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Purification of SPARC/Osteonectin SPARC is a matricellular protein that regulates cell adhesion, extracelluolar matrix production, growth factor activity and cell cycle. This unit describes the purification of SPARC, also termed osteonectin and BM/40, from cultured mammalian cells. Additional information is presented on the purification of recombinant SPARC (rSPARC) from E. coli and from Sf9 cells, as well as its isolation from blood platelets. Assays for the activity of SPARC, deadhesion and inhibition of cellular proliferation in vitro, are described. The expression of SPARC during remodeling and repair tissue in response to injury identifies it as a therapeutic target for the treatment of fibrotic disease, certain cancers and other disorders in which regulation of angiogenesis is a key factor.
First-principles study of interaction between H2 molecules and BN nanotubes with BN divacancies. The interaction between H molecules and boron nitride (BN) single-walled nanotubes with BN divacancies is investigated with density-functional theory. Our calculations reveal that H molecules adsorb physically outside defective BN nanotubes, and cannot enter into BN nanotubes through bare BN divacancies because the energy barrier is as high as 4.62 eV. After the defects are saturated by hydrogen atoms, the physisorption behavior of H molecules is not changed, but the energy barrier of H molecules entering into BN nanotubes through the defects is reduced to 0.58 eV. This phenomenon is ascribed to hydrogen saturation induced reduction of electrostatic potential around the defects.
Prevalence of antiplatelet therapy in patients with diabetes Objective To determine the prevalence of, and patient characteristics associated with, antiplatelet therapy in a cohort of primary care patients with Type 1 or Type2 diabetes. Methods Subjects participating in a randomized trial of a decision support system were interviewed at home and medication usage verified by a research assistant. Eligibility for antiplatelet therapy was determined by American Diabetes Association criteria and clinical contraindications. The association between antiplatelet use and patient characteristics was examined using bivariate and multivariate logistic regression. Results The mean age of subjects was 64 years (range 3193). The prevalence of antiplatelet use was 54% overall; 45% for subjects without known CVD vs. 78% for those with CVD; 46% for women vs. 63% for men; and 45% for younger subjects (age< 65) vs. 62% for senior citizens. After controlling for race/ethnicity, income, education, marital status, insurance status and prescription coverage, the following were associated with the use of antiplatelet therapy: presence of known CVD (OR 3.4 ), male sex (OR 2.0 ), and age > = 65 (OR 1.9 ). The prevalence of antiplatelet therapy for younger women without CVD was 32.8% compared to a prevalence of 90.3% for older men with CVD. Conclusion Despite clinical practice guidelines recommending antiplatelet therapy for patients with diabetes, there are still many eligible patients not receiving this beneficial therapy, particularly patients under 65, women, and patients without known CVD. Effective methods to increase antiplatelet use should be considered at the national, community, practice and provider level. Introduction Cardiovascular disease (CVD) is the leading cause of morbidity and mortality in adults with diabetes. Antiplatelet therapy, with either aspirin or the newer platelet aggregation inhibitors, has been shown to be safe and cost effective for reducing the risk of recurrent vascular events. Consensus guidelines recommend the use of antiplatelet therapy for both primary and secondary prevention of CVD. In 1997, the American Diabe-tes Association (ADA) recommended antiplatelet therapy for adults with diabetes and co-existing CVD, and for adults with diabetes over 30 years of age, even in the absence of CVD. Prior to the publication of the ADA recommendations for antiplatelet prophylaxis, the national rate of aspirin use among patients with diabetes was estimated at 13% for individuals without CVD and at 37% for those with CVD. By 2001 this latter prevalence, as determined by telephone survey, had increased to 48.7%. Current estimates suggest that approximately 5% of adults cannot tolerate aspirin therapy. For these individuals, an alternative antiplatelet agent may be used. Despite increasing evidence to support its effectiveness among patients with diabetes, antiplatelet therapy has been under-utilized, particularly in women. While several observational studies have examined the prevalence of aspirin use both before and after the publication of the 1997 ADA recommendations, none have included the use of other antiplatelet agents and may therefore have underestimated the prevalence of antiplatelet therapy. The goal of this study is to determine the prevalence of antiplatelet therapy (aspirin and newer platelet aggregation inhibitors) for both primary and secondary prevention of CVD in diabetes and to examine the patient characteristics that are associated with failure to use this important therapy. Methods This study was part of a larger project, the Vermont Diabetes Information System (VDIS), a cluster-randomized trial of a laboratory-based diabetes decision support system in For the purposes of this cross-sectional study, a subset of interviewed subjects was created using inclusion and exclusion criteria based on the current American Diabetes Association (ADA) recommendations for the use of antiplatelet therapy. The subset of subjects who were eligible for antiplatelet therapy consisted of all subjects in the VDIS interview cohort 30 years or older, and those under 30 years with a self-reported history of either coronary heart disease, stroke or transient ischemic attack, or peripheral vascular disease. For the purposes of the study we defined cardiovascular disease (CVD) as any of the above manifestations of vascular disease. We excluded patients with specific contraindications to antiplatelet therapy: peptic ulcer disease, severe liver disease, and those on current warfarin therapy, for whom decisions about concomitant use of antiplatelet therapy and anticoagulation would be individualized. No information was available about side effects or previous discontinuation of therapy was available. Some subjects had more than one exclusion; a total of 221 subjects were excluded for a final sample of 785 subjects. Antiplatelet Results The characteristics of the study population are presented in Table 1. The mean age was 64 years with half the population over age 65. Most graduated high school and fewer than 3% were uninsured. Most subjects were overweight or obese (89%), with 18% falling in the severely obese category (body mass index of 40 or greater). Twenty-six percent of the population had cardiovascular disease, with myocardial infarction being the most common manifestation in 16%. The prevalence of antiplatelet use was 53.6% (47.3% aspirin alone, 2.5% newer platelet aggregation inhibitor and 3.8% both) for all eligible subjects and 78.2% for subjects with known CVD. The characteristics associated with antiplatelet medication use are noted in Table 2. Male sex and older age are both associated with a two-fold increase in antiplatelet use (p < 0.001). Cardiovascular disease was associated with a three-fold increase in antiplatelet use, with MI showing a six-fold increase (p < 0.001). Other factors that were associated with anti-platelet agent use were: an endocrinology visit in the previous year (p = 0.004), and Medicare insurance coverage (p < 0.001). In multivariable analysis, three characteristics remained independently associated with antiplatelet use while controlling for important covariates (see Table 3). Subjects with a history CVD were more likely to be on appropriate antiplatelet therapy (OR 3. Discussion We found a prevalence of antiplatelet therapy use among adults with diabetes of 53.6% (47.3% aspirin alone, 2.5% newer platelet aggregation inhibitor and 3.8% both), which is similar to the recent nationally representative telephone survey estimate of aspirin use of 48.7% by Persell. Among patients with CVD we found a prevalence of antiplatelet therapy of 78.2%, compared to 74.2% by Persell. We found the highest rates among subjects with CAD. Following the CAPRIE trial in 1996, which showed a slight advantage in secondary prevention of cardiovascular events for clopidogrel vs. aspirin, clopidogrel has been increasingly used both in addition to aspirin and as its replacement. The newer platelet aggregation inhibitors are also increasingly used for acute coronary syndrome and after percutaneous coronary intervention. The strong evidence for CAD indications is reflected in our findings that subjects with coronary artery disease were the most likely to be receiving antiplatelet therapy. Our motivation in exploring the factors associated with antiplatelet agent use was to help identify subgroups that may be targeted for special efforts to increase antiplatelet therapy. We found that women, patients younger than 65, and those without CVD were less likely to be using antiplatelet therapy. On the other end of the spectrum, over 90% of men over 65 with CVD were taking antiplatelet therapy. This high level of use among those at the highest risk supports the achievability of the consensus guidelines. A recent meta-analysis including 287 studies and 135,000 patients at high vascular risk showed that antiplatelet therapy reduced serious vascular events (nonfatal MI, non-fatal stroke, vascular death) by 36 (SE 5) per 1000 patients treated for two years. Assuming that we can move from our overall prevalence of antiplatelet therapy of 54% to our best rate of 90%, we estimate that another 13 serious vascular events per 1000 could be averted over two years. If this is projected to the 18.2 million adults with diabetes in the United States, we estimate that 238,000 serious vascular events could be averted. Why are patients with diabetes not receiving antiplatelet therapy despite consensus guidelines? First of all, prescribers may feel there is some ambiguity regarding the role of aspirin in CVD primary prevention for patients with diabetes. For example, while the Primary Prevention Project, which randomized over 4000 diabetic and non-diabetic subjects with CVD risk factors to aspirin or no aspirin, was stopped early because of the beneficial effects of aspirin, in the subgroup with diabetes the benefits were smaller and not statistically significant. This raises the question of potential differences in the role of antiplatelet therapy in diabetes. Secondly, even if prescribers agree with the guideline, there are other barriers to achieving perfect compliance. A qualitative study exploring reasons cited by physicians for not prescribing aspirin included: difficulties in applying generic guidelines to individuals, patient resistance to taking aspirin, prioritization of other issues in a time constrained visit, and communication problems in reviewing the medications of patients with stroke. Why might women be less likely to be receiving antiplatelet therapy? Gender differences have been well documented in the diagnosis and treatment of heart disease In addition, the effects of aspirin may be different in men and women; a recent study of primary prevention of CVD in almost 40,000 women over 45 years of age showed that, while stroke risk was lowered, myocardial infarction and overall cardiovascular mortality were not. Physicians may be less enthusiastic about the evidence base supporting the use of antiplatelet therapy in women. For patients under age 65, physicians (and patients themselves) may not perceive the risks of CVD as high enough to warrant antiplatelet therapy. We observed an association between the use of antiplatelet therapy and the type of CVD. Patients with a history of prior myocardial infarction were more likely to be on antiplatelet therapy (86%) than those with a history of peripheral vascular disease (77%) or cerebrovascular accident (CVA) (69%). Furthermore, only 54% of patients with CVA and no other CVD were using an antiplatelet agent. Antiplatelet therapy has been shown to reduce the risk of recurrent CVA by 11% to 15% in patients with prior ischemic stroke of non-cardiac origin and reduce the risk of stroke, MI, and vascular death, by 22%. The extent to which stroke patients and their physicians avoid antiplatelet therapy due to risk of bleeding is not known. This lower use of antiplatelet therapy in stroke patients identifies an area for potential investigation and intervention to improve anti-platelet regimens in this patient population. Health insurance coverage has been shown to be an important factor in the delivery of medical services. Increasing levels of health insurance have a positive corre-lation with the likelihood that an individual will receive appropriate preventive care. In diabetes, poor insurance coverage has been associated with delayed or omitted preventive services. We found that health insurance coverage was not an important predictor of anti-platelet therapy in patients of this cohort, but the level of health insurance coverage was high and subjects were under the care of a primary care provider suggesting good access to care. In the case of an expensive medicine like clopidogrel, lack of prescription drug coverage could contribute to lack of use. However, aspirin, which comprises the majority of the antiplatelet agents in our study, is a low cost, nonprescription medication. This study has several limitations. Our population, while representative of patients receiving primary care in the rural Northeast may not be representative of all adults with diabetes in the U.S. We do not have information regarding allergies or side effects associated with antiplatelet medications. It is possible that eligible subjects were unable to tolerate therapy, though it is unlikely this would be the case in more than 5% of subjects. It is unlikely that medication intolerance would be correlated with age, sex or cardiovascular disease. We do not have information regarding the indication for aspirin use, though 98% of subjects reported low-dose aspirin use (< = 325 mg/d) suggesting prophylaxis. Our analysis does not indicate causality and the exact mechanisms promoting or deterring the use of recommended interventions is unknown. There have been a variety of successful interventions directed at increasing the use of antiplatelet therapy for the prevention of CVD including: HMO-directed quality improvement efforts, intensive multifaceted case management, pharmacy-directed interventions, and electronic medical record reminder systems. A VA study found that physician counseling was highly associated with antiplatelet therapy and suggested that this simple intervention could prevent many cardiovascular events and deaths. There are many ways in which antiplatelet use can be increased; it is now a question of which approach can be most efficiently adapted in each clinical setting. Conclusion Despite clinical practice guidelines recommending antiplatelet therapy for patients with diabetes, there are still many eligible patients not receiving this beneficial therapy, particularly patients under 65, women, and patients without known CVD. Effective methods to increase antiplatelet use should be considered at the national, community, practice and provider level.
. PURPOSE In order to encourage the removal of middle molecules in hemodiafiltration (HDF) techniques an attempt is made to maximize convective clearance by increasing the ultrafiltration rate. However, convective clearance is limited by the maximum filtration fraction (FF%) obtainable, by the pre- or post reinfusion method and by the convective surface and the capacity of the filter used. This study aimed to evaluate the effect of the FF% in the removal of Beta2-microglobulin (Beta2-m) during hemodiafiltration reinfusion (HFR) to identify the best ultrafiltration strategies; and therefore, a better removal of medium molecular weight solutes in this hemodiafiltrative technique recently introduced in clinical practice. METHODS Ten chronic uremic patients (eight males, two females; age 66 +/- 18 yrs) already on renal dialysis therapy (RDT) for 80 +/- 36 months, were subjected to four HFR sessions, with Td=240 +/- 10 min, Qb=312 +/- 18 and Qd=500 mL/min; the reinfusion rates (Qr) used were 43.6 +/- 7.2 mL/min with FF% rates varying from 20-34 (24.2 +/- 3.8) for hematocritic levels of 34.6 +/- 4.2% at the start of the dialysis session. For each session the intradialytic reduction rates (RR%) of urea, creatinine (Cr), phosphate, uric acid and Beta2-m and its average clearance (KBeta2-m mL/min) were evaluated. RESULTS The results obtained gave a RR% for urea of 69.4 +/- 5 (Kt/Veq=1.23 +/- 0.2) and for Cr, phosphate and uric acid values of, respectively, 61.2 +/- 5.4, 47.5 +/- 10 and 75.8 +/- 6.7. The intradialytic reductions in Beta2-m were 49.3 +/- 10.3% with a variability range from 29-69% and with average KBeta2-m values of 63.8 +/- 13.5 mL/min. The RR% of ss2-m and KBeta2-m were inversely correlated (p<0.01) to the FF% rate applied during the treatment; 75% of the HRF sessions in which we observed a reduction in Beta2-m levels >40% were those where a FF% between 20 and 26% was applied. CONCLUSIONS. From our study, it appears that in HFR the best ultrafiltration strategy from the convective sector in removing Beta2-m has FF% values in the range 20-26%. The occurrence of lower intradialytic reductions of Beta2-m with increasing FF% can be interpreted as a consequence of phenomena related to high intradialytic hemoconcentrations, to the excessive increase in the TMP and/or the increase in the protein cake with a consequent reduction in permeability and mass transfer. Although using a limited convective surface with a limited possibility of increasing the FF%, nevertheless, HFR seems capable of ensuring a satisfactory uremic toxin removal of low and medium molecular weight, which combined with the high biocompatibility deriving from the use of reinfused endogen, can be considered an effective dialytic strategy for preventing or retarding the complications in dialytic patients.
Many rendering systems, such as printers, copying machines, and fax machines, are designed to apply markings on sheet media, such as paper. The sheet media typically are held in a supply bin or a removable paper tray or cassette. Sheet media must be loaded into the supply bin or paper tray of a rendering system when the supply of sheet media has run out. Currently available rendering systems typically include sensors that trigger a notification signal when the supply bin or paper tray is empty. Many of these types of systems, however, are incapable of determining the number of sheets remaining in the supply bin or paper tray. As a result, users of these systems are unable to determine whether there is a sufficient amount of sheet media in the rendering system to complete a rendering job. Several potential solutions that attempt to address this problem have been proposed. These solutions typically involve measuring the height of the stack of sheet media in the supply bin or paper tray and inferring the number of sheets remaining from the measured stack height. In particular, the number of sheets remaining is estimated by dividing the measured stack height by an estimate of the thickness of the individual sheets. The sheet thickness may be a predetermined value or it may be inferred from the reduction in the measured stack height after each sheet is fed into the rendering system. The accuracy of such inferential sheet counting methods, however, may be quite low, especially when the supply bin or paper tray may have been loaded inadvertently with sheets having different thicknesses. In addition, such methods cannot detect the presence of different types of sheets having different thickness before the sheets have been fed into the rendering system. As a result, these methods cannot warn users when different types of sheets are about to be used for a rendering job. What are needed are improved systems and methods of detecting and monitoring sheet media in rendering systems that are capable of accurately counting the number of sheets and determining when sheets of different thickness are about to be used for a rendering job.
There are a lot of questions out there about a recent state Supreme Court decision officially disbanding California's redevelopment agencies, but at least now Costa Mesa has an idea of which question to ask. At a redevelopment agency meeting Tuesday, Costa Mesa's special counsel Celeste Brady said the city needs to figure out if it wants to create a housing agency to oversee the residential complexes its redevelopment agency used to handle, or hand the job over to the county. "This is where cleanup is necessary," Brady said. "They're giving responsibilities and no money to carry it out." There are also financial incentives to keeping the project in-house, she said. Brady told the agency members — who are also City Council members — that they should make a decision before the end of the month. City staff are also researching a $10-million-plus loan the city made to the agency years ago, to see if it's eligible to be repaid under guidelines the supreme court laid out in its decision.
Protesters have flooded the streets of Alexandria and Suez. In Cairo, they're publicly praying in the thoroughfare. And the Egyptian government can't seem to stop them, despite the crackdown on internet access and cellular communications. The past four days' worth of protests in Egypt, spurred by those that dethroned the Tunisian government Jan. 14, have been accelerated by social media. The #Jan25 hashtag gave the leaderless revolt an internal organizing tool and global communications reach. So it shouldn't be surprising that the Mubarak regime responded by ordering the withdrawal of more than 3,500 Border Gateway Protocol routes by Egyptian service providers, shutting down approximately 88 percent of the country's internet access, according to networking firm BGPMon. But the so-called "Day of Wrath" is uninterrupted. On al-Jazeera a few minutes ago, a functionary from Mubarak's National Democratic Party called the uprising "unprecedented" and conceded that the government needs a "nontraditional way of dealing with this," including "action against corruption, against poverty ... [giving] more freedoms." He said all this while police and the Army are firing tear gas at the demonstrators. Of course, the demonstrators have an offline networking tool: the mosques. Protests were scheduled all over Egypt for Friday in order to capitalize on the ability of the religious establishment to gather, organize, inspire and deploy large groups of people, with all the legitimacy that the mosques command. If the government continues the communications shutdown, it's an open question whether the protesters can sustain their analog organizational momentum. But that might not be something the government can afford. "It's a matter of time before the Internet returns to Egypt," says Sherif Mansour of Freedom Watch. "The government needs it for [the economy], for investment, to operate. But this needs to be taken seriously so that it doesn't happen again." Update 9:40 a.m.: In a Thursday interview, U.S. President Barack Obama said that "there are certain core values that ... we believe are universal: freedom of speech, freedom of expression, people being able to use social networking."
Ahead of the 2015 season, Cycling Weekly sat down with Chris Froome to discuss the tumultuous last year, his meteoric rise in the pro peloton and how he’s preparing for his next assault on the Tour de France Happy newlywed Chris Froome is notably early for our interview. “Sophie?” he says tentatively in an unmistakable Saffa accent before approaching with a two-kiss greeting at a non-descript hotel foyer in Launceston, Tasmania where he is staying. The 2013 Tour de France champion has embarked on an 11-hour journey from South Africa to Australia for a self-appointed training camp with Sky team-mate and Launceston native Richie Porte. It effectively marks the beginning of his pre-season after an eventful break that included marrying long-time girlfriend, Michelle Cound in Cape Town. “We’re based in Johannesburg [in the off-season] but I think Michelle and I first got to know each other years ago down in Cape Town, so it was a nice way to do it,” Froome says smiling. “We kept it very, very low key and didn’t have any media covering it, which was great for the two of us and meant we could switch off. It’s an amazing feeling being a married man!” We chat formally and informally for about an hour as the grey heavens open outside, much to his disappointment as Porte had promised fine weather during the two-week trip that serves several purposes. Froome is scouting future off-season training base options. Launceston’s undulating terrain is ideal for getting into shape, and he can move around relatively unnoticed — although the team issue Jaguar F-Type parked in the street begs to differ. It also functions as a nod to his chief lieutenant, Porte, who enticed the naturalised Brit to compete in two hometown feature criteriums the weekend we speak. Froome’s brief participation — he took no risks in wet and worsening conditions, riding off the back and later abandoning the marquee Stan Siejka Classic — was nonetheless front-page news. “Richie is a close mate, he’s been a massive part of my successes over the last few years and I think it’s a small way of me also saying thanks to him for that,” Froome explains. “Our friendship has just grown over the years and it really does translate through onto the bike. It does help so much when you’re in a situation on the road, under pressure. Richie and I will know exactly what we’re thinking and half the time we don’t need to say almost as much as we probably [otherwise] would need to.” Tour favourite The 29-year-old is unequivocally focused on winning the 2015 Tour de France and, with the exception of February’s Ruta del Sol, where he is set to begin the season, doesn’t mention any other race or objective throughout the course of our conversation. “I’m not necessarily looking to go out there in February winning anything but if I’m going well enough, and I’m able to pick up one or two results along the way, then great,” he says. “But obviously keeping in mind that the main goal is going really well at the end of June.” Froome has already been touted as the favourite for the 102nd edition of the Tour, despite having to abandon the 2014 race due to injury, and Porte goes one step further in referring to his friend as “the rider of this generation”. “I’ve won the Tour de France once so I don’t know if that’s enough to say that I’m the Tour rider of this generation. I’ve still got a way to go,” Froome respectfully rebuts. “I wouldn’t say I doubt myself but I think athletes in general have very low esteem. People talk to me now and say, ‘how does it feel to be the favourite for the Tour de France?’ and I’m like, ‘are you kidding?’ OK, I’ve won one Tour but I didn’t win last year, I got beaten in the Vuelta and yet people are still saying I’m the favourite for next year. How does that work? “I still feel that any success on the bike is something that I have to work extremely hard for. It’s not just going to come easily that’s for sure.” Instead of fully accepting praise, Froome offers it to his rival Alberto Contador (Tinkoff-Saxo), who beat him at the Vuelta after also abandoning the 2014 Tour because of crash-related injury. “Alberto is definitely the point of reference as far as Grand Tour riding goes,” he says affirmatively. “You just have to look back. The guy won the Tour de France in 2007 when he was riding with Discovery so he knows what he is doing. He’s been winning the biggest races for a long time now.” Contador has outlined dual objectives in 2015 in the Giro d’Italia and Tour ahead of next season, but it is a Grand Tour challenge Froome is not ready to rise to. “He knows how to get ready for them and if anyone can back up the Giro/Tour then I would say he’s the guy to do it,” Froome says. “I don’t have that kind of confidence that I can do something like the Giro/Tour. I did the Tour/Vuelta back in 2012 and managed to come second and fourth, so it’s something that could potentially be on the cards, but I’m going to have to get through the Tour first and see how that goes.” British connection ‘Kenyan-born’ is a constant prefix to Froome’s name. He represents Great Britain at World Championships and is proud of his British heritage. However, on face value, his tea order and overt politeness are the only indicators of his ties to the United Kingdom. “I probably don’t drink enough black tea but I definitely have a lot of tea. Everywhere I go I’ve got my thermos of it,” he says. “I love coffee but it really picks me up and drops me afterwards, so I save that for the racing and the days where I know I need an extra bit of motivation. “I’ve grown up in Africa but I’ve always had a very British upbringing given that my family is British.” Froome used his autobiography, The Climb, released in 2014, to help explain his roots and provide a personal insight into his rapid career ascension, which jarred with his publicly conservative nature. It notably included what was a turbulent 2012 Tour, during which the Team Sky leadership controversy with Sir Bradley Wiggins began to snowball into a media-hyped feud. “A lot of people out there couldn’t really relate to me given that I’ve come from Africa and I’m racing for Britain,” he says. “If the story is there they can read about it and understand where I’ve come from and what I’ve had to go through to get to where I am. It’s amazing to have that kind of support from the British public.” Froome’s position as Sky’s outright Tour team leader seems now, for the first time, indisputable, with 2012 winner Wiggins seemingly relegated to other pursuits, which in 2015 is set to include Paris-Roubaix and an Hour record attempt. Froome and Sky team principal Sir David Brailsford have had their disagreements in the past, as his book dictates, but are now “on the same page”, the rider says. Froome has relative free rein to plan his race programme, with input from Sky’s head of athlete performance Tim Kerrison, in the lead-up to another major assault on the maillot jaune. “I think the team are really supportive in the sense they are not going to try and just dictate what I should be doing or what perhaps sponsors want me to do,” Froome says. “They basically said to me, ‘Listen, if you’re going to be motivated to go to a race that’s going to work so much better for us. Tell us what you want to do and we’ll make it work, or we’ll work the programme around that.’ It’s been really good working with a team like that. “I think the principles they have, the standards they set, it is very British in that regard and I really enjoy that,” he continues. “We’re not conforming to another nationality’s mould. This is our team, this is what we make it and I’d like to think I’ve got a long career ahead with Team Sky.” Press scrutiny Froome has in the past been offended by a media that has itself been bruised by pro cycling’s dirty past. When we spoke, another doping controversy was making headlines: Astana, home to the reigning Tour champion Vincenzo Nibali, was at risk of losing its WorldTour licence after five riders, from its pro and feeder teams, tested positive for banned substances in a matter of months. One of those riders, Maxim Iglinskiy, supported the Italian winner in France, and in many races leading up to the Tour. “What’s happened with Astana is simply not acceptable in this day and age of cycling,” Froome says with no hint of rehearsed speech. “For Nibali to actually have one of the guys who helped him win the Tour de France test positive, that too has got to weigh heavy on his shoulders.” Froome is widely regarded as an amicable personality and those in his inner professional circle can’t recall a time when he lost his temper but, by self-admission, he came close en route to winning his career first yellow jersey. “It happens,” Froome says, before referring to the by now infamous press conference after his 2013 Mont Ventoux Tour stage victory in which he was faced with a series of doping-related questions. “If you saw me in that press conference after Ventoux I was pretty close there to getting angry. It was not cool,” he says. “I just think it’s crazy given that the only thing people had against me at the time was that I was winning the race. That’s all. There were no dodgy doctors, no product or anything like that.” Man versus athlete Froome observes a slight demarcation between himself as a person and as an athlete. “I’d say off the bike I’m a lot more relaxed as a person. I’d like to think I’m approachable,” he observes. “As an athlete I take my work very seriously. I want to be as professional as possible about what I do. I always try and stick to my training and get all the work done. That’s a must for me, to do everything possible to be in the right shape. “I’m quite finicky about the small details and getting everything absolutely right in preparation for a race. I’m stubborn that way, as an athlete. If I set my mind to something I’ll do it. I’ll make sure I do it no matter what it takes. Once I’ve done all that work and I get to the races it means I probably do come across as quite aggressive on the bike.” Even coming off the back of holidays, Froome, with the maillot jaune on his mind, looks lithe and lean. However, he’s not close to what he has determined as his magic 67kg Grand Tour race weight yet. At 1.86m tall, Froome readily admits it’s not necessarily a healthy measure and makes him more susceptible to illness in extreme conditions. There’s no denying it is a number that works for him though. “I find there’s a huge advantage to being light when it comes to the mountains. It might not be for everyone, but for me it plays a big part in what I’m able to do on a bike,” he says. “When I did well in the 2011 Vuelta [second to Juan José Cobo], which was the first Grand Tour that I really emerged as a contender, I raced at 67kg, so probably a good two kilos lighter than I’d ever been before. The results showed what a difference it made. “I’m quite strict on myself with my eating once I go down towards that kind of weight. It’s amazing how much your body can do on so little,” he says. “I’m at about 71kg now so I’ve got to get myself back to 67kg. I’m not worried at all — that’s perfectly normal after a month off the bike.” Grand ambitions In Porte, Froome has a loyal colleague all but sure to be at his side come the Utrecht Grand Départ in July. Froome also mentions Geraint Thomas, Vasil Kiryienka, Mikel Nieve and new signings Leopold König and Nicolas Roche, who has previously supported Contador at Tinkoff-Saxo, as proven weapons to aid his assault on the Tour. Froome is set to join his team-mates at an official January Sky training camp in Spain, albeit with a slightly different agenda. “I think it’s important with a lot of new guys in the team just to get to know some of them better before we start working together,” he says. Froome has come a long way, in terms of headline-grabbing results and his stature within the pro peloton, in a comparatively short period of time. And it’s blatantly obvious that one Tour de France victory will not be enough to satisfy his competitive appetite. “I came into cycling relatively late compared to guys like Contador, who, I mean, I think he came out of school at the age of 16 to focus on his cycling whereas I was still at university at the age of 22,” Froome says. “I’ve definitely got some improvements to make but I’m optimistic about the future. I really feel as if I have more to give. “I wanted to become a professional cyclist and even though I was studying at the time, and not 100 per cent sure I’d be able to get into the pro circuit, that was still the dream I always had. “It feels amazing to be able to actually pull it off and not only get onto the European scene but actually win the biggest race there is. “The next Tour especially is shaping up to be a great battle between myself, Contador and, I mean, I wouldn’t rule out guys like Nairo Quintana and Nibali.” Stem staring If people aren’t talking about Chris Froome’s performances, they’re talking about his look when he’s riding the bike. You know that position he holds, one elbow jutting out at a weird angle, his head bowed and eyes apparently firmly fixed on his power meter display during the most gruelling efforts. Sky has a renowned foundation in sports science so it would be fitting if Froome was looking at the numbers tick over, as a means of clinically gauging his performance in critical moments during races. However, Froome admits that’s not the case. “I’m not looking at anything, I just find my neck gets [sore] if I look up,” he reveals. “For some reason I feel when I look down I’m able to breathe a lot easier. I don’t know, maybe it’s just me, but I feel it’s a much more comfortable position to do really hard efforts. “Obviously when I look down I can see at least a good five metres in front of me,” he adds quickly with a laugh. “I do need to keep looking up to check!” Grand Tour triple Chris Froome will not rise to the triple Grand Tour challenge rival team boss Oleg Tinkov has put forth, despite the notable cash bait. Tinkov, the eccentric Russian businessman and owner of Tinkoff-Saxo, offered Froome, Alberto Contador, Nairo Quintana and Vincenzo Nibali a collective €1 million to compete in all three Grand Tours in 2015. “If Quintana, Froome, Nibali and Contador all agree to ride all three Grand Tours, I’ll get Tinkoff Bank to put up €1 million. They can have €250,000 each as an extra incentive. I think it’s a good idea,” Tinkov said in October. “It’s good that Alberto is going for the Giro/Tour double but I think the biggest and best riders should race against each other and ride all three Grand Tours.” There are WorldTour riders that race the triple in a single season — think Australian super domestique Adam Hansen (Lotto-Belisol) — though not for the title victory. “It’s possible, but to actually be up there fighting for the win I believe would be very difficult,” Froome says. “You’d almost have to do no other races in between and just focus on training. It probably would take away from the smaller races and mean that a lot of the big names don’t do any of them. “It has got merit given that the biggest guys would be competing in the biggest events — all of them, all the time, so it’s always that big battle between the GC contenders. “I just think at this point, where I am, I personally don’t feel I’m up for, or able to do, all three like that.” Froome’s Tour de France-ending injury It was hard to watch the defending Tour de France champion limp into a team car during the treacherous and rain-soaked fifth stage of the race last year. Froome crashed twice before the peloton hit the cobbles of Paris-Roubaix, but wasn’t in good shape to begin. He started the stage obviously injured after a stack the previous day where he hurt his left wrist and later went for X-rays. He says he didn’t enter the stage from Ypres to Arenberg with the intention of abandoning the race, despite his Sky team-mates visibly protecting Richie Porte (their plan B in the race) as opposed to their leader when he fell back. Further scans after his exit revealed the full extent of injuries: a fractured left wrist and right hand. “The X-rays we went for after stage four didn’t reveal anything. I only had the one wrist scanned then. My right hand hurt me but it wasn’t affecting me at all on the bike so we didn’t get that X-rayed initially, but it turned out there was a small break there,” Froome says with hindsight. “That wasn’t the issue, the issue was the left wrist which swelled quickly. It was painful but I hoped it was just swelling from impact and I could get through that cobbled stage, and by the mountains hopefully it would go down and I’d carry on. “But it really did just swell up like a balloon and I wasn’t able to use that left hand properly. I think that resulted in two more crashes that day [stage five] — one I just couldn’t hop my bike over a crack in the road and the second one, one of my team-mates crashed in front of me and I just went straight over the top,” he continues. “A lot of people looked at stage five of the Tour and said, ‘oh, he can’t handle his bike’, and, ‘it’s not normal for him to crash twice in one stage in the wet’. Try riding with a fractured wrist and a broken hand and see how well you can control the bike then! “Even a good bike handler like Nibali, he crashed twice in the World Champs so you can’t say it’s due to bike handling or anything like that. Crashes happen — that’s cycling for you.” Photographs by Graham Watson
Occludin expression in brain tumors and its relevance to peritumoral edema and survival. PURPOSE Peritumoral brain edema (PTBE) is a serious causative factor that contributes the morbidity or mortality of brain tumors. The development of PTBE is influenced by many factors, including such tight junction proteins as occludin. We evaluated the PTBE volume and survival time with respect to the occludin expression in various pathological types of brain tumors. MATERIALS AND METHODS Fresh-frozen specimens from sixty patients who had brain tumors were obtained during surgery and the tumors were confirmed pathologically. The occludin expression was investigated by Western blot analysis. The PTBE volume was measured by using preoperative magnetic resonance (MR) imaging, and the survival time in each patient was estimated retrospectively. RESULTS Occludin was detected in 41 (68.3%) of the cases with brain tumors and it was not expressed in the other 19 (31.7%) cases. Although the lowest expression was revealed in high-grade gliomas, its expression was variable according to the pathology of the brain tumors (p>0.05). The difference of PTBE volume between occludin-positive and negative brain tumors was statistically significant (2072.46+/-328.73 mm vs. 7452.42+/-1504.19 mm, respectively, p=0.002). The mean survival time was longer in the occludin-positive tumor group than in the occludin-negative group (38.63+/-1.57 months vs. 26.16+/-3.83 months, respectively; p=0.016). CONCLUSIONS This study suggests that the occludin expression is highly correlated to the development of PTBE in brain tumors and it might be a prognostic indicator for patient survival.
1. Field of the Invention The present invention relates to a heat sink in which thin-sheet fins are crimped firmly, a method for manufacturing the heat sink, and a pressing jig used to manufacture the heat sink. 2. Description of Related Art Conventionally, a heat sink is manufactured by a method described below as shown in FIG. 15(a). In this method, thin-sheet fins 30 are inserted in a plurality of grooves 20 formed in parallel in the surface of a base plate 61 to which the thin-sheet fins 30 are attached. A pressing end portion 50 of a pressing jig 60 is pressed against a portion 40 in the vicinity of both sides of each of the grooves 20. The pressing end portion 50 of the pressing jig 60 has a triangular cross section, i.e., a blade with sharp edge. An embodiment of a heat sink of the present invention is a heat sink comprising a base plate provided with a plurality of grooves and concave portions, each of which concave portions has a substantially trapezoidal cross section having a flat bottom face and inclined side faces and is formed into a tapered shape, formed between the adjacent grooves by plastic deformation; and a plurality of thin-sheet fins which are inserted in the grooves and are crimped from both sides by the inclined side faces formed by the plastic deformation of the concave portions. An embodiment of a method for manufacturing a heat sink of the present invention is a method for manufacturing a heat sink, comprising the steps of: forming a plurality of grooves in the surface of a base plate to which thin-sheet fins are attached; inserting the thin-sheet fins in the grooves; and forming concave portions, each of which has a substantially trapezoidal cross section having a flat bottom face and inclined side faces and is formed into a tapered shape, by plastic deformation in a portion in the vicinity of both sides of the groove in the surface to which the thin-sheet fins are attached, so that the thin-sheet fins are crimped in the grooves. An embodiment of a pressing jig of the present invention is a pressing jig used in the manufacturing method for a heat sink, in which a pressing end portion of the pressing jig has a substantially trapezoidal cross section and is formed into a tapered shape.
Lateral knee pain requires a thorough assessment and adequate, best-practice intervention. The article Treatment of Lateral Knee Pain Using Soft Tissue Mobilization in Four Female Triathletes by Winslow in the September 2014 edition of IJTMB, is a good example of a clinical report. As a physiotherapist and clinical researcher, I am interested in the clinical reasoning and interventions used by colleagues. The clinical study involved four triathletes who had lateral knee pain for more than seven months, and who had undergone prior conservative treatment by other health care professionals. Although the physical assessment and intervention were described and the results for all athletes were positive at completion, I think it is important to discuss the methodology and approach described in this clinical report. Although the author stresses the importance of an accurate diagnosis, ruling out other common causes for lateral knee pain (p.29), the presented information suggests the diagnostic screening was not comprehensive and inconclusive. Physical assessment comprised merely of single tests of knee ligaments, menisci, and hamstring and iliotibial band flexibility. Apart from the flexibility tests, no test results were presented. In the report (p.25, p.29) it reads that the athletes lateral knee pain was different from iliotibial band syndrome (ITBS). However, the location and severity of the pain experienced during treadmill running was similar to the pain typical for ITBS. Also, the soft tissue mobilization was largely targeted at the ITB. ITBS has a specific clinical presentation, and is often diagnosed by ruling out other pathologies, history taking, and a specific test, such as Nobles compression test. However, no specific ITBS test was performed, or its results are lacking. Therefore, this report remains unclear with regard to the diagnosis at the time of initiating treatment. Functional assessment included squatting and jumping (p.27), but no results were presented. Treadmill running was performed to assess pain severity only. An extended value would be to evaluate ITBS-related factors such as running technique and hip abductor weakness. That a more thorough assessment (of both body structures and active functioning) for accurate diagnosis is preferred, is highlighted by the finding that one patient was left undiagnosed from meniscal problems for more than four weeks (p.29). The intervention consisted of instruction to abstain from all physical activity and soft tissue mobilization only (p.28). This intervention seems not an evidence-based or best-practice approach. To instruct triathletes to abstain from all physical activity for four weeks is not reflective of best-practice. Cardiovascular fitness and other athletic ability will reduce significantly, and other sports including swimming (with no pushing off the wall with the affected leg) might be possible while recovering from lateral knee pain problems. Soft tissue mobilization I do support when required, but it might be limited as a sole intervention. Soft tissue techniques for ITBS are supported by evidence as part of the intervention, but pain control, technique of and biomechanical factors in running and cycling, and involvement of the athlete in their recovery process by using adequate selfmanagement strategies (for example, stretching, foam roller, muscle strengthening) should also be considered. In responding to this clinical report, I hope to open discussion on the importance and usefulness of a comprehensive assessment to deduce the cause of the athletes problem and good clinical, reasoned interventions to treat athletes with lateral knee pain for a speedy, long-lasting return to their full training program. Lateral Knee Pain Requires a Thorough Assessment and Adequate, Best-Practice Intervention Dear Editor: The article "Treatment of Lateral Knee Pain Using Soft Tissue Mobilization in Four Female Triathletes" by Winslow in the September 2014 edition of IJTMB, is a good example of a clinical report. As a physiotherapist and clinical researcher, I am interested in the clinical reasoning and interventions used by colleagues. The clinical study involved four triathletes who had lateral knee pain for more than seven months, and who had undergone prior conservative treatment by other health care professionals. Although the physical assessment and intervention were described and the results for all athletes were positive at completion, I think it is important to discuss the methodology and approach described in this clinical report. Although the author stresses the importance of "an accurate diagnosis, ruling out other common causes for lateral knee pain" (p.29), the presented information suggests the diagnostic screening was not comprehensive and inconclusive. Physical assessment comprised merely of single tests of knee ligaments, menisci, and hamstring and iliotibial band flexibility. Apart from the flexibility tests, no test results were presented. In the report (p.25, p.29) it reads that the athletes' "lateral knee pain" was different from iliotibial band syndrome (ITBS). However, the location and severity of the pain experienced during treadmill running was similar to the pain typical for ITBS. Also, the soft tissue mobilization was largely targeted at the ITB. ITBS has a specific clinical presentation, and is often diagnosed by ruling out other pathologies, history taking, and a specific test, such as Noble's compression test. However, no specific ITBS test was performed, or its results are lacking. Therefore, this report remains unclear with regard to the diagnosis at the time of initiating treatment. Functional assessment included "squatting and jumping" (p.27), but no results were presented. Treadmill running was performed to assess pain severity only. An extended value would be to evaluate ITBS-related factors such as running technique and hip abductor weakness. That a more thorough assessment (of both body structures and active functioning) for accurate diagnosis is preferred, is highlighted by the finding that one patient was left undiagnosed from meniscal problems for more than four weeks (p.29). The intervention consisted of instruction "to abstain from all physical activity" and "soft tissue mobilization only" (p.28). This intervention seems not an evidence-based or best-practice approach. (2, To instruct triathletes to abstain from all physical activity for four weeks is not reflective of best-practice. Cardiovascular fitness and other athletic ability will reduce significantly, and other sports including swimming (with no pushing off the wall with the affected leg) might be possible while recovering from lateral knee pain problems. Soft tissue mobilization I do support when required, but it might be limited as a sole intervention. Soft tissue techniques for ITBS are supported by evidence as part of the intervention, but pain control, technique of and biomechanical factors in running and cycling, and involvement of the athlete in their recovery process by using adequate selfmanagement strategies (for example, stretching, foam roller, muscle strengthening) should also be considered. In responding to this clinical report, I hope to open discussion on the importance and usefulness of a comprehensive assessment to deduce the cause of the athlete's problem and good clinical, reasoned interventions to treat athletes with lateral knee pain for a speedy, long-lasting return to their full training program.
