(cMailman.Message Message qoq}q(U_headersq]q((U Return-PathU%tq(U X-Original-ToUkosar@list.dimnet.hutq(U Delivered-ToUkosar@list.dimnet.hutq(UReceivedU~from dimnet (localhost []) by dimnet.hu (Postfix) with ESMTP id A2BA3114C480; Tue, 2 Dec 2014 00:45:21 +0100 (CET)tq (UX-Virus-ScannedUamavisd-new at dimnet.hutq (UReceivedUśfrom dimnet.hu ([]) by dimnet (dimnet.hu []) (amavisd-new, port 10024) with ESMTP id P9ZXKvmHRtUZ; Tue, 2 Dec 2014 00:45:20 +0100 (CET)tq (UReceivedU˛from seconomial.us (batgirl-i.seconomial.us []) by dimnet.hu (Postfix) with ESMTP id 7983E114C48A for ; Tue, 2 Dec 2014 00:45:20 +0100 (CET)tq (UReceivedU‘by seconomial.us id hfjvci0001gt for ; Mon, 1 Dec 2014 15:34:57 -0800 (envelope-from )tq (U MIME-VersionU1.0tq(UFromU="HealthierChoicesToday" tq(UToUtq(USubjectUiRE: kosar@list.dimnet.hu - How Kidney Beans Work (Explained in article) - Issue#67894 on December 1, 2014tq(U Content-TypeUtext/html; charset="us-ascii"tq(UContent-Transfer-EncodingUquoted-printabletq(U Message-IDU/<>qtq(UDateUMon, 1 Dec 2014 15:50:33 -0800tqeU_payloadqT~ Never Diet Again

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- ******************************* All described in this letter is represented as an ad. SIMPLE-1NF0 P0.B0X./4120 N.49824 ------------ P0RT1AND_0REG0N 97208 \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ - Stop receiving these messages: http://seconomial.us/Z0Aob6KsMY1MPePZKqPoQHkxUEIMLyT1wMXnTLgc8LVs+lbpIVN237DDMkubFm/X865PQ2HznND0J6SV/hZ/+LwwlTKnojmSITyOivcQ1EEjB9KrtoI3uOm2ODVAfYG99pFRQwCm5SdlJE8VI8c5 -- amonds in the bright sunshine fell back into the basin with a musical splashing sound. A minute later and Cracis with his companion passed out through the porched entry into the tree-shaded road, the grave, white-robed leader and the well-armed general with his shield, which flashed and turned off a shower of keen darts which came from on high, as he turned once to wave his hand to his son. At that moment there was a low, deep bay, and the great wolf-dog, which had caught sight of his master, bounded from the shadow where he had crouched to avoid the flies, and, seeing the two strangers, as they seemed to him, he leaped forward, but crouched at his master's feet as he recognised his face and voice. "Good dog!" cried Cracis. "No, go back and guard all here till I return." If the dog did not grasp the words, he did the tone and gesture, replying by throwing up his muzzle and giving vent to a piteous howl full of protest, as he turned and walked slowly back to join Marcus and Serge, dropping at the former's feet just as the departing pair disappeared at a turn of the road. Then there was a pause for a time, before the dog slunk off to his kennel; Serge hung his head and moved away in silence towards the back of the villa and the room that Marcus playfully called his den, while the boy, feeling that all was over and hope dead and buried in his breast, went slowly and sadly to his seat in the study, where his stylus and waxen tablets lay, to slowly scratch upon the smooth surface the words: "Gone. Left behind." CHAPTER ELEVEN. GOOD-BYE, OLD HOME. There was a strange solemnity about the Roman villa as soon as Marcus was left alone. All seemed to have grown painfully still. It was fancy, no doubt, but, to the boy, the birds had ceased to sing and chirp among the trees, the sounds from the farm were distant, and though more than once Marcus listened intently he did not hear Serge go to or from his room, nor his step anywhere about the road. "Poor old Serge," thought Marcus; "he is as miserable as I am--no, not quite, because he does not feel so guilty nor ready to disobey. He heard what my father said, bowed his head, and went away." And how slowly the time glided away. The hottest part of the afternoon came, when, as a rule, the boy felt drowsy and ready to have a restful sleep till the sun began to get low; but this day Marcus felt so alert and excited that he never once thought of sleep, though he more than once longed to see the sun go down so that it might be darkness such as would agree with the misery and despair which kept him shut in his room hating the very sight of day. Marcus took up his stylus to write a dozen times over, but he did not add a word to those which he had written as soon as he was alone, and he threw the pointed implement down each time with a feeling of disgust. "I feel as if I shall never write again," he said, bitterly. "Oh, it is too hard to bear!" He buried his face in his hands, resting his elbows upon his knees, feeling at times almost stunned by his misery, quite ignorant of the lapse of time, and so wretched that he did not even wonder how far his father and the great Roman general had got by this time upon their journey to Rome. U_charsetqNUepilogueqNU _default_typeqU text/plainqU _unixfromqUBFrom HealthierChoicesToday@seconomial.us Tue Dec 2 00:45:21 2014Udefectsq]U __version__q(KKKtqUpreambleq Nub.