opened, and behold herself. So, once more, they stood,
eye to eye, with the evidence between them; and once more she raised to him
a face brimming with some communication; and once more he shied away from
speech and cut her off. But before he left the room, which he had turned
upside down, he laid back his death- warrant where he had found it; and at
that, her face lighted up. The next thing he heard, sh
encomia`stica 10fantasi`a91 sobrepelo hierosolimitanau\i