Can Basic Moral Principles Change? This chapter considers the main arguments against the possibility that basic normative principles can change, and finds them wanting. The principal argument discussed derives from the claim that normative considerations are intelligible, and therefore that they can be explained, and their explanations presuppose the prior existence of basic normative principles. The intelligibility thesis is affirmed but the implication that basic change is impossible is denied. Subsumptive explanations are contrasted with explanations by analogy. Later in the chapter, other objections are considered more briefly: that normative properties are queer, that they are unconnected to the rest of reality, and therefore cannot play an explanatory role, etc.
A performance study of metaheuristic approaches for quadratic assignment problem The quadratic assignment problem (QAP) is a wellknown challenging combinatorial optimization problem that has received many researchers' attention with varied realworld and industrial applications areas. It is noteworthy to mention that a plethora of natureinspired optimization algorithms have successfully been used to solve various optimization problems, including several variants of the QAPs. In this article, a comprehensive literature review is presented to show the most relevant natureinspired algorithms that have been used in solving the QAP. More so, extensive experiments are conducted and analyzed to show the performance of the wellknown stateoftheart natureinspired metaheuristic optimization algorithms in solving the QAP, including the ant colony optimization (ACO), bat algorithm, genetic algorithm (GA), particle swarm optimization (PSO), and tabu search algorithm. Besides, a modified variant of the discrete PSO algorithm is implemented and compared with existing approaches. The six selected algorithms' performances, including the modified PSO, are validated on eight commonly used QAP instances of varying complexity and size, considering the quality of solutions achieved and computational time consumed by the representative algorithms. The numerical results revealed that the most competitive algorithm was ACO, while the GA appeared to be the worst performed algorithm among the six compared metaheuristic algorithms. However, based on the extensive analysis conducted on the tested algorithms, further improvements are suggested, including implementing new modified versions of the tested algorithms to tackle the QAP and its variant instances.
Validation and comparison of the PECARN rule, Step-by-Step approach and Lab-score for predicting serious and invasive bacterial infections in young febrile infants. INTRODUCTION Differentiating infants with serious bacterial infections (SBIs) or invasive bacterial infections (IBIs) from those without remains a challenge. We sought to compare the diagnostic performances of single biomarkers (absolute neutrophil count , C-reactive protein and procalcitonin ) and 4 diagnostic approaches comprising Lab-score, Step-by-Step approach (original and modified) and Pediatric Emergency Care Applied Research Network (PECARN) rule. METHOD This is a prospective cohort study involving infants 0-90 days of age who presented to an emergency department from July 2020 to August 2021. SBIs were defined as bacterial meningitis, bacteraemia and/or urinary tract infections. IBIs were defined as bacteraemia and/or bacterial meningitis. We evaluated the performances of Lab-score, Step-by-Step (original and modified) and PECARN rule in predicting SBIs and IBIs. RESULTS We analysed a total of 258 infants, among whom 86 (33.3%) had SBIs and 9 (3.5%) had IBIs. In predicting SBIs, ANC ≥4.09 had the highest sensitivity and negative predictive value (NPV), while PCT ≥1.7 had the highest specificity and positive predictive value (PPV). CRP ≥20 achieved the highest area under receiver operating characteristic curve (AUC) of 0.741 (95% confidence interval 0.672-0.810). The Step-by-Step (original) approach had the highest sensitivity (97.7%). Lab-score had the highest AUC of 0.695 (95% CI 0.621-0.768), compared to PECARN rule at 0.625 (95% CI 0.556-0.694) and Step-by-Step (original) at 0.573 (95% CI 0.502-0.644). In predicting IBIs, PCT ≥1.7 had the highest sensitivity, specificity, PPV and NPV. The Step-by-Step (original and modified) approach had the highest sensitivity of 100%. Lab-score had the highest AUC of 0.854 (95% CI 0.731-0.977) compared to PECARN rule at 0.589 (95% CI 0.420-0.758) and Step-by-Step at 0.562 (95% CI 0.392-0.732). CONCLUSION CRP strongly predicted SBIs, and PCT strongly predicted IBI. The Step-by-Step approach had the highest sensitivity and NPV, while Lab-score had the highest specificity and AUC in predicting SBIs and IBIs.
Analysis of distributed interleavedivisionmultiplexing spacefrequency codes This paper investigates the application of interleavedivision multiplexing (IDM) to a relay network with orthogonal frequencydivision multiplexing (OFDM)based radio access. In the proposed scheme, the relayspecific interleaving is performed on subcarriers in the frequency domain, which is called IDM spacefrequency code (IDMSFC). It will be shown that IDMSFC in combination with OFDM radio access is well suited for distributed deployment of relays, as it is robust to multipath interference and it can achieve full spatial diversity with a constant rate of 1 on the relaydestination hop irrespective of the number of parallel relay nodes. It will be shown that IDMSFC outperforms other distributed diversity schemes like OFDM with cyclic delay diversity significantly in various scenarios. In addition to frame error rate analysis, also more theoretical considerations are carried out with the help of extrinsic information transfer charts and signaltonoise power ratio distributions over the subcarrier to provide an insight into the behaviour of the two considered approaches. Copyright © 2012 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
Single-Molecule FRET Measurements in Additive-Enriched Aqueous Solutions. The addition of high amounts of chemical denaturants, salts, viscosity enhancers or macro-molecular crowding agents has an impact on the physical properties of buffer solutions. Among others, the (microscopic) viscosity, the refractive index, the dielectric constant, and the ionic strength can be affected. Here, we systematically evaluate the importance of solvent characteristics with respect to single-molecule FRET (smFRET) data. First, we present a confocal based method for the determination of fluorescence quantum yields to facilitate a fast characterization of smFRET-samples at sub-nM-concentrations. As a case study, we analyze smFRET data of structurally rigid, double-stranded DNA-oligonucleotides in aqueous buffer and in buffers with specific amounts of glycerol, guanidine hydrochloride (GdnHCl), and sodium chloride (NaCl) added. We show that the calculation of interdye distances, without taking into account solvent-induced spectral and photophysical changes of the labels, leads to deviations of up to 4 from the real interdye distances. Additionally, we demonstrate that electrostatic dye-dye repulsions are negligible for the interdye distance regime considered here (>50 ). Finally, we use our approach to validate the further compaction of the already unfolded state of phosphoglycerate kinase (PGK) with decreasing denaturant concentrations, a mechanism known as coil-globule transition.
Illinois-Coref: The UI System in the CoNLL-2012 Shared Task The CoNLL-2012 shared task is an extension of the last year's coreference task. We participated in the closed track of the shared tasks in both years. In this paper, we present the improvements of Illinois-Coref system from last year. We focus on improving mention detection and pronoun coreference resolution, and present a new learning protocol. These new strategies boost the performance of the system by 5% MUC F1, 0.8% BCUB F1, and 1.7% CEAF F1 on the OntoNotes-5.0 development set. Introduction Coreference resolution has been a popular topic of study in recent years. In the task, a system requires to identify denotative phrases ("mentions") and to cluster the mentions into equivalence classes, so that the mentions in the same class refer to the same entity in the real world. Coreference resolution is a central task in the Natural Language Processing research. Both the CoNLL-2011 () and CoNLL-2012( shared tasks focus on resolving coreference on the OntoNotes corpus. We also participated in the CoNLL-2011 shared task. Our system () ranked first in two out of four scoring metrics (BCUB and BLANC), and ranked third in the average score. This year, we further improve the system in several respects. In Sec. 2, we describe the Illinois-Coref system for the CoNLL-2011 shared task, which we take as the baseline. Then, we discuss the improvements on mention detection (Sec. 3.1), pronoun resolution (Sec. 3.2), and learning algorithm (Sec. 3.3). Section 4 shows experimental results and Section 5 offers a brief discussion. Baseline System We use the Illinois-Coref system from CoNLL-2011 as the basis for our current system and refer to it as the baseline. We give a brief outline here, but focus on the innovations that we developed; a detailed description of the last year's system can be found in (). The Illinois-Coref system uses a machine learning approach to coreference, with an inference procedure that supports straightforward inclusion of domain knowledge via constraints. The system first uses heuristics based on Named Entity recognition, syntactic parsing, and shallow parsing to identify candidate mentions. A pairwise scorer w generates compatibility scores w uv for pairs of candidate mentions u and v using extracted features (u, v) and linguistic constraints c. where t is a threshold parameter (to be tuned). An inference procedure then determines the optimal set of links to retain, incorporating constraints that may override the classifier prediction for a given mention pair. A post-processing step removes mentions in singleton clusters. Last year, we found that a Best-Link decoding strategy outperformed an All-Link strategy. The Best-Link approach scans candidate mentions in a document from left to right. At each mention, if certain conditions are satisfied, the pairwise scores of all previous mentions are considered, together with any constraints that apply. If one or more viable 113 links is available, the highest-scoring link is selected and added to the set of coreference links. After the scan is complete, the transitive closure of edges is taken to generate the coreference clusters, each cluster corresponding to a single predicted entity in the document. The formulation of this best-link solution is as follows. For two mentions u and v, u < v indicates that the mention u precedes v in the document. Let y uv be a binary variable, such that y uv = 1 only if u and v are in the same cluster. For a document d, Best-Link solves the following formulation: Eq. generates a set of connected components and the set of mentions in each connected component constitute an entity. Note that we solve the above Best-Link inference using an efficient algorithm (Bengtson and Roth, 2008) which runs in time quadratic in the number of mentions. Improvements over the Baseline System Below, we describe improvements introduced to the baseline Illinois-Coref system. Mention Detection Mention detection is a crucial component of an endto-end coreference system, as mention detection errors will propagate to the final coreference chain. Illinois-Coref implements a high recall and low precision rule-based system that includes all noun phrases, pronouns and named entities as candidate mentions. The error analysis shows that there are two main types of errors. Non-referential Noun Phrases. Non-referential noun phrases are candidate noun phrases, identified through a syntactic parser, that are unlikely to refer to any entity in the real world (e.g., "the same time"). Note that because singleton mentions are not annotated in the OntoNotes corpus, such phrases are not considered as mentions. Non-referential noun phrases are a problem, since during the coreference stage they may be incorrectly linked to a valid mention, thereby decreasing the precision of the system. To deal with this problem, we use the training data to count the number of times that a candidate noun phrase happens to be a gold mention. Then, we remove candidate mentions that frequently appear in the training data but never appear as gold mentions. Relaxing this approach, we also take the predicted head word and the words before and after the mention into account. This helps remove noun phrases headed by a preposition (e.g., the noun "fact" in the phrase "in fact"). This strategy will slightly degrade the recall of mention detection, so we tune a threshold learned on the training data for the mention removal. Incorrect Mention Boundary. A lot of errors in mention detection happen when predicting mention boundaries. There are two main reasons for boundary errors: parser mistakes and annotation inconsistencies. A mistake made by the parser may be due to a wrong attachment or adding extra words to a mention. For example, if the parser attaches the relative clause inside of the noun phrase "President Bush, who traveled to China yesterday" to a different noun, the algorithm will predict "President Bush" as a mention instead of "President Bush, who traveled to China yesterday"; thus it will make an error, since the gold mention also includes the relative clause. In this case, we prefer to keep the candidate with a larger span. On the other hand, we may predict "President Bush at Dayton" instead of "President Bush", if the parser incorrectly attaches the prepositional phrase. Another example is when extra words are added, as in "Today President Bush". A correct detection of mention boundaries is crucial to the end-to-end coreference system. The results in (, Section 3) show that the baseline system can be improved from 55.96 avg F1 to 56.62 in avg F1 by using gold mention boundaries generated from a gold annotation of the parsing tree and the name entity tagging. However, fixing mention boundaries in an end-to-end system is difficult and requires additional knowledge. In the current implementation, we focus on a subset of mentions to further improve the mention detection stage of the baseline system. Specifically, we fix mentions starting with a stop word and mentions ending with a punctuation mark. We also use training data to learn patterns of inappropriate mention boundaries. The mention candidates that match the patterns are re-114 moved. This strategy is similar to the method used to remove non-referential noun phrases. As for annotation inconsistency, we find that in a few documents, a punctuation mark or an apostrophe used to mark the possessive form are inconsistently added to the end of a mention. The problem results in an incorrect matching between the gold and predicted mentions and downgrades the performance of the learned model. Moreover, the incorrect mention boundary problem also affects the training phase because our system is trained on a union set of the predicted and gold mentions. To fix this problem, in the training phase, we perform a relaxed matching between predicted mentions and gold mentions and ignore the punctuation marks and mentions that start with one of the following: adverb, verb, determiner, and cardinal number. For example, we successfully match the predicted mention "now the army" to the gold mention "the army" and match the predicted mention "Sony 's" to the gold mention "Sony." Note that we cannot fix the inconsistency problem in the test data. Pronoun Resolution The baseline system uses an identical model for coreference resolution on both pronouns and nonpronominal mentions. However, in the literature (Bengtson and Roth, 2008;Rahman and Ng, 2011;Denis and Baldridge, 2007) the features for coreference resolution on pronouns and nonpronouns are usually different. For example, lexical features play an important role in non-pronoun coreference resolution, but are less important for pronoun anaphora resolution. On the other hand, gender features are not as important in non-pronoun coreference resolution. We consider training two separate classifiers with different sets of features for pronoun and nonpronoun coreference resolution. Then, in the decoding stage, pronoun and non-pronominal mentions use different classifiers to find the best antecedent mention to link to. We use the same features for non-pronoun coreference resolution, as the baseline system. For the pronoun anaphora classifier, we use a set of features described in (Denis and Baldridge, 2007), with some additional features. The augmented feature set includes features to identify if a pronoun or an antecedent is a speaker in the sen- Algorithm 1 Online Latent Structured Learning for Coreference Resolution Loop until convergence: For each document D t and each v ∈ D t 1. Let u * = max tence. It also includes features to reflect the document type. In Section 4, we will demonstrate the improvement of using separate classifiers for pronoun and non-pronoun coreference resolution. Learning Protocol for Best-Link Inference The baseline system applies the strategy in (Bengtson and Roth, 2008, Section 2.2) to learn the pairwise scoring function w using the Averaged Perceptron algorithm. The algorithm is trained on mention pairs generated on a per-mention basis. The examples are generated for a mention v as Positive examples: (u, v) is used as a positive example where u < v is the closest mention to v in v's cluster Negative examples: for all w with u < w < v, (w, v) forms a negative example. Although this approach is simple, it suffers from a severe label imbalance problem. Moreover, it does not relate well to the best-link inference, as the decision of picking the closest preceding mention seems rather ad-hoc. For example, consider three mentions belonging to the same cluster: {m 1 : "President Bush", m 2 : "he", m 3 :"George Bush"}. The baseline system always chooses the pair (m 2, m 3 ) as a positive example because m 2 is the closet mention of m 3. However, it is more proper to learn the model on the positive pair (m 1, m 3 ), as it provides more information. Since the best links are not given but are latent in our learning problem, we use an online latent structured learning algorithm () to address this problem. We consider a structured problem that takes mention v and its preceding mentions {u \| u < v} as inputs. The output variables y(v) is the set of antecedent mentions that co-refer with v. We define a latent structure h(v) to be the bestlink decision of v. It takes the value ∅ if v is the first mention 115 in the equivalence class, otherwise it takes values from {u \| u < v}. We define a loss function We further define the feature vector (∅, v) to be a zero vector and to be the learning rate in Perceptron algorithm. Then, the weight vector w in can be learned from Algorithm 1. At each step, Alg. 1 picks a mention v and finds the Best-Link decision u * that is consistent with the gold cluster. Then, it solves a loss-augmented inference problem to find the best link decision u with current model (u = ∅ if the classifier decides that v does not have coreferent antecedent mention). Finally, the model w is updated by the difference between the feature vectors (u, v) and (u *, v). Alg. 1 makes learning more coherent with inference. Furthermore, it naturally solves the data imbalance problem. Lastly, this algorithm is fast and converges very quickly. Experiments and Results In this section, we demonstrate the performance of Illinois-Coref on the OntoNotes-5.0 data set. A previous experiment using an earlier version of this data can be found in (). We first show the improvement of the mention detection system. Then, we compare different learning protocols for coreference resolution. Finally, we show the overall performance improvement of Illinois-Coref system. First, we analyze the performance of mention detection before the coreference stage. Note that singleton mentions are included since it is not possible to identify singleton mentions before running coreference. They are removed in the post-processing stage. The mention detection performance of the end-to-end system will be discussed later in this section. With the strategy described in Section 3.1, we improve the F1 score for mention detection from 55.92% to 57.89%. Moreover, we improve the detection performance on short named entity mentions (name entity with less than 5 words) from 61.36 to 64.00 in F1 scores. Such mentions are more important because they are easier to resolve in the coreference layer. Regarding the learning algorithm, Table 1 shows the performance of the two learning protocols with/without separating pronoun anaphora resolver. The results show that both strategies of using a pronoun classifier and training a latent structured model with a online algorithm improve the system performance. Combining the two strategies, the avg F1 score is improved by 2.45%. Finally, we compare the final system with the baseline system. We evaluate both systems on the CoNLL-11 DEV data set, as the baseline system is tuned on it. The results show that Illinois-Coref achieves better scores on all the metrics. The mention detection performance after coreference resolution is also significantly improved. Chinese Coreference Resolution We apply the same system to Chinese coreference resolution. However, because the pronoun properties in Chinese are different from those in English, we do not train separate classifiers for pronoun and non-pronoun coreference resolution. Our Chinese coreference resolution on Dev set achieves 37.88% MUC, 63.37% BCUB, and 35.78% CEAF in F1 score. The performance for Chinese coreference is not as good as the performance of the coreference system for English. One reason for that is that we use the same feature set for both Chinese and English systems, and the feature set is developed for the English corpus. Studying the value of strong features for Chinese coreference resolution system is a potential topic for future research. Table 3 shows the results obtained on TEST, using the best system configurations found on DEV. We report results on both English and Chinese coreference resolution on predicted mentions with predicted boundaries. For English coreference resolution, we also report the results when using gold mentions and when using gold mention boundaries 1. Conclusion We described strategies for improving mention detection and proposed an online latent structure algorithm for coreference resolution. We also proposed using separate classifiers for making Best-Link decisions on pronoun and non-pronoun mentions. These strategies significantly improve the Illinois-Coref system.
Power Control for Mc-Cdma System with Predicted Csi Using Water Filling Algorithm Multi-carrier CDMA technology is a very attractive multiple access technique for next generation wireless communication systems. It combines the advantages of both Orthogonal Frequency Division Multiplexing (OFDM) and Code Division Multiple Access (CDMA) for high data rate transmission. However, interference noise is considered as a major challenge for MC-CDMA systems and significantly affects its performance. The transmission strategy to avoid the interference noise is by its power allocation to each user. The Game theory is an efficient way for examining power control problem in the MC-CDMA technology. The water filling algorithm in game theory perspective is used to allocate proper power for every sub-channel based on channel state information (CSI) with global power constraint in order to improve the capacity of the MCCDMA system. The water filling provides optimal solution if the channel state information is perfect. In realistic high mobility environment, where the Doppler frequency is high, channel state information received at the transmitter is outdated due to CSI feedback delay which results in imperfectness in the channel state information. The capacity achieved using water filling game theory is analysed with Perfect CSI, Imperfect CSI and Predicted CSI. The water filling game theory with Predicted CSI shows improvement in the capacity compared to water filling game theory with Imperfect CSI.
There is a profound silence in Africa just before the dawn, when the creatures of the night have finished their shift and the creatures of the day have not yet begun. The noise of 15 or 20 men marching through the forest must have made a terrifying contrast to that silence. Mrithi would have sounded a warning shout to them that they were in his territory. The patrol that found his body estimated that the attack must have come at about 4 a.m. Local farmers on the very edge of Rwanda's Parc des Volcans said they heard many gunshots at about that time. Mrithi was shot while sleeping, surrounded by his family of 11. He managed to drag himself, mortally wounded, a few feet toward the unseen enemy before he collapsed and died. Protecting his family, including three newborns, would have made ignore his pain. He was the patriarch, the silverback, of Group 13. He was a mountain gorilla. Let me tell you about Mrithi as I knew him. Fewer than 600 mountain gorillas remain on earth -- some say as few as 31. They inhabit forests in the high regions of Zaire, Uganda and Rwanda. Dian Fossey, and George Shaller before her, made the Rwandan gorillas famous through their writings. Gorillas die of many causes and the loss of one would seem to be the same as another. But Mrithi was special, and the needless snuffing of his short, noble life leaves a void we will not soon see filled. I remember Mrithi when he was called to leadership but did not want it. Group 13 was one of the first to be habituated to tourism at the end of the 1970s. I met them first in about '79 or '80, shortly after Mrithi's father, the former silverback, had been killed by poachers in Zaire. The Parc des Volcans is a tiny toupee of a forest on the top of the extinct volcanoes that mark the border between Rwanda and Zaire. The gorillas often cross from one country to the other as they forage. It was obvious from his reluctant behavior that Mrithi had seen his father's death and wanted no part of a job with such hazards. Although he was a strapping young adult, already beginning to show the silver coloring along his back that marks a leader, he tried to hide behind every leaf of bamboo and blend into the background. If nominated, he would not run, if elected, he would not serve. Meanwhile, the old female, Zahabir, mother of the irrepressible 3-year-old Mtoto, did her best to lead the family. Mrithi was only 11 at the time. In the normal course of events several years would have passed before he would press for a leadership role. But poachers set the rules in his world, and Mrithi found himself slowly accepting the role that was thrust on him. He was still very tentative the second time I visited his group. He constantly moved the family to avoid remembered danger. Yet as the years went by, Mrithi gained extraordinary courage and composure. He magnificently fulfilled the task he inherited. Group 13 came to be known as the best group to visit because they were so calm and stable, and there were almost always new babies to see. Craig Sholley, African Wildlife Foundation's last resident director the Mountain Gorillas Project, estimates that Mrithi's family alone brought more than $500,000 in tourist revenue to Rwanda each year. Because of Mrithi's remarkable mellowness, he was featured in many films about the mountain gorillas. On television or in films such as "Gorillas in the Mist," the silverback we see is Mrithi. And now he is gone. At this early date, just a few weeks since his death, it appears that a younger male, Ukwacumi, has taken over leadership of the group. It is fortunate this young male took the baton. Otherwise Group 13 would have been fair game for the nearby Sabinyo silverback who only has two females in his group. He would surely have killed the infants in Group 13 so that the females would breed with him. What happens next? Will the political disputes of men, however valid in their own right, continue to pillory the earth? Will voice after voice like Mrithi's be stilled in useless slaughter. Must the precious and dwindling resources of this tiny earth of ours be given in hostage to the short-term conceits of disputing nations? Or can we rally at the death of Mrithi? Will we say among ourselves that our time of ignorance has passed? That we will no longer pretend the resources of the earth are limitless and that we have no responsibility for the future? Shall we now assume, as Mrithi did with reluctance but noblesse oblige, the role that has been assigned to us? Shall we now say that the concerns of men must be the concerns of the Earth? Diana McMeekin is vice-president of the African Wildlife Foundation. She wrote this commentary for the Christian Science Monitor.
Effect of Tumor Perfusion and Receptor Density on Tumor Control Probability in 177Lu-DOTATATE Therapy: An In Silico Analysis for Standard and Optimized Treatment The aim of this work was to determine a minimal tumor perfusion and receptor density for 177Lu-DOTATATE therapy using physiologically based pharmacokinetic (PBPK) modeling considering, first, a desired tumor control probability (TCP) of 99% and, second, a maximal tolerated biologically effective dose (BEDmax) for organs at risk (OARs) in the treatment of neuroendocrine tumors and meningioma. Methods: A recently developed PBPK model was used. Nine virtual patients (i.e., individualized PBPK models) were used to perform simulations of pharmacokinetics for different combinations of perfusion (0.0010.1 mL/g/min) and receptor density (1100 nmol/L). The TCP for each combination was determined for 3 different treatment strategies: a standard treatment (4 cycles of 7.4 GBq and 105 nmol), a treatment maximizing the number of cycles based on BEDmax for red marrow and kidneys, and a treatment having 4 cycles with optimized ligand amount and activity. The red marrow and the kidneys (BEDmax of 2 Gy15 and 40 Gy2.5, respectively) were assumed to be OARs. Additionally, the influence of varying glomerular filtration rates, kidney somatostatin receptor densities, tumor volumes, and release rates was investigated. Results: To achieve a TCP of at least 99% in the standard treatment, a minimal tumor perfusion of 0.036 ± 0.023 mL/g/min and receptor density of 34 ± 20 nmol/L were determined for the 9 virtual patients. With optimization of the number of cycles, the minimum values for perfusion and receptor density were considerably lower, at 0.022 ± 0.012 mL/g/min and 21 ± 11 nmol/L, respectively. However, even better results (perfusion, 0.018 ± 0.009 mL/g/min; receptor density, 18 ± 10 nmol/L) were obtained for strategy 3. The release rate of 177Lu (or labeled metabolites) from tumor cells had the strongest effect on the minimal perfusion and receptor density for standard and optimized treatments. Conclusion: PBPK modeling and simulations represent an elegant approach to individually determine the minimal tumor perfusion and minimal receptor density required to achieve an adequate TCP. This computational method can be used in the radiopharmaceutical development process for ligand and target selection for specific types of tumors. In addition, this method could be used to optimize clinical trials.
A double blind randomised clinical trial of adjuvant aminoglutethimide versus placebo given to post menopausal patients with histologically confirmed stage II breast cancer. A multicentre double blind trial is underway to evaluate aminoglutethimide (AG) (Orimeten, Ciba) 1.000 mg/day with hydrocortisone (HC) 20-40 mg/day versus placebo for adjuvant treatment of post menopausal patients with histologically confirmed stage II breast cancer. An interim analysis in February 1985 indicates that of 338 patients randomised 165 received AG + HC and 173 received placebo. At this time 143 AG + HC patients and 141 placebo patients were eligible and assessible for analysis. Of those who received AG + HC 41 have developed metastases and 27 died compared to placebo patients, 53 of whom have developed metastases (p = 0.04) and 34 have died (p = 0.21). These results are similar to the reported advantages for adjuvant tamoxifen given for stage II breast cancer.
Impact of medical school surgical conferences Their fi ndings suggest that surgical conferences may be effective in guiding junior medical students towards a career in surgery. Despite a keen interest in surgery during our early years as medical students, we have now all ruled out this career path. Having attended numerous surgical career conferences, we can refl ect on the effects it has in encouraging students to pursue a career in surgery.
Protein-induced bending or flexing at the 5'-end of the duck beta A-globin promoter. The 5'-end of the duck beta A-globin promoter contains a protein binding site BS-3/Sp1, the A + T-rich part of which could be involved in DNA bending. Plasmids were constructed using the pBend2 plasmid containing BS-3/Sp1. Circular permutation analysis of the fragments cut out from the plasmids using various restriction endonucleases, in the presence of a partially purified protein extract from embryonic duck erythrocytes, was performed. The results indicate that a rather complicated change in the fragment shape takes place upon protein binding, which is best explained as an induction of two points of bending or flexure within the fragment. Analogical points of flexure may exist at the protein-binding sites of the duck and chicken beta A-globin promoters in spite of differing DNA sequences.
Synthesis of piezoelectric and bioactive NaNbO3 from metallic niobium and niobium oxide. NaNbO3 was synthesized by two different routes, one using metallic niobium powder, and another using niobium oxide (Nb2 O5 ) powder. In both routes an aqueous sodium hydroxide solution was used to hydrothermally treating the powders. In the first approach, the solution concentrations were 3M, 1M, and 0.5M. The second route used solution concentrations of 10M and 12.5M. After the hydrothermal treatments, the powders were heat treated in order to synthesize NaNbO3. The products were characterized by scanning electron microscopy (SEM) with energy dispersive spectrometry (EDS), and X-ray diffraction (XRD) with Rietveld refinement. The phases were identified by means of X-ray diffraction (XRD) with Rietveld refinement. It was observed that the molar concentrations of the solutions had opposing effects for each route. An antiferroelectric phase was found in both routes. In the niobium metallic route, a ferroelectric phase was also synthesized. This study proves that piezoelectric NaNbO3 can be obtained after alkali treatment of both Nb and Nb2 O5. © 2015 Wiley Periodicals, Inc. J Biomed Mater Res Part B: Appl Biomater, 104B: 979-985, 2016.
Q: In which situations does a wizard's patronus change due to love? My friend and I were talking about this. The only two instances mentioned in which patronuses change into a loved one's patronus, is when the love is unrequited (Snape to Lily, Tonks to Lupin). My friend thinks a wizard's patronus only changes with unrequited love, while I think that is too specific and weird. "You'd better put that cloak back on, and we can walk up to the school" said Tonks, still unsmiling. As Harry swung the cloak back over himself, she waved her wand; an immense silvery four-legged creature erupted from it and streaked off into the darkness. "Was that a Patronus?" asked Harry, who had seen Dumbledore send messages like this. "Yes, I'm sending word to the castle that I've got you or they'll worry. Come on, we'd better not dawdle." The Half-Blood Pricne - page 157 & 158 - Bloomsbury - chapter 8, Snape Victorious "Hagrid was late for the start-of-term feast, just like Potter here, so I took it instead. And incidentally," said Snape, standing back to allow Harry to pass him, "I was interested to see your new Patronus." The Half-Blood Pricne - page 160 - Bloomsbury - chapter 8, Snape Victorious "But I don't care either, I don't care!" said Tonks, seizing the front of Lupin's robes and shaking them. "I've told you a million times...." And the meaning of Tonks's Patronus and her mouse-colored hair, and the reason she had come running to Dumbledore when she had heard a rumour someone had been attracked by Greyback, all suddenly became clear to Harry; it had not been Sirius that Tonks had fallen in love with after all. The Half-Blood Prince - page 624 - Bloomsbury - chapter 29, The Pheonix Lament And... "But this is touching, Severus," said Dumbledore seriously. "Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?" "For him?" shouted Snape. "Expecto Patronum!" From the tip of his wand burst the silver doe: She landed on the office floor, bounded once across the office, and soared out of the window. Deathly Hallows - page 687 - Bloomsbury - chapter 33, The Prince's Tale But if it changed for any love, wouldn't that mean that couples would end up with the same patronuses? For example, if Lily fell in love with James, couldn't her patronus become a stag, which in turn would make Snape's a stag, too? And is it only romantic love? Does a parent's patronus change to their child's? But then that seems way too general. Everyone would have the same patronus. Is this only strong, passionate love? But how would that be judged? That would put down all other kinds of love. (edit: I know Lupin did love Tonks back, but as DVK said below, he was still rejecting her) A: I think there are two cases you have forgotten to mention; that might help understand the whole patronus debate a bit better. The first one is with James and Lily and the fact that their patronuses, albeit not the same; but a doe and a stag. I think that it is more than just a coincidence that their patronuses are the same as each others but with different genders. Where as Severus' patronus mimics Lily's; her's and James' match as if it was the way fate intended them to be together; each others soulmate. Then there is the case of Harry's patronus which is in the form of a stag, like James'. This brings me onto what I think is the explanation about what shape a patronus forms. When Harry first produced his patronus, he wanted nothing more than for his Dad to come out, to be able to see his Dad, because he believed in his heart that his Dad had been the one to save him from the dementors in that clearing. And when he looked in the Mirror of Erised, it showed him that his deepest desire was to be with James and Lily and the rest of Potter clan. Hence why I think that patronuses form to imitate the one thing a person desires more than anything else. Severus desired to be with Lily, which is why his became a doe, to imitate hers. James Lily desired to be together, so theirs became a Stag and a Doe; a perfect match, two beings that belonged together. Harry desired to be with his parents; so his patronus became a Stag; just like his father's, and the male version of his mother's. Tonks desired to be with Lupin and for him to see that she accepted him, inner wolf and all; so her took the form of a wolf. Another example we can think about is Albus Dumbledore's patronus. I am fairly sure his patronus was a pheonix. A pheonix rises from the ashes and helps those who are truly in need, and heal those who require it. And I like to think that is what Albus desired to be able to do. To be able to help others, to rise from the ashes; figuratively speaking; when all hope seems to be lost and help out. He desired to give help to all those who needed it; which is why his patronus was in the form of a pheonix. Now to get to the question in hand, why a patronus might change. In Severus' cases I don't actually think that his patronus did change, but merely took the form of Lily's from his very first go. I put this down to the fact that Severus learnt to love Lily from a very young age, way before he would have been able to produce a patronus. It is even implied that 13 is too young for a patronus to be produced, and that even the majority of older wizards can't produce a corporeal patronus, which is why it was so surprising to see Harry manage to produce one. However we can not forget that there are others in the books that manage to form a corporeal patronus without any real significance to any desire they might hold. I think that a patronus takes the form of a spirit animal of the person casting it; an animal reflecting the persons inner personality, and only changes when the person realises their truest desire. That is why Tonk's changed, as she did not realise he desire until much later in life; after she had managed to cast a corporeal patronus, which is why her patronus changed. I also think it is wise to point out that those who are an Animagus; they more often than not take the form of the Animagus. I.e, James Potter and Minerva McGonagall. And also people may argue that love and desire are basically the same thing; to which I cannot deny. So take from what I personally think as you will. Afterall, this is just my take. A: It seems unlikely that just falling in love with someone is insufficient to change one's patronus. There was no mention of Harry/Ginny or Ron/Hermione experiencing such a change - something we would have seen considering how central these characters were - and yet it is entirely clear that the members of these two couples love each other very much. So, it clearly takes some additional element to affect the change. It also seems like it would be inconsistent with other aspects of JKR's world for it to be something simple like "unrequited love". My theory is that the changing of one's patronus is probably an unconscious attempt to show the person how much you love them under exceptional circumstances. In Snape's case, he has loved Lily for most of his life. She was the first person to accept and befriend him. I think it would be exceptionally difficult to quantify the depth of feeling this would create. Then circumstances created a rift between them, one that would never be mended. The case of Tonks and Lupin is nearly as tragic. The level of distrust and prejudice that werewolves appear to suffer in magical society is exceptional. It would be difficult to live with this kind of abuse as long as Lupin has without it strongly affecting your opinion of yourself. As Tonks tries time and again to break through the walls that Lupin has erected around his heart to protect himself, she is forced to resort to extraordinary measures. A: If your patronus changes cause you love someone, if you fall out of love will it stay the same or change to something else? J.K. Rowling: Your Patronus only changes if it's eternal love, unchanging - part of you forever. Twitter
U.S. Republican presidential candidate Donald Trump speaks at the Western Conservative Summit in Denver, Colorado, U.S., July 1, 2016. REUTERS/Rick Wilking WASHINGTON (Reuters) - Donald Trump is taking some of his potential vice presidential running mates out for a test drive this week, meeting in private and trotting them out in public as he seeks to make his choice before the Republican National Convention less than two weeks away. Republicans close to the campaign say Trump and his team are considering announcing his running mate pick next week ahead of the convention, to be held July 18-21 in Cleveland, to try to get maximum media buzz from the decision. As his aides vet the people on his short list, Trump is getting an up-close look at some of the candidates and talking about it publicly, dispensing with the usual tradition of keeping secret the process of choosing a running mate. Trump, who is to be formally nominated at the convention as the Republican candidate for the Nov. 8 election, met privately on Tuesday with one possible pick, U.S. Senator Bob Corker of Tennessee, at Trump Tower in New York. On Tuesday night, the two appeared together at a Trump rally in Raleigh, North Carolina. Trump introduced Corker, chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, as “a great friend of mine, somebody respected by everybody.” Then it was Corker’s turn. “I’ve figured out the reason why you love him so much,” the senator told the crowd. “The reason you love him so much is because he loves you. He loves you and he wants the best for you.” On Wednesday, Trump is to be joined for an event in Cincinnati by Newt Gingrich, a former speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives who is another possible pick by Trump for the No. 2 position. Gingrich has been a close Trump adviser and is well regarded at Trump Tower. On Monday, Trump met on Monday with U.S. Senator Joni Ernst of Iowa, another candidate on his short list. Others on Trump’s running mate list include Indiana Governor Mike Pence, who Trump met with on Saturday, New Jersey Governor Chris Christie, Oklahoma Governor Mary Fallin and U.S. Senator Jeff Sessions of Alabama. Christie, a former Trump rival for the Republican nomination, and Sessions are among Trump’s earliest supporters in the party and closest advisers.
Feasibility of closed loop operation for MIMO links with MIMO interference In a network with several transmitting nodes, array antennas at both ends of MIMO links can be exploited to have multiple links operate in the same channel. Depending on the network topology, each interfering link can transmit fewer modes than it would in an isolated environment, and use the remaining degrees of freedom to avoid or suppress interference. With interference, channel state information (CSI) must be fed back to the transmitter to reach the highest level of performance. We show that the difference between closed- and open-loop capacities when links interfere is usually much larger than with isolated links. This implies that less frequent CSI updates are sufficient to keep closed-loop MIMO performance above open-loop MIMO. We analyze the effect of CSI aging for MIMO links. To understand the effect of fading and study the feasibility of closed-loop operation in MIMO links, we utilize two models for the MIMO channels. First, we use a Rayleigh fading model, and a filtered Gaussian noise method to simulate a fading channel. Then, we consider a more realistic scenario, where we simulate propagation in a typical indoor environment using the finite-difference time-domain (FDTD) method. The results, especially with the realistic channels, indicate that, even with the overhead of CSI updates multiplied by the number of iterations, spatial multiplexing may be attractive for static and low-mobility networks, such as in indoor environments.
Simvastatin Does Not Affect Vitamin D Status, but Low Vitamin D Levels Are Associated with Dyslipidemia: Results from a Randomised, Controlled Trial Objectives. Statin drugs act as inhibitors of the 3-hydroxy-3methylglutaryl coenzyme A (HMG-CoA) reductase enzyme early in the mevalonate pathway, thereby reducing the endogenous cholesterol synthesis. In recent studies, it has been suggested from epidemiological data that statins also may improve vitamin D status, as measured by increased plasma 25-hydroxyvitamin D (25OHD) levels. We now report the results from a randomised controlled trial on effects of simvastatin on plasma 25OHD levels. Design and Methods. We randomised 82 healthy postmenopausal women to one year of treatment with either simvastatin 40 mg/d or placebo and performed measurement at baseline and after 26 and 52 weeks of treatment. The study was completed by 77 subjects. Results. Compared with placebo, plasma levels of cholesterol and low-density lipoproteins decreased in response to treatment with simvastatin, but our study showed no effect of simvastatin on vitamin D status. However, plasma levels of triglycerides were inversely associated with tertiles of plasma 25OHD levels and changes in plasma triglycerides levels correlated inversely with seasonal changes in vitamin D status. Conclusion. Our data do not support a pharmacological effect of statins on vitamin D status, but do suggest that vitamin D may influence plasma lipid profile and thus be of importance to cardiovascular health. Introduction During recent years, treatment with statins has been suggested to cause positive effects on bone. Although, discrepant results have been reported in clinical studies on effects of statins on bone mineral density (BMD) and bone turnover, several epidemiological studies have shown that treatment with statins is associated with a reduced risk of fracture. Several mechanisms of action of statins on bone have been suggested. Statins may exert a bone anabolic action due to an increased osteoblastic synthesis of bone morphogenetic protein 2 (BMP-2), a growth factor that causes osteoblastic proliferation, as well as antiresorptive effects similar to nitrogen-containing bisphosphonates (amino-BP). Moreover, an effect of statins on vitamin D metabolism has been suggested as an additional mechanism of action by which statins may exert pleiotropic effects. In several but not all studies, treatment with statins has been associated with an improved vitamin D status. An emerging amount of evidence suggests that an impaired vitamin D status increases the risk of different types of cancers and chronic disorders, including cardiovascular diseases. If statins improve vitamin D status this could be a plausible explanation for the findings of not only a decreased fracture risk, but also a decreased risk of malignant diseases in users of statin drugs. Thus, in a randomised controlled design we studied effects of one year of simvastatin treatment on vitamin D status in a group of healthy postmenopausal women. Subjects and Methods In year 2000, we initiated a study on effects of statin treatment on bone. The design and major results of the 2 International Journal of Endocrinology study has previously been detailed. In brief, in a doubleblinded design we randomised 82 healthy Caucasian women to one year of treatment with either simvastatin 40 mg/d or placebo. In addition, all studied subjects received a daily supplement with 400 mg of elementary calcium, but no vitamin D supplementations. Calcium and simvastatin tablets were obtained commercially. We recruited studied subjects, through invitations by letter, from a random sample of the general background population. We only included women who were more than 12 months postmenopause and below 76 years of age. In addition, we required studied subjects to be healthy as assessed by a standard biochemical screening program and to have osteopenia at the lumbar spine or total hip, that is, a BMD less than 1 standard deviation (SD) below the mean of peak bone mass (T-score < −1). We excluded women with diseases or use of drugs known to affect calcium homeostasis and bone metabolism, including impaired renal (plasma creatinine >120 mol/L) or hepatic (plasma alanine aminotransferase >80 U/L) function, and alcohol abuse of more than 14 units a week within the last 2 years. None of studied subjects had known hyperlipidemia prior to study start. As a safety measure, we excluded subjects with low plasma cholesterol levels (total cholesterol <4.0 mmol/L and/or LDL <2.5 mmol/L). The study was carried out in accordance with the Declaration of Helsinki II. It was approved by the regional Ethical Committee (Aarhus County # 2000/0223) and the Danish National Board of Health. Each individual gave verbal and written informed consent prior to the study. The Good Clinical Practice (GCP) Unit at the University Hospital of Aarhus, Denmark, monitored the study. Biochemistry During trial, blood samples were drawn between 7.00 a.m. and 10.30 a.m. after an overnight fast. At time of study, we analysed plasma levels of calcium, creatinine, albumin, total cholesterol (TC), LDL cholesterol (LDL), HDL cholesterol (HDL), and triglyceride (TG) by standard laboratory methods. We now report measurements of plasma 25-hydroxyvitamin D (P-25OHD) levels in samples collected at baseline and after 6 and 12 months of treatment. Since collected, all samples have been stored at −80 C. We analysed P-25OHD levels using an isotope dilution liquid chromatography-tandem mass spectrometry (LC-MS/MS) method adapted from Maunsell et al.. Mean coefficients of variation for 25OHD3 were 6.4% and 9.1% at levels of 66.5 and 21.1 nmol/L and for 25OHD2 the CV values were 8.8% and 9.4% at levels of 41.2 and 25.3 nmol/L. Statistics We assessed differences between study groups using Chisquare tests for categorical variables and a two-sample t-test or Mann-Whitney U-test for continuous variables, as appropriate. For this analysis, we had stored samples for 77 study subjects who completed the one year of treatment (38 in the placebo group and 39 in the statin group). Accordingly, data are presented as a per-protocol analysis. Serial changes were studied using analysis of variance (ANOVA) for repeated measurements (RM-ANOVA), with treatment group as the independent variable (effect of time by group). Assumptions for repeated measures ANOVA were checked by Mauchly's test of sphericity, and accordingly adjustment in the degrees of freedom was made (Huynh-Feldt epsilon). In case of a significant betweengroups difference by repeated measures ANOVA, differences between groups were analysed at each time point of measurements by a posterior analysis using a two-sample test. We assessed association between studied parameters using correlations and multiple regression analyses. All results are given as mean ± standard error of the mean (SEM) unless otherwise stated. Statistical analysis was performed using Statistical Package for Social Sciences (SPSSs 14.0) for Windows. Results Women included in the study had a median age of 64 years (range 53 to 74 years). Baseline characteristics including P-25OHD levels did not differ statistically between groups, except that women randomised to placebo by change were heavier than subjects randomised to simvastatin treatment (Table 1). Only three of our studied subjects had vitamin D deficiency defined as a P-25OHD level <25 nmol/L, whereas 11 (14%) had vitamin D insufficiency (P-25OHD <50 nmol/L). One third of our studied subjects had a P-25OHD level >80 nmol/L ( Table 1). As previously reported, 52 weeks of treatment with simvastatin caused, compared with placebo, a significant decrease in plasma levels of cholesterol (−27%, 95% confidence interval (CI), −22% to −32%, P <.001) and LDL-cholesterol (−45%, 95% CI, −38% to −52%, P <.001), whereas plasma levels of HDLcholesterol and triglycerides did not change significantly in response to treatment. Similarly, statin treatment did not affect plasma levels of parathyroid hormone or biochemical markers of bone turnover, including plasma levels of C-terminal telopeptide of type I (CTX), collagen osteocalcin, and bone specific alkaline phosphatase. Effects of Simvastatin Treatment on Plasma 25OHD Levels. Treatment with simvastatin did not affect P-25OHD levels compared with placebo (P =.53 by RM-ANOVA, Figure 1). P-25OHD levels did not change significantly between baseline and week 52 within the group of women treated with simvastatin (P =.40 by paired sample test) or placebo (P =.90). As shown in Figure 1, P-25OHD levels were higher in both study groups at week 26 compared with values at baseline and week 52, which is attributable to seasonal variations. Samples at baseline and week 52 were collected during wintertime (October to April), whereas samples at week 26 were collected during summertime (April to October). Associations between Vitamin D-and Cholesterol-Status. In order to assess whether P-25OHD levels influence cholesterol status, we analysed baseline indices of cholesterol status, as measured by plasma levels of TC, LDL, HDL, or TG by tertiles of P-25OHD levels ( Table 2). Women in the highest tertile of P-25OHD levels (>80 nmol/L) had significantly (P <.01) lower plasma levels of TG than those in the lowest P-25OHD tertile, whereas plasma HDL levels increased borderline significantly by P-25OHD tertiles ( Table 2). Dividing studied subjects into groups pf vitamin D status according to the often used cutoff limits for vitamin D status, that is, P-25OHD <50, between 50-80, and >80 nmol/L showed very similar results with significantly lower TG levels (1.0 ± 0.5 mmol/L) in vitamin D replete women (P-25OHD >80 nmol/L) than in women with vitamin D insufficiency (P-25OHD <50 nmol/L: TG 1.3 ± 0.5 mmol/L, P =.03). Moreover, on averages, P-25OHD levels increased from 71 ± 25 nmol/L at wintertime (baseline) to 80 ± 25 nmol/L at summertime (week 26). Concomitantly, plasma TG levels decreased from 1.2 ± 0.5 mmol/L to 1.1 ± 0.5 mmol/L. In a linear regression analysis, adjusted for treatment allocation, the seasonal changes in P-25OHD levels were significantly associated with the concomitant changes in plasma TG levels ( = −0.150, r = 0.47, P <.01). Similarly, the decrease in P-25OHD levels between week 26 and 52 (from summerto winter-time) correlated significantly with the concomitant changes in plasma TG levels ( = −0.189, r = 0.36, P <.01). Further adjustments for BMI did not change the results. Discussion In a randomised, controlled study, we found no effects on plasma 25OHD levels of one year of treatment with simvastatin 40 mg/d compared with placebo. However, our analysis showed an effect of vitamin D status on plasma levels of TG, a finding that may contribute to our understanding of the potential positive effects of vitamin D on cardiovascular health. For more than two decades, statins have been used to reduce cholesterol levels in patients with cardiovascular diseases. They act as HMG-CoA reductase inhibitors, thereby reducing the endogenous cholesterol synthesis. When statins were introduced, it was a matter of concern whether inhibition of the cholesterol biosynthetic pathway may affect other Table 2: Indices of cholesterol status by tertiles of plasma 25-hydroxyvitamin D (P-25OHD) levels at baseline (mean ± SD). P-total cholesterol P-HDL cholesterol P-LDL cholesterol P-triglycerides (mmol/L) (mmol/L) (mmol/L) (mmol/L) Tertile of P-25OHD levels (<58 nmol/L) 6.4 ± 1.1 1.7 ± 0.4 4.4 ± 1.0 1.3 ± 0.6 (58-80 nmol/L) 6.6 ± 0.8 metabolic processes which are dependent on intermediates from this pathway. Especially, concerns have been paid to the reduced tissue concentrations of 7-dehydrocholesterol (7-DHC) in response to treatment with statins. As 7-DHC is the precursor for endogenous skin synthesis of cholecalciferol, reduced levels of 7-DHC may impair vitamin D status. However, in a study including 17 men and women on treatment with pravastatin and 14 hypercholesterolemic age and gender matched controls, vitamin D levels increased in a similar manner in both groups in response to exposure of the skin surface to type B ultraviolet (UV-B) radiation, indicating no harmful effects of pravastatin on the endogenous vitamin D synthesis. On the contrary, in several papers statin therapy has been suggested to improve vitamin D status. In a group of 83 Spanish men and women with acute coronary syndrome in whom treatment with atorvastatin was initiated, vitamin D status as measured by P-25OHD levels improved. Thus, during one year of observation P-25OHD levels increased from 41 ± 19 nmol/L at baseline to 47 ± 19 nmol/L after 12 months, which, according to the investigators, was attributable to treatment with atorvastatin. Similar results have been reported by other investigators, including a cross-sectional analysis showing increased P-25OHD levels in patients on treatment with statins. In contrast to these findings from observational studies, the results from our randomised controlled study showed no effect of simvastatin treatment on P-25OHD levels. Although we cannot exclude differential effects on vitamin D status of different types of statin drugs (e.g., atorvastatin versus simvastatin), we find it most likely that the findings from the uncontrolled studies are due to unmeasured changes in indices affecting P-25OHD levels. In general, P-25OHD levels are determined by intake from food items rich in vitamin D (especially fatty fish), use of vitamin D supplements, and sun exposure. To the best of our knowledge, none of these indices was controlled for in the hitherto published uncontrolled studies on possible effects of statins on vitamin D status. Most likely, the findings from these studies are due to the coincidence of changes in lifestyle habits in relation to administration of statin drugs. Vitamin D has, however, independently of treatment with statins, been implicated in cardiovascular health and atherogenesis. Results from a randomised controlled study showed a decreased blood pressure in response to UVB exposure, and P-25OHD levels have been shown to correlate inversely with risk of atherosclerosis in several cohort studies. However, other investigators have reported either no effects or even detrimental effects on plasma lipid levels in response to administration of vitamin D. The vitamin D receptor is expressed by both cardiac myocytes, endothelial-, and smooth vascular muscle-cells and these cells also express the 1 -hydroxylase enzyme, that is, they may locally activate vitamin D from its circulation precursor (25OHD) to its active metabolite (1,25dihydroxyvitamin D). Several mechanisms of action have been implicated in the potential antiatherosclerotic effects of vitamin D, including a downregulation of the reninangiotensin system, and a reduced expression of mRNA and protein levels of plasminogen activator inhibitor-1 (PAI-1) and thrombospondin-1 (THBS1) which are known to be involved in the development of atherosclerosis. In addition, our data points toward a further mechanism by which vitamin D may protect against cardiovascular diseases, that is, through decreased TG levels. A possible mechanism of action by which vitamin D lowers TG levels is through an increased activity of the lipoprotein lipase, which has been shown to be regulated by vitamin D in adipocytes. Our data on effects of vitamin D on TG levels are limited by the cross-sectional design of the analysis and included only women. Further randomised controlled studies on effects of vitamin D on plasma lipid profile are warranted, including studies in men. In conclusion, results from our randomised, controlled trial do not support an effect of statin treatment on vitamin D status as determined by measurement of plasma 25OHD levels. However, P-25OHD levels may improve the plasma lipid profile and thereby risk of cardiovascular disease.
Kate Bosworth and her fiancé Michael Polish make for the picture-perfect couple as they stroll through the airport. The pair, with arms wrapped around each other, could not have looked more in love as they touched down at Louis Armstrong Airport in New Orleans on Sunday. Kate and Michael and flown in from Australia, where the Blue Crush star has been promoting her skincare brand SK-II. She has now arrived in Louisiana for filming on her new movie Homefront, which also stars James Franco, Jason Statham and Winona Ryder. And of course, the 29-year-old's other half - director Polish - was firmly in two, supporting her as she prepares to get behind the camera again. Kate kept it casual in black trousers, a white top and denim jacket and appeared to be make-up free. The Hollywood beauty's fresh face is obviously the reason why she has been picked to be the newest face of the skincare company, SK-II which she has just been promoting. She joins long-time ambassador and fellow actress Cate Blanchett in representing the brand. So for the young actress who admits she 'can’t live without' the company’s products this is the perfect opportunity to keep her bathroom cabinet well-stocked with her favourite items.
For the Welsh darts player, see Eric Burden Eric Victor Burdon (born 11 May 1941)[2] is an English singer-songwriter and actor. He was previously the vocalist of rock band The Animals and funk band War.[3] He is regarded as one of the British Invasion's most distinct singers with his deep, powerful blues-rock voice. He is also known for his aggressive stage performances.[4] In 2008, he was ranked 57th in Rolling Stone's list The 100 Greatest Singers of All Time.[5] Early life [ edit ] Eric Burdon was born in 1941 in Newcastle upon Tyne, England. His father, Matt, was originally from Tyneside. His mother, Rene, was originally from Ireland and moved to Scotland before settling in Newcastle in the 1930s. He also had a younger sister, Irene. Burdon states he often had a divided loyalty in his sense of place and identity. He was born to a lower working-class family; his father did electrical work in some of the clubs Burdon would later play. Because of his dad's line of work in electrical repair, the Burdon family had a TV by the time Eric was 10; in his autobiography, Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood, he recalls the electrifying moment of first seeing Louis Armstrong on TV only beginning his love for blues music. This led him to take up the trombone. However, realizing that he wasn't all that good a player, he took up singing and went to Newcastle Art College.[6] In a song he wrote, "When I Was Young", he states he met his first love at 13, who was very experienced while he was not. He also sings he smoked his first cigarette at 10 years old and would skip school with his friends to drink brown ale. Burdon describes his early school years as a "dark nightmare"; and "should've been penned by Charles Dickens". Due to the river pollution and humidity in Newcastle he suffered asthma attacks daily. During primary school, he was "Stuck at the rear of the classroom of around 40 to 50 kids and received constant harassment from kids and teachers alike." He goes on to say his primary school was "Jammed between a slaughterhouse and a shipyard on the banks of the Tyne. Some teachers were sadistic – others pretended not to notice – and sexual molestation and regular corporal punishment with a leather strap was the order of the day".[6] By the time he got to secondary school, a teacher by the name of Bertie Brown was responsible for getting him into art school and changing his life forever. There he first met John Steel the original drummer for The Animals. He also met a lot of other "young rebels" who shared his interest in jazz, folk, and movies.[6] This was also the age Eric and his friends would disappear to go to a field or park to drink Newcastle Brown Ale. Burdon started out his young adult life as one of a bunch of people who hung out at the local jazz club, The Downbeat. He describes his friends as "like a motorcycle gang... without the motorcycles"; they were tough, hard-drinking, and listened to American music. Burdon and fellow rocker and guitarist, American Jimi Hendrix became very close friends in the mid sixties and remained so up until Hendrix's death in 1970; Burdon was in fact the person Hendrix's girlfriend called when she found him overdosed on drugs.[7] Burdon was also a good friend of The Beatles' John Lennon and was mentioned in one of their songs, "I Am the Walrus" as "the eggman". Eric states, "The nickname stuck after a wild experience I’d had at the time with a Jamaican girlfriend called Sylvia. I was up early one morning cooking breakfast, naked except for my socks, and she slid up beside me and slipped an amyl nitrite capsule under my nose. As the fumes set my brain alight and I slid to the kitchen floor, she reached to the counter and grabbed an egg, which she cracked into the pit of my belly. The white and yellow of the egg ran down my naked front and Sylvia began to show me one Jamaican trick after another. I shared the story with John at a party at a Mayfair flat one night with a handful of others. Lennon, finding the story amusing and hilarious, replied, “Go on, go get it, Eggman,” eventually tributing a song to the unique experience.[8] Career [ edit ] The Animals [ edit ] Eric Burdon and the Animals Burdon was lead singer of the Animals, formed during 1962 in Newcastle upon Tyne. The original band was the Alan Price Rhythm and Blues Combo, which formed in 1958;[9] they became the Animals shortly after Burdon joined the band. The Animals combined electric blues with rock and in the USA were one of the leading bands of the British Invasion.[10] Along with the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, the Who, the Hollies, the Dave Clark Five, and the Kinks, the group introduced British music and fashion. Burdon's powerful voice can be heard on the Animals' singles "The House of the Rising Sun", "Baby Let Me Take You Home", "I'm Crying", "Boom Boom", "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood", "Bring It On Home to Me", "We Gotta Get out of This Place", "It's My Life", "Don't Bring Me Down", "See See Rider", "Monterey", and "Sky Pilot". May 1965, originals member keyboardist Alan Price and April 1966 drummer John Steel, had left.[11] Burdon has often attributed the disintegration of the band to conflict with Price, specifically that Price had claimed sole rights and ownership to "House of the Rising Sun".[12] Burdon and drummer Barry Jenkins reformed the group as Eric Burdon and the Animals. This more psychedelic incarnation featured future Family member John Weider and was sometimes called Eric Burdon and the New Animals. Keyboardist Zoot Money joined during 1968 until the band split up in 1969.[13] This group's hits included the ballad "San Franciscan Nights", the grunge–heavy metal-pioneering "When I Was Young", "Monterey", the anti-Vietnam anthem "Sky Pilot", "White Houses" and the progressive cover of "Ring of Fire". In 1967, Burdon married Angela King[14], who he describes in his autobiography as "a beautiful Anglo-Indian woman with absolutely perfect breasts." The next year she left him for Jimi Hendrix and she and Burdon were subsequently divorced. She was murdered in 1996 by an estranged boyfriend.[15] In 1975, the original Animals reunited and recorded an album called Before We Were So Rudely Interrupted, released in 1977.[16] In May 1983, the Animals reunited with their original line-up and released the album Ark on 16 June 1983, along with the singles "The Night" and "Love Is For All Time". A world tour followed, and the concert at Wembley Arena, London, recorded on 31 December 1983, was released in 1984 as Rip it to Shreds. Their concert at the Royal Oak Theatre in April 1984 was released in 2008 as Last Live Show; the band members were augmented by Zoot Money, Nippy Noya, Steve Gregory and Steve Grant. The original Animals broke up for the last time at the end of 1984. Fenklup on 7 January 1967 Eric Burdon on the Dutch TV programmeon 7 January 1967 Although the band Burdon formed in the late 1960s was sometimes called Eric Burdon and the New Animals, it wasn't until 1998 that the name Eric Burdon and the New Animals was officially adopted. The 1998 band had bassist Dave Meros, guitarist Dean Restum, drummer Aynsley Dunbar and keyboard guitarist Neal Morse. They recorded Live at the Coach House on 17 October 1998, released on video and DVD in December that year. In 1999 they released The Official Live Bootleg No. 2 and in August 2000 The Official Live Bootleg 2000, with Martin Gerschwitz on keyboards. In June 2003, he formed another Eric Burdon and the Animals, with keyboardist Martin Gerschwitz, bassist Dave Meros, guitarist Dean Restum, and drummer Bernie Pershey. They disbanded in 2005. During 2008 Burdon toured again as Eric Burdon and the Animals with a variable line-up of backing musicians.[17] On 13 December 2008, Burdon lost a three-year legal battle to win the name "the Animals" in the UK. Since then drummer John Steel owned the rights in the UK only. Burdon still tours as Eric Burdon and the Animals, but was prevented from using the name "the Animals" in Britain while the case was under appeal. Steel was a member in its heyday and left in 1966, before the band split up 3 years later in 1969. Steel later played in various reunion versions of the band with Burdon.[18] On 9 September 2013 Burdon's appeal was allowed.[19] Eric Burdon is now entitled to use the name "The Animals" in the UK. In 2016, Burdon formed the current lineup of The Animals, including Johnzo West (guitar/vocals), Davey Allen (keys/vocals), Dustin Koester (drums/vocals), Justin Andres (bass guitar/vocals), Ruben Salinas (sax/flute), and Evan Mackey (trombone).[20] On May 10, 2018, the night before Burdon's 77th birthday, he and The Animals played to a packed house at the Lynn Memorial Auditorium in Lynn, Massachusetts. The 12 song set included his 1966 hit, "When I Was Young." [21] War [ edit ] In 1969, while living in San Francisco, Burdon joined forces with Californian funk rock band War. In April 1970, the resulting album was entitled Eric Burdon Declares "War" which produced the singles "Spill the Wine" and "Tobacco Road". A two-disc set entitled The Black-Man's Burdon, was released later in September 1970. The singles from the double album, "Paint It Black" and "They Can't Take Away Our Music", had moderate success during 1971. During this time Burdon collapsed on the stage during a concert, caused by an asthma attack, and War continued the tour without him. In 1976, a compilation album, Love Is All Around, released by ABC Records, included recordings of Eric Burdon with War doing a live version of "Paint It Black" and a cover of the Beatles' song "A Day in the Life." The band also featured ex-NFL star Deacon Jones who coined the term "quarterback sack" and sang on the band's 1975 song "Why Can't We Be Friends?" Eric Burdon and War were reunited for the first time in 37 years, to perform an Eric Burdon & War reunion at the concert at the Royal Albert Hall London on 21 April 2008. The concert coincided with a major reissue campaign by Rhino Records (UK), which released all the War albums including Eric Burdon Declares "War" and The Black-Man's Burdon. Solo career [ edit ] Burdon at the Audimax with the Eric Burdon Band in Hamburg, July 1973 Burdon began a solo career in 1971 with the Eric Burdon Band, continuing with a hard rock–heavy metal–funk style. In August 1971, he recorded the album Guilty! which featured the blues shouter Jimmy Witherspoon, and also Ike White of the San Quentin Prison Band. In 1973, the band performed at the Reading Festival and in 1974 they travelled to New York City. At the end of 1974, the band released the album Sun Secrets and this was followed by the album Stop in 1975. Burdon moved to Germany in 1977 and recorded the album Survivor with a line-up including guitarist Alexis Korner and keyboardist Zoot Money; the album also had a line-up of four guitarists and three keyboard players and is known for its interesting album cover, which depicts Burdon screaming. The album was produced by former Animal's bassist Chas Chandler. The original release included a booklet of illustrated lyrics done in ink by Burdon himself. In May 1978, he recorded the album Darkness Darkness at the Roundwood House in County Laois, Ireland, using Ronnie Lane's Mobile Studio and featuring guitarist and vocalist Bobby Tench from the Jeff Beck Group, who had left Streetwalkers a few months before. The album was eventually released in 1980.[22] During January 1979, Burdon changed his band for a tour taking in Hamburg, Germany and the Netherlands. On 28 August 1982, the "Eric Burdon Band" including Red Young (keyboards) performed at the Rockpalast Open Air Concert at the Lorelei, Germany. Following this Burdon toured heavily with his solo project from March 1984 to March 1985, taking in UK, Spain, Germany, Sweden, Canada and Australia. In 1986, Burdon published his autobiography entitled I Used To Be An Animal, But I'm Alright Now.[23] In March 1979, he played a concert in Cologne and changed the band's name to "Eric Burdon's Fire Department",[24] whose line-up included backing vocalist Jackie Carter of Silver Convention, Bertram Engel of Udo Lindenberg's "Panik Orchester" and Jean-Jaques Kravetz. In mid 1980, they recorded the album The Last Drive. "Eric Burdon's Fire Department" toured Europe with this line-up and Paul Millins and Louisiana Red made special appearances in Spain and Italy. By December 1980, the band had broken up. In April 1981, Christine Buschmann began to film Comeback with Burdon as the star. They created a new "Eric Burdon Band" whose line-up included Louisiana Red, Tony Braunagle, John Sterling and Snuffy Walden. This band recorded live tracks in Los Angeles. They also recorded in Berlin with another line-up, the only remaining member being John Sterling. In September 1981, the final scenes of Comeback were shot in the Berlin Metropole and Burdon and his band continued to tour through Australia and North America. A studio album titled Comeback was released in 1982. The 1983 album Power Company also included songs recorded during the Comeback project. Eric Burdon at the Audimax with the Eric Burdon Band in Hamburg, July 1973 In 1988, he put together a band with 15 musicians including Andrew Giddings – keyboards, Steve Stroud – bass, Adrian Sheppard – drums, Jamie Moses – guitar and four backing vocalists to record the album I Used To Be An Animal in Malibu, in the United States. In 1990, Eric Burdon's cover version of "Sixteen Tons" was used for the film Joe Versus the Volcano. The song, which played at the beginning of the film, was also released as a single. He also recorded the singles "We Gotta Get out of this Place" with Katrina & the Waves and "No Man's Land" with Tony Carey and Anne Haigis. Later in 1990, he had a small line-up of an Eric Burdon Band featuring Jimmy Zavala (sax and harmonica), Dave Meros(bass), Jeff Naideau (keyboards), Thom Mooney (drums) and John Sterling (guitar) before he began a tour with the Doors guitarist Robby Krieger and they appeared at a concert from Ventura Beach, California, which was released as a DVD on 20 June 2008. On 13 April 2004, he released a "comeback" album, My Secret Life, which was his first album with new recordings for 16 years. When John Lee Hooker died in 2001, Burdon had written the song "Can't Kill the Boogieman" the co-writers of the songs, on the album, were Tony Braunagel and Marcelo Nova. In 2005, they released a live album, Athens Traffic Live, with special DVD bonus material and a bonus studio track and disbanded in November 2005. He began a short touring as the "Blues Knights". On 27 January 2006, he released his blues–R&B album Soul of a Man. This album was dedicated to Ray Charles and John Lee Hooker. The cover of the album was a picture which was sent to Burdon a few years before. Burdon then formed a new band, with the following members: Red Young (keyboards), Paula O'Rourke (bass), Eric McFadden (guitar), Carl Carlton (guitar) and Wally Ingram (drums). They also performed at the Lugano Festival and in 2007 he toured as the headlining act of the "Hippiefest" line-up, produced and hosted by Country Joe McDonald. Burdon, at 71, recorded an E.P. with Cincinnati garage band the Greenhornes called, simply, Eric Burdon & the Greenhornes. The album was recorded at an all-analogue recording studio,[25] and released on 23 November 2012 as part of Record Store Day's "Black Friday." In 2013, Eric Burdon came out with a new album called, Til Your River Runs Dry. The lead single off the album was called "Water" and was inspired by a conversation he had with former Soviet premier Mikhail Gorbachev.[26] Other associations [ edit ] Eric Burdon at the Daffodil Festival at Hubbard Park, in Meriden, Connecticut, in 2008 In 1991, Burdon and Brian Auger formed the "Eric Burdon – Brian Auger Band" with the following line-up: Eric Burdon – vocals, Brian Auger – keyboards, vocals, Dave Meros – bass, vocals, Don Kirkpatrick – guitar, vocals and Paul Crowder – drums, vocals. By 1992, Larry Wilkins replaced Kirkpatrick and Karma Auger (Brian's son) replaced Crowder and in 1993 they added Richard Reguria (percussion). The live album Access All Areas was then released. In 1994 the "Eric Burdon – Brian Auger Band" disbanded. Burdon then formed the "Eric Burdon's i Band". The line-up included Larry Wilkins, Dean Restum (guitar), Dave Meros (bass) and Mark Craney (drums). In 1995, Burdon made a guest appearance with Bon Jovi, singing "It's My Life"/"We Gotta Get out of This Place" medley at the Hall of Fame. He also released the album Lost Within the Halls of Fame, with past tracks and re-recordings of some songs from I Used to be an Animal. In October 1996, Aynsley Dunbar replaced Craney on drums. The Official Live Bootleg was recorded in 1997 and in May that year Larry Wilkins died of cancer. He also released the compilations Soldier of Fortune and I'm Ready which featured recordings from the 1970s and 1980s. In 1996, the lead singer of Brazilian rock band Camisa de Vênus, the vocalist Marcelo Nova worked in partnership with the former lead singer of The Animals. Eric Burdon and Marcelo Nova composed the song "Black & White World" and sang in a duet the Animals classic song "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood" on the Camisa de Venus album pt:Quem É Você? (álbum) Produced by Eric Burdon. In 2000, he recorded the song "Power to the People" together with Ringo Starr and Billy Preston for the motion picture Steal This Movie!. On 11 May 2001, the Animals were inducted into the Rock Walk of Fame on Burdon's 60th birthday. On 3 March 2002, the live album Live in Seattle was recorded. Ex-War member Lee Oskar made a guest appearance on the album. In 2003 he made a guest appearance on the album Joyous in the City of Fools by the Greek rock band Pyx Lax, singing lead vocal on "Someone Wrote 'Save me' On a Wall". In 2001, his second critically acclaimed memoir, "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood," written with author/filmmaker J. Marshall Craig, was released in the US, followed by editions in Greece, Germany and Australia; it covers the British Invasion, moving to Los Angeles and Palm Springs, and various anecdotes about Rock and Roll stardom.[27] In 2004, in his album My Secret Life, besides presenting the song composed in partnership with the Brazilian rocker Marcelo Nova "Black & White World", Eric Burdon shed to the English and re-recorded two songs of Marcelo Nova: "A Garota da Motocicleta" turned "Motorcycle Girl" while "Coração Satânico" became "Devil's Slide". On 7 June 2008, Burdon performed at the memorial service of Bo Diddley in Gainesville, Florida.[28] During July and August 2008, Burdon appeared as the headline act of the "Hippiefest". He also recorded the single "For What It's Worth" with Carl Carlton and Max Buskohl. In 2008, Rolling Stone ranked Eric Burdon No. 57 on the list of the 100 Greatest Singers of all Time. On 22 January 2009 he first performed with his new band, including keyboardist Red Young, guitarist Rick Hirsch, bass player Jack Bryant and drummer Ed Friedland. For a few months he was sick and did not perform except in the United States. On 26 June, he began his European tour. The band includes Red Young (keyboards), Billy Watts (guitar), Terry Wilson (bass), Brannen Temple (drums) and Georgia Dagaki (cretan lyra). On 28 January 2013, Eric Burdon performed on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon, backed by the Roots. Fallon hyped Burdon's current album, Til Your River Runs Dry. On 23 July 2013, he guested on stage with Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band at Cardiff Millennium Stadium, performing "We Gotta Get Out of This Place." In August 2013, he toured with Pat Benatar and Neil Giraldo. Film career [ edit ] Burdon wanted to act in the film Blowup (1966). Director Michelangelo Antonioni wanted to use him as a musician in a club scene, but Burdon turned the role down because he had acted in films before in which he sang songs. He disbanded the Animals and went to California, where he met Jim Morrison and came to the realisation that his real inspiration was acting. Later, he turned down major roles in Zabriskie Point and Performance (both 1970). In 1973, he formed the Eric Burdon Band and recorded the soundtrack for his own film project, Mirage. He spent much money to make this film, produced as a film for Atlantic. The film and the soundtrack were to be released in July 1974, but somehow they never were. The soundtrack was released in 2008.[29] In 1979, he acted in the TV film The 11th Victim, then in the German film Gibbi – Westgermany (1980). In 1982, he starred in another German film, Comeback, again as a singer. In 1991, he had a cameo appearance in The Doors.[30] In 1998, he acted as himself in the Greek film My Brother and I,[31] followed by a bigger role in the German film Snow on New Year's Eve (1999). In the following years, he was credited in many documentaries and in an independent film called Fabulous Shiksa in Distress (2003), along with Ned Romero and Ted Markland. In 2007, he performed the traditional "Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child" in the drama festival film The Blue Hour and in a documentary about Joshua Tree, called Nowhere Now (2008). Discography [ edit ] Filmography [ edit ] References [ edit ] Further reading [ edit ]
Nivolumab after sorafenib failure in liver recipients with hepatocellcular carcinoma recurrence. Introduction Several treatments have recently been known for hepatocellcular carcinoma (HCC) who have failed to treat sorafenib. Immune checkpoint inhibitors have proven to be effective, but data on the safety and efficacy of liver transplant (LT) patients are limited. We aimed to report the effect of nivolumab after failure of sorafenib treatment in patients with recurrent HCC after liver transplantation. Methods This study retrospectively evaluated patients who failed sorafenib for recurrent HCC treatment after liver transplantation in a single center from March 2007 to December 2018. Patients with recurrent hepatocellular carcinoma after liver transplantation who received regorafenib or nivolumab after sorafenib treatment failure were included. Results Of the 53 study patients, 8 received regorafenib and 10 received nivolumab. There is no difference in the characteristics of the two groups. Median overall survival (OS) from LT or HCC recurrence was 58.1 months and 40.2 months in the novolumab group and was 25.6 months and 17.6 months in the non-nivolumab group (p = 0.104 and p = 0.143, respectively). The median OS from nivolumab use was 5.3 months and the median OS from sorafenib use in non-nivolumab group was 14.8 months (p = 0.657). All 10 patients receiving nivolumab failed to control HCC progression and 6 patients (60%) were dead due to HCC progression during a median follow-up period of 2.4 months (interquartile range, 1.8-7.2 months) from the onset of nivolumab. Conclusions Present study suggests that the use of nivolumab in LT patients with recurrent HCC has not shown a clear function in inhibiting HCC progression yet.
Impact of Merger on Operational and HR Efficiency: A Case Study of the State Bank of India Purpose: Analysing financial performance is one of the popular methods for measuring operational efficiency of a firm. Ratio analysis is an important tool of financial analysis. The analysis of key performance parameters enables diverse group of stakeholders to obtain information about profitability and growth prospects. Mergers and acquisitions are popular means of inorganic growth. The Indian Banking Industry has used this effective tool to consolidate and grow in size. Through M&A, acquired banks get a new name, structure, products and services. However, the risk of NPAs continues to be a major problem for banks. In order to study the effectiveness of a merger, analysing financial performance prior to and after merger becomes important. The State Bank of India merger has been taken up for the study, since following the merger there is a substantial increase in both the market share as well as asset base of the bank. Design/Methodology/Approach: This paper studies the result of mergers on financial indicators, market performance, asset quality, liquidity position and employee productivity of SBI after it merged with its 5 associate banks and BMB through ratio analysis. The ratios indicating the performance parameters have been taken from secondary sources such as moneycontrol.com, stock-financials.valuestocks.in. etc. A comparison of various financial ratios is made to determine the change in the performance parameters of the bank. Findings/Result: The study highlights reduction in profitability, increase in cost to income ratio, slight improvement in liquidity, decline in asset quality and market performance and a slight decrease in employee productivity after the merger. Originality/Value: This paper studies the effectiveness of mergers in terms of change in key financial performance parameters. INTRODUCTION : Mergers and acquisitions are effective strategies for achieving growth and expansion for businesses, world over. Mergers enable companies to raise fresh capital, improve efficiency, increase value for shareholders and enable the firm to attract better talent. They also help cut costs, create synergies and economies of scale, improve their market share and meet competitive challenges. Indian corporates have also adopted this inorganic route of M&A to achieve growth and gain a competitive advantage. Removal of the restrictive provisions of the MRTP Act and reforms in FEMA and FERA in 2000 has encouraged and increased M&A activities not only within the country but also cross-border M&As. The banking industry of the country is the main stay of our financial system, playing an important role in mobilising funds and channelling investments to the economy. According to a report by IBEF, "The Indian banking system comprises 12 public sector banks, 22 private sector banks, 56 RRBs, 1485 urban co-operative banks". The financial inclusion initiatives of the government have enabled several people to access banking services. As in April 2020, deposits under the PMJDY stood at Rs. 1.28 lakh crores There is an increased use of digital payments, especially after UPI was introduced. At the end of March 2020, total transactions under the UPI were recorded at 1.25 billion valued at 2.06 lakh crores. As in 2020, there are 38.7 crore Jan Dhan accounts. Simultaneously, the banking industry faces several challenges. The poor asset quality due to massive Non-productive Assets (NPAs) and large overdues has been a persistent problem faced by the Indian banks. The banking system has had to face large defaults in recent times. In the Indian banking scenario, mergers have strengthened the weaker banks. It has also enabled acquiring banks to grow in size. State Bank of India (SBI) is the leading bank of the country in terms of deposits, advances, number of customers and number of bank branches. It is the largest Public Sector Bank in terms of market capitalisation. The SBI differs from other commercial banks in the sense that it acts as the agent of the Reserve Bank of India in such places where it has no branches. One of it's main objectives is to follow the economic policy guidelines of the Government in it's working. According to a study, "The SBI has become one of the top 50 Global Banks after the merger. After its merger, it has a total of 24,017 bank branches and the number of is ATMs have increased to 59,263 and customer base to 42-crore and market share increased to 22.5% from 17%". However, the risks of mergers of banks include high NPAs and costs related to the merger. RELATED WORKS : Edward, A. and Jyothi Manoj studied the financial performance of SBI after its merger. The study also sought to analyse changes in the share prices of the bank. The study came to the conclusion that the merger has not brought about any notable change in the liquidity, profitability and operational performance of the bank. The announcement of the merger led to significantly positive abnormal returns on the share price of the bank. Upadhyay, R. and Kurmi analysed the performance of SBI after its merger using the CAMELS framework. The study finds that in all the parameters used to analyse performance such as Capital Adequacy, Asset Quality, Management Efficiency, Earnings Capacity, Liquidity and Sensitivity there has been no improvement. Among the Management Efficiency ratios only Business per Employee Ratio has shown an upward trend. Kanungo et al. studied the impact of monetary policies of the RBI on the efficiency of SBI in terms of liquidity and profitability. The study found that all the monetary policy measures adopted by the central bank had a significant impact on the net profits and cash deposits of SBI before and after the merger. Dhara, P. and Basu, S., studied the post-merger financial performance of SBI by observing changes in ratios such as RONW, ROA, ROCE, EPS and NPM. The study makes a forecast of the net profit position of SBI for the period up to 2025 and concludes that the net profit position of SBI will show an upward trend in the coming years. Sharma and Patel examined the financial performance of SBI by applying the CAMEL model and also compared the performance of the merging banks with each other. The study finds that in terms of capital adequacy SSSJ ranks first, SBP in terms of asset quality, SBH in terms of productivity, efficiency of human resources and quality of earnings. Research Gap The present paper analyses not only the operational efficiency of SBI in terms of financial parameters such as liquidity, profitability, market performance and Asset Quality but also the impact of the merger on the efficiency of the workforce by studying Interest Income/ Employee, Business/ Employee, Net profit/Employee. OBJECTIVES : To study the impact of the merger on profitability of SBI To analyse the liquidity position of SBI after the merger. RESEARCH HYPOTHESES : The basic purpose of consolidation and restructuring is to obtain benefits of economies of scale, improved operational efficiency and better management of assets and control of costs. In view of these challenges, the question arises as to whether, bank mergers can improve the quality of assets and provide a solution for managing NPAs and also in cutting costs and improving operational efficiency. In this context, the present study aims to analyze the pre-and post-merger performance of SBI to measure the impact of merger on its liquidity position, profitability, operational efficiency, market standing and asset quality.  H0: No significant difference can be observed in the Net profit margin after the merger. H1: Significant difference can be observed in the Net profit margin after the merger.  H0: No significant difference in the cost to income ratio of the bank under study post-merger. H2: Significant difference can be observed in the cost to income ratio of the bank under study post-merger.  H0: EPS of SBI shows no significant difference after the merger. H3: EPS of SBI shows a significant difference after the merger.  H0: No significant difference is observed in the management of NPAs after the merger. H4: A significant difference is observed in the management of NPAs after the merger.  H0: No significant difference is observed in the current ratio after the merger of the bank under study. H5: A significant difference is observed in the current ratio after the merger of the bank under study.  H0: No significant difference can be seen in the employee productivity of SBI following the merger. H6: Significant difference can be seen in employee productivity of SBI following the merger. RESEARCH DESIGN : The case study of SBI merger is selected as this merger is an important move towards consolidation of the state-run banks. With this merger, 25% of outstanding loans in the country's banking sector will be found in SBI's balance sheet. Additionally, the merged entity will have 23,000 branches and a global presence. Methodology of Data Collection The data are collected from secondary sources. Various ratios are obtained from the following websites www.moneycontrol.com stock-financials.valuestocks.in Standalone balance sheet ratios of SBI i.e., the acquiring bank has been considered for the study. Period of Study The merger under study having taken place on 1 st April 2017, three financial years have since elapsed. Hence, data for a period of 6 financial years i.e., 3 years before the merger and 3 years after the merger for the acquiring bank has been considered. Research Tools Analysing financial statements, income statement, including revenues, cost of sales, gross margin, net margin etc. and balance sheet is important to know the financial risk of the bank. According to a study, efficiency and productivity are important ways of measuring the robustness of the banking sector. Another study has found that there is an inverse relationship between the size of the bank and productivity. c) The asset quality is measured through Net and Gross Non-Performing Assets (NPA) Ratio. d) To analyse the liquidity position, financial ratios such as Current Ratio and Loans to Deposit are used. e) Employee productivity is measured through 3 per employee ratios, viz, Net Profit/Employee, Interest Income/Employee and Business/Employee. Methodology of Data Interpretation The ratios are tabulated to observe the post-merger change. A comparison of the performance is done by calculating the means before and after the merger. T-test has been conducted to determine whether a significant change can be observed in the 6 years under study. The hypothesis has been tested at 5% level of significance. Interpretation  The ROCE has reduced post-merger, this fall shows that there is a decline in the bank's earnings on its investment. Since the p-value is <0.05, the decline is not statistically significant.  A higher CASA means cost of funds is lower. As current accounts do not carry any interest and savings accounts get minimum interest, CASA has reduced in post-merger years meaning that costs of funds have increased. However, it is not statistically significant.  The Net Profit margin has reduced post-merger, indicating a decrease in profitability postmerger. As observed from the table, the decline is not statistically significant. Hence, the null hypothesis is accepted.  The Operating Profit margin has reduced post-merger, indicating an increase in the cost of operations post-merger. Thus, there is no improvement in managing costs after the merger. However, the decrease in operational profit margin is not statistically significant.  The return on assets has decreased post-merger, indicating that assets are not being properly utilised to earn returns. However, the decrease is not statistically significant.  The Return on Net Worth/Equity has decreased post-merger, that means that profitability has declined from shareholder's perspective also. As observed from the table, the decline is not statistically significant.  Net Interest Margin has declined post-merger. If the NPAs rise, the interest earned would come down, hence NIM will fall. NIM will also fall when the bank loans come down. So, reducing NIM post-merger implies investment inefficiency. However, the fall is not statistically significant.  The cost to income ratio has increased in the post-merger years. It shows that costs are rising faster than income. Also, since p<0.05, the increase is statistically significant. Hence, the null hypothesis is rejected. Interpretation  EPS has decreased in the years subsequent to the merger. A lower EPS indicates lower possible dividends, thereby, a lower market value. As per the table, though there is a decline in the EPS, it is not statistically significant. Therefore, the H0 (Null hypothesis) is accepted.  The Price to Book Value ratio shows a decrease in the years subsequent to the merger. A decrease in Price to Book Value is good for investors. However, the decrease is not statistically significant.  A slight decrease is observed in earnings yield ratio post-merger, it shows a slight decrease in the return that investors may earn. However, it is not statistically significant.  There is an increase in the P/E ratio subsequent to the merger, though not statistically significant.  Gross NPA has increased post-merger, showing declining asset quality. But it not a statistically significant increase.  Net NPA is those bad loans for which no provision made in the books. Net NPA gives a better picture of the asset quality. There is a slight increase in the net NPA post-merger, but it is not statistically significant.  Hence, H0 is accepted.  There is a slight reduction in the loans to deposit ratio, indicating better liquidity in the post-merger years, it can also mean that bank is not lending to its optimum capacity. However, the change is not statistically significant.  The mean of current ratio is approximately the same both before and after the merger. A slight increase post-merger, indicates a slight improvement in the bank's liquidity position vis a vis it's current obligations. Therefore, null hypothesis is accepted.  The interest income/ employee ratio, which means greater employee productivity and thereby higher profitability has declined post-merger. But the decline is not statistically significant.  Post-merger, there is a decrease in the net profit per employee ratio. This indicates a decline in the operational efficiency. However, this decrease is not statistically significant. So, H0 is accepted.  Business per employee ratio is a key indicator of efficiency. Subsequent to the merger, the ratio has increased, indicating that more revenue is generated per employee. However, this increase in Business per employee ratio is not statistically significant. LIMITATIONS OF THE STUDY :  Since the merger has taken place in 2017, financial statements of 3 years each before and after merger and could be analysed for this study.  This study does not take into account any other economic factors that have influenced the financial performance during the period. FINDINGS:  The study observes that all key performance parameters have declined years after the merger. However, this decrease is not statistically significant.  The cost to income ratio has increased in the post-merger years. It shows that costs are rising faster than income in the years following the merger. Also, the increase is statistically significant.  With regard to the market performance ratios, the study finds that P/E has increased and P/BV has decreased indicating sound market performance post-merger. However, the EPS and Earnings yield have shown a slight decrease post-merger, indicating a slight decrease in returns, which the investors may earn on their investment. However, the changes are not statistically significant.  There is no statistically significant change in the NPA position of the bank.  About the liquidity position of the bank, there is a slight reduction in the loans to deposit as well as a slight increase in the current ratio indicating an improvement in liquidity position.  A study of the per employee ratios of the bank shows that even though there is an increase in business per employee ratio, there is no corresponding increase in interest income/ employee ratio and Net profit/ Employee. SRINIVAS PUBLICATION  An increase in Business/ Employee has not resulted in a corresponding increase in Interest Income/ Employee and even Net Profit/ Employee as expected. Employee productivity has not resulted in real gains for the merged entity. Improved employee productivity can result in better profitability for the bank.  Asset Quality remains a concern for SBI after the merger too. Improvement in asset quality can lead to better financial position of the bank. CONCLUSION : Starting with the Indra Dhanush 7-point action plan, the Government has embarked on revitalising the Indian banking sector and the SBI merger is an important step in this direction. Following the merger, SBI has become one among the top 50 banks globally. The current study has analysed the profitability, liquidity, NPA position, market performance as well as employee productivity in the 3 years before and after the merger. In the 3 years after the merger, the study finds no improvement in the parameters of financial performance, market performance and asset quality. Also, the cost to income has increased showing decreasing efficiency. However, the liquidity position has improved a little. Though there is an increase in business per employee ratio, there is no corresponding increase in interest income/employee ratio and net profit/employee. The benefits of the mergers may accrue in the medium/long term period.
Vicious (novel) Plot summary Victor and Eli begin as college roommates and discover that near-death experiences, under the right conditions, can create superhuman abilities. When Victor tries to create his abilities, things go wrong and people take a fall. 10 years later, Eli has started a crusade to kill EOs and Victor has broken out of jail. Reception The Guardian called Vicious "a brilliant exploration of the superhero mythos and a riveting revenge thriller". It received a starred review from Publishers Weekly, which called Schwab's characters "vital and real, never reduced to simple archetypes" and praised the book as "a rare superhero novel as epic and gripping as any classic comic". Publishers Weekly also named Vicious one of its best books of 2013 for SF/Fantasy/Horror. The American Library Association's Reference and User Services Association likewise awarded it the top fantasy book in their 2014 Reading List. Film adaptation In late 2013 the rights for a film adaptation of Vicious were bought jointly by Story Mining & Supply Co and Ridley Scott's Scott Free Productions. In May 2014, Alexander Felix was hired to write the screenplay. Sequel The sequel for Vicious, titled Vengeful, was released on September 25, 2018.
we have to be intentional if we are going to create an environment where our people can step up and comfortably say that they were wrong. Why has it become so difficult to admit when we make a mistake? After all, errors are just part of the process when you are attempting to do great things (sometimes many great things all at once), right? But many factors have to be present to create an environment where admitting one’s faux pas is easy and relatively painless. So, how do you do that? As always, I think it starts at the top. And, it’s never too early to begin. If you are a parent, your kids should know that it’s OK to let you know that they have failed in some way. That door should always be open. You may be disappointed to hear that your kids or grandkids are not perfect, but deal with it. You are doing them a huge favor and creating a habit of being open and transparent about their shortcomings. Someday they will be leaders. And when they are, no one will have to teach them how to build a company culture of safety for everyone. Your decision to encourage them to share the truth will not only positively impact their lives but the lives of people that you will most likely never know. I ran across an article recently that really intrigued me and got me to thinking about this subject. The title of the piece is Intellectual Humility: The importance of knowing you might be wrong. It tells about a social scientist who is launching something called The Loss of Confidence Project with her social scientist peers so that they will have a safe place to walk back some of their previous findings that they have since disproved. And, this is a more common occurrence than we might think. A large number of scientific findings have been disproved, or become more doubtful, in recent years. One high-profile effort to retest 100 psychological experiments found only 40 percent replicated with more rigorous methods. Just think for a moment about this. Almost half of these findings have proven to be wrong in some way. And these are really smart people who get paid to do research and experiments every single day. They may be in a room somewhere by themselves all day every day but don’t kid yourself, there is a social group there with standards and opinions and standing as there is in any social group at work or at home or in a community. Admitting failure is painful and embarrassing. There are a lot of lessons here for us as leaders. One is that we have to be intentional if we are going to create an environment where our people can step up and comfortably say that they were wrong. It doesn’t just happen. If there is no system in place then people are likely to just let it roll with all of the repercussions of doing that. That’s not a good alternative in any setting. Mistakes cost money, or worse. Sometimes lives are at stake. What then? No, it’s better to get out in front of this and build a comfortable bridge that allows a comfortable outcome that people can live with. Two, by taking this proactive stance it needs to be clear that we are not OK with failure as a habit. But we need to admit that the harder the task the better the chance that something could go wrong. Going to the moon or Mars? That’s fraught with danger, isn’t it? You are creating brand new systems to deal with the unknown as best as possible. In that environment, there are going to be many missteps and false starts. If you can’t own up to a mistake without being scorned then who is going to take on that job in the first place? Probably no one, and no one wins in that scenario. So, what about you and your organization? Are you flying high? Has the degree of difficulty for you and your team grown as you have climbed the ladder of success? If so, do yourself a favor. Get busy and build a safe place for your people to come to, to own up to their miscalculations and then to get back into the game.
October 22, 2010 Charles-André Udry is editor of the magazine La Brèche and the Web site Alencontre , a veteran of the socialist movement in Europe and a member of the Movement for Socialism in Switzerland. He talked earlier this week to Ahmed Shawki , editor of the International Socialist Review , about the issues at stake and the prospects for the struggle that is shaking France. This revolt is the latest in a wave of struggles that have rocked France over more than a decade, dating back to a wave of public-sector strikes in 1995 that stopped a conservative government from imposing changes in the pension system. Sarkozy's proposal would raise the minimum age for retirement from 60 to 62 and the age when retirees can get full benefits from 65 to 67. The measure was passed by the country's Assembly and is being considered in the Senate--a vote was scheduled for October 20, but was delayed, though the Sarkozy government insists one will take place soon. Even if the measure passes, however, more protests are already planned, including at least two nationwide strikes and days of action at the end of October and early November. The biggest actions have come when the unions have called nationwide strikes, but rolling walkouts and protests continue every day. This week, police have lashed back at youth demonstrators, fighting running battles in cities around the country--with the media parroting Sarkozy's denunciations of "lawbreakers." Every day this week has seen strikes, blockades and demonstrations. Police attempted to break up blockades at oil refineries and supply facilities after weeks of oil workers and their supporters stopping fuel deliveries, but the actions frequently resumed after police left. Almost all of the country's ports are still struck--according to reports, 52 oil tankers are at anchor off the coast of Marseille, still waiting to unload. Strikes and protests have spread to every corner of France as President Nicolas Sarkozy pushes for a final vote in parliament on his proposal to "reform" the country's national pension system. WHAT DO the strikes and protests against Sarkozy's pension "reform" mean? Have they gained majority support in the country? THE MOST important aspect of the current situation is the widespread popular support for the strikes, and the fact that this support is getting larger and more determined. I'll give you an example: On Monday, Le Parisien, a mass circulation newspaper which is distributed throughout France under the name Aujourd'hui en France (Today in France), featured another public opinion poll about support for the strikes, the struggles and the demonstrations in all their forms. The poll found that 71 percent of the French population was favorably disposed to the struggle against the attempts to change the pension system--in effect, to raise the age of retirement and lower the benefits available to those who retire. This is fascinating. This study was conducted by the CSA, a polling organization controlled by Vincent Bolloré, one of the biggest capitalists in France and a close friend of President Sarkozy. If you look at the figures from a poll on September 7, the numbers showed only 62 percent support. On September 23, this had risen to 68 percent, and we are now at 71 percent. Millions of people took to the streets across France during days of action to protest Sarkozy's pension plan (Serge Grosclaude) In other words, despite the daily inconveniences to public transportation and other things caused by the strikes and demonstrations, and in spite of a campaign by the government and the mass media against them, there has been a rise in support for the struggle. In these opinion polls, when they ask people if they want a more determined strike, 61 percent say yes. This is terribly important because what people are saying is that there should be no retreat. So this is not only the 3 million or 3.5 million people who participated in demonstrations who are in favor of the struggle, but the overwhelming majority of people who are in favor of defeating this reform--or rather counter-reform. I think this is extremely important--that we are witnessing the birth of a new social opposition to the politics of the Sarkozy government. The polling figures have surprised everyone. So much so that Le Parisien, which is by no means a newspaper of the left, said that all France still supports the mobilizations--they used the word "still" because they were surprised this is the case. I think this is the first point to make--to understand the breadth and depth of the support for this struggle. The second important point--and this isn't well understood, even in some European countries--is that the idea of being able to retire and leave the workforce at 60 years of age is deeply engrained in the minds of workers. That's both public- and private-sector workers. The poll I was referring to found that 89 percent of wage workers in the public sector are against pension "reform," and that 76 percent of private-sector workers--an enormous majority--are against the counter-reform. So the opposition is among wage workers generally--including private-sector workers, where the presence of unions is much weaker and the conditions of fear and anxiety about their jobs are much stronger due to the high level of unemployment, which in many regions is more than 15 percent. There is a real convergence among the different sectors. It's not that you have public-sector workers with all their "privileges" on the one side, against private-sector workers. So there is homogeneity of support for the movement against pension reforms, which is partly a product of the third important point: There has been an enormous increase in productivity in France--similar to the U.S.--so there is a big increase in stress and exhaustion at work. We've seen at some of the great enterprises--such as the research center for the carmaker Renault, or in France Télécom--a rise in the number of suicides among workers over the last two years. At France Télécom, there have been 12 suicides. So there is a general understanding that when you get to 60, you're used up. And in any event, one thing that's typical of the general economic situation is the growing number of workers who, for reasons of ill health or because of layoffs, are forced to leave work at 55 or 58 or 60 years of age, and go on unemployment. As a result, they aren't able to contribute sufficiently to assure themselves of a full pension at 60--and it's not certain that they'll have a full pension at 65 or 67, which is the final proposal of the Sarkozy government. This is an important part of the question. In order to get full pension benefits in France, you usually have to work until you are 65 years old. The early retirement age is 60, but to get full benefits at that time, you have to have been employed pretty much non-stop in your adult years before that. If, for example, you started work late because you were unemployed as a youth, or because there were periods in your life where you were unpaid because you were unemployed and didn't pay the "cotisations"--a special tax paid by bosses and workers to the social security system--or if you were laid off at 58, the pension you're entitled to at 60 is miserable. Now, a lot of people try to work until 62 in order to have a full pension. And with Sarkozy's pension reforms, for most workers, this age of retirement with a full pension would increase to 67. It's not even that there's so much opposition to pushing back the minimum age of retirement to 62, but rather that most people know that in order to get a full pension you can live on, you would be forced to work until you're 67. So there's a combination here of both the pressure of work and whether people will be able to retire and enjoy the "best years" of their life, as people say. Pensions in France aren't tied to a particular company or a particular benefits plan. They are guaranteed, even if the company you worked for went bankrupt. You may get a lower pension if you didn't contribute steadily through cotisations before retirement--for example, if you were unemployed for a period of years. But everyone has a right to a pension. France is still a country where there's the idea that after a life of work, you have a right to a pension, and you can enjoy some things from life--you can do things that you couldn't previously devote any time to, or even work at a job that gives you pleasure. This idea is still profoundly held among the French population. The employers have not yet been able to win the idea that workers should work until they croak--which is unfortunately now accepted in the U.S. and many other countries. HOW DID the movement develop to the point it's at today? THIS MOVEMENT effectively began in June. There was a demonstration against the pension reform on June 24, but most people thought that trade union organizations would negotiate with Raymond Soubie, who's been the key figure for conservatives on welfare and social policy since the days of President Jacques Chirac--he's the main adviser to Sarkozy on this issue. Most people thought that since July and August are vacation months--and in France, there's still such a thing as vacation time--the movement might take off again in October, when the Assembly and the Senate convened and the law was discussed again. (The Assembly and Senate in France are similar to the U.S. Senate and House, although the Senate has less power in France than the Assembly; it isn't really a bicameral system.) In reality, masses of people have taken to the streets since September 7. The interruption between the end of June and the first demonstrations was much shorter than people expected. Plus, many local groups, unionists, associations and radical left organizations--if not the central apparatuses of the unions--continued a broad propaganda and educational effort during the summer. There was no silence over the summer, as was the case in Spain--people prepared. The first mobilization after the holidays on September 7 was especially important because the movement was able to continue growing toward the demonstrations on October 12, when the legislation was taken up again by French lawmakers. Since then, we've only seen bigger and bigger mobilizations--and not only bigger, but with new sectors and forces joining the struggle. The mainstays of the movement are, of course, still involved--teachers, nurses, public transport workers, railway workers, bus workers, subway workers. But three key groups have been added to these. One is dockworkers, who are opposing privatization in the country's ports. Strikes began in the ports near the beginning of October--there are 17 port strikes as of the start of this week, meaning almost all of France's ports. The second group is refinery workers, where blockades of oil refineries and storage facilities have blocked shipments of gas and diesel fuel. Allegedly, Air France is running out of fuel for its flights. Maybe this is true and maybe it's not--on these kinds of questions, the right has been known to invent facts for propaganda purposes. But whatever the case, the blocking of the refineries wasn't just done by workers at the facilities, but with local and regional unions supporting them. When you read reports and interviews from these blockades, you discover that the people in front of the gates stopping the fuel trucks from leaving were nurses, teachers and others, not just refinery workers. So this is another example of a kind of social convergence. So the first group is the dockers, and the second is the refinery workers. The third group is truck drivers. In France, unlike Spain, truck drivers aren't owner-operators. The majority are wage workers, not proprietors of their own business. For them, since the work is very hard, the retirement age is very important, so they have joined the fight. The truck drivers are using two strategies to fight back--when they travel on the highways, they travel at a snail's pace, going very, very slowly. And then at key intersections, drivers get 20 to 25 trucks, which blocks everything. So there's a convergence of actions by public-sector workers and strikes in the private sector by the dockers and refinery workers. And in the past two weeks, high school students have started to mobilize themselves. University students have, as well, though only this week and in a few places. But this is because universities have only just begun, and students have only just arrived at colleges. So you have a kind of cumulative ferment going through the population, with all these different social sectors being added to the mix. That means that people aren't on strike permanently, of course, but there is a kind of rollover from sector to sector. One day, it's the teachers, then they go back to work, and then it's another group of workers. But the combination of strikes, the blockades by truckers, the mass demonstrations like last Saturday and the student mobilizations are giving this movement a greater visibility and social impact even than the period of 1995 and the massive strikes against pension reform then. Bernard Thibault, the current head of the General Confederation of Labor (CGT by its initials in French), the largest of France's union federations, was the head of the railway workers union that led the fight against pension reform in 1995. But the struggle is much broader today, and that is creating all kinds of difficulties for the government. The government--and particularly Raymond Soubie--is in the habit of negotiating with the union leaders. Soubie is used to having one strike or one big day of demonstrations, and then you negotiate. But now, the movement has developed in so many sectors that the government no longer has the same ability to just negotiate with union leaders. Soubie and Sarkozy and the prime minister, François Fillon, are negotiating around the clock with the Bernard Thibault and François Chérèque of the French Democratic Donfederation of Labort (CFDT), but this is no longer functional for reaching a settlement. There can no longer be a summit meeting at the top around a negotiating table. This is very different from 1995. NOT MANY years ago--not even many months ago--Sarkozy was broadly popular in France. But now, he's the chief target of these protests, right? YES, THE main target is a much-hated government. It's also a failed government in most people's minds. First, unemployment remains high--especially among youth, where it's very high. This relates back to the pension question. Young people realize that if they're going to be unemployed after school, that means they'll have to work until they're 67 to get a real pension under the new law. So everyone in the media who said that young people won't see themselves as affected by this reform and therefore won't care have been proved wrong. Plus, young people can see for themselves that many of their parents aren't working any longer at age 62 or 60, or that they're being laid off at 58. So for youth, the idea of working at a good job until they're 67 appears to be an impossibility--and so they'll end up having to work several part-time jobs, as so many elderly people do in the U.S. This is why young people are completely involved in pension reform. There's also bitterness at the other end, too--among people who are 50 or 55 years old, and who had it in their minds that they were almost there, with only a few more years before they could retire with a good pension. WHAT'S DIFFERENT about the movement today from past struggles? THERE ARE two aspects that are particularly important. First, the movement is taking place in all of France. This isn't just Paris. There are much more important things taking place in little towns. We've seen towns with a population of 20,000 in which you have demonstrations numbering 6,000 or 7,000. These are towns where small business owners close up shop and pull their curtains for the days of action, because they understand that if pension benefits are pushed back to 67, then there will be people between the ages of 58 to 67 who are unemployed or on social assistance who will get a minimal pension that won't allow them to live. For small business owners in small neighborhoods, they know they would be finished. So across France, you find enormous mobilizations, relatively speaking, in small towns. For the first time, the center of gravity isn't Paris or Marseille or Lyons or Lille--it's dispersed across the whole country. What the former Socialist President François Mitterrand and the right wing have dubbed "La France Profonde"--"the real France," or the equivalent in the U.S. of the red states--is completely integral to this process. The other very important development is that different forces, whether local unions or groups of unionists or different organizations, are pushing for mobilizations that are much more radical than the national union leaderships who live in Paris. The theme and slogans that are emerging now aren't to renegotiate the pension law, but for the counter-reform to be withdrawn altogether. Behind this theme is the idea that the mobilizations have more legitimacy than Sarkozy's Union for a Popular Movement party, which leads the government--that the two votes in parliament, the first in the Assembly and the second in the Senate, are worth less than the vote of social opinion. So the idea is that democracy from below is more important than the institutions of formal democracy. Of course, all of the mainstream parties and the media say that real democracy is what happens in parliament. But the strike movement has raised the question: Where is the power? Who decides? Is it only in the central apparatuses of the government, in parliament or the presidency? This is utterly decisive about the current situation. In the face of this movement, the government has been trying to get the police to intervene--in particular, against the blockades of the refineries. I think the workers there were very intelligent in avoiding a confrontation with police. For example, last week, they allowed the police to herd some fuel trucks into the facilities--and then on Saturday, they reoccupied them. So the police are forced to run from one facility to another. I think the right will try to sway opinion by using certain incidents--for example, when cars have been burned, essentially due to the provocations of police, who have already arrested hundreds of youth. Already, the media is going for this line. The youth movement isn't controlled in any way--it's a spontaneous movement. As such, during the demonstrations, some store windows have been broken and some cars set on fire. This is utterly natural under the circumstances, but there will be a concerted effort by the international press to emphasize these actions. Many of the people who are involved in such acts are unemployed youth from the areas surrounding Paris. Their actions are symbolic. They are looking at high unemployment and being told you need to work in order to get a pension. They say that they will never see good jobs. There is obviously an aspect of frustrated radicalization here, but the grievances are very real. Of course, the right will try to take utilize this to disparage the mobilizations. But I think the movement is very deep and very radical. This is a general picture of what's taking place. There are things happening in France that we haven't seen before--and certainly not in the last 15 years. The vote in the Senate won't change the situation. This is very possibly the beginning of a crisis for the regime in France, with a class fight in the form of strikes and demonstrations against the government on one side, and the working masses on the other side. The result will be key in Europe where the right wing, including the extreme right, has been on a political offensive.
Weldon Spring, Missouri: Nuclear Waste Adventure Trail Results 1 to 4 of 4... The view is breathtaking from the top of the seven-story-tall nuclear waste pile. Nuclear Waste Adventure Trail The view is breathtaking from the top of the seven-story-tall nuclear waste pile. Roadsideamerica.com Report... Visitor Tips and News About Nuclear Waste Adventure Trail Reports and tips from RoadsideAmerica.com visitors and Roadside America mobile tipsters. Some tips may not be verified. Submit your own tip. Nuclear Waste Adventure Trail Very nice area! Signs say it closes at dusk, but maybe people linger to watch the sunset. Nuclear Waste Adventure Trail What an education this visit was. The lady in the visitor center had an amazing amount of knowledge and was eager to share it. I had no idea this place even existed until I saw it on Roadside America! I was very impressed with how this toxic site was interpreted, and the visual display along with the short video told an amazing story. The walk up to the top was rather uneventful, except to witness the immensity of this cleanup project. Lot's of hawks and buzzards around as well as some nice prairie flowers. Nuclear Waste Adventure Trail and Museum I stumbled upon this attraction in near Weldon Spring, MO while searching for Daniel Boone's home, which is nearby. This mound is part of the clean-up of nuclear and other weapons production, which took place early to later in the last century. Apparently several towns were displaced to create the operations. A very informative museum, which appears to be run by the federal government, is located there. It seems to be free -- at least we didn't pay and no one complained! As you can see from the photos, it's possible to take a walk to the summit of the mound if you really don't mind being on top of a giant nuclear waste pile. It may be the highest point in St. Charles County.
Ah, springtime: a time when our thoughts turn to cute dresses, warmer temperatures and the beauty rituals that will keep us looking super cute during the season, particularly manicures and pedicures. While Old Man Winter continues to blow through the country, we’re already planning our prettiest mani-pedi combinations, thanks to this amazing new collection of nail lacquers by celebrity manicurist and nail expert, Jin Soon Choi. Each shade retails for $18, has fantastic staying power and a high-gloss formulation, and will last you an entire spring and summer of fun in the sun. The collection is available now at Space NK so, trust us, we’re already way ahead in getting our hands on this amazing polish collection. After all, she had us at models and flowers. Color us officially obsessed.
Three-dimensional collimated self-accelerating beam through acoustic metascreen We report the generation of three-dimensional acoustic collimated self-accelerating beam in non-paraxial region with sourceless metascreen. Acoustic metascreen with deep subwavelength spatial resolution, composed of hybrid structures combining four Helmholtz resonators and a straight pipe, transmitting sound efficiently and shifting fully the local phase is evidenced. With an extra phase profile provided by the metascreen, the transmitted sound can be tuned to propagate along arbitrary caustic curvatures to form a focused spot. Due to the caustic nature, the formed beam possesses the capacities of bypassing obstacles and holding the self-healing feature, paving then a new way for wave manipulations and indicating various potential applications, especially in the fields of ultrasonic imaging, diagnosis and treatment. We report the generation of three-dimensional acoustic collimated self-accelerating beam in nonparaxial region with sourceless metascreen. Acoustic metascreen with deep subwavelength spatial resolution, composed of hybrid structures combining four Helmholtz resonators and a straight pipe, transmitting sound efficiently and shifting fully the local phase is evidenced. With an extra phase profile provided by the metascreen, the transmitted sound can be tuned to propagate along arbitrary caustic curvatures to form a focused spot. Due to the caustic nature, the formed beam possesses the capacities of bypassing obstacles and holding the self-healing feature, paving then a new way for wave manipulations and indicating various potential applications, especially in the fields of ultrasonic imaging, diagnosis and treatment. There are amount of requirements to control wave fields with desired patterns, such as non-diffracting 1, twisted 2 wave front. One of the most intriguing phenomena which attracted considerable research interest recently is the notably self-accelerating beam since the concept of Airy beam was introduced for optical wave. These realization of self-accelerating beams in paraxial and non-paraxial domains propagating along designed trajectories indicates amount of potential applications, such as guiding micro-particles 8, producing curved plasma channels 9, and so on. In principle, these self-accelerating beams are formed based on the special solutions of wave equations or caustic theory 10. As another classic wave, acoustic wave obeys the Helmholtz wave equation, indicating the possibility that it can be designed to propagate along desired trajectories. Recently, acoustic self-accelerating beam were demonstrated both numerically and experimentally with active phased arrays 11,12. However, the sources in the active way require to be operated individually with electric techniques, resulting in the high cost and complexity. To avoid these significant limitations, considerable efforts have been dedicated to exploring the passive control of sound by means of the metasurface or metascreen 21, which can be regarded as ultra-thin metamaterials. To form self-accelerating beam in non-paraxial domain with excellent performance, the passive structures should possess the capacities of transmitting sound energy effectively, shifting the phase of incident wave covering 2 range, and holding a subwavelength feature to avoid the spatial aliasing effect 26. These conditions are rarely realized simultaneously by the previous models, resulting in the fact that the non-paraxial self-accelerating beams and their physical features and potential applications were rarely explored. Furthermore, all the previous models are designed in two-dimensional space, which inevitably hinder the real applications. Actually, three-dimensional acoustic self-accelerating beams, if realized, could open a new degree of freedom for acoustic wave manipulations and have deep implications in acoustical applications where special control of sound is needed. For instance, the unique self-healing behavior of the beam could provide a promising solution to the narrow "acoustic window" resulting from the obstruction of the rib cage in ultrasonic ablation of liver tumors. Here we present the generation of a three-dimensional acoustic collimated self-accelerating beam with sourceless metascreen. By imposing a fine local phase shift profile on the metascreen, the sound energy Scientific RepoRts \| 5:17612 \| DOI: 10.1038/srep17612 could be delivered along a designed curved trajectory and then focused at a spot even with existing blocking obstacles in front of the spot and along the trajectory. Results Illustration. The desired three-dimensional acoustic collimated self-accelerating beam in non-paraxial domain is illustrated in Fig. 1(a). The metascreen possess the abilities of providing a local phase shift (r) on the incident sound field, consequently shaping the transmitted sound propagating along a desired trajectory r = f(z), and finally forming a focusing spot at a the intersectional region of the trajectory. The relationship between the phase shift profile and the desired trajectory could be retrieved from tracing each individual caustic ray and expressed as 11,12,27 where k is the sound wave number in the medium and (z) is the angle of the path . Using this relation, the desired phase profile (r) can be calculated by finding the inverse tangent of the path slope f z z f r tan w ith 2 1 As an example of the self-accelerating beam beyond the paraxial approximation, we employ a circle trajectory with center at (r, z) = (0, r b ). The desired phase shift profile for forming such a bending beam from a normally plane wave is 5. This phase profile illustrates the requirement of the phase shift profile provided by the metascreen for the desired beam with good performance. The requirement is the ability of providing a phase shift that can span a full 2 range in a controllable manner and rapidly varies along the metascreen in r direction 11,21. The variation is in a subwavelength scale so that the metascreen needs to hold a fine spatial resolution when using discrete structures along r directions to avoid spatial aliasing effect. To illustrate the performance of the self-accelerating beam, we will place a spherical and a ring-like obstacle in front of the metascreen and along the propagating trajectory to obstruct the formation of the desired focused wave field. The big circle and the two small ones in the r − z plane refer the spherical and the ring-like obstacle, respectively. Design. To realize the desired phase profile shown in Fig. 1(b), we use a three-dimensional subwavelength hybrid elements to construct the metascreen. Figure 2(a) illustrates two adjacent elements in three-dimensional space to demonstrate the configuration of the metascreen. Figure 2(b) shows an individual element in r − z plane consisting of four Helmholtz resonator (HRs) and a straight pipe. Here the series connection of the HRs acts as acoustic resistance to shift the phase of the incident wave 28. The cavity series has a tunable width w 3 to span the phase shift over a full 2 range. The functionality of the straight pipe with fixed length of /2 supporting Fabry-Prot resonance 29-31 is to provide coupling resonances keeping relatively impedance matching 21. Considering the fact that the transmission coefficient is determined by the coupling resonances between the Fabry-Prot and Helmholtz resonance, the number of the HRs is selected to be four in order to provide enough coupled resonances so that transmission coefficient can keep high value while covering 2 range 21. Distinct to the models in two-dimensional cartesian coordinates where the transmission coefficient, \|p t /p i \|, and phase shift, /(2), is independent of the position of the individual element, these variables in cylindrical coordinates are related to the distance from the element to the axis, s n. This difference stems from the different volumes of the elements locating at different s n even with identical geometrical parameters (such as w 1, w 3 ). Figure 2(b,c) illustrate the simulated phase shift and transmission coefficient map as functions of the straight pipe width ratio, w 1 /w and the distance ratio, s n /w. Due to the symmetric geometry, only the positive part where r ≥ 0 is illustrated. The phase shift could cover 2 range for each elements (viz., 0 ≤ s n /w ≤ 99) when tuning 0.2 ≤ w 1 /w ≤ 0.8, even the one for individual elements changed slightly with different s n. Furthermore, the transmission coefficient is considerably high where the phase shifts covering 2. According to the Fig. 2(b), it is readily to obtain a required phase shift profile for a corresponding beam. For example, we choose the radius of the circular trajectory as r b = 2.5. In order to obtain a good shaping of the desired beam, the number of the individual elements composed of the whole metascreen is fixed to be 100. Then the w 1 /w needed for the desired phase shift profile is illustrated as hollow black point . It can be found that the metascreen can transmit sound with high efficiency greater than 91% and shift the incident phase covering 2. The spatial resolution of the metascreen, viz., w, is as small as /10, which is fine enough to avoid the spatial aliasing effect. Collimated self-bending beam. The realization of our screen allows effective control of sound propagation along desired trajectory. The desired collimated self-bending beam is shown in Fig. 3(a). A boundary with a unity amplitude and a continuous phase profile is employed to form the self-bending beam. We construct the metascreen with 100 elements along r direction with desired geometrical parameters, w 1 /w and s n /w, shown in Fig. 2(b,c). The transmitted wave fields through the metascreen is shown in Fig. 3(b) with a normally plane incident wave propagating along + z direction. The screen yields a discrete desired phase shift profile on the incident wave with spatial resolution w = /10. The self-bending beam is well established and in a good shape of the desired propagating trajectory and then focused at the spot. Excellent agreement could be obtained by comparing the wave fields in Fig. 3(a,b). The excellent performance of the proposed metascreen owes to the fine spatial resolution, the high transmission and the fully controlled phase shift. The self-bending beam possesses the capacity to bypass solid obstacle due to the curved trajectory. From Fig. 3(c), one can observe that transmitted field pattern nearly keeps identical even with the existing scattering from the solid spherical obstacle (diameter 3) located in the region surrounded by the main lob. Additionally, the metascreen holds its own self-healing feature. A ring-like obstacle (diameter ) located along the trajectory that blocks the main lob of the beam is added. The beam restores to its shape after passing the obstacles and forms the desired focused spot. In order to qualify the observed features, a comparison of the normalized sound pressure level (SPL) along the z direction shows that, even when both obstacles simultaneously occupy the space, the beam endows extremely robust against perturbations, owing to its caustic nature. Our metascreen not only can transmit normally incident plane waves but also any sound fields to form desired beams in homogeneous medium. Due to the fine spatial resolution of the metascreen, the width of the inlet and outlet of the individual element, w 1, is in deep subwavelength scale so that the pressure along the r direction in these regions could be regarded as a uniform value. The designed metascreen should provide another phase shift profile to compensate the phase difference along the boundary in the incident side. As an example, a point source located at (r s, z s ) = (0, − 10 − h) is employed to radiate a spherical wave. To form the same non-paraxial self-accelerating beam, the local phase shift provided by the metascreen can be expressed as where the second part with z=−h compensates the arrival phase difference of the point source along the boundary of the metascreen at the incident side. While the first part is same to Eq. 4. The realized collimated self-bending beam from the point source propagating along the designed trajectory closely resembles the desired beam illustrated in Fig. 3(a), providing a solid support for the great capacity of our presented screen. It is also not surprising to observe that the non-paraxial accelerating beam can convincingly bypass solid obstacle due to the curved trajectory and hold its own self-healing feature . A comparison of the SPL along the z direction for these cases indicates that, even if both obstacles block the formation of the desired wave field, the self-bending beam could be reconstructed to propagate along the desired trajectory and focused behind the solid obstacles. Discussion In conclusion, we have proposed a three-dimensional acoustic metascreen constructed by combining a series connection of four Helmholtz resonators with a straight pipe supporting Fabry-Prot resonance. The elements of the metascreen can effectively transmit sound energy, steer the phase shift covering a full 2 range and hold a fine spatial resolution in r direction as small as /10 to avoid the spatial aliasing effect. With these great capacities, acoustic metascreen composed of 100 individual elements along the r direction was implemented to generate collimated non-paraxial self-bending beams, whose self-healing and bypassing behaviors were further demonstrated. in (a,b). The large deviation of the SPL around z = 0.5 m convincingly stems from the existing spherical obstacle. The realization of the three-dimensional collimated self-accelerating beams should open a new degree of freedom for wave manipulations and have deep implications for various potential applications, especially in the fields of ultrasonic imaging, diagnosis and treatment. For instance, the beams may be used to generate negative radiation force to manipulate micro-particles. In additional, the metascreen may be employed to design novel ultrasonic transducers to overcome the "acoustic window" issue or deliver acoustic energy along designed arbitrary curvatures bypassing organs. Methods Simulations are conducted with a commercial software based on finite elements method, COMSOL Multiphysics Version 5.1, in frequency domain with a fixed = 0.2 m. Considering the symmetry of the metascreen, two-dimensional axisymmetric models rather than three dimensional models are built for the simulations for reducing the calculating time. The HRs and the solid obstacles are made of steel with a density of 7800 kg/m 3 and sound speed of 6100 m/s. The surrounding medium is air with its density 1.21 kg/m 3 and sound speed 343 m/s. Perfectly matched layers are employed to mimic infinite space to obtain the sound fields shown in Figs 3 and 4. A plane wave with unit amplitude is employed as the incident wave in Fig. 3. A point source located at (r, z) = (0, − 10 − h) radiates a spherical wave in Fig. 4. The thermal dispassion and viscous loss are neglected in our simulations due to the fact the minimum width of the channels, h 2, is ~61 times greater than the the thickness of the viscous boundary layers, = / d 2 v 0, with and referring to angular frequency and the coefficient of dynamic viscosity. For higher frequencies, such as, 20000 Hz, h 2 is just ~17 times bigger than d v so that these effects need to be considered. The geometrical parameters of the elements should be re-optimized for good performance.
A new strategy for CO2 utilization with waste plastics: conversion of hydrogen carbonate into formate using polyvinyl chloride in water This work reports the first observation of the reduction of hydrogen carbonate to formate with polyvinyl chloride (PVC) as a hydrogen source in high-temperature water. Results show that NaHCO3 is successfully converted into formate with a 16% yield and nearly 100% selectivity based on hydrogen carbonate, simultaneously achieving the complete dechlorination of PVC at 300 °C. The mechanistic study suggests that CHOH group formation from the substitution reaction of chlorine in PVC by OH− is an important starting step, and then the CHOH group and HCO3− react to form formate via a redox reaction. Moreover, the selection of water as the reaction medium played a key role in the reduction of HCO3− to formate using PVC. The present study provides a new and green method for not only hydrogen carbonate/CO2 conversion but also PVC waste dechlorination in a single step.
Potentiation of mitomycin C and porfiromycin antitumor activity in solid tumor models by recombinant human interleukin 1 alpha. The time- and dose-dependent effects of recombinant human interleukin 1 alpha (IL-1 alpha) on the antitumor activity of mitomycin C (MMC) and porfiromycin (PORF) were studied in RIF-1 and Panc02 solid tumor model systems. IL-1 alpha produced dose-dependent sensitization of clonogenic RIF-1 tumor cells to MMC in vivo. IL-1 alpha chemosensitization was highly schedule dependent, and the most efficacious schedules produced dose-modifying factors of 3.6 and 5.1 for MMC and PORF, respectively. More than additive clonogenic cell kill after IL-1 alpha-chemotherapy combinations reflected increased cellular sensitivity to MMC and PORF. The combinations also produced marked decreases in the yield of viable tumor cells, suggesting that the bioreductive drugs may have also potentiated the microvascular injury and ischemia produced by IL-1 alpha. Dexamethasone inhibited and ketoconazole, an inhibitor of corticosterone biosynthesis, enhanced IL-1 alpha-mediated chemosensitization in these models. IL-1 alpha mediated chemosensitization to MMC, and PORF was also demonstrated by tumor growth inhibition in the RIF-1 model and increased survival of mice in the spontaneously metastasizing Panc02 system. Chemosensitization of bone marrow spleen colony-forming units was not seen. IL-1 alpha (1000 units/ml) had no effect on MMC and PORF cytotoxicity in RIF-1 and PORF cell lines in vitro. The results indicate that the tumor-specific IL-1 alpha-induced pathophysiologies can sensitize solid tumors to agents which are preferentially activated, retained, and cytotoxic to cells under hypoxic conditions. Our results suggest that strategies combining bioreductively activated hypoxic cell cytotoxins and biological agents might offer efficacious alternatives or adjuvants to conventional combination approaches.
Decision Tree for Torque Assistive Generation on Hip Joint of Lower Limb Exoskeleton This paper describes a control system which can provide the assistive torque for the lower limb exoskeleton. To provide the assistive torque for the lower limb exoskeleton need to be known the gait phases in one gait cycle walking as the reference signal. The gait cycle information already got from another work with the same prototype of the exoskeleton. The gait cycle signal has been generated from Inertial Moment Unit (IMU) sensor and built-in encoder on the Maxon motor. The decision tree method has been used as the proposed method in order to provide the suitable assistive torque. The real-time experimental result has been carried out to verify the performance of the proposed method. To examine the proposed method in a real-time application, some walking type has been done. The result shows that the proposed method can provide the assistive torque even in several different walking types.
Discrete algebraic Riccati equations-perturbations and stability of solutions The authors address several problems concerning the behavior of solutions of the discrete algebraic Riccati equations under perturbations of the coefficients. In particular, they identify the robust solutions (i.e., those that change only slightly if the coefficients are perturbed) and solutions that retain the smoothness properties of the coefficients (regarded as functions of a parameter). Also discussed is the problem of the probabilistic design of discrete Kalman filters.<<ETX>>
A poor husband and wife want nothing more but to have a nice Sukkot holiday with the traditional holy guests, or Ushpizin in Hebrew, so they can show their hospitality just like Abraham and Sarah in the Bible. What they get instead are escaped convicts. Ushpizin mixes light drama and light comedy. The movie was filmed on location in Jerusalem and stars real life husband and wife Shuli and Michal Bat-Sheva Rand who live in Jerusalem. There are strong themes of religious versus secular Israelis but in general, this is an enjoyable movie with many humorous scenes. In the end, which is happy, the religious are still religious and the secular are still secular and that's depicted as OK. I saw this in the theater in Jerusalem and the audience laughed out loud during several scenes. The wife's reacting to the surprise donation of a large sum of money is charming as well as when the husband takes the escaped convicts to the yeshiva with him. The message of the movie is one of faith and the power of prayer. It seems to be enjoyed by a broad audience. The film won the 2004 Israeli Film Academy best actor award. Here's an interview I did with Adi Ran, the singer who's music is featuredfeatued on the Ushpizin soundtrack with photos. Here's a clip from the movie. Here's the music video from Ata Kadosh by Adi Ran with clips from the movie.
Logistic Regression for Feature Selection and Soft Classification of Remote Sensing Data Feature selection is a key task in remote sensing data processing, particularly in case of classification from hyperspectral images. A logistic regression (LR) model may be used to predict the probabilities of the classes on the basis of the input features, after ranking them according to their relative importance. In this letter, the LR model is applied for both the feature selection and the classification of remotely sensed images, where more informative soft classifications are produced naturally. The results indicate that, with fewer restrictive assumptions, the LR model is able to reduce the features substantially without any significant decrease in the classification accuracy of both the soft and hard classifications
1. Field of the Invention The present invention relates to a treatment agent for hydrophilicity preferable for the treatment for hydrophilicity of aluminum materials used for the heat exchanger part of air conditioner, air filter parts of air cleaner, etc., and a method for preparing said agent. 2. Background Art The heat exchanger part of air conditioner and air filter part of air cleaner are complicated in structure wherein aluminum fins for the heat exchange and removal of atmospheric dust and microbes are held in narrow spaces between aluminum pipes. Therefore, it has been devised so as to facilitate the discharge of condensed water during the cooling operation by making the surface of aluminum fins, etc. hydrophilic. However, since the surface of aluminum fins, etc, which has been made hydrophilic as described above, is exposed to severe conditions including the repeated cycle of xe2x80x9cheating←xe2x86x92coolingxe2x80x9d, and adhesion of condensed water, atmospheric dusts or microbes, it is difficult to maintain the hydrophilicity of the surface of aluminum fins, etc. for a long period of time. A variety of inventions have been hitherto made to solve these problems, and, for example, in Japanese Patent Laid-open Publication No. Hei 5-202313, a treatment agent for hydrophilicity comprising a mixture of polyvinyl alcohol and water-dispersible silica or a complex thereof, and lithium metasilicate has been disclosed. Herein, lithium metasilicate has been said to be effective in maintaining the lasting hydrophilicity, lowering the freezing point and expressing antimicrobial activity. In addition, in Japanese Patent Laid-open Publication No. Hei 5-214273, a paint composition consisting of a water-soluble or water-dispersible organic resin, nitrogen-containing anticorrosive and silica particulates, and coated aluminum materials with coating film obtained from this paint composition have been disclosed. Furthermore, in Japanese Patent Publication No. 2649297, a paint composition for fin materials made of aluminum or aluminum alloy containing water-soluble or water-dispersible organic resin (excluding water-soluble amino resins), water-soluble amino resin, water-dispersed agglutinating colloidal silica containing silanol groups of 50 mxcexcxcx9c2 xcexcm in particle size, or water-dispersible humed silica powder, and a surfactant with HLB value of 8xcx9c18, fin materials and a method for manufacturing these fin materials have been disclosed. This invention aims at obtaining a pre-coated type fin material and a hydrophilic coating film resistant to drawless processing (ironing) during the manufacturing of heat exchanger. In addition, in Japanese Patent Laid-open Publication No. Hei 10-30069, an aqueous agent to give hydrophilicity containing colloidal silica of 5xcx9c100 nm in dispersed particle size and carboxylic acid polymer at pH 1xcx9c5, and a method for manufacturing pre-coated fin materials for the heat exchanger using this agent have been disclosed. All of these aforementioned prior arts have aimed to enhance the hydrophylicity of paint compositions utilizing irregularities of silica surface by using water-soluble or water-dispersible resin together with colloidal silica or particulate silica. However, hydrophilic coatings formed by the combined use of resin and particulate silica tend to deteriorate due to the long time use of heat exchanger. As a result, particulate silica is exposed, posing problems such as emission of silica specific dust smell or stink from materials adsorbed on silica. Therefore, it is an object of this invention to provide a treatment agent for hydrophilicity which enables the maintenance of deodorizing capability and hydrophilicity even after the long time use and is preferable for the treatment of aluminum materials to be used in the heat exchanger parts of air conditioner or air filter parts of air cleaner, and a method for manufacturing said agent. A treatment agent for hydrophilicity of this invention comprises silica particulate and polymer of vinyl alcohol series in an aqueous medium in the weight ratio ranging from 30:70 to 70:30, amounting to 1xcx9c25 weight percent relative to the entire treatment agent, wherein said silica particulates are coated with polymer of vinyl alcohol series, and dispersed as coated particles of 5xcx9c1000 nm in the average particle diameter in said aqueous medium. A method for preparing a treatment agent for hydrophilicity of this invention comprises the following processes: (1) a process for dissolving or dispersing a polymer of vinyl alcohol series to make a concentration ranging 0.3xcx9c17.5 weight percent relative to the entire treatment agent, (2) a process for adding silica particulates of 5xcx9c100 nm in the average particle diameter to a dissolution or dispersion system of polymer of polyvinyl alcohol series formed in said process (1) to make a concentration in the range of 0.3xcx9c17.5 weight percent relative to the entire treatment agent, maintaining a weight ratio between said silica particulates and said polymer of vinyl alcohol series ranging 30:70xcx9c70:30, and furthermore, (3) a process for forcibly dispersing xe2x80x9caggregates of polymer of vinyl alcohol series with silica particulatesxe2x80x9d generated by the addition of said silica particulates. A treatment agent for hydrophilicity according to this invention is preferable for aluminum materials such as aluminum fins, etc. of evaporator which are exposed to severe conditions including the repeated cycle of xe2x80x9cheating←xe2x86x92coolingxe2x80x9d, and adhesion of condensed water, atmospheric dusts or contaminating microbes. This invention will be described below in more detail. The treatment agent for hydrophiliciity of this invention comprising silica particulates coated with polymer of vinyl alcohol series dispersed in aqueous medium is morphologically different from the conventional mixture of silica particulates and resin particles, or silica particulates bound to resin with a silane compound in prior arts. Silica particulates usable as the raw material of treatment agents for hydrophilicity can be exemplified by humed silica and colloidal silica. Among them, humed silica is prepared by hydrolyzing halosilane such as trichlorosilane and tetrachlorosilane at high temperature in the vapor phase, which is particulate having large surface area. Colloidal silica is a silica sol of the acid- or alkali-stable type dispersed in water. The particle diameter of silica particulates is 5xcx9c100 nm, preferably 7xcx9c60 nm on the average. When this average particle diameter is less than 5 nm, the irregularity of treated coating film surface is not sufficient, resulting in the decrease in hydrophilicity, and when it exceeds 100 nm, aggregates of large particle diameter are formed in the preparation of treatment agents, aggravating the painting processability. A typical polymer of vinyl alcohol series usable in this invention is polyvinyl alcohol (PVA) obtained by saponifying a vinyl acetate polymer. PVA with a high saponification level is preferred, especially the one with a saponification level exceeding 98% is preferred. Denatured PVAs, for example, PVA a portion of hydroxyl groups of which are substituted with alkyl groups such as propyl or butyl group can be also used as polymer of vinyl alcohol according to this invention. Furthermore, as the occasion demands, other hydrophilic polymers such as hydroxyl group-containing acrylic resins, polyacrylic acid, polyvinyl sulfonic acid, polyvinylimidazole, polyethylene oxide, polyamide, water-soluble nylon, etc. can be used together with PVA in the amount of less than 50 weight percent relative to PVA. To prepare a treatment agent for hydrophilicity used in this invention, first, a polymer of vinyl alcohol series (and other hydrophilic polymer, when the occasion demands. Hereafter simply referred to as polymer of vinyl alcohol series.) is dissolved or dispersed to make the concentration 0.3xcx9c17.5 weight percent, preferably 0.5xcx9c5 weight percent relative to the entire treatment agent. To this mixture were added silica particulates of 5xcx9c100 nm, preferably 7xcx9c60 nm in the average particle diameter up to the final concentration 0.3xcx9c17.5 weight percent, preferably 0.5xcx9c5 weight percent relative to the entire treatment agent. Alternatively, by dispersing silica particulates in an aqueous solution containing polymer of vinyl alcohol series at 5xcx9c50 weight percent relative to the silica particulates as solid, said silica particulates are previously coated with polymer of vinyl alcohol series, and then the concentration may be adjusted by adding said aqueous solution of polymer of vinyl alcohol series. Total content of silica particulates and polymer of vinyl alcohol series is 0.2xcx9c25 weight percent, preferably 1xcx9c5 weight percent. In this case, the weight ratio between silica particulates and polymer of vinyl alcohol series is in the range 30:70xcx9c70:30, preferably 40:60xcx9c60:40. When polymer of vinyl alcohol series is mixed with silica particulates as described above, aggregation occurs by the interaction between them. Therefore, these aggregates are forcibly dispersed using ultrasonic disintegrator or micromedium disperser, etc. Since disperser such as mixer used for simple stirring and dispersion cannot disperse aggregates, it is necessary to use a device having the grinding function like a mill or vigorous stirring effects on minute parts like the ultrasonic wave. As examples for such disperser, there are an ultrasonic homogenizer (US series) from Nippon Seiki Seisakusho, and a super mill (HM-15) of Inoue Seisakusho. Aggregates thus forcibly dispersed become particles of 5xcx9c1000 nm in the average particle diameter comprising silica particulates the surface of which is coated with polymer of vinyl alcohol series, and stabilized as dispersion in aqueous medium. When the total content of said vinyl alcohol polymer and silica particulate is less than 1 weight percent, effects of lasting hydrophylicity and deodorizer are not expressed, and, on the other hand, when said total content exceeds 25 weight percent, viscosity of the treatment agent becomes high, aggravating the painting processability. In addition, when the weight ratio of silica particulates to polymer of vinyl alcohol series is out of the range 30:70xcx9c70:30, with a higher ratio of silica particulates, the coating film formation becomes insufficient, resulting in the exfoliation of the film to emit dust smell from silica and base material, and with a higher ratio of polymer of vinyl alcohol series, hydrophilicity is reduced. In the aforementioned treatment agent for hydrophilicity, various additives can be added. One of important additives is antimicrobial drug. These antimicrobial drugs can be exemplified by, for example, zinc pyrithione, 2-(4-thiazoryl)-benzimidazole, 1,2-benzisothiazoline, 2-n-octyl-4-isothiazoline-3-on, N-(fluorodichloromethylthio)phthalimide, N,N-dimethyl-Nxe2x80x2-phenole-Nxe2x80x2-fluorodichloromethylthio)-sulfamide, methyl 2-benzimidazolecarbamate, bis(dimethylthiocarbamoyl)-disulfide, N-(trichloromethylthio)-4-cyclohexane-1,2-dicrboxyimide, and barium metaborate. These antimicrobial drugs can be used also as the antifungal substance, antiseptic and antibacterial drug. Additives other than those described above can be exemplified by lubricant, surfactant, pigment, dye and inhibitor for giving corrosion resistance. The treatment agent for hydrophilicity of this invention prepared by the aforementioned preparation method is in a state wherein silica particulates coated with polymer of vinyl alcohol series are dispersed in aqueous medium, wherein the total content of silica particulates and polymer of vinyl alcohol series is 1xcx9c25 weight percent and the average particle diameter of coated particles is in the range 5xcx9c1000 nm. When this average particle diameter is less than 5 nm, hydrophilicity is not expressed, and when it exceeds 1000 nm, the paint processability is worsened. In the followings, the treatment agent of this invention will be described with reference to its uses. Cleaning Untreated aluminum materials are preferably cleaned with acidic or alkaline cleaners. As the example of pickling agents, there are nitric acid, sulfuric acid, hydrofluoric acid, or pickling agents in any combinations thereof. The acid concentration is preferably 1xcx9c10 N, more preferably 3xcx9c6 N. Furthermore, it is preferable to supplement these pickling agents with a metal salt or metallic acid salt selected from a group comprising nickel, cobalt, molybdenum and cerium. Aforementioned metallic salts can be exemplified by iron sulfate, nickel sulfate, cobalt sulfate, cobaltammonium sulfate, cerium sulfate, ceriumammonium sulfate, iron nitrate, cobalt nitrate, nickel nitrate, cerium nitrate, iron acetate, nickel acetate, cobalt acetate, cerium acetate, iron chloride, nickel chloride, cobalt chloride, molybdenum chloride, cerium chloride, etc. And, metallic acid salts can be exemplified by ammonium molybdate, potassium molybdate and sodium molybdate. The aforementioned metallic salt or metallic acid salt is added to the aqueous solution preferably at 0.01xcx9c5 weight percent, more preferably 0.1xcx9c1 weight percent. Combination of metallic salts or metallic acid salts in the aforementioned concentration range is advantageous in that the pickling of deposits derived from solders can be more effectively carried out in the aluminum-made heat exchanger (such as evaporator, etc.). Alkaline cleaners can be exemplified by those containing at least one base selected out of sodium hydroxide, sodium silicate and sodium phosphate. To enhance the cleaning capability, surfactant may be added to alkaline cleaners. For cleaning aluminum materials, they may be sprayed with the aforementioned cleaners, or immersed in the cleaners in a bath. In this case, the temperature of cleaners is preferably 10xcx9c85xc2x0 C., and the contact time desirably for 30sxcx9c5 min. When the liquid temperature is less than 10xc2x0 C., or the contact time is shorter than 30 s, the precipitate removal sometimes may become insufficient. When the liquid temperature exceeds 85xc2x0 C., or the contact time is longer than 5 min, etching may often become excessive. After the cleaning, aluminum materials are washed with water, and subjected to the succeeding anti-rust treatment. Anti-rust Treatment Anti-rust treatment methods include those by the chemical transformation and undercoating anti-rust treatment with resin primers. Among them, as the chemical transformation treatment agent, the conventionally known chromium chromate treatment agent, chromate phosphate treatment agent or non-chromium treatment agent can be used. The chromium chromate treatment agent is an aqueous solution containing chromic acid, fluoride and strong acid, including the reaction type chromate and electrolyte type chromate with the trivalent chromium as the principal ingredient, and a spreading type chromate in which hexavalent and trivalent chromiums are mixed. On the other hand, the chromate phosphate treatment agent is a mixed aqueous solution containing chromic acid, orthophosphate and fluoride. For the chemical transformation treatment carried out with these chromate treatment agents, it is required to control each of the amounts of hexavalent chromium ion, phosphate ion and fluoride ion. Example of non-chromium treatment agents can be exemplified by zirconium salts, titanium salts, silicon salts, borates and permanganates. Fluorides of these salts can be also preferably used, and, furthermore, it is also preferred to supplement these salts add fluorides with acids such as phosphoric acid, manganic acid, permanganic acid, vanadic acid, tungstic acid, molybdic acid, etc. The aforementioned resin primer can be exemplified by water-soluble or water-dispersible aqueous resins. Specific examples of these resins include aqueous polymer compounds having carboxyl or hydroxyl group such as poly (meta) crylic acid, polyvinyl alcohol, carboxymethyl cellulose, etc., aqueous phenolic resin, aqueous polyester resin, aqueous epoxy resin, aqueous polyurethane, aqueous amino resin, etc. Corrosion resistance of coating film can be improved by supplementing the aforementioned resin primers with metallic compounds such as zirconium compounds, etc. including fluorozirconic acid, fluorozirconiumammonium, etc. in the concentration of 100xcx9c10000 ppm. There is no particular limitation to the chemical transformation treatment method, which can be performed by the immersion method, spraying method. etc. However, for an evaporator having a complicated shape, the immersion method is preferred. Treatment temperature is preferably the room temperature or slightly warmer temperature than that, in the range 10xcx9c50xc2x0 C., and the treatment time is preferably 3sxcx9c5 min. Amount of the anti-rust coating film is preferably 10xcx9c300 mg/m2 as the amount of each element (Cr, Zr, Ti, etc.) adhered to the surface in the case of chemical transformation treatment coating film. In the case of resin primers, after the aforementioned treatment, it is preferable to bake resin primers at 100xcx9c220xc2x0 C., preferably at 150xcx9c200xc2x0 C. for 10xcx9c60 min to make the dried coating film 0.1xcx9c10 xcexcm thick. When the baking temperature of resin primer is less than 100xc2x0 C., the film formation becomes insufficient, and when said temperature exceeds 220xc2x0 C., the lasting hydrophilicity is reduced. When the resin primer coating film is less than 0.1 xcexcm thick, the rust preventive capacity is often insufficient, and when said film exceeds 10 xcexcm thick, it becomes uneconomical. After the rust preventive treatment, washing with water is performed as the occasion demands prior to the subsequent treatment for hydrophilicity. Treatment for Hydrophilicity The treatment agent for hydrophilicity of this invention is used. There is no particular limitation to the method for applying said treatment agent, and the treatment can be carried out, for example, by the immersion method, spraying method, roll coating method, brushing method, etc. However, it is preferable to use the immersion method for the heat exchanger or air filter because of their complicated shape. Preferable temperature of the treatment liquid is around 10xcx9c50xc2x0 C., and treatment time is about 3 sxcx9c5 min. The amount of coating film is controlled to be in the range 0.1xcx9c3 g/m2, preferably 0.2xcx9c1 g/m2. When the amount of coating film is less than 0.1 g/m2, hydrophilicity is not expressed, and when it exceeds 3 g/m2, the productivity of coating film is reduced. After the treatment for hydrophilicity, the hydrophilic coating film can be obtained by baking the treated surface at 100xcx9c220xc2x0 C., preferably 150xcx9c200xc2x0 C. for 10xcx9c60 min. When the baking temperature is less than 100xc2x0 C., film formation becomes insufficient, and, on the other hand, when it exceeds 220xc2x0 C., the lasting hydrophilicity is reduced. It is preferable that aluminum materials thus treated with the treatment agent for hydrophilicity of this invention have the hydrophilic coating film formed in the amount of 0.1xcx9c3 g/m2.
Implantation of artificial penile nodules--a review of literature. INTRODUCTION The implantation of penile nodules under the foreskin is unusual in Western society. This practice is known in Slavic and Asian cultures and occasionally appears in the western world. We review the historical and medical evidence found in world literature to this date. AIM We discuss case reports and other literature on penile nodules and evaluate their medical significance. MAIN OUTCOME MEASURES Literature search for MEDLINE publications and additional references from non-Medline indexed publications concerning the implantation of foreign bodies under the foreskin. METHODS Literature search for MEDLINE-indexed papers followed by a manual bibliographic review of cross-references. We extended the search to non-MEDLINE references using an Internet-based search engine. More information was retrieved by contacting different experts. A statistical analysis was applied to the data collected. RESULTS There seems to be a predominance of penile bead implantation in Asian countries. The average age of a patient was 25.47 years. The average number of beads implanted was 2.71. There is a higher risk of becoming a sexually transmitted disease. CONCLUSIONS The prevalence of complications seems to be low. The incidence and severity of early or delayed complications are unknown but are probably underreported. Complications associated with this procedure should be known, especially partner complications. These nodules will possibly be encountered more often in western countries.
Advancing a Sustainable Career Model for Political Science Students: Implications for Career Development Research and Practice This paper aims to assist lecturers, universities, and their administrators in improving the relevance of political science undergraduate degree programs in the context of globalization and the Fourth Industrial Revolution era. This paper will reflect on how to tailor the political science degree to achieve a sustainable career and improve students' employability in the future. The latest theoretical frameworks incorporating the concept of "sustainable" career development were used in advancing the model of employability in the political science field. The author relies on a qualitative approach and the literature review with implications for practice in advancing the notion that competency-based approaches with the development of specific skills are vital in ensuring relevance and sustaining career opportunities for modern political science students in the future. Educators should rethink how they deliver political science degrees, keeping in mind the emerging trends in technology, pedagogical approaches, and HR practices in the respective job markets. This paper offers insight into how to tailor an exciting political science program for the future of work. Introduction Higher education is changing. More and more new methods are being used to incorporate students learning styles and modern technologies (Ahmad, 2018b(Ahmad,, 2019a(Ahmad,, 2020a. The change is happening across various disciplines (in teaching ethics, law, family business, CSR) and engaging millennials (Ahmad, 2018a(Ahmad,, 2019b(Ahmad,, 2020b(Ahmad,, 2020d. Scholars are reimagining the future of higher education, proposing new student support models (Ahmad, 2020g, 2021. In this scheme of things, in my viewpoint, political science is a very important subject. However, the political science curriculum in a regular university is predominantly theoretical, emphasizing political thought, history, and philosophy, where less emphasis is placed on practical skills (Ahmad, 2020c). Due to the lack of practicability and skills, many political science majors question their level of employability. Therefore, the universities must prioritize teaching students the necessary skills they will need for the future of work and Industry 4.0. One recommendation is that lecturers should seek to create scenarios and test students' practical skills of problem-solving and critical thinking as opposed to testing their memory. Others contend that we need to rethink outdated models of career development and advance more modern approaches and theories of sustainable career development to ensure employability in the context of an increasingly globalized and technology-driven society. Furthermore, competency-based approaches provide useful mechanisms for university institutions, employers, and undergraduate students to measure and assess the relevance of political science degrees and the ability to access and sustain various career paths over a lifetime. In this paper, the author conducts a review of the literature pertaining to the relevance of degree programs in preparing students for the future of work in the political science discipline. An author examines, in detail, early and more recent models of career development and evaluates their relevance in the present work context. The latest theoretical frameworks incorporating the concept of "sustainable" career development are also analysed and used in advancing the model of employability in this field. The author relies on a qualitative approach to the literature review with implications for practice in advancing the notion that competency-based approaches with the development of specific skills are vital in ensuring relevance and sustaining career opportunities for modern political science students into the future. The enhancement of special competencies such as advanced analytical, strategic, critical thinking, and social skills are recognized as increasingly important for students to attain. Research and appraisal competencies, especially related to public policy and decision-making, are also in demand. Universities are also experimenting with simulation and scenario-based exercises to provide practical-based work experiences and enhance active learning pedagogies in political science teaching and learning methods. This paper examines how some of the top universities in the world and work organizations, through their career development and HR initiatives, are applying such approaches in preparing students and young graduates for sustainable employability in their chosen political science field. The author hopes that the findings will provide some direction for crafting best practices and recommendations which can be implemented to prepare students for the future. The Relevance of Political Science Degree Programs Many graduates and parents of graduates of political science programs are incognizant of the relevance of this degree within the place of work. This ignorance has landed many students in an unpropitious position as they lack the 'know-how' to apply themselves to the job market. With little doubt, many past and upcoming graduates of political science are baffled with the questions of 'What life will be like after university?', 'What is the next step?', 'Where do I go from here?' Currently, several student-university discourses have been taking place on how these tertiary institutions can advance preparing students of political science for the world of work. Educating students about history, philosophy, and government systems are essential for their development as mature human beings. This is integral for establishing a good citizenry, but more essential to this is the idea of developing a productive workforce. Early perspectives on political science discipline contend that little change has occurred in the curriculum over the past century. For instance, the American Political Science Association asserts that while there has been some shift in focus away from knowledge and information gathering towards the attainment of skills, little attention has been paid to the overall structure of political science programs in terms of exposing students about the process of government and political systems. "Structural and attitudinal impediments" such as cultural and incentive-based factors, the lack of supporting institutional framework to implement, promote and sustain new practice-oriented teaching methods are seen as influencing factors and a significant change in the political science curriculum (). Others express a more radical view that political science as a discipline has witnessed a serious decline in rigorous scholarly engagement in the current neoliberal setting. Such an environment fosters or facilitates the "rise of careerism" with too much focus in higher education structure on career and personal pursuits at the expense of larger public outreach and social obligations. Higher education institutions may want to rethink their approach to teaching political science within their larger obligations to society. The delivery of an education which focusses on an active engagement in pressing political and social issues, the pursuit of rigorous research agendas, and applying sound theoretical and methodological principles to advance the causes of democracy and society is seen as preferable to a "fixation on prestige, ranking and careerism". However, is this a realistic perspective with respect to the role of political science in the 21 st century? A more recent review of the state of political science in universities in the current context and implications for career development and future work prospects demonstrate the range of complex issues grappling the discipline. Conducted by the American Political Science Association, research illustrates the challenges of balancing the needs of providing students with competitive in-demand degree programs while preparing them to fulfill their obligations in addressing wider societal, civic, and international concerns. In a 21 st -century context, changing demographics, diversity, and inclusion issues can impact the teaching and learning quality and, by extension, the perceived effectiveness and relevance of current political science programs (American Political Science Association, 2011). As a result, in evaluating these issues, it is important to probe how existing curriculum programs and supporting capacity-building frameworks may be modified and enriched to make them more relevant while at the same time increasing student outcomes. For instance, the American Political Science Association review supported by data-driven statistics indicated that in terms of enrolment and demographics in the US, Latinos led with the highest concentration of students pursuing undergraduate studies majoring in political science (45%) followed by African American (39%) and then Whites (38%) and with more women at just over 57% in 2009. With respect to diversity in discussions and assignments, it was found that student feedback on experiences of the various political science programs was adequate. Generally, high levels of accommodation of diverse views and perspectives, application of theory to practical problems, and the application of policy-oriented courses seem to make it relevant to concerns of a growing diverse student population (American Political Science Association, 2011). Such findings have profound implications for the future direction of teaching and learning pedagogies and, more importantly, the incorporation of relevance and inclusiveness into political science programs. The report outlines a number of interesting recommendations on how best to modify the current curriculum to enable undergraduates to obtain an enhanced perception of inclusiveness and relevance of their political science studies in the 21 st -century setting. These revolve around as increasing the range and variety of teaching methods and techniques, reorganizing and restructuring the syllabus to unlearn outdated concepts, relearn, learn and test new concepts which test and support the diversity and inclusiveness model; and internationalizing the curriculum in terms of integrating new methodologies, technologies, learning materials, and resources to modernize and enable it to meet global standards. More importantly, higher education institutions (HEIs) will have to address human resource concerns in terms of leadership development, hiring and retention, the provision of mentoring initiatives for its increasingly diverse graduate student population. Finally, in terms of a 21 st -century capacitybuilding framework, there needs to be a greater push at collaboration and partnership with external bodies to obtain funding to drive the mandate to develop innovative teaching frameworks and models for political science departments in order to meet the challenges and embrace the opportunities of the discipline in the future (American Political Science Association, 2011). However, there can be no doubt that more current literature research focuses the study on the utility of a political science degree, on its relevance in the workplace setting, and the impact it will have on students' career development path throughout a lifetime. In one study conducted in Canada on the impact of the degree in the workplace setting in the non-governmental organization (NGO) sector, it was found that while still useful, desirable, and in demand, many Canadian employers felt that students lacked the right skill sets appropriate for work. Statistics and data compiled from the study indicated skill deficiencies, most notably competencies and attributes such as flexibility, adaptability, planning, time management, critical thinking, and analysis. From the graduates' perspective, those who worked in an NGO sector also perceived that their political science education did not contribute significantly to enhance their workplace skills and called for a deliberate shift in focus on the structure of the curriculum to integrate these skills. Another study indicated that of those considering pursuing a legal career, around 43% of respondents recommend a liberal arts, political science degree as highly appropriate and relevant, as it gives a solid knowledge base in social sciences, exposure to cultural and diverse social issues along with skills training opportunities in critical thinking, communication, and creativity, along with studies about current political processes. Others study the relevance of the degree program from the perspective of its modern-day appeal and student motivation for enrolment. One recent survey tries to probe students' motivations and perceptions about enrolment. Are they signing up primarily for developing valuable skills or gaining a practical understanding of how the real world functions? The quantitativebased study revealed that students prefer enrolling in political science courses to gain a better practical understanding of how the real-world functions. This took precedence over opportunities to develop skills. Although skills are important, the study emphasizes that students were attracted to the courses not merely for skills attainment learning technical and science-related disciplines geared towards specific career paths. Rather, courses, if structured as "generalist" with the objective of providing students with general competencies such as adaptability and employability, were of far greater relevance for coping in current uncertain working environments. However, others counter this position by advancing the view that political science skills will gain increased relevance from an economic standpoint in a globalized and interconnected world. While conceding that many university students embark on studying the discipline in ascertaining how the world works, the processes and structures of political systems to contribute to society provide a closer study on how industry and companies can derive value from the skills of political science graduates. In fact, there is a high place for a political scientist to contribute in significant ways to the economy. Specific examples in a business, economic, and work context include ability to create or change new rules and regulations, present varying views and perspectives, such as scenario planning, and partake in the final decisionmaking process; and making offer/counter offer, reconciliation, negotiate deals and on arbitration matters. Since numerous job opportunities exist in varying professions in the corporate business sector, legal, trade union movement, NGO's and government, it is becoming increasingly evident that the creation of modern models of career development will be integral to the growth of sustained employment and increased societal relevance, via skills and competencies, self-development, personal and professional opportunities for political science students over their career life (). Advancing Modern Theories of "Sustainable" Career Development Most recent literature on career development frameworks has seen the emergence of the notion of "sustainable" careers given the present context of technology, globalization, etc. (De ). Much of the literature seems to focus on the need to provide students and young graduates entering the workforce with career competencies in order to future-proof their careers and better guarantee employability and career fulfillment over a lifetime. This model utilizes a systematic and dynamic approach in investigating the factors which will influence or impact the sustainability of career design and development in multifaceted and evolving work circumstances. It asserts that the three key components of "person, time and context" are crucial elements in ensuring sustainable careers, with "happiness, health and productivity" being important indicators of sustainability (De ). The crucial mechanism for this conceptual model is the application of systematic perspectives to the dynamic interplay or interaction of these elements to create a basis for sustainable careers. For instance, "career shocks," defined as unexpected career events, can be used to study the impact of the interaction of these three dimensions. Contextual factors are especially important in studying the effect of sustainability and for future research and planning in coping and managing career transitions. Secondly, evolving categories of work and employment arrangements can also impact the dimensions. Factors such as working groups, industry type, age grouping, demographics, diversity issues, inclusiveness, and work environment all affect the context in which careers evolve over time. Thirdly, changes relating to age, psycho-social, values, and societal perspectives will change over time and impact sustainability over a person's long career life span. Therefore, HR practitioners and HE institutions must adopt future-oriented research, planning, and design approaches to enable careers to become sustainable over time. This model outlines specific recommendations on how individuals and institutions can adapt and cope with events or changes which affect career goals: 1. The use of a research model and analytical tools. Applying longitudinal research and time-sensitive analytical models will help understand cycles of adaptation and build more robust career sustainable frameworks in a dynamic and evolving environment. 2. Most importantly, prospective, reflective, and retrospective studies are critical in gaining insights into potential pitfalls or causal factors why nonsustainable careers may develop over time. This will enable the better design of future career development initiatives using qualitative research methods to "future-proof" careers in a dynamic and evolving work environment. Even more recent literature research investigates the role which career competencies, success, and shocks have in determining long-term career employability and sustainability. For instance, Blokker et al.'s research advances and builds on the above model of sustainable careers by emphasizing the importance of moderating or mediating factors. It is assumed that higher career competencies lead to greater career success and employability, but little is known about the impact of "career shocks." The essential takeaway from the authors' study is that in line with career constructionist theory (CCT), it is important to distinguish between different types of success (subjective/objective/perceived) and employability (internal/external) and career shocks (positive/negative) as they all impact on the interactions in this model of sustainability. Applying Elements of Competencies, Success, and Shocks in "Sustainable" Career Development Model In terms of theory, an early element of CCT is defined as the role of competencies in obtaining success and employability. It largely entails a process of designing and building a career, utilizing resources to cope with demands, challenges, and opportunities of career life. In addition, there is continuous adaptation, integration, and development to navigate existing work circumstances to maintain and sustain long-run employability. With regards to elements of career competencies, this involves all those "knowledge, skills and abilities" essential to career development, but enhanced by the individual incorporating a wide range of "reflective, behavioural and communicative" skills to assist, guide, and motivate one's career pursuits (). Other related activities such as the application of adaptive behaviours, vocational abilities, techniques in adding value to their organization, and acquiring a positive perception of their internal and external employability are considered in the range of competencies. Elements of career success are defined as all those accomplishments which result from work activities over the long term. However, we need to distinguish between "perceived, subjected or self-evaluated success and objective career success," which are measurably verifiable attained success (). According to the theoretical framework of CCT, those with high levels of competence will be perceived "as more employable and enjoying higher career success." Career shocks are defined as unexpected, infrequent, extraordinary events that can positively or negatively impact an individual's career path, goal, objective, and development. In accordance with CCT, it can provide the impetus for young career individuals to reassess, re-evaluate, and revise their career development process in terms of requirements to improve or enhance their career objectives. Some argue that positive shocks tend to motivate, inspire and create confidence in realizing preferred career goals. In contrast, negative shocks tend to severely hinder and undermine the career decision-making process and overall development process. The framework asserts that career shocks are an important mediating factor in career success and employability. Career shocks can severely impact, so it is necessary to provide young with vital coping strategies, incorporating other soft skills such as flexibility, adaptability, resilience, lifelong and counseling training programs in order to navigate the current uncertain career environment. In terms of practical implications -the incorporation of competencies, success, and shock factors into a model of career sustainability provides unique, insightful information for career development and HR professionals in generating workable approaches to success and employability over time. Competency-Based Approaches in Facilitating Sustainable Careers for Political Science Students Therefore, the question arises: To what extent can lecturers, university administrators, and human resource professionals facilitate the training and development needs of political science students to advance their career development prospects and ensure sustainable employment opportunities? This paper suggests the notion that competency-based approaches with the development of specific targeted skills will be crucial in ensuring the relevance and sustained employability for modern political science students in the future. The author will examine what these competencies are and how they are being tested and integrated into the curriculum in select university institutions across the globe. There is an abundance of current literature replete with recommendations, strategies, and blueprints on how best to implement novel career management initiatives in the current work environment. Some propose approaches to emphasize diversity (Mershon & Walsh, 2016), self-management (Wilhelm & Hirschi, 2019), and work-integrated methodologies (Jackson & Wilton, 2019); others suggest the redesigning and customizing workloads integrated with organizational management involvement in sharing responsibilities as the solution to future job security (Kossek & Ollier-Malaterre, 2019). Furthermore, others see the need for learning and work institutions to focus on formalized institution led training and development to improve networking, career placement, and mentoring opportunities as a direct pathway for upward career mobility (;Likov & Tomk, 2013). This author, however, proposes to hone in on the application of innovative competency-based approaches being deployed in institutions to ensure more sustained employment for graduates. This author speaks specifically to the integration of technology and newer pedagogical methods to increase the acquisition of in-demand workplace skills in the 21 st -century work setting. The world has begun to witness the emergence of technology-driven simulation, and scenario-based instructional delivery, e-learning, blended active learning programs encroaching on political science degree programs. Also, there is an emphasis on training in specific competencies relating to the development of "political skills" research and appraisal methodologies in particular to meet the demand for public policymaking, decision making, and highly developed analytical, cognitive, social, and networking capabilities to fill growing high demand job opportunities in private corporations, international relations and diplomacy fields (). Public Policy Decision Making Skills There is the view that political science degrees need to be given more focus in the context of the changing job market and the emphasis on applied degrees. There is currently too much reliance on voluntary internships for career development. It is recommended that institutions design specific career models to meet the current job market, which emphasize a combination of marketable competencies such as empirical research methods and statistical analysis in addition to training and instruction in career building techniques comprising interviewing, networking, candidate portfolio management, and mentoring (). One of the skills identified as lacking in the work world connected to political science and public administration discipline is critical appraisal competencies for evidence-based policymaking (). Such skills are considered vital in deciding on the best policy options and for problem-solving. In a recent comprehensive study on the integration of public policy appraisal skill training into the curriculum across universities in Canada, a number of challenges and recommendations were identified for the enhancement of more effective training in these institutions (). Research studies continue to illustrate the severe gap between the demand and supply of policy analysis skills within the Canadian government services, the bureaucratic capacity constraints, competencies required, and lessons for management in terms of better analyzing recruitment issues for improving such capabilities within its civil services (Dobuzinskis & Howlett, 2018;Howlett, 2015;Lindquist & Desveaux, 2007). Barriers include the lack of systematic and transparent methodologies, which often lead to many variations in teaching effectiveness across institutions in Canada. Other challenges include low availability and access to research, reliability of findings, timing and cost issues, leading to the risk of bias in research and decision-making. The authors recommend prior to embarking on practicing evidence-based policymaking, the practitioners must acquire specific training competencies in "searching, selecting, appraising, synthesizing, and communicating findings" before joining the workforce, i.e., in university. Efforts to overhaul public policy programs and invigorate them with new innovative approaches to teaching are taking place at universities in North America. Recommended methods such as critical appraisal steps utilizing appraisal checklist steps including systematic and validated tool methodology, knowledge synthesis, and scoping review methods are being experimented with to fulfill the demand in the context of present work environment characterized by information overload, high risk of bias, and information asymmetry in the transfer process. Here the author presents a review of the work at four North American universities to address these various competency-based issues to better prepare students in their career development paths. Table 1 Competency-Based Approaches -Simulated Exercises University or Higher Education Institution Link (s) SIMULATED EXERCISES & ROLE PLAY METHODOLOGIES Simulated Legislative Process: The simulated legislative process is creating an environment that is reflective of the real course. This will help students gain an understanding of how laws are made, draft effective policies to redress specific issues, and apply their critical thinking and problemsolving skills in the process. Heidelberg University Heidelberg Political Science Program Use of "LegSim"-a web-based virtual simulated legislature, where a student receives the opportunity to role-play legislators, develop policy proposals and participate in the decision-making process to enact laws Drake University use of Simulations -Ability to connect to "Model United Nations" (MUN), "Model European Union" & "Model Arab League" simulations which provide students with opportunities to gain practical exposure in negotiating laws and policies relating to international, global issues and to interact with political science students in other countries with diverse and varying cultural backgrounds. Drake University Simulations Undergraduate Political Science students utilize simulation sessions to gain networking, group work, and interaction while at the same time using internships as a valuable resource for career development. Role Play and Simulation Exercises Questions have arisen about the continued lack of program structure, transformation, and direction of the current political science curriculum. Some universities, however, have begun to adopt transformative approaches by experimenting with classroom experience using professional building courses, practical internships, and incorporating innovative teaching and learning practices used by British and American Political Science Associations. In particular, there is the growing use of simulation exercises to increase collaboration across disciplines and departments. One specific way in which this has been accomplished is the use of Model United Nations (MUN), a practice-oriented simulation exercise to facilitate deep learning and enhance professional competencies in political science and international relations fields. This innovative technology-enhanced simulation learning method links key learning objectives to four levels of knowledge, namely facts, concepts, procedural and metacognitive competencies. Lessons learned so far from its application in North American university institutions are that this novel active learning pedagogy is effective in enhancing real-world experiences such as increasing negotiation skills, cooperation, and leadership which are useful in preparing students for career life in diplomacy and foreign affairs (). A somewhat slight variation in the application of MUN simulation exercises in the British higher education system has focused on engaging students as "coproducers of knowledge" (Obendorf & Randerson, 2012). For instance, MUN has been used as a primary teaching tool in the politics and international relations programs at the University of Lincoln in the UK over the last decade. They found that this simulation-driven teaching and learning approach applied in the British HE context was valuable in enhancing "engaged research" and developing students' competencies as "producers of learning and knowledge." In addition, this blending of research skills with the practice of diplomacy is becoming increasingly important in developing students' future career prospects (Obendorf & Randerson, 2012). More recent research examines the establishment or extension of a similar type of curriculum in the UK, focusing on the use of simulation type "action" based teaching approaches as an alternative to traditional classroom political science instruction. The creation of a "Policy Commission" serves to foster approaches that facilitate action-based learning in politics through various activities, which include allowing students to direct and control simulation exercises, volunteering, participating in political campaigns, community and nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), and becoming members of action learning groups (). Students' participation in the recent implementation of the Policy Commission experiment at a select UK university over the period 2013-2016 led to some interesting findings. Students had an increased awareness of the importance of "problem analysis, project management, and communication and presentation skills" on their future career prospects. On a practical level, participation in the Commission allowed students to engage actively, network, and contribute with players on policy and decision-making processes in the community and political fields. This had a positive impact on enhancing their future career prospects (). There is no doubt that the implementation of role-play simulation methods in political science education continues to positively impact students' decision-making, engagement, and motivation levels (;). Innovative Pedagogical Approaches to Delivering Political Science Education The use of Immersive Virtual Reality (IVR) is being tested to investigate its usefulness in increasing motivation and practice in the training transfer process for employees (). The increased use of virtual communication tools and virtual learning technologies seems to be the future direction of learning and training in the higher education and career development fields. Following is the summary of select university institutions currently experimenting with such technology-enhanced and innovative pedagogical approaches. University of Cambridge Cambridge Multidisciplinary approach Fieldwork: Not limited to merely assisting, but they act as collaborators in research. This is useful because it allows students to grasp skills necessary for the workspace in the context of research and problem-solving. MIT Fieldwork Teaching Practical skills: Students are given handson training on skills that are required for the public sector. It increases the employability of the students, thus placing them in a more propitious position which is a shortcoming of only doing theoretical-based work. Cornell University Cornell University-Teaching Practical Skills Internship programs: Many students who are well recognised for excellent performances within such places are often given full-time job opportunities National University of Singapore (NUS) NUS Internship Programs Bi-disciplinary degreestudy money and power: Political Science majors also study Economics. Political Science covers the aspect of power through participation in politics, while economics Kings College Bi-Disciplinary Degree speaks to monetised power. Engaging students in both disciplines is interesting because it teaches students about the two most outstanding ways one can have and maintain control. Internship programs: Often, students leave tertiary level institutions with no form of work experience. Reliance on the theory-based knowledge they would have attained is insufficient for what is required by the workplaces. Conclusion A number of external factors impede the employability and relevance of political science majors as they compete within the sphere of the job market. These may include the drastically reduced supply of labour due to globalization and the onset of the Fourth Industrial Revolution. It is, however, important to recognize that there are internal issues within the pedagogical framework of political science. Universities ought to engage in more in-depth discourses on how to effect the relevant changes within this agenda to make political science majors more attractive on the job market. Additionally, these changes ought to be prioritized and with much urgency to keep up with the constantly evolving world. Meanwhile, the students should not depend on on-campus learning but take a pledge of lifelong learning. The application of a "sustainable" career development framework utilizing a competency-based framework for developing specific skills and competencies relevant for 21st-century political science careers can go a long way in ensuring long-term employability and professional advancement for future students. This paper also finds that universities experimenting and implementing scenario-based, role-play simulation exercises via internal delivery methods or external interaction with other student groups through the Model United Nations concept are better able to prepare students to gain real work exposure in networking, group work, negotiation, and legal arrangements, which are useful in the growing fields of international relations and diplomacy. More importantly, new pedagogical approaches, such as the interdisciplinary, multi-disciplinary, mentoring, and internship methods, are useful in advancing career development prospects for students. In particular, technology-enhanced learning with the adoption of virtual learning environments and virtual communication tools is fast becoming a major driving force in delivering higher education degrees on a global scale.
The early phase of eating disorders There has been a paradigm shift in the conceptualization of psychotic illness with a recent emphasis on the importance of the early phase of the illness. Some of the ideas behind this include the expectation that treatments applied in this phase of the illness lead to good outcomes. Conversely, long periods of untreated illness can be toxic to the developing brain and social systems and produce an ominous outcome (McGorry, Nordentoft, & Simonsen, 2005). The movement towards early intervention in psychosis has spread worldwide and indeed there are now International guidelines developed for clinical practice. One of the aims of the papers in this issue of the Journal of Mental Health is to apply a similar contextual framework to research on eating disorders. All too often when thinking about eating disorders takes place there is a separation of research, treatment and services into adults and child and adolescent compartments with very little cross linking between the two areas. It is thus very interesting to step back and reflect on eating disorder research using the theoretical structures that have been developed in the psychosis field and see what the implications might be for eating disorders services. The paper by Currin and Schmidt directly addresses parallels between the early psychosis model and what is known about eating disorders. Several lines of argument support a similar model of framing eating disorders. First, the evidence for markedly different outcomes from treatments given in the early phase of anorexia nervosa compared to those given in the late phase seems clear for anorexia nervosa although less so for bulimia nervosa. Second, the concept of a toxic effect from prolonged periods of untreated illness in psychosis may have a parallel in anorexia nervosa with damage to the developing brain caused by prolonged malnutrition and/or persistent anorexia nervosa thinking. In this context the period before referral to psychiatric services may not be as important as a measure of the untreated duration of illness as the period of time during which weight remains below normal levels. This would emphasize the importance of early interventions with a focus on weight restoration. Third, Southgate and colleagues describe a model to explain some of the causal and maintaining factors associated with eating disorders. Thus there is a theoretical rationale to underpin the putative toxic nature of untreated starvation (or aspects of the psychopathology) in anorexia nervosa. The essence of this model is that anorexia nervosa may be: (i) precipitated by the profound developmental changes in the brain in adolescence,
Health-related quality of life using specific and generic questionnaires in Spanish coeliac children Background We aimed to compare the perception of health-related quality of life (HRQOL) and related factors in Spanish coeliac children and their parents, using two questionnaires, the generic KIDSCREEN-52 and the specific the Celiac Disease DUX (CDDUX), and to assess the correlation between them. Methods Coeliac children, aged 8-18, who are members of the Madrid Coeliac Association (MCA) and their parents, answered the Spanish version of the CDDUX and KIDSCREEN-52 questionnaires via e-mail. CDDUX was answered by 266 children and 428 parents and KIDSCREEN-52 by 255 children and 387 parents. Linear regression models were fitted to evaluate the association of demographic and clinical factors with HRQOL scores. CDDUX scores were compared with the subjective perception of health status assessed by the first question of KIDSCREEN-52. The correlation between the questionnaires was analysed. Results We found that the main factors that negatively affected HRQOL were having social or economic difficulties associated with following the diet and having transgression-related symptoms. The maximum correlation between the questionnaires was 0.309 and−0.254 in parents and children respectively. Conclusions Although there is a poor correlation between the two questionnaires, both agreed that the main concerns of the respondents were related to the social and economic difficulties of following the diet. It would be interesting to use both types of questionnaires in order to perform a more complete assessment of HRQOL in coeliac children. Trial registration Not applicable. Introduction Coeliac disease (CD) is an immune-mediated, systemic disorder due to gluten ingestion in genetically susceptible individuals. Gluten-free diet (GFD) is currently the only effective treatment for CD. Although adherence to the GFD resolves intestinal lesion and related symptoms, the obligation to follow a strict, restrictive and permanent diet, together with the chronic nature of this illness, can have a considerable negative impact on coeliac patients and their families' health-related quality of life (HRQOL) For these reasons, it is interesting to evaluate HRQOL in CD children and their parents and how the disease impacts on their lives. Over the last few years, the growing interest in evaluating HRQOL in CD children has led to the publication of many studies. However, in Spain, it has not been studied sufficiently. For this reason, it was necessary to study it. The best way to evaluate HRQOL is using questionnaires. There are two main types, the generic and specific questionnaires. Generic questionnaires measure the daily life aspects of HRQOL in patients who have several conditions, whereas specific questionnaires focus on specific aspects related to the illness and its treatment. The two questionnaires chosen to perform our study were the KIDSCREEN-52 and the CDDUX. The KIDS CREEN-52 questionnaire was chosen because it is one of the most widely used generic questionnaires worldwide and has been translated into Spanish. The Coeliac Disease DUX (CDDUX) was chosen because it is the first paediatric disease-specific HRQOL questionnaire, it was recently adapted into Spanish by our group and is also available in other languages. Most HRQOL studies performed with coeliac children using either specific or generic questionnaires have observed no substantial negative impact on parents' and children's HRQOL, which is similar to our findings using the CDDUX and the KIDS CREEN-52. However, some authors have found some negative impact. Not many studies have evaluated coeliac children's HRQOL using a generic and a specific questionnaire. It is interesting to use both types of questionnaires because the information obtained with them is different, it can be complementary and useful for better assessing HRQOL. The purpose of this study was to compare HRQOL outcomes and related factors (demographics: age, gender, parent educational level, living conditions as well as clinical factors: age upon diagnosis, time since diagnosis, clinical presentation at onset, family history of CD, associated diseases and disease follow-up data such as adherence to treatment, difficulties in following the diet and whether symptoms reappeared when gluten was ingested) in a group of coeliac children and their parents by using both the generic KIDSCREEN-52 and the specific CDDUX questionnaires, which focus on different aspects of the disease. A second objective was to assess whether there is a correlation between the results obtained with both questionnaires. Ethics The study protocol was approved by the Clinical Research Ethics Committee of the Hospital Universitario de Fuenlabrada, Madrid, Spain. Informed consent was obtained from all parents or guardians and from all patients aged 12 years or older. Study participants This is a cross-sectional survey targeted at children from Madrid with CD aged 8 to 18 and their parents. In order to get a good representation of patients from around the Autonomous Region of Madrid, we contacted the Madrid Coeliac Association (MCA). Potential candidates were identified among their members in the target age range. Information about the study was sent via e-mail so as to reach the largest number of patients. Information about the study was sent to 1602 coeliac children, aged 8 to 18, with an e-mail address associated with the MCA at that moment. Children and parents were instructed to independently access a link from the MCA webpage containing instructions and information about the study. The information sent included an informed consent form, the Spanish versions of the two questionnaires, demographic and clinical data. The CDDUX was the first questionnaire which people had access to, in order to prioritize answering the specific questionnaire, and, subsequently, they could access the KIDSCREEN-52 questionnaire. The sample size was calculated according to the variance shown by the items in the questionnaire validation study. The sample size required for 3% accuracy and a 95% level of confidence (95% CI) was 222 children and their parents. The recruitment process was halted upon acquiring the necessary number of participants. As previously published elsewhere, our sample was representative of the MCA population in terms of age and gender. Demographic data recorded were: age, gender, parent educational level and living conditions. Clinical data collected were: age upon diagnosis, time since diagnosis, clinical presentation at onset, family history of CD, associated diseases and disease follow-up data such as adherence to treatment, difficulties in following the diet and whether symptoms reappeared when gluten was ingested. Factors related to QOL (demographic and clinical data) were analysed according to the total number of answers provided by the 428 patients whose parents answered the CDDUX questionnaire and by 387 patients whose parents answered to the KIDSCREEN-52 questionnaire (41 parents only answered the CDDUX questionnaire). For the comparisons between both questionnaires, only the 387 and 255 parents and children's matched CDDUX and KIDSCREEN-52 questionnaires were taken into account. The findings obtained in the univariate analysis using both questionnaires have been reported elsewhere. This present study provides results obtained in the multivariate analysis, as well as the comparison and correlation between the questionnaires. Questionnaire descriptions Two questionnaires were used: the Spanish versions of the specific CDDUX Coeliac disease questionnaire and the generic KIDSCREEN-52 questionnaire. The Spanish version of the CDDUX questionnaire, which was previously validated by our group, contains 12 items distributed in 3 scales: "having CD" (3 items), which provides information on how the child feels when offered food that contains gluten or when thinking about food containing gluten; "communication" (3 items), which provides information about how the child feels when talking about CD to others or when explaining what the disease is; and "diet" (6 items), which provides information on how the child feels about having to follow a strict, lifelong diet or not being able to eat things that other people eat. Each item has 5 response options, aided by a picture diagram with faces expressing different corresponding emotional states. The CDDUX scores were recoded into a scale from 1 to 100, with 1 being very bad and 100 very good. When using a 5-point Likert scale, a score of 1-20 is considered very bad, 21-40 is bad, 41-60 is neutral, 61-80 is good, and 81 to 100 is very good. The Spanish version of the generic KIDSCREEN-52 questionnaire consists of 52 items covering 10 QOL domains : "social acceptance" (bullying), "moods and emotions", "physical well-being", "psychological wellbeing", "self-perception", "school environment", "parent relations and family life", "economic resources", "autonomy" and "social support and peers". Moreover, in the questionnaire's first question, the child or parent is asked about how they perceive their own, or their child's, state of health (excellent, very good, good, not bad/not good, bad). The responses to the other 51 questions marked by patients and parents were transformed into a 5-point Likert-type scale in order to assess either the frequency (never, seldom, sometimes, often, always) of certain behaviours/feelings or the intensity of an attitude (not at all, slightly moderately, very, extremely). Children and adolescents were asked to select one response by recalling their situation over the period of the previous week by themselves. HRQOL was recorded on a scale from 1 to 100, with higher scores meaning a better HRQOL, like in the original version. Like with the CDDUX, HRQOL was considered "very bad" for scores 1-20, "bad" for scores 21-40, "neutral" for scores 41-60, "good" for scores 61-80 or "very good" for scores 81-100. Both questionnaires have a version for children/adolescents aged 8 to 18 and another one for parents which had to be independently completed. Statistical analysis Kolmogorov-Smirnov (K-S) test was used to analyse the normality of variables. Results referring to the questionnaire scores in the different dimensions were provided as a mean (SD). Mean scores were compared by ANOVA according to the clinical and demographic variables included. Linear regression models were fitted to evaluate the association of the independent variables (demographic and clinical) with the dependent variables (HRQOL scores). Models were constructed including those variables which obtained a statistical significance in the univariate analysis (p < 0.05). CDDUX scores (quantitative variable) were compared with the subjective perception of health status assessed by the first question of KIDSCREEN-52. To evaluate the correlation between the dimensions of both questionnaires, the Pearson correlation coefficient (r) and its statistical test were used. All statistical tests were performed using the software package SPSS 15.0 for Windows (SPSS Inc., Chicago, IL, USA). Significance was set at p < 0.05. Results The flowchart with the population included in the study is shown in Fig. 1. Demographics and clinical variables, are included in Table 1. HRQOL Mean total (SD) HRQOL CDDUX scores were 55. 5 (SD 12.7) and 53.89 (SD 12.19) in children and parents respectively, with no differences detected in paired comparisons between the two groups, except in the dimension "having coeliac disease", in which parents scored significantly higher than children (p < 0.001). (Table 1 of supplemental digital content). Whereas mean KIDSCREEN-52 scores ranged from 91.92 (SD 11.91) in the dimension "social acceptance" to 32.18 (SD 11.82) in "social support and peers" children and parents scored over 40 in 8 out of 10 KIDSCREEN-52 dimensions. Nevertheless, both scored their HRQOL as "bad" (scores between 20 and 40) in two dimensions: "autonomy" and "social support and peers." Children scored higher than parents in 5 dimensions while parents rated "social support and peers" higher. (p < 0.001). (Table 2 of supplemental digital content). When the KIDSCREEN-52 questionnaire was used (Table 3), some demographic factors were found to be related to a decrease in HRQOL: age older than twelve at the time the questionnaire was filled out (in mood and emotions, psychological and physical wellbeing and school dimensions); female gender (in psychological and physical wellbeing dimensions); and a time since diagnosis of less than 4 years (in psychological wellbeing and self-esteem dimensions). Furthermore, a decrease in HRQOL was observed in children who reported having economic and social difficulties in adhering to the diet and those having symptoms with transgressions. Comparison of children's and parents' CDDUX scores and the subjective assessment of their health status We compared mean scores of the children's (n = 255) and parents' (n = 387) CDDUX questionnaires regarding the subjective assessment of their health status (the first question of the KIDSCREEN-52 questionnaire) because the latter, in one single question, provides a general subjective idea about how respondents consider their own health status, so it is interesting to know if there is an agreement or not between the outcomes obtained with both questionnaires. We observed that the higher the CDDUX scores observed in children and parents, the better the health status assessment (p < 0.01) in the total score and diet dimension. However, higher CDDUX scores observed in children and parents did not show a similar improvement in the health status assessment in the "having CD" dimension for children or parents nor in the communications dimension pertaining to the children (Table 4). Correlation between the questionnaires The correlation between the questionnaires was poor, being worse in children than parents. The maximum correlation obtained was 0.309 in parents and − 0.254 in children. In children, the maximum correlations were inverse and were obtained between the "autonomy dimension" of KIDSCREEN-52 and all the dimensions of CDDUX. In parents, the best correlations between the questionnaires were positive and were obtained between the "mood and emotions" dimension of KIDSCREEN-52 Fig. 1 Flowchart with the selection of the population included in the study and the "diet" dimension and total score of CDDUX (Table 5). Discussion In previous studies, our group assessed the subjective HRQOL in coeliac children on a GFD and their parents, using two questionnaires, a specific one (CDDUX) and a generic one (KIDSCREEN-52). Coeliac children and their parents showed a neutral HRQOL experience using the CDDUX and a neutral to good HRQOL experience using the KIDSCREEN-52. Children scored higher than parents in most of the KIDSCREEN-52 dimensions, while they scored higher than parents in only one of the CDDUX dimensions. (supplemental digital content Tables 1 and 2). In general, we observed higher scores with the generic questionnaire when compared with the specific one, in line with findings from other investigators. However, in our previous studies, both questionnaires showed some concerns regarding the HRQOL of our patients, which led us to take a deeper look and try to further elucidate factors related to having a worse perception of HRQOL. According to the multivariate analysis of our current study, we observed that the main factors related to having a worse HRQOL with both questionnaires were: having social and/or economic difficulties related to following the diet and having transgressionrelated symptoms. Moreover, in the CDDUX questionnaire, the non-complete adherence to diet, the non-classical form of CD at diagnosis and being older than 2 years of age upon diagnosis were found to be associated with having worse HRQOL while with the KIDSCREEN-52 questionnaire being female and being over 12 years of age when the survey was filled out were associated with a worse perception of HRQOL. In our previous studies with the CDDUX questionnaire, the univariate analysis showed the same factors related to having a worse HRQOL and these factors have now been confirmed by the multivariate analysis. Regarding the KIDSCREEN-52 questionnaire, non-complete dietary adherence was the only factor related to a worse HRQOL according to the univariate analysis that was not confirmed by the results in the current study. A negative perception of HRQOL in patients reporting non-adherence to the diet and with social or economic difficulties related to following the diet has been reported by other authors in children and adults with CD. Feeling different in social and school settings, particularly among adolescents, has been assessed as an important factor influencing HRQOL in coeliac children. Likewise, a negative association between HRQOL and having transgression-related symptoms has been reported by other authors. The CDDUX questionnaire seems to be more sensitive for detecting differences in clinical variables. Therefore, children younger than 2 at the time of diagnosis scored better on their HRQOL, which is in line with reports from other authors. The explanation behind this could be that the younger the child is upon diagnosis, the less accustomed to the taste of gluten-containing food he/she is and, therefore, the better the compliance with the gluten-free diet is. In our current study, the non-classical clinical presentation form for CD was associated with a worse perception of HRQOL according to the CDDUX results. However, no differences were found in clinical presentation with the KIDSCREEN-52 questionnaire, nor did other authors who used different questionnaires, such as Bystrom and Choung, find them. In spite of this, the KIDSCREEN-52 questionnaire detected more differences in demographic variables, such as gender and age at the time of filling out the survey, as reflected in worse scores in children older than 12 years of age and in females. Nevertheless, neither our group using the Spanish CDDUX, nor other investigators that used the same questionnaire found differences in relation to those factors. In both questionnaires, the group of children with less time since diagnosis experienced some aspects of their HRQOL as lower. The explanation could be related to a better acceptance of the disease and the diet as the time from diagnosis increases. Mean CDDUX scores were compared with the subjective assessment of health status, as assessed with the first question of KIDSCREEN-52. Results showed that when patients had a better perception of their health status, the mean CDDUX scores were better as well, which agrees with the results obtained by other researchers. Regarding our second objective, the correlation between the mean scores of the generic KIDSCREEN-52 and the specific CDDUX questionnaires was also assessed. We observed a poor correlation between the questionnaires, with worse results in children than in parents. These results are in line with those reported by Jordan et al., which observed a poor to moderate correlation between the generic Pediatric Quality of Life Inventory (PedsQL) and the specific CDPQOL questionnaires in coeliac children, and those by Pic et al., which found a moderate correlation between the CDDUX and the generic PedsQL questionnaires. The discrepancies between specific and generic questionnaires can be explained by the different types of information obtained, in addition to the different methodologies used in both of them. Specific CD questionnaires focus on aspects of life that are influenced by having the disease and having to adhere to a restrictive diet throughout life, whereas generic questionnaires assess the different dimensions that condition the general HRQOL. The justification of that can be that the individual may have a good overall HRQOL but have problems related to their disease which are not detected by a generic questionnaire, hence the importance of using both questionnaires. Our study has some limitations. Participants were all members of a coeliac association, which could introduce biases since these families would likely be highly motivated to deal with their child's problem. Similarly, as an inclusion criterion for this study was having an e-mail address, participants may not have been representative of low-income families. However, our study population is the best possible representation of the whole child CD population in Madrid. Conclusions Although there is a poor correlation between the two questionnaires, both agreed that the main concerns of the respondents were related to the social and economic difficulties of following the diet. It would be interesting to use of both types of questionnaires in order to perform a more complete assessment of HRQOL in coeliac children. Additional file 1. Supplemental digital content. Table 1. Health-related quality of life (HRQOL) scores provided by 266 Spanish children with coeliac disease and parents of children with coeliac disease using the specific CDDUX questionnaire. Supplemental digital content. Table 2. Health-related quality of life (HRQOL) scores provided by Spanish children with coeliac disease and parents of children with coeliac disease using the generic KIDSCREEN-52 questionnaire. Authors' contributions Dr. Josefa Barrio is the main author of this work, and she is the responsible for writing the research protocol, conducting the research, extracting the data, interpreting the results, and writing the manuscript. No payments were given to any of the authors to produce the manuscript. Each author listed on the manuscript has seen and approved the submission of this version of the manuscript and takes full responsibility for the manuscript. Dr. Josefa Barrio designed the study, analyzed the data, drafted this manuscript, and agreed on the final version of this manuscript. Dr. Maria Luz Cilleruelo and Dr. Enriqueta Romn participated in the design of this study, participated in the interpretation of data, revised the manuscript critically, and agreed on Availability of data and materials The dataset used for this research will be available from the corresponding author upon reasonable request. Ethics approval and consent to participate The study protocol was approved by the Clinical Research Ethics Committee of the Hospital Universitario de Fuenlabrada, Madrid, Spain. Informed consent was obtained from all parents or guardians and from all patients aged 12 years or older. Consent for publication Not applicable. Competing interests None declared. Author details 1
Former San Antonio cops get prison in sex scam case Emmanuel Galindo cries on the stand during the sentencing phase of his trial, Monday, March 6, 2017, in the 187th District Court in San Antonio. Galindo was convicted on charges of sexual assault, compelling prostitution, and official oppression. less Emmanuel Galindo cries on the stand during the sentencing phase of his trial, Monday, March 6, 2017, in the 187th District Court in San Antonio. Galindo was convicted on charges of sexual assault, compelling ... more Photo: Darren Abate, San Antonio Express-News Photo: Darren Abate, San Antonio Express-News Image 1 of / 20 Caption Close Former San Antonio cops get prison in sex scam case 1 / 20 Back to Gallery A jury sentenced two former police officers to prison terms Monday for many but not all of the charges they faced in a sex case in which several young women had testified the pair conned them and seduced them with offers of money and legal help. The sentences added up to six years in prison for Alex Chapa, 29, and 10 years in prison for Emmanuel Galindo, 31. Chapa and Galindo wept during earlier sentencing testimony. Chapa said his codefendant had concocted the elaborate 2015 scam that fooled at least four women into having sex with them by convincing them it was for an undercover operation. RELATED: SAPD: Pregnant teen, unborn child killed; gunman hospitalized Convicted Friday, both men knew they had to serve at least two years for each count of compelling prostitution, which does not allow for probation. The jury gave them slightly higher terms than the minimum, which State District Judge Steven Hilbig extended by stacking them. Video: Ex-SAPD officers guilty of sexual assault, compelling prostitution & official oppression “They've lied to you and everyone else. They've not taken responsibility for their actions,” prosecutor Ryan Wright had said earlier, asking for the maximum sentence of 20 years for the sex assault and compelling prostitution charges, which are second-degree felonies. ”These aren't people who had a bad upbringing. They put their own families through this for their own pleasure. It was calculated.” “I see no reason for sympathy. Max 'em out,” Wright urged. RELATED: Garbage, mounds of feces waist-high in S.A.-area home After the sentencing, Wright said it “sends a strong message about weeding out bad cops. And these were bad cops.” Galindo was sentenced to five years in prison for each of five counts of compelling prostitution, with Hilbig stacking two of them to run after the first three, in effect a 10-year sentence on that charge. Galindo also drew eight years in prison for each of three counts of sexual assault, to be served concurrently. He received 10 years probation for a fourth count of sexual assault. Chapa got probation for three counts of sexual assault. The judge grouped Chapa’s four counts of compelling prostitution into a pair of three-year sentences, then stacked them for an effective sentence of six years, Both defendants received probation for the Class A misdemeanor of official oppression, eight counts for Chapa, 12 for Galindo. Neither defendant testified during the trial but both took the stand Monday during the punishment phase. Chapa looked at the jurors directly and said that the undercover operation was for real, that Galindo had proposed the scheme and supplied the official-looking but phony documents that backed it up. And, he said, he only reluctantly had sex with some of the women. Of one victim, identified by the alias, Charley Rose, now 26, Chapa said: “I always asked, ‘Are you sure? Are you sure?’ (about having sex), but she pushed for it hard. I'm just sorry all of this happened....I felt stupid and scammed. I felt horrible.” Rose told the Express-News Friday evening after an emotional day of testimony that she wished the officers could get life in prison. “I think it all came down to controlling women and playing us for fools,” said the mother of two. The women testified last week that they were recruited into the confidential “operation” with promises of $1500 and a menu of sexual favors that if performed would earn them “points” and status within the operation. They said the officers showed them badges, carried guns, wore uniforms occasionally and told them they could go to prison if they told anyone about the plan, which they suggested might involve Mexican drug cartel figures. Chapa testified that Galindo assured him the bogus operation had nothing to do with SAPD and was being run by the National Security Agency, a federal spy agency whose primary stated mission is to capture billions of e-mail, text and phone conversations of non-U.S. citizens across the world. He further stated he never saw any authentic documents from any law enforcement agency concerning the operation and lied to his wife about the scheme for fear she would be upset. Toward the end of his testimony Monday, Chapa said he was persuaded to participate by Galindo but that he wasn’t blaming Galindo and that he, Chapa, needed to take responsibility for his own actions. For his part, Galindo, who took the stand at about 11:30 a.m., started weeping even before he started talking. Earlier, his father, who is from Coahuila, testified that when he and his wife adopted Galindo as a baby just three days old, he barely fit in a shoebox. Prosecutor David Lunan adamantly made Chapa, as a defense witness, go through his previous statements to police in minute detail, extracting admissions that he had asked Galindo if they should buy condoms before meeting the women and took various actions to cover his tracks. Wright, the other prosecutor, scoffed at the NSA story, telling the jury the pair had not told investigators about it and cooked it up, when they were beginning to delete text messages and cancel phone contracts. Prosecutors also presented a witness Monday who testified she had sex with Galindo in the summer of 2015, after Galindo claimed to be a film producer and promised her $10,000 to shoot an adult film in which she would play “a stripper role and have sex with the killer.” “I was not comfortable at all with this and I knew in my gut something was not right … but he was very persistent to the point of being intimidating,” the woman said. “And at that time I was in hardship and was going to lose my car, my job and my dog.” [email protected]
As the semiconductor industry has progressed into nanometer technology process nodes in pursuit of higher device density, higher performance, and lower costs, challenges from both fabrication and design issues have resulted in the development of three-dimensional designs, such as fin field-effect transistors (Fin FETs). In a Fin FET, the transistor channel rises above the planar substrate to form a fin structure, with a gate electrode adjacent to two side surfaces and the top surface of a channel region with a gate dielectric layer interposed between them. Multi patterning may be used to pattern Fin FET gate electrodes (e.g., metals) in a process known as multi patterning gate (MPG) loop. The MPG loop is an important process for an advanced technology node, for example, N10 process flow. The MPG loop can damage the gate metal by undesirably reducing the gate height, which can adversely affect the device performance. Solutions are required that can effectively reduce the gate height reduction damage resulting from the MPG loop.
Mahmoud A. Elkhafif, The Egyptian Economy: A Modeling Approach (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1996). Pp. 208. that directly compares Ottoman and European women, embedded in their legal, economic, social, and domestic contexts, from the late medieval period to the 19th century. The dialogues engendered therefrom may help bridge the still extant gap between classical legal studies and gender studies and situate Ottoman women more elegantly in their varied contexts. Then we may begin to see contentious, synthetic monographic studies of Ottoman women (in the period before the 19th century) such as, for example, Martha Howell's study of women in the Low Countries entitled The Marriage Exchange. The availability of sources, of course, varies considerably over time and place, but the thematic questions and overlapping nature of the spheres of law, custom, economics, and gender relations are much the same.
What am I living with? Growing up with HIV in Uganda and Zimbabwe As paediatric HIV treatment has become increasingly available across the world, the global perinatally infected cohort is ageing. However, we know surprisingly little about what it is like to grow up with HIV in resource-stretched settings. We draw on ﬁ ndings from a prospective, qualitative study with HIV-positive children, their carers and healthcare workers from four clinics in Uganda and Zimbabwe to examine children s experiences of living with HIV on treatment. We consider how the HIV experience is made in a symbiotic relationship between children, carers and healthcare workers and shaped by broader discourses. Despite the radical development in prognosis for children, their experience of HIV is largely constructed in relation to a language of sickness through the promotion of medicalised talk and the recounting of past illness stories. This narrow narrative framework both re ﬂ ects and reproduces core dimensions of the lived experience of growing up with HIV, which emphasises an absence of resilient healthiness in the face of ongoing vulnerability and risk. The challenges that children encounter in articulating alternative narratives that prioritise the relative buoyancy of their health is indicative of the broader uncertainty that exists around the future for these children at this point in the epidemic. Introduction Enormous progress has been made in the efficacy of treating children born with HIV. Perinatally infected children can now lead long, productive lives, providing that they have continuous access to anti-retroviral treatment (ART) (,. In high-income settings the almost complete success in reducing mother-to-child transmission means that paediatric HIV has now become an adolescent epidemic, with those already infected surviving into adulthood (UNAIDS 2012). Yet we know surprisingly little about what it is like to grow up with HIV and ART, especially in sub-Saharan Africa where almost all (91%) of the estimated 3.4 million HIV-positive children live (World Health Organization 2013). Despite the impressive clinical progress in improving survival rates and life expectancy, children's lives continue to be characterised by substantial biomedical and social uncertainties (Domek 2006). In our article we draw on the accounts of perinatally infected children aged 11-13 years old, living in Uganda and Zimbabwe, as well as those of their carers and healthcare workers. We examine the children's experiences of living with HIV on ART, where HIV is relatively common and yet these experiences are also silenced, as well as surrounded by uncertainty. We aim to describe how children articulate 'living with' and 'growing up' with HIV and how this is shaped through their relationships with the adults around them. Background The potentially transformative effects of ART on HIV have been well documented (, Castro andFarmer 2005). In both high-income and low-income settings there have been radical changes in the illness narratives of people living with HIV, characterised by narratives of disruption and shattered lives in the time before ART, to narratives of readjustment and restoration post-ART (Davies 1997, Robins 2005. ART is popularly represented globally by a collective narrative of enabling a return to normal life by having turned HIV into a manageable chronic illness Seeley 2010, Wouters 2012). Yet studies also contest the linearity of the post-ART experience, noting that clinical recovery can lead to a mixed array of emotions and social outcomes, as has been shown with other illnesses (). The rhetoric surrounding the global scale-up of ART has been very promising; however this conceals the significant variation in the lived experiences of treatment and its social effects, including between individuals, across settings, and over the course of the illness trajectory (, Wekesa and Coast 2013. Importantly, the relationship between treatment uptake and the decline in the stigma of HIV is not universal (Abrahams and Jewkes 2012,, Maughan-Brown 2010. The need or desire to maintain a pragmatic silence in relation to HIV continues to persist in many settings and this not only threatens the capacity to engage with ART (Bond 2010), but suggests that the process of normalising HIV through ART is socially complex, slow and uneven (, Gilbert andWalker 2009). Understanding children's HIV treatment experiences Two core overlapping concepts that have been influential in understanding individuals' responses to chronic illness, including HIV, are biographical reinforcement, characterised by an individual born with a chronic condition facing life disrupted by 'socially-set standards and cultural prescriptions of normality' (Williams, 2000: 50) and transition, characterised by an active adaptation towards incorporating illness and its treatment into daily life and identity. Children born with HIV, who have started ART at an early age, have no experience of life pre-HIV to use as a reference point or embodied knowledge of normalcy without illness. Rather, these children's remembered normative experiences are more likely to revolve around the illness experience and the taking of HIV treatment. Their experience of biographical reinforcement may be most particularly felt through changing life circumstances brought about, for example, through the death of a parent and having to negotiate new care, home and school environments (). Children's experience of growing up with HIV and ART may, to some extent, be articulated as a form of social rebirth, in keeping with a narrative of transition, for ART may afford novel social opportunities associated with good health and positive interaction with peers. Yet despite ART, children's social lives may be hindered by the irreversible visual markers of HIV, such as scars resulting from skin disease or stunted growth, leaving them noticeably smaller than their peers. Despite the vast numbers of children infected and affected by HIV in sub-Saharan Africa, documenting the effect of the HIV epidemic on children has been neglected (). Firstly, there has been a tendency for studies to focus on the experience of children and young people in high-income and low-prevalence settings (Mellins and Malee 2013). While the findings from research in industrialised settings may have some relevance for children living in sub-Saharan Africa, such as the role of silence in managing perinatal HIV (), the vast clinical, social, material and epidemiological variations between (as well as within) these contexts are likely to shape HIV experiences differently. Secondly, there has been a methodological and ethical preference for research to focus on the adults in children's lives as proxy representations of their experiences. The primary exception to this is the research that has been done with young carers, where the agentic capacity of children has been more readily recognised (Andersen 2012, Evans and Becker 2009, ). This research blind spot in part reflects the history of the availability of global paediatric HIV treatment and the relative novelty of this surviving cohort, as well as the highly sensitive and relational nature of paediatric HIV as an illness, but it also demonstrates a generalised regional and disciplinary trend in which researchers have been slow to embrace the role of children in research. Researching children's narratives of HIV experience The once hegemonic conceptualisation of children as passive, developing and 'unfinished' persons is a relatively outdated idea in the sociological literature (Prout and James 1990). However, its effect on research design in studies with children has been far-reaching, with researchers tending to position children as objects of research rather than participants in the process (Kirk 2007). Theorists increasingly cast children as competent contributors to social life; a social competence achieved through living in the world (Prout 2000). But empirical studies show that this is bounded by specific contexts, the various structural and relational features shaping their lives and their biological vulnerabilities as well as the extent of their experience (Berman 2000, Hutchby andMoran-Ellis 1998). Given this relational complexity, we explore children's lived experience of growing up with HIV through the narratives that they and the adults around them tell about their lives and the role of HIV within them. Cognisant of the debate around the privileging of narrative methods in illness contexts (Thomas 2013), we do not consider these narratives to be transparent, hyper-authentic representations of experience. Rather, analysing these narratives becomes an opportunity to illuminate how experience is represented through a process in which power is contested and negotiated (). Our consideration of narratives involves examining the broader context in which stories are told, attentive to the socially constructed and performative nature of how illness experience is represented in interview accounts. This is revealing about wider social and economic conditions, as well as more localised processes, values and norms that frame which narratives come to dominate and shape the accepted representations of illness experience (Mishler 2005). Furthermore, narratives can be a means to understand the evolution of an illness and the fluid evaluation of an individual's past and future in light of changing circumstances (Ochs and Capps 1996). The consideration of these concerns has important theoretical implications for how we recognise and understand narrative resistance and subsequently the evolution of illness narratives. Children's narratives may be subsumed or shaped by those of adults (Bluebond-Langner 1978), who themselves are informed by and interpret the language and narratives about HIV that circulate within their broader community. But whether alternative accounts are recognised as resistant narratives may rely on the capacity to be heard, which relies in part on their access to language in order to hold a recognised perspective, as well as the willingness of the audience to listen (Pols 2005). This feeds into our understanding of the evolution of narratives as illnesses and societies change and the pace at which these revised versions are accepted as being legitimate, making it increasingly difficult to separate out the individual from the collective experience, as neither exist in a vacuum but are inextricably connected. Given the link between collective and individual experience and power, our purpose is to consider how the narratives of children, which may be significantly shaped by the stories available to them, and their experience of growing up with HIV affect their capacity to represent alternative experiences. Specifically, we examine how perceptions of children's wellbeing, health and illness engage with and manage the dialectic of hope and uncertainty inherent in paediatric HIV at this point in the epidemic. Study design We draw on findings from a prospective, qualitative study conducted with children aged 11-13 years old perinatally infected with HIV across three sites in Uganda and one in Zimbabwe. We conducted 104 baseline in-depth interviews and then followed up 60 of these children for 16 months through two further in-depth interviews (15 per site) and in the Zimbabwe site 12 out of 15 of these children also kept an audio diary. Twenty of the children from the baseline sample participated in three focus groups (FGDs) in Uganda and Zimbabwe at the end of the data collection period. Our approach is influenced by the theoretical framework of bounded agency, which focuses on the influence of structure, while allowing space for individual agency, in constructing an individual's experiences (Evans and Becker 2007). Specifically, our study includes separate interviews with 40 adult carers (10 per site) and 20 healthcare workers in the clinic (5 per site) because we are interested in the relational influences in children's lives that contribute to framing and shaping their experiences. This inclusion gives a fuller picture of the children's experiences by recognising how children's personhood and agency are shaped by intergenerational relationships (Evans and Becker 2009). All the children were participating in the Anti-Retroviral Research for Watoto clinical trial (ARROW), from 2007 to 2012. It was conducted with 1200 children aged 6 months to 14 years. Participants began HIV treatment at enrolment and the trial assessed two different management strategies for giving first line anti-HIV drugs (ARROW Trial ). While the trial interventions were not a focus of the qualitative study's investigation the trial acted as a recruitment pool for the qualitative study sample. We focused on children aged 11-13 years both because they have been especially neglected in research and to explore the interim period post-disclosure, which in both Uganda and Zimbabwe is encouraged from the age of 8, and prior to them becoming a focus for HIV prevention and sexual health initiatives. Sampling Of the 104 children involved at baseline there were 58 girls and all participants were distributed across the age-range. To be included they had to have been aware of their HIV diagnosis for at least 6 months. The baseline sample from each site represented a significant proportion of those eligible for inclusion. We then followed a reduced sample of 15 from each site for two further interviews (n = 60). We adopted a theoretical sampling strategy informed by the findings of the baseline, having identified orphanhood status and knowledge of perinatal transmission as important characteristics shaping their experiences. In the follow-up sample there were 25 boys and 35 girls, reflecting the trial sample among this age group. They were evenly spread across the age range, with 19 participants aged 11, 21 aged 12 and 20 aged 13 years. Of this sample of 60 children, 22 were double orphans, 32 had lost either their father or their mother and only six had both parents alive. Fifteen of the children in the sample did not know about perinatal transmission. The 20 healthcare workers who were invited to participate were selected because they all had high levels of contact with the children in the clinics. They included doctors, nurses, counsellors and pharmacists. Of the 40 carers who were interviewed, 23 were parents of the children, 15 were other biological relatives and two were nonbiologically related carers. Seventeen of these carers were themselves HIV-positive, with five others reporting that they were HIV negative and the status of the remaining 18 was unknown. Data collection and analysis Most of the interviews took place in private rooms at the clinics and involved just the participant and the local interviewer. The interviews were semi-structured, shaped by the relevant topic guide, and were tailored to the individual. Being encouraged to talk about HIV and asked for their opinion by an adult were relatively novel experiences for most of the children. However, our task-based approach alongside the repeat interview design, in which children met with the same interviewer each time, enabled rapport to develop and children reported growing in confidence to talk as the study progressed. Ethical approval was provided by all the appropriate committees in Uganda and Zimbabwe, as well as the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine. All data were collected with the participants' written informed consent. For the children's interviews this involved the informed consent of their carer (parent or guardian) and the assent of the child. Interviews lasted between 30-120 minutes and were primarily participant-led. Participants received a transport refund and refreshments for each interview, and those participating in the FGD also received a t-shirt. All interviews and FDG were tape recorded and conducted in the language of the participant's choice (Luganda, Shona or English). Data were transcribed verbatim, translated for equivalent meaning and checked by the interviewer. We approached translation as both a technical and discursive process and discussions were held within the team during both the initial translation process and through the analysis to ensure that the complexity of concepts was conveyed. Data collection and analysis were conducted iteratively, informing each subsequent phase of data collection. We used a combined thematic and narrative analytical approach. Initially, we compiled case summaries, amalgamating interview and field-note data for each participant. Carer interview data were included in the summaries for the related child, with particular attention being paid, through the drafting of extensive analytical memos, to relationship dynamics and points of congruence and diversion between the adults and children's accounts. We managed the thematic coding of the full dataset into primary and detailed subthemes using NVivo 8. Our narrative approach involved paying attention to whether particular stories were repeated across the interview transcripts. We considered whether there was a narrative similarity across the accounts, in terms of there being common ideas and patterns in how, for example, the children described their experiences and whether this differed from those of the adults. This enabled us to identify both the personal narratives, which were the stories that participants gave to describe their own experiences, and the broader, cultural narratives about HIV, which they were responding to in their accounts to contextualise their own experiences and structure how they made sense of HIV in their everyday lives. Through this approach we identified a dominant narrative about children growing up with HIV that appeared to encapsulate the current common representation of the illness experience, and an alternative narrative, in which children themselves engaged with and contested this dominant narrative. All names used are fictitious. Findings Constructing HIV through a language of sickness We found that children's experience of HIV is largely constructed in relation to a language of sickness. Although all the children involved in the study were themselves on ART and most were relatively healthy, almost without exception they associated HIV with illness and weakness. The children described people living with HIV as being visibly ill and depicting them as 'thin and small', sometimes physically short, with 'scars and wounds all over their bodies', as someone who 'doesn't want to eat' and has 'thinning hair'. It was only with prompting that they mentioned people on HIV treatment. The children's accounts were littered with horror stories about the physical appearance of other people living with HIV, 'even your hair becomes brownish and it drops out when you comb it like a cancer patient' (FGD). This was not just a question of being identified as HIV positive through signs of poor health but also a consequence of ideas about HIV positivity that ignored the relatively stable health that someone on ART might enjoy. Let me be normal Despite this characterisation many children did not consider themselves to be sick, describing themselves instead as being strong and appearing healthy. This created a tension. Given the dominant imaging of people living with HIV, they struggled to recognise themselves within this picture of 'sickness', as Anita (aged 12) describes: 'Ha! I wasn't worried about an illness that maybe I have HIV I wasn't worried and I never counted myself among those that have it!' However, in spite of the disassociation children made between their own state of health and those of other 'sick' people living with HIV, many carers continued to emphasise their child's vulnerability and propensity to sickness. Many children were singled out by their carers as being weaker than the other children in the household because they 'are sick' and required 'special care'. Job's grandmother, for example, insists that he carries a smaller amount of water than other children because of the fear that 'his body may weaken a bit'. However, Job (13 years old) does not consider himself weaker than the others and asks to be allowed to do the same as the other children, saying: 'I think I am fine'. The challenges that Job has in resisting the restrictive parameters his grandmother imposes, regardless of his opinion, is indicative of the struggle that children encounter in trying to shape and define their own experience of living with HIV. So, while at an individual level the children, like Job, might perceive themselves to be 'healthy', in this social context at the level of the household and broader community they are defined through an association with sickness that inextricably accompanies their HIV status. All the children, in describing the impact of HIV on their own appearance, emphasised that a valuable effect of ART lay in its capacity to render HIV virtually invisible, whereas prior to ART it had been obvious on their bodies and many children had been teased and ostracised as a result. The children invested heavily in concealing and disguising their HIV status in order to be indistinguishable from their peers and considered normal. The value of ART was in the opportunity that it gave to maintain this impression of normalcy, rather than in enabling someone to become healthy. This appearance of normalcy was precarious and constantly vulnerable to disruption, not only by the telltale physical indicators of previous illnesses but the activities accompanying continuous adherence to treatment, such as having to leave school every day at a certain time to take their pills and the special treatment they received from adults. If the children could successfully negotiate these risks and continue to maintain an appearance of normalcy some sense of well-being was achieved. However, this was firmly located in a denial of illness rather than an attainment of health. Boundaries of HIV talk Despite the difference in priorities noted between some adults and children, there was a general consensus that children's HIV should be managed in relative silence. Once the diagnosis had been disclosed, HIV was rarely talked about in the household and the children were discouraged from discussing it with anyone else. We identified two exceptions to this pattern of silence: medicalised talk and past illness stories. Medicalised talk Post-disclosure, even outside the clinic, HIV was communicated almost exclusively through discussions about the symptoms of illness and HIV medicines, such as adherence reminders about treatment and clinic appointments. Mary (12 years old) describes how her aunt consistently reminded her of the precariousness of her health: 'If you do not take drugs you fall sick and die'. There was little to no discussion of the ways in which HIV influenced and shaped their social lives and the role that HIV may play in the future. For example, although many children had been disclosed to by their primary carer, the experience of Samuella (11 years old), who said that she had 'not spoken about it with Daddy since then', was very common. On the rare occasion when the children did break the silence to initiate discussion about HIV, for example to ask how long they had to take drugs or their futures, often their questions went unanswered or were dismissed as being unnecessary and the children were discouraged from 'thinking too much'. Charity (13 years old) would take herself away from everyone when she thought about HIV and explained that 'each time I recover from having deep thoughts I pretend to have forgotten about it and I will join others and laugh with them'. Martha (12 years old) used to ask many questions about HIV, such as 'Why am I like this? Why am I HIV positive?' She, like many other children, was strongly discouraged from voicing her questions and anxieties about growing up with HIV. Martha's cousin explained how 'no one brings up such conversations' and surmises that 'she now doesn't think a lot about it because no one tells her such things any more'. Past illness stories We identified one other exceptional circumstance in which HIV was talked about. This was the selective rehearsal of past illness narratives in which children and their carers recounted the child's particular illness story prior to treatment initiation. Charity (13 years old), in common with many of the children, describes her past illness in vivid, embodied terms: When we went for the second time I could not breathe properly and I told my mother that I was failing to breathe... She called the nurses and I was put on oxygen. Then I started to breathe well. So each time I think of it I will say 'I could have been dead by now and there would be no one by the name Charity'. Whether experiences were reported or remembered, they formed a pivotal feature of the children's memory of the past and were central in defining their present experiences. The narrative pattern in both children and carers' accounts follows a dominant structure in which talk about their experience of living with HIV is divided into 'then' (ill, weak, hospitalised, small) and 'now' (on ART, stronger, healthier, looking normal). Isaiah's aunt recalls his situation prior to starting ART and how he reflects on the difference between then and now: The thing was, he was continuously sick, in bed and there was a time he was unconscious and they told people he had passed away. In fact, when you ask Isaiah, he still remembers that incident and at times he tells me that, 'Mum, one time my granny told people I was dead because she thought I was about to die but can you imagine that I am alive!' If you asked him about that time he can tell it to you because by the time I picked him from that place his brain was working fine and he could understand what was going on. It is striking that these stories can be told in some detail by the children and the carers even though they generally occurred at least 3 years beforehand, prior to starting in the ARROW trial. However, when asked how they were disclosed to, which is likely to have been more recently, the children commonly say that they cannot remember. This suggests that these illness stories are more likely to have been retold and reinforced in their memory. Silencing talk of non-adherence and the future In considering why the retelling of illness stories, between the carer and the child, is legitimate and encouraged it becomes clear that they are used to motivate continued adherence. The threat that 'you'll be sick again, like you were before' is used to scare the children into maintaining adherence. There were many reasons why maintaining adherence was challenging, including managing the side effects, which were exacerbated by household food insecurity; protecting against disclosure by being identified as taking treatment; feeling tired or overwhelmed by the relentless, daily doses; or forgetting. Children expressed their frustration at the lack of sympathy that they received when struggling to take treatment every day and how they felt that adults commonly dismissed the broader psycho-social reasons that underpinned instances of non-adherence. As Jacob (11 years old) says: 'When they hear they call you stupid and think that you are lying to them... because for them they don't take it'. Children described times when they had felt like not taking treatment any more or stopping; although they said that they rarely acted on it. When asked why or how they had managed to resist these inclinations they responded by using their illness stories to illustrate how bad it had been when they had not taken their drugs. As Charity (13 years old) explains, 'I take my pills every day and I don't skip them because when I was sick each time I think of it I feel like crying'. The sense of fear surrounding the ongoing risk and the imperative of avoiding the past is also voiced by some of the healthcare workers when counselling a child once an adherence problem is identified: You try to remind them how they were when they came to ARROW. Then they will say 'I was not going to school', 'I was not able to do this and that' and you will ask them if they want to go back to the same situation. These forms of HIV talk may inadvertently dismiss or fail to engage with the social challenges children face in sustaining their adherence. Furthermore, the children reported that if they did miss treatment they were unlikely to tell anyone about it because, 'I'll be scolded or beaten'. They had learnt to edit out the features of their experience that are not well-received and do not fit within the dominant representation of their experience. In turn, the silence that exists around non-adherence further feeds and shapes the dominant script around growing up with HIV on ART. Although these narratives appear to play a valuable role in making sense of the past and present, the future is rarely mentioned. Children are told 'not to think about it'. When the future is discussed, though, it is in uncertain, anxious terms. While carers hoped that their children would grow up to lead 'normal lives', a number of them expressed concern about the exceptional 'burden' that these children carry in growing up with HIV in relation to risk and limited opportunity, especially about their future sexual and reproductive lives. Jovia's brother compares his life, growing up HIV negative, and his sister's: I started enjoying myself a long time ago and if they discovered HIV now and I start drugs, at least I will have moved and have done what I have done. But the child will never enjoy herself... So you will find that all her life that she will be in danger; you have removed that act from her and even if she becomes an adult, she will go for it fearfully... She has not any hope. These rare spaces for selective discussion about HIV, medicalised talk, illness narratives and the interviews themselves, all converge to form a script around the experience of perinatal HIV, which emphasises that their current position is threatened by an absence of resilient health. The relevance of these memories as a way of 'knowing' about HIV may be particularly important when their knowledge of HIV and the management of HIV in other forms are limited. Children's protest talk: 'but I am not sick' While the children's interpretation of their illness experiences does appear to be heavily influenced by the talk both around and readily available to them, there are instances in which they contest this characterisation of their health. Crucially, both the medicalised talk and past illness stories described above are led by adults and are legitimised as acceptable forms of discussion about the child's HIV. However there is one additional, but rare, form of talk adopted by the children alone, which we characterise as protest talk. Although the language used by the children appears to percolate into how children articulate their conditions, in describing themselves as sick, there are times when children are quick to follow this statement by emphasising, 'but I feel fine'; 'but I am strong'. These limited, but common, expressions allude to the complexity of their lived experience in being at once described as sick but feeling well. For example, having spoken about the visible indicators of illness displayed by people living with HIV, Rose (13 years old) describes her own appearance quite differently: 'I'm well, nice looking and beautiful. I have no scars, I'm not sick'. Unlike the more negative tone of the carers, when discussing her future aspirations, she explains how she thinks about the future: 'I told myself, on the earth there is no one who will never die, even that one who is not sick dies, and yet you who have HIV you remain alive'. Similarly, Grace (13 years old) asserts her sense of health, explaining that she does not perceive that HIV limits her opportunities or capacity: 'I am just a happy person because there is nothing that I cannot do; I can do all the chores. I can do everything... I am healthy and look strong'. Rudo (12 years old) encourages other HIV-positive children to avoid being presumed to be sick by trying to participate in everything: It's better for people to be taken by surprise to say 'Ah, this child may be thin and we were thinking that she is sick but she is very hardworking'. But on your own you will know that you are on pills and the pills are making you strong and have the energy. While such positive talk, which protested against the normative characterisation of their experience, was present in children's accounts it was in subtle forms and only occasionally articulated. Most commonly it was silenced within everyday talk. For example, Job (13 years old) had not told his grandmother that he felt able to carry the same amount water as the other children his age. Where it is articulated, though, this may indicate the embryonic forming of resistance narratives, in that they contest the normative characterisation. This narrative does not deny the challenges inherent in living with HIV but instead aims to prioritise the opportunities for health and well-being brought by living well on ART. Discussion We have noted that the lived experiences of children have been constructed through the symbiotic relationships between children, their carers and healthcare workers and the broader discourses through which these individuals are influenced. This relational complexity shapes how children consider and articulate what it is like to grow up with HIV. However, the capacity these three groups have to shape their accounts is not equal but, rather, filtered through a prism that reflects the distribution and negotiation of power between the parties involved (Mazanderani, Locock, and Powell 2013). This can be seen by how talk outside the medical frame is inadvertently shut down, with children discouraged from talking or even thinking about HIV in their everyday lives. This serves to frame the experience of HIV as singularly biomedically felt and embodied, often ignoring the social effects (Waitzkin 1991). Such edited talk, with silence indicative of disquiet about the social implications, suggests that 'living with' and 'growing up with' HIV continues to be imbued with social uncertainty. This limits children's autonomy to articulate their experience along alternative lines as their sense-making is narrowed by the narrative grids available to them to frame their experiences (Wilkinson 1988). However, this is contested to some degree through the presence of protest talk as well as silences, but recognising its subtle manifestations depends on our capacity to notice such talk (Hendry and Watson 2001). Notably, this emerging alternative narrative appears to have little influence on how adults recount children's experiences. Instead the adults' emphasis on these children's ongoing vulnerability to sickness reinforces their biographical status as different from other children. This illustrates the inherent challenges that children face in achieving a sense of normalcy when growing up with HIV, despite the apparent invisibility of HIV when it is successfully controlled by treatment; and is indicative of the limited nature of their transition from illness to health. Our analysis illuminates the effect of bounded agency on children's articulation and experience of living with HIV, as it is through the exploration of this relational complexity that we can observe the influences which shape their narratives. Silence and illness stories as disciplinary The HIV experience script that is created does not just reflect how adults may narrow the articulations of children directly, but illustrates how children also engage with and interpret the narrative frameworks that define what constitutes acceptable talk. Children learn to edit adherence slippages and problems out of their reported treatment experience. Taking a Foucauldian perspective, this form of silencing not only highlights the importance of examining how power is operationalised through who is, and who is not, allowed to speak, but also in considering which subjects are silenced. Children may see that silence on the subject of non-adherence is a tool for their social and cultural survival (). This silence, if ignored or not heard, appears to strategically accommodate and reproduce the dominant narrative, which neglects the prominence that social concerns may play in conditioning the experience of growing up with HIV. This, in turn, limits the opportunities that there may be to diverge from the accepted script and articulate alternative narratives, The illness narratives told by carers and children form a central organising thread in the representations of the children's experience. The accepted structure of this narrative, told through multiple discourses, pivots around HIV pre-ART and the rejuvenating effects of the successful initiation of treatment. The hopes generated by ART are illustrated and consolidated by the telling of these past illness stories. This may also function, in part, as a moralising discourse to engender ongoing discipline and commitment to adherence, as well as, by extension, to become a stratagem of blame for non-adherence. Furthermore, in discrediting talk of non-adherence, this dominant narrative may also serve to resist the unwelcome and disquieting narrative that articulates how, despite the opportunities brought about by ART availability, its long-term efficacy may be disrupted by the social challenges that accompany long-term adherence to ART. Together, these patterns of talk act in the service of a medicalised HIV identity, which silences alternatives and, in ignoring these social challenges, neglects these children's desires to focus on appearing normal as a means to achieving a sense of well-being. Challenges to realising normalcy We have shown how illness narratives and medicalised talk firmly assert the language of sickness within the characterisation of these children's experiences. This undermines a quest for ordinariness (Kralik 2002), in which the opportunity to diminish the centrality of their HIV diagnosis in their lives is made more difficult by the prominence given to illness events in shaping their present narratives. Although ART renders the illness virtually invisible, talk around treatment appears to reinforce the presence rather than alleviation of this 'sickness' (Hunleth 2013, Williams 2000 and, as such, who/what risk becoming fixed as commensurable and inextricable (). Ironically, perpetuating HIV's association with the discrediting attributes of sickness exacerbates the social challenges people encounter in maintaining exemplary long-term adherence and benefitting from the clinical opportunities afforded by ART. The focus on the certainty of the past and the absence of a script to articulate the everyday realities of long-term HIV treatment in the present may indicate the doubt that circulates about the future for these children as they grow up with HIV. Therefore, the linguistic tension in their protest talk and the challenges that children encounter in articulating the relative buoyancy of their health may be indicative of the broader struggle to negotiate what the present and future looks like and means for individuals growing up with HIV, their households and the healthcare sector. Setting which are characterised by burgeoning but precarious access to ART, high levels of orphaning and the stretched resources that are available to meet the potentially complex needs of these children. However, that there is protest talk at all suggests the presence of some embryonic resistance to this dominant narrative, which attempts to contest the equivalence attributed to being HIV positive on ART and being considered 'sick'. Through this, some children describe how living with HIV under these conditions involves living in a liminal state in which apparent binaries, such as health and sickness, strength and weakness and invisibility and spoilt identity, exist in an everyday tension. The presence of protest talk and the opportunities afforded by ART, if access is secure and households are given adequate adherence support, suggests that children would benefit from a shift in focus towards looking at how to foster and maintain resilience (,. Emphasising the possibilities that are available to those growing up with HIV on ART, rather than the more singular focus on them as 'at risk' to themselves and others (, Mellins andMalee, 2013), may alter the current vocabulary used to describe this population and contribute to accelerating the development of alternative narratives that reflect children's experiences of growing up with HIV. Address for correspondence: Sarah Bernays, Public Health and Policy, London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine, 15-17 Tavistock Place, London WC1H 9SH, UK. e-mail: [email protected]
Epithelial cell adhesion molecule and epithelial-mesenchymal transition are associated with vasculogenic mimicry, poor prognosis, and metastasis of triple negative breast cancer. Triple-negative breast cancer (TNBC) is associated with epithelial-mesenchymal transition (EMT) and the phenotype of breast cancer stem cells (CSCs). Vasculogenic mimicry (VM) is a novel pattern of tumor blood supply and associated with aggression and metastasis of TNBC. Previous studies have shown that both CSCs and EMT are associated with VM, although the underlying mechanism is yet unclear. The present study aimed to analyze the immunohistochemical (IHC) expression of CSC marker, epithelial cell adhesion molecule (EpCAM), EMT-related markers, including transcription factors (TFs) (Slug, Twist1, and ZEB1), and EMT markers (E-cadherin and vimentin) in 137 TNBC. The expression of these markers was correlated to the clinicopathological features and VM channels of the tumors, including patient overall survival (OS) and disease-free survival (DFS). Furthermore, the expression of EpCAM and EMT-related markers showed a positive correlation with distant metastasis and lymph node metastasis (P < 0.05). A significant association was noted between VM and histological grade (P = 0.007). Moreover, VM showed a significant positive correlation with EpCAM, EMT-associated TFs, and VE-cadherin expression in TNBC. Furthermore, binary logistic analysis showed that VM expression was significantly correlated with lymph node metastasis and distant metastasis (P < 0.05). In survival analysis, the overexpression of EpCAM and ZEB1 predicted a poor prognosis with respect to OS and DFS. In addition, the presence of VM was significantly associated with poor OS and DFS. Multivariate Cox regression analysis revealed that VM expression is an independent prognostic factor for TNBC patients. In summary, VM was confirmed as a potential biomarker for TNBC associated with poor clinical outcomes and tumor metastasis. This study also suggested that EpCAM protein might be involved in VM formation by EMT in TNBC.
. The effect of the calcium channel blockers cinnarizine (20 mg/kg) and flunarizine (10 mg/kg) on hexobarbital sleeping time in rats has been studied. We have found that cinnarizine when applied intraperitoneally once 1 h or 4 h before hexobarbital and repeatedly for 5 days once daily prolongs sleeping time significantly. When cinnarizine has been introduced simultaneously with phenobarbital (60 mg/kg) for 5 days once daily the sleeping time that was expected to be shortened by phenobarbital only has been obtained to return to control values. Flunarizine has not been found to affect sleeping time significantly either alone or in the presence of phenobarbital. Latencies have not been altered by any of both agents.
Last year, more than 110 Mecklenburg youths spent time in solitary, confined to 70-square-foot concrete cells at Jail North, off Statesville Road. There, they spent 23 hours alone in their cells each day, with no access to phones, library books or visitors. Many of those teens spend months in the jail awaiting trial, the Observer found. Some are never convicted. Unless the Mecklenburg County jail takes immediate steps to eliminate this practice … it will continue to cause permanent damage to youth, setting them up to be life-long recidivists while wasting taxpayer funds. N.C. ACLU report to Mecklenburg Sheriff Irwin Carmichael. The county sheriff’s office refused to comment on the ACLU’s report. But jail officials previously told the Observer they need to separate troublemakers from the general population. “Inmates who engage in unlawful or inappropriate behavior must be managed and in some cases, removed from the general population for the protection of themselves, other inmates and my staff,” Carmichael wrote in a statement to the Observer earlier this year. North Carolina law mandates that many youthful offenders will be punished as adults. That’s because it is one of just two states that automatically prosecutes 16- and 17-year-olds as adults. New York is the other. A new N.C. bill would change that. Under that bill, introduced Wednesday by Rep. Chuck McGrady, a Henderson County Republican, 16- and 17-year-olds who commit certain crimes would be tried as juveniles – not as adults. But human rights activists have made progress in their nationwide push to end solitary for youths. President Barack Obama last year banned solitary confinement for youths in federal custody, saying the practice often has “devastating, lasting psychological consequences.” Five months later, North Carolina officials announced a similar ban for youths in the state prison system. Studies have shown that solitary confinement can cause or worsen mental illness. Experts say the social and sensory deprivation of solitary can be even harder on youths, who aren’t as equipped to handle the stress. ▪ The county jail is clearly holding youths in solitary confinement – despite claims to the contrary by sheriff’s officials. The ACLU noted that teenagers as young as 16 are deprived of family visits, with no access to the services needed for their development and rehabilitation. ▪ Teens are placed in isolation not only for violent acts, but for offenses as minor as using profanity or talking loudly. More than 85 offenses – including kicking on a cell door, lying to staff and failing to keep a prison pod sanitary – can land a young inmate in solitary, the ACLU says. ▪ The system lacks safeguards to ensure that the most vulnerable youths are not placed in solitary – and that the practice is used only as a last resort. The ACLU said it saw no records to suggest that jail officials provide mental health screening to juveniles before sending them to solitary. Sheriff’s officials have disputed that the youths held in their cells for 23 hours a day are in solitary confinement. At the Disciplinary Detention Unit, the most restrictive housing unit for young inmates, officers have frequent interaction with each prisoner, they say. In his statement earlier this year, Carmichael also said that juveniles placed in the DDU have an opportunity to appeal their punishment to an administrative hearing officer and to an administrative sergeant at the jail. Mecklenburg Commissioner Pat Cotham, who visited the DDU in December, said the ACLU’s findings validated what she observed. She said she worries that such punishment will leave many young people with long-lasting scars. On average, each youth confined last year to the DDU spent a total of about three weeks there, county data shows. Some were in for less than a day. Eleven were in for more than two months. The ACLU recommended numerous changes to better protect juveniles. Among other things, it urged jail officials to stop putting youths in solitary for more than four hours, and to ensure that they have access to visits, phone calls and services even when they are in lock-up. The group also recommended that the sheriff’s office train jail staff to use alternative disciplinary methods – and that it revise policies to ensure that teens aren’t placed in solitary until less-restrictive options have been exhausted. “Unless the Mecklenburg County jail takes immediate steps to eliminate this practice … it will continue to cause permanent damage to youth, setting them up to be life-long recidivists while wasting taxpayer funds, in addition to exposing the jail to potential legal liability,” reads the report from ACLU legal director Chris Brook and staff attorney Irena Como. Many states have found ways to eliminate or reduce solitary for teens. They’ve provided more activities in jail to keep youths out of trouble. They’ve created incentives for good behavior and less harmful punishments for rule breakers. And they’ve increased staff and improved training so that detention officers are better equipped to de-escalate potentially dangerous situations. The head of the North Carolina NAACP said in December that his organization will conduct a statewide investigation into the use of solitary confinement for juveniles – and will push for an end to the practice. Last year, about 89 percent of the youths who did time in the most restrictive solitary unit were African-American, county sheriff’s data shows. About 73 percent of all the youths booked in the jail last year were African-American. At the isolation units inside Jail North, 16 youths were put on suicide watch or suicide precautions last year, according to the sheriff’s office. Those teens were in the DDU and the Administrative Detention Unit, another segregation pod where inmates are allowed to use the telephone and watch television when they are out of their cells. Karen Simon retired from her position as director of inmate programs for the county jails last year, after eight years on the job. She said that some of the youths she saw in solitary seemed wired and aggressive, constantly shouting and kicking their cell doors. Others, she said, were so depressed that they spent all day under their blankets. “I saw them bundled up in a fetal position, crying oftentimes,” she said.
. The endoscopic examination of a patient with gastrointestinal bleeding unexpectedly revealed a cholecysto-antral fistula with incipient penetration of a gallstone into the stomach (and presumably intermittent bleeding from the fistula rim). As endoscopic extraction was not possible and the stone impacted in the fistula was visible in the ultrasound scan extracorporeal shock-wave lithotripsy was carried out. An electrohydraulic lithotripter was used and 1,913 shock waves were applied at a maximum of 26,000 volts. In a single treatment session the stone was disintegrated completely into fragments small enough for spontaneous elimination. No sedative or analgesic medication was required. There was no evidence of any complications or side-effects following the ESWL.
MSMEs Business Process Evaluation using Business Process Management Lifecycle Approach in Gresik Micro, Small and Medium Enterprises (MSMEs) is one of the fields of business that sustains the national economy by contributing to an increase of GDP and employment. BPS revealed that MSMEs contribute 75% of national income and 97% local employment. They also contributed 57% of gross domestic product in the province of East Java. Despite their contribution in nation's economy, MSMEs have not supported by Information Technology (IT). An understanding of the business processes of an organization becomes more important than directly implementing IT without knowing how it impacts the business processes. For this reason, the analysis process needs to be carried out first to find out the pain points or crucial points of the MSME business process that require completion. An understanding of business processes where pain points are located makes it easier to improve the business processes of MSMEs. This study aims to produce a system that can improve business quality processes from MSMEs which also add value to business processes. In addition, by knowing their pain points, it can help improve business processes to improve the quality of products and services offered. The solution provided is to use QC seven tools to focus on how a process can be managed and controlled in achieving the desired quality. These tools are easy to use and implement which are suitable for MSMEs that do not yet have complex business processes. All in all, these tools can accommodate the needs of MSMEs to find out their pain points so that it helps improve business processes to improve the quality of products and services offered. KeywordsMSMEs, QC Seven Tools, Pain Points. INTRODUCTION Micro, Small and Medium Enterprises (MSMEs) is one of the fields of business that sustains the national economy by contributing to an increase in GDP and employment absorption. This is supported by the fact that MSMEs contribute 75% of national income and 97% of local employment. Data from BPS reveals that MSMEs contribute 57% of gross domestic product in the province of East Java. In addition, this is supported by conditions where the number of MSMEs also continues to increase by 9.8% per year. Gresik, one of the districts with a strong and large industrial base, also relies on SMEs totalling 188,534 in 2015. MSMEs definitively have the characteristics and characteristics stipulated in Law no. 8 of 2008, starting from assets under 50 million to turnover reaching 50 billion. With its small but agile characteristics, MSMEs can become the foundation for microeconomic growth. Under these conditions, MSMEs excel in structural and operational processes that are more dynamic in terms of their resources. However, MSMEs with all their characteristics and advantages cannot be separated from deficiencies. Besides lacking in financial or capital terms to develop their business, MSMEs also have operational problems. According to, the majority of MSMEs still run their business with a manual system, such as recording sales of manuals, counting transactions, up to storage and distribution operations. MSMEs also have difficulty with operational recording matters due to the existence of overly complex and excessive accounting financial accounting rules. The absence of information technology-based systems that help their operational processes due to limited financial capabilities. This operational problem is also corroborated by the results of research on MSMEs that one of the factors for productivity development of MSMEs is the operational side after the human resource factor is the main factor. In term of increasing productivity, MSMEs often see the completion of operational problems as increasing the efficiency of their business processes. Increasing the efficiency of business processes is usually done by implementing systems or tools to help their business processes. In fact, systems or tools such as IT applications, websites, and other system solutions are just tools to help improve business process efficiency. An understanding of the business processes of an organization becomes more important than directly implementing the system without knowing how it impacts the business processes. For this reason, the analysis process needs to be carried out first to find out the pain points or crucial points of the MSME business process that require completion. An understanding of business processes where pain points are located makes it easier to improve the business processes of MSMEs. Hence, in this study discusses the analysis and improvement of business processes actually have been carried out a lot to get a better process. One analysis process that can be carried out is to use QC seven tools to improve quality. QC seven tools focus on how a process can be managed and controlled so that it can achieve the desired quality. These tools are easy to use and implement which are suitable for MSMEs that do not yet have complex business processes. The hope, these tools can accommodate the needs of MSMEs to find out their pain points so that it helps improve business processes to improve the quality of products and services offered. Then this goal results in the management of MSME business processes in Gresik and Analyzing the 'pain points' or pain points of MSMEs related to managing their business processes to be evaluated for future process improvement. BPM Lifecycle The BPM or business management process that is in accordance with what was announced by Dumas & La Rosa is the art and science of work or activities in an organization to ensure the results are done by using continuous improvement. BPM (BPM Lifecycle) which starts from Process Identification, Process Discovery, Analysis, Redesign, Implementation to Monitoring and Process Control (See Figure 1). Figure 1 BPM Lifecycle In this study, not all stages in the above BPM Lifecycle were applied, because the focus was on the analysis and evaluation of the process. These stages are: Process Identification, Process Discovery, and Process Analysis which are described as follows. Process Identification Proposing a business problem, the processes that are relevant to the problem are identified, limited and linked to one another Discovery Process Documenting the current process conditions into the process model (as-is model) Process Analysis Identify and document problems related to as-is processes by using several techniques such as Quality Control Tools (See the Quality Control Tools section). Then measure the performance of the process by taking data related to the process. The next step is to prioritize the problem and calculate the effort or opportunity for improvement that can be done. Quality Control Tools (QC Tools) Quality Control tools (QC Tools) are techniques and templates that can be used in analyzing a process. In general, there are 7 QC tools most commonly used, namely: -Pareto diagram -Cause and Effect Diagrams -histogram -Control Charts -Scatter Diagrams -Graphs -Check sheets Advances in Economics, Business and Management Research, volume 144 The implementation of each QC tool can be adjusted to the needs of the organization. METHODS The research method explains the steps of conducting research to achieve the objectives of the study by adopting the first 3 stages of the BPM Lifecycle: Process Identification, Process Discovery, and Process Analysis. The sequence of steps to carry out is explained in the following Figure 2. For instance, The Songkok Awing case study uses 5 aspects namely Human, Method, Environment, Machine, and material aspects in resolving late delivery of goods. It is known that in the Human aspect, the solution offered requires an increase in workforce training so there is no pattern error in the business process Environmental Aspect needs to be done Alternative selection of roads to minimize congestion due to skullcap delivery. In the aspects of the Method and the Machine, it is necessary to make an alternative engine so that it is not often damaged. In the material aspect, it is necessary to make criteria for selecting material suppliers to minimize the level of damage. In addition, Pareto and Check sheets are two other tools that are used by the MSMEs. Check sheets give log record of any variances or mistakes in the process. The log will eventually analysed which process are having problems Figure 5 Example of Pareto Diagram Used Issues are also identified not only by number of occurs pareto depicts, but also by the time it occurs. Table 1 below depicted example use of check sheet to determine issues and the time it occurs. On the other hand, there is MSME used Root Cause Analysis in analyzing their problem. This root cause analysis are based on 5 why's to determine the main cause of an issue. Figure 6 Root Cause Analysis Advances in Economics, Business and Management Research, volume 144 I II 3 Amount of unserved online order I III I 5 Amount of broken products I I II 4 Total 2 3 3 4 0 1 3 16 Therefore, once the analysis are done by the MSMEs, the insights from each are collected and analysed to gain probkems they have. Insights are then listed and concluded. These insights for each MSMEs are defined as their pain points (see Table 2) which need improvements. DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSION From the results of the above, a survey, process modeling, process analysis using QC tools were conducted to 30 MSMEs that were spread out in 7 fields in Gresik Regency. Of all the targeted MSMEs, most find it suitable to use analysis with Cause and Effect Diagrams (Fishbone) because they feel easier. Others use check sheets, pareto diagrams and scatter plots. From the results of the analysis of MSMEs, the core problems or pain points of each MSME were obtained. These pain points will be input for SMEs to find out which processes in their business need attention. After knowing the process points that need attention, the proposed improvements can be planned and carried out to help them better in doing business. For future improvements, suggestions that can be taken namely the determination of QC tools that will be used can be done first so that it is optimal in the implementation of the analysis. In addition, the distribution of MSMEs can be expanded further so that they can provide an overview of the challenges and opportunities for improvement that can be done to help MSMEs. ACKNOWLEDGMENT Special thanks to partner and all sides who helped this research. For LPPM UISI as well who sponsors this research then we could gain insights from MSMEs in Gresik regency.
Q: Need help identifying an old bicycle, unusual frame I was recently given a bicycle by an Italian restaurant, the owner had brought it back from Italy years ago and used it as wall decor. I have since replaced the chain, brake etc. However I am very curious as to how old it is, what it is, or any information. The decal says "Freyus" but when I search for it I can't find anything remotely similar to this bike. Does anyone know anything about it? I have done a web search and index search of the bike frames serial number and it has turned up nothing. http://s23.postimg.org/l922ca617/image.jpg A: Looks like a generic beach cruiser - not very old either. The brazed lugs on the downtube suggest it was a geared bike, converted to single speed. The V brakes say its no older than the 90s, and probably post-2000. Its doesn't appear to be anything specifically Italian. Still if it rides nicely, then ride it. There's likely no museum or vintage nature there. A: I agree with the above, I do know that Freyus (frejus) was a french vintage bicycle company that made very nice bikes at one point, however in the mid 80's they were sold to Bianchi, so if I had to guess, It is a new bicycle made by Bianchi but sold under the generic name Freyas as to not tarnish their name with an entry level product. Which would make sense judging by the color of the fenders and graphics, it looks similar to Bianchi's Celeste Green, just a little more bold and flashy
The Dow Jones stock average closed early September Friday at 17,137, despite the fact that the payroll jobs report was a measly 125,000 new jobs for August, an insufficient amount to keep up with the growth in the working age population. The BLS establishment survey doesn't get much press love or headline buzz when it comes to the monthly employment statistics, despite the survey's better accuracy than the population survey. For the past year, 1.899 million payroll jobs have been added and payrolls now stand at 132,821,000. From a year ago this is a 1.5% increase. The below pie chart breaks down March 2012 payrolls by major industry's percentage of total employment. The January unemployment report created quite a stir. Many believed the BLS had simply dropped 1,252,000 people out of the labor force, discarded like trash. Is the BLS an evil doer as so many declare, or could the culprit possibly be the 2010 Census? We already showed how comparisons between December and January cannot be done due to the incorporation of the 2010 Census data and the yearly population controls, benchmarks and seasonal adjustments incorporated into the January unemployment statistics. While there is no mythical 1.252 million dropping out of the labor force, there are some highly unusual numbers in the BLS population controls. The December to January unemployment statistics are often reported wrong in the press. We're sorry, god love ya, but these articles are plain incorrect. People like to compare the month to month change in population, the number of people no longer considered part of the labor force and other data. The headline number from the Unemployment Report this morning showed 243,000 jobs were created, more than the highest estimated increase by any of the economists surveyed before the report was released (the average expected increase from the economist survey was 120,000 jobs). The unemployment rate fell to 8.3%, again lower than predicted, and certainly good news for President Obama. Job growth was nearly across the board – in retail, construction, manufacturing, business services, and the hotel and restaurant industry. You can believe all this if you want, or you can go into the details in the report for some interesting context. First, ever since the credit crisis of 2008, there has been a trend in the unemployment report that shows a declining participation rate in the job market. While a whopping number of jobs were created in January, a far larger number of people left the labor force - 1,752,000 in fact. The percent of the total working population who did not have jobs rose to 36.7%, an all time high. It’s no wonder the unemployment rate fell, when the denominator shrinks so markedly. The total number of people employed fell by 737,000. So what do you want to celebrate – the 243,000 who got jobs, or the million or so people who dropped by the wayside and are no longer counted in the data?
Qualitative Designs and Methodologies for Business, Management, and Organizational Research Qualitative research designs provide future-oriented plans for undertaking research. Designs should describe how to effectively address and answer a specific research question using qualitative data and qualitative analysis techniques. Designs connect research objectives to observations, data, methods, interpretations, and research outcomes. Qualitative research designs focus initially on collecting data to provide a naturalistic view of social phenomena and understand the meaning the social world holds from the point of view of social actors in real settings. The outcomes of qualitative research designs are situated narratives of peoples activities in real settings, reasoned explanations of behavior, discoveries of new phenomena, and creating and testing of theories. A three-level framework can be used to describe the layers of qualitative research design and conceptualize its multifaceted nature. Note, however, that qualitative research is a flexible and not fixed process, unlike conventional positivist research designs that are unchanged after data collection commences. Flexibility provides qualitative research with the capacity to alter foci during the research process and make new and emerging discoveries. The first or methods layer of the research design process uses social science methods to rigorously describe organizational phenomena and provide evidence that is useful for explaining phenomena and developing theory. Description is done using empirical research methods for data collection including case studies, interviews, participant observation, ethnography, and collection of texts, records, and documents. The second or methodological layer of research design offers three formal logical strategies to analyze data and address research questions: (a) induction to answer descriptive what questions; (b) deduction and hypothesis testing to address theory oriented why questions; and (c) abduction to understand questions about what, how, and why phenomena occur. The third or social science paradigm layer of research design is formed by broad social science traditions and approaches that reflect distinct theoretical epistemologiestheories of knowledgeand diverse empirical research practices. These perspectives include positivism, interpretive induction, and interpretive abduction (interpretive science). There are also scholarly research perspectives that reflect on and challenge or seek to change management thinking and practice, rather than producing rigorous empirical research or evidence based findings. These perspectives include critical research, postmodern research, and organization development. Three additional issues are important to future qualitative research designs. First, there is renewed interest in the value of covert research undertaken without the informed consent of participants. Second, there is an ongoing discussion of the best style to use for reporting qualitative research. Third, there are new ways to integrate qualitative and quantitative data. These are needed to better address the interplay of qualitative and quantitative phenomena that are both found in everyday discourse, a phenomenon that has been overlooked.
CALGARY—A months-long campaign to raise awareness about Calgary’s public transit workers is unrelated to ongoing contract negotiations with the city, said the head of the transit union. Rick Ratcliff, president of the Amalgamated Transit Union (ATU) Local 583, said the new “Transit Matters” ad blitz is meant to emphasize the daily impact bus drivers, maintenance workers and support staff have on Calgarians who rely on the service. “Our profile has been understated through the course of time, and we just want to remind our citizens how important we are to the city,” said Ratcliff. The union, which represents about 3,000 city transit workers, has set aside $240,000 for the ad campaign that could stretch into the New Year, he said. “We feel that public transit is a vital component in keeping Calgary a vibrant city and we don’t want to be taken for granted,” said Ratcliff. The campaign comes as Calgary Transit grapples with increased costs and declining ridership. Calgary’s policy is to have 50 per cent to 55 per cent of transit funded through fares, parking, advertising and other revenue sources and the remainder through property taxes. That ratio had steadily fallen from 54 per cent in 2012 to 45 per cent last year. Ridership has suffered over the past couple of years through the economic downturn. Year-to-date figures show signs of improvement, but remain well below 2015 numbers. Councillor Shane Keating, chair of the city’s transportation and transit committee, said the city has to take a hard look at its current transit model. “That doesn’t mean that we’re talking about cancelling and reducing hours … but there has to be an investigation in other ways in which we can serve Calgarians with public transit better,” said Keating. Meanwhile, negotiations between the city and several of its largest unions, including transit, continue after the previous four-year collective bargaining agreements expired earlier this year. The city faces tremendous pressure to make significant concessions after council approved the previous agreement that awarded inside and outside workers a 12.5 per cent salary hike over the term just before Calgary’s economy sputtered. Ratcliff was tight-lipped about negotiations, but said they were proceeding “as normal in this environment” and that transit employees are aware of the city’s financial situation. “The majority of them remember the good, old days. I believe it was 1992 when the economy was in a downturn, and we went quite some time without an official contract,” Ratcliff said. “I don’t think we’d go anywhere near that sort of agreement,” he said, referring to the previous agreement.
. The purpose of this work was to study morphological features of gastric mucosa depending on polymorphism of IL-l1beta and IL-1RN genes in children with chronic gastritis infected with different strains of Helicobacter pylori 0. We examined 106 children with HP-associated gastritis. The results suggest association of mucosal inflammation with T allele in polymorphous C-511T locus of IL-1beta (beta2 = 14,006; alpha = 0.001). agA + strains of HP were more frequently identified in patients with erosive ulcerative defects of gastric mucosa than in children with superficial gastritis (p < 0.05). The possibility of gene typing to form a group of patients with the unfavourable post-eradication clinical course for the prevention of duodenal ulcer and stomach cancer is discussed.
This invention relates to rotary means equipped with a multistage fan having the excellent effect of air suction and discharge. The origin of this invention is based on U.S. Pat. No. 4,319,408 entitled "Heating process and its apparatus in reducing air pressure within a chamber at a balanced level" which was invented by the present Applicant. Further, the Applicant has filed corresponding U.S. patent applications Ser. Nos. 329,818 now U.S. Pat. No. 4457083 and 349,064 now U.S. Pat. No. 4426793 and has so far developed various related inventions including the heating process and its apparatus in reducing or pressurizing air pressure within a chamber at a balanced level. The aforesaid inventions comprise a rotary means for reducing or pressurizing air pressure within a chamber and a suction opening in which the rotary means is disposed, wherein a difference between the reduced or pressurized air pressure within the chamber and the air pressure outside the chamber is maintained at a balanced level, and air friction heat is generated in a gap between the suction opening and the rotary means by rotation thereof, thereby the chamber can be used for drying or heating purposes. That is to say, means for suctioning and discharging air within the chamber as well as means for generating air friction heat is formed by the rotary means having the suction opening, so that the drying or heating effect is greatly dependent upon whether or not the operational efficiency of the rotary means is high. From this point of view, this invention has been accomplished.
. Objective: To identify the potential pathogenic variants in patients with congenital hereditary endothelial dystrophy (CHED). Methods: A retrospective study. Six CHED patients were recruited from the Department of Ophthalmology at the Eye and ENT Hospital of Fudan University from August 2017 to September 2018. They were all males, and were 7 to 29 years old at the time of consultation, with an average age of 20.5 years. Whole-exome sequencing was performed on the six CHED patients. The Genome Analysis Tool Kit Best Practices pipeline and an in-house bioinformatics pipeline were applied for variants analyses, according to the 2015 American College of Medical Genetics and Genomics (ACMG) guidelines. Potential pathogenic variants were further validated by Sanger sequencing. Results: Six mutations in the SLC4A11 gene were identified in four out of six CHED patients, including four missense mutations (p.Arg869Cys, p.Pro773Leu, p.Arg869His, p.Arg755Trp), one frameshift mutation (p. Phe713fs), and one splicing site mutation (c.1330+1G>T). The frameshift mutation was pathogenic, while the pathogenicity of the splicing site mutation was unknown. Conclusions: We identified six CHED-associated mutations in this study. The frameshift mutation (p. Phe713fs) and the splicing site mutation (c.1330+1G>T) were novel. (Chin J Ophthalmol, 2021, 57: 133-138).
Race and Personal Exposure to AD Influence Projected Memory Failure Attributions and Help-Seeking Behaviors ABSTRACT Objectives Examine race and personal exposure to Alzheimers Disease (AD) on projected memory failure attributions and medical help-seeking thresholds of pre-morbid adults. The goal is to better understand race discrepancies in help-seeking for those potentially at risk for early-onset AD. Methods 498 adults aged 40 to 65 (M = 52.27), screened for current memory failure, completed an online questionnaire exploring their help-seeking intentions and threshold, attributions of hypothetical memory failures, and level of AD concern. Results Non-Hispanic Whites (n = 248) were significantly more concerned about AD than African Americans (n = 250) (p =.027). Personal exposure to AD moderated the impact of race on memory failure attributions (p =.036), so that personal exposure was more influential for African Americans. Those who were more likely to attribute hypothetical memory failures to AD had lower projected thresholds for seeking a medical evaluation (p =.010). Memory failure attribution emerged as a potential mediator of the impact of race on projected help-seeking behaviors (p =.057). Conclusions African Americans were more influenced by personal experience when considering the causes of hypothetical memory failures. Clinical Implications Healthcare providers should emphasize to African American families the value of early AD detection and treatment in terms of quality of life for both patient and caregiver.
You will always be loved, missed, rembembered, and never forgotten. You have blessed all of our lives and for that we are thankful. Words cannot begin to express how much we miss you.
Optimizing guidance for an active shooter event It is unclear what triggers the behavior of active shooters, but their consequences are severe. There is opportunity to implement an automated response system capable of delivery guidance to evacuees' to aide people to safety. Optimizing guidance delivery is challenging because active shooter incidents evolve quickly and are unpredictable. In this paper, we develop a new problem formulation specific for active shooter events by utilizing the structure of each room. To effectively solve this problem, a divide-and-conquer approach is deployed to split evacuees into groups. The egress routes are decomposed and coordinated for each group are optimized using stochastic dynamic programming. Numerical testing and simulation show our solution with a safe room the solution fast relevant to shooting events and effectively.
Don Carlin Gunawardena Career After a student career at St. Joseph's College, Colombo, Gunawardena matriculated at Ceylon University College as one of its first undergraduates, where he read Latin, Greek, and botany to graduate with a Bachelor of Arts degree. Shortly after graduation he joined the staff of his alma mater, where he served until Major H. L. Reed MA (Cantab.), acquired him for the ‘Remove C Form’ created for students wishing to read Botany at Royal College, Colombo in preparation for a career in medicine. In the late 30s, Gunawardena departed for London on study leave from Royal College to read for a master's degree. While in London, he presented his completed MSc thesis, ‘Studies in the Botanical Works of John Ray’ to University College London in 1934 and became a Fellow of the Linnaean Society of London. Gunawardena returned to service at Royal College until promoted in the late 1930s to Assistant Director of Education stationed at Kandy. After retirement from public service, he dedicated his efforts to his Doctoral thesis, The botanical history of Ceylon, which was eventually presented to the University of London in 1963. Upon return from London with his doctorate, Gunawardena was invited to join the then newly formed Vidyodaya University (later renamed as University of Sri Jayewardenepura) to head its Department of Botany; a post which he held until his death at the age of eighty. Royal College, Colombo annually presents the 'Dr D. C. Gunawardena Memorial Prize for Science' (Grade 12), in his memory. Principal work Gunawardena’s principal work was Genera et Species Plantarum Zeylaniae, a volume published in 1968 on the etymological and historical accounts of Sri Lankan flora and fauna. The work was an adaptation of the third chapter of his University of London doctoral thesis, and had a foreword by one of his tutors, Sir Edward James Salisbury, one time Quain Professor of Botany at University College London, and Director of the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew. The volume examines the origins and meanings of the Latin and native names accorded to the flora and fauna of Sri Lanka and is structured in the nature of a dictionary elaborated with bibliographical accounts, local folklore, native uses, and their historical significance. The work is identified as having wider appeal to readers of other Eastern countries, since Linnaeus, who gave fixed names to plants, used Ceylonese plants as types for many of his species in Flora Zeylanica (1747), the first Linnaean Flora of an Eastern country.
Development of cellular and humoral immunity in the respiratory tract of rabbits to Pseudomonas lipopolysaccharide. Immunization with Pseudomonas lipopolysaccharide induced both cellular and humoral immunity in rabbits, particularly in the respiratory tract after intranasal immunization. Either parenteral (i.m.) or intranasal immunization elicited an IgG antibody response in respiratory secretions, but only intranasal immunization produced secretory IgA antibody. Immunization by both routes stimulated serum IgM and IgG agglutinative antibodies. Because both methods of immunization produced skin test reactivity which had components of both Arthus and tuberculin-like reactions, cellular immunity was more readily assessed by the measurement of migration inhibitory factor (MIF) released from immune lymphocytes in respiratory and spleen cell suspensions after challenge with the lipopolysaccharide antigen. After intranasal vaccination, MIF activity was detected in the respiratory tract by direct assay; in contrast, i.m. immunized rabbits did not produce respiratory MIF. Both modes of immunization resulted in splenic MIF activity. However, lymphocytes were only capable of producing MIF for short periods after primary immunization had ended, apparently losing this function in about 2-3 wk. Therefore, it was concluded that cellular immunity by in vitro assay was transient after primary immunization with this Pseudomonas antigen in contrast to the more persistent humoral immunity. The biological significance of immune lymphocytes as part of the coordinated host defense of the lung needs further evaluation.
Two Maine men are in a Los Angeles jail charged with murdering a homeless man in Hollywood. Troy McVey, 22, and Colby Kronholm, 21, who are originally from the Greenville area at the base of Moosehead Lake, are being held on $1 million bail after they were seen by an off-duty officer robbing and shooting a man, Los Angeles police said in a news release. Additional Photos Police say an officer witnessed Troy McVey and Colby Kronholm robbing and shooting the man. The incident occurred in the 1600 block of North Cahuenga Boulevard on Sunday just before midnight. The officer and other witnesses saw a man smashing the windows of a car, then confronting the victim and demanding his money, police said. The man shot the victim numerous times, the release said. The officer and other citizens followed two men to Wilcox Avenue, where Hollywood patrol officers arrested them. The victim, a man between 55 and 60 years old with no identification, was taken to a local hospital where he died from his injuries, police said. Police were seeking information from the public about the case and asked that anyone with information to call 213-382-9470. David Hench can be contacted at 791-6327 or at: [email protected] Twitter: @Mainehenchman Share
INDIVIDUAL LEARNING ABOUT CONSUMPTION The standard approach to modeling consumption/saving problems is to assume that the decisionmaker is solving a dynamic stochastic optimization problem. However, under realistic descriptions of utility and uncertainty, the optimal consumption/saving decision is so difficult that only recently have economists managed to find solutions, using numerical methods that require previously infeasible amounts of computation. Yet, empirical evidence suggests that household behavior conforms fairly well with the prescriptions of the optimal solution, raising the question of how average households can solve problems that economists, until recently, could not. This paper examines whether consumers might be able to find a reasonably good rule-of-thumb approximation to optimal behavior by trial-and-error methods, as Milton Friedman proposed long ago. We find that such individual learning methods can reliably identify reasonably good rules of thumb only if the consumer is able to spend absurdly large amounts of time searching for a good rule.
The expanding role of biomarkers in the assessment of smoking-related parenchymal lung diseases. Recent advances in the field of clinical biomarkers suggest that quantification of serum proteins could play an important role in the diagnosis, classification, prognosis, and treatment response of smoking-related parenchymal lung diseases. COPD and idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis (IPF), two common chronic progressive parenchymal lung diseases, share cigarette smoke exposure as a common dominant risk factor for their development. We have recently shown that COPD and interstitial lung disease may represent distinct outcomes of chronic tobacco use, whereas others have demonstrated that both diseases coexist in some individuals. In this perspective, we examine the potential role of peripheral blood biomarkers in predicting which individuals will develop COPD or IPF, as well as their usefulness in tracking disease progression and exacerbations. Additionally, given the current lack of sensitive and effective metrics to determine an individual's response to treatment, we evaluate the potential role of biomarkers as surrogate markers of clinical outcomes. Finally, we examine the possibility that changes in levels of select protein biomarkers can provide mechanistic insight into the common origins and unique individual susceptibilities that lead to the development of smoking-related parenchymal lung diseases. This discussion is framed by a consideration of the properties of ideal biomarkers for different clinical and research purposes and the best uses for those biomarkers that have already been proposed and investigated.
EPISTEMOLOGICAL VIEWS OF ISLAMIC EDUCATION PHILOSOPHY AS A ISLAMIC EDUCATION BASIS This paper briefly discusses one of the foundations of Islamic education, the epistemological view of Islamic education philosophy. Islamic education as an effort in shaping humanity and civilization must have a firm foundation upon which all activities are connected or propped up. In terms of epistemological, the foundation of Islamic education is the epistemological philosophy of Islamic education sourced from the Qur'an and As-Sunnah as the primary source, as well as the Ijtihad and the intellect that became the branch (furu') of the development of these two primary sources. So that Islamic education really serves as a medium of influencing others toward a better direction in order to live better in accordance with the teachings of Islam and obey all that is ordered and away from all the banned with the awareness of human beings are firmly planted with the scientific aspect so that the result is not just obedient blindness but scholarly servitude, all done within the scope of God's rule. In the end the foundation of education itself is none other than the source of the teachings of Islam that is Al Quran and As-Sunnah.
In Search for Islamic Macroprudential Policy in Indonesia: The Case of Financing to Value (FTV) and Property Financing This study aims to examine the impact of macroprudential policy particlarly the relaxing of Financing to Value (FTV) on property financing of Islamic bank in case of Indonesia. In addition, this paper also analyzes the impact of macroeconomic variables and specific factors on property financing in Islamic Bank. This paper collects data from the Bank Indonesia website, the Financial Services Authority (FSA) and the Central Statistics Agency (CSA) form January 2010 until April 2016. By employing Vector Error Correction Model (VECM), this study found that inflation and Industry Produce Index (IPI) have been positively influence on the property financing, while the BI rate and financing to deposit ratio (FDR) have been negatively influence on the property financing. While the relaxing of FTV policy also negatively influence on the property financing. Therefore, This study conludes that the policy have not effectived yet.
ICF International Inc. will add mobile technology and expand Web 2.0 technologies for the Health and Human Services Department's AIDS.gov Web site under a new contract. ICF will provide technical management and assistance to maintain and enhance the Web site for the department's Office of HIV/AIDS Policy. The Fairfax, Va., company will enhance the agency's separate HIV/AIDS Awareness Days Web site and migrate it to the AIDS.gov domain. The one-year contract, which has two option years, is worth $1.2 million. ICF worked with HHS to develop the initial release of AIDS.gov for World AIDS Day in 2006. Since then, the firm has implemented new media components such as RSS feeds, a Blog site and Podcasts with streaming videos. AIDS.gov is a gateway to guide users to federal domestic HIV/AIDS information and resources on prevention; testing; treatment; and research programs, policies and resources. It is a collaborative effort among several federal agencies, including HHS, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, National Institutes of Health and the Food and Drug Administration. The AIDS.gov Web site supports their efforts through its Web portal and highlights new partner content complete with links to partners' Web sites.
Can the collective intentions of individual professionals within healthcare teams predict the team's performance: developing methods and theory Background Within implementation research, using theory-based approaches to understanding the behaviours of healthcare professionals and the quality of care that they reflect and designing interventions to change them is being promoted. However, such approaches lead to a new range of methodological and theoretical challenges pre-eminent among which are how to appropriately relate predictors of individual's behaviour to measures of the behaviour of healthcare professionals. The aim of this study was to explore the relationship between the theory of planned behaviour proximal predictors of behaviour (intention and perceived behavioural control, or PBC) and practice level behaviour. This was done in the context of two clinical behaviours statin prescription and foot examination in the management of patients with diabetes mellitus in primary care. Scores for the predictor variables were aggregated over healthcare professionals using four methods: simple mean of all primary care team members' intention scores; highest intention score combined with PBC of the highest intender in the team; highest intention score combined with the highest PBC score in the team; the scores (on both constructs) of the team member identified as having primary responsibility for the clinical behaviour. Methods Scores on theory-based cognitive variables were collected by postal questionnaire survey from a sample of primary care doctors and nurses from northeast England and the Netherlands. Data on two clinical behaviours were patient reported, and collected by postal questionnaire survey. Planned analyses explored the predictive value of various aggregations of intention and PBC in explaining variance in the behavioural data. Results Across the two countries and two behaviours, responses were received from 37 to 78% of healthcare professionals in 57 to 93% practices; 51% (UK) and 69% (Netherlands) of patients surveyed responded. None of the aggregations of cognitions predicted statin prescription. The highest intention in the team (irrespective of PBC) was a significant predictor of foot examination. Conclusion These approaches to aggregating individually-administered measures may be a methodological advance of theoretical importance. Using simple means of individual-level measures to explain team-level behaviours is neither theoretically plausible nor empirically supported; the highest intention was both predictive and plausible. In studies aiming to understand the behaviours of teams of healthcare professionals in managing chronic diseases, some sort of aggregation of measures from individuals is necessary. This is not simply a methodological point, but a necessary step in advancing the theoretical and practical understanding of the processes that lead to implementation of clinical behaviours within healthcare teams. Conclusion: These approaches to aggregating individually-administered measures may be a methodological advance of theoretical importance. Using simple means of individual-level measures to explain team-level behaviours is neither theoretically plausible nor empirically supported; the highest intention was both predictive and plausible. In studies aiming to understand the behaviours of teams of healthcare professionals in managing chronic diseases, some sort of aggregation of measures from individuals is necessary. This is not simply a methodological point, but a necessary step in advancing the theoretical and practical understanding of the processes that lead to implementation of clinical behaviours within healthcare teams. Background Within implementation research -the scientific study of methods to promote the uptake of research findings, and hence to reduce inappropriate care -using theory-based approaches to understanding the behaviours of healthcare professionals and the quality of care that they reflect and designing interventions to change them is being promoted. However, such approaches lead to a new range of methodological and theoretical challenges preeminent among which are how to appropriately relate predictors of individual's behaviour to measures of the behaviour of healthcare professionals. Commonly (at least within the UK and the Netherlands), data on the quality of care that patients receive within a primary care practice will indicate that various clinical behaviours have been performed, but it may not be possible to identify which individual healthcare professional (HCP) within the clinical team uniquely performed them, or the data may be a reflection of the actions of more than one individual healthcare professional. While it is possible, and in certain circumstances appropriate and feasible, to directly observe the behaviour(s) of HCPs this is likely to be expensive, time consuming, and ethically problematic. In studies concerned with improving the quality of care that patients receive, it is more commonly the case that various forms of routinely available data are used. Such data that represent a proxy, or indirect, measure of HCP behaviour usually fall into two categories; recorded measures of HCP behaviour (e.g., prescription of a statin, reflecting behaviour in relation to the management of hypercholesterolaemia) and clinical, physiological, or biochemical measures of the patient's condition (e.g., serum cholesterol level). However, prescriptions apparently issued in the name of one doctor may have actually been issued by trainee doctors or locums. In addition, the prescribed treatment of an individual patient may be changed by different doctors over time. Similarly, a measure of a patient's serum cholesterol may also reflect the behaviours of more than one HCP -a nurse may advise a patient about their diet and a doctor may prescribe a statin. Such considerations apply to any chronic condition managed by a team of healthcare professionals in primary care, e.g., diabetes, heart disease, asthma, or chronic obstructive airways disease. Such data are most appropriately considered as practice-level data. However, measurement of factors aimed at improving practice-level quality of care through changing the behaviour of HCPs often occurs at an individual level. It is therefore important to develop methods of predicting clinical behaviours that can take account of the collective performance of individuals working in teams. Theoretical context Explanations for clinical behaviour can be investigated using psychological theories which have been successful in predicting behaviour and behaviour change in other settings. Using such a theory-based approach offers the potential of a generalisable framework within which to consider factors influencing behaviour and the development of interventions to modify them. A study by Eccles et al. used six theories to investigate factors associated with prescribing antibiotics for patients with a sore throat among primary care doctors. This showed that the impact of individual beliefs and perceptions on intention to prescribe was high, including both evidence-based and nonevidence based factors, while the impact on behaviour was considerably smaller. Two systematic reviews of the relationship between intention and behaviour in individual HCPs found only 16 eligible studies but suggested that the nature of the relationship was similar to that shown by reviews of much larger numbers of studies in non-healthcare professionals. Data such as these allow clear predictions to be made about the factors likely to change psychological constructs and to change behaviour. One of the more widely used theories is the theory of planned behaviour (TPB). The TPB proposes a model about how human action is guided. It predicts the occurrence of a specific behaviour provided that the behaviour is intentional (i.e. the model does not claim to predict behaviours that are habitual or automatic). The TPB model is shown in Figure 1 and depicts the three cognitive variables that the theory suggests will predict the intention to perform a behaviour. While intention is the main precursor of behaviour, perceived behavioural control (PBC) also directly predicts behaviour. For example, a positive intention may be prevented from being translated into action because of an internal or external barrier that the individual perceives as insurmountable. Because data may reflect the behaviour of more than one HCP, it is thus appropriate to analyse these proxy behaviour data at the aggregated level of a primary care practice. Thus, recorded data can indicate reliably that a patient has been prescribed a statin by one of the HCPs in the practice. However, in order to use a theory-based approach it is then necessary to also consider aggregating individuals' measurement of cognitions (about the prescribing of statins). It would be possible to aggregate measures of individuals' cognitions about clinical behaviours and conditions as a simple mean (as is the practice in the literature on measurement of team-level variables such as team climate ). However, the mean may not reflect the organisational, professional, and social processes involved in the team. It may be possible to improve the predictive performance of measures that represent team cognitions by taking account of factors such as individuals' roles, responsibilities, or positions. For example, when identified individuals predominantly perform, or have responsibility for, a behaviour (foot examination of patients with diabetes by a practice nurse), then that individual's intention score could be used as a sole representative measure or used to weight a mean value. Clinical context Type 2 diabetes mellitus (DM) is an increasingly prevalent chronic illness and is an important cause of avoidable mortality. Studies of the quality of care for patients with diabetes suggest less than optimum care in a number of areas. In primary care, the management of DM includes glycaemic control, blood pressure control, foot examination for peripheral pulses and neuropathy, lipid control, and weight reduction (retinopathy screening is often organised separately from the practice). Patients are managed by the integrated activities of medical and nonmedical members of the primary care team. Aim The aim of this study was to explore the relationship between the TPB's direct predictors of behaviour (individuals' intention and PBC) aggregated over HCPs in a number of ways, and practice level behaviour in the context of care for patients with DM in primary care. The method of aggregation is not simply a statistical device but may reflect different team processes and different theoretical approaches to team-functioning. For example, aggregating intentions by averaging suggests equal weighting of members' views and would suggest team decision-making based on equal and shared communications. Whereas, choosing the highest intention score in The Theory of Planned Behaviour Figure 1 The Theory of Planned Behaviour. (Note. The three proximal variables also influence one another. Although this figure is presented in a simplified form, a more detailed diagram would include double-ended arrows joining these three variables.) the team to represent the relevant 'team cognition score', suggests that the team has allocated roles, with one member specialising in, or having responsibility for, the targeted clinical behaviour; here the underlying model suggests a more complex team structure with more streamlined decision-making. Other methods of aggregating would also test specific role structures, e.g., the team process may be best assessed by selecting the highest intention indicating responsibility for decision-making, along with highest PBC indicating responsibility and capability for the actual behaviour. ATTITUDE Therefore, we investigated the following methods of aggregating respondents' scores for each primary care team: simple mean of all PC team members' intention scores; highest intention score from responding HCPs combined with PBC for either that individual, or, for the highest PBC, the scores of the HCP identified as having primary responsibility for the clinical behaviour, ignoring the scores of other team members. Design and participants This was a predictive study of the theory-based cognitions and clinical behaviours concerning the management of patients with diabetes of a sample of primary care doctors and nurses from northeast England, and primary care doctors, nurses, and practice assistants in the Netherlands. We regarded all the healthcare workers within a practice as a team. Data on roles and cognitions were collected by postal questionnaire survey; behavioural data were patient-reported and collected by postal questionnaire survey. Planned analyses explored the predictive value of various aggregations of intention and PBC in explaining variance in the behavioural data. Study setting The study was based within two randomised controlled trials of interventions to improve the management of patients with diabetes cared for in primary care. Study practices In the UK, the study practices were those in three primary care trusts (PCTs) served by two district hospital-based diabetes registers both using the same register software. In the Netherlands, the practices were those in three regions of the middle and south of the Netherlands. Study patients In the UK, the study patients were those people with type 2 diabetes appearing on the area-wide diabetes registers, aged over 35 and receiving diabetes care exclusively from the DREAM trial (The Diabetes REcall And Management system trial) practices, or shared between study practices and hospital. At the time of the study, approximately 20% of patients received both general practitioner (GP) and specialist care, though there was no formal sharedcare scheme in operation in the practices studied. In the Netherlands, patient reported outcomes were gathered from patients with type 2 diabetes, who were younger than 80 years and registered with practices participating in the PAS trial (The diabetes Passport as an Aid to Structure diabetes management in primary care trial). Patients managed in secondary care were excluded from the PAS trial. Predictive measures Theoretically-derived measures were developed following the operationalisation protocols of Ajzen. Twelve UK primary care doctors and practice nurses were interviewed about three behaviours (measuring blood pressure, foot examination, prescribing statins). The schedule for these semi-structured interviews was designed to elicit responders' beliefs relating to the constructs of the TPB. Primary care doctors and practice nurses were encouraged to talk freely about these beliefs, and any ambiguities were clarified using appropriate prompts. Interviews were tape recorded, transcribed, and content analysed. Beliefs frequently mentioned in the interviews were used to design items in a questionnaire that was developed for each of the three behaviours. The response format for all items was a seven point Likert-type scale, from one (strongly agree) to seven (strongly disagree). This initial draft of the questionnaire was pre-tested with a further six UK primary care doctors for style and clarity of content and to determine completion time. Minor revisions of wording were made to the questionnaire based on their comments. The final questionnaire used in the UK covered three behaviours, both 'indirect' and 'direct' measures of the theoretical constructs and consisted of 154 items, including questions about the size of practices and demographic details. For the Netherlands survey, because of concerns about respondent burden, a shortened set of the questions from the UK questionnaire was used covering only two of the three behaviours and using only direct measures. The relevant questions from the UK set were translated into Dutch and then back translated into English (and adjusted where necessary) to ensure that the meaning was the same for the UK and Dutch studies. The questions measuring intention and PBC for the two behaviours of prescribing statins and examining patients' feet are shown in the Appendix. Scoring was adjusted so that a high score indicates a strong intention and a high degree of perceived control. Outcome measures In the UK, as part of a larger patient reported outcomes survey, patients with DM were asked the following two questions. First, 'please provide as much information as you can in the box below about ALL the medication you have taken over the last four weeks '; any report of a statin was identified. Second, they were asked, 'over the last 12 months did you have any of the tests or investigations listed'; the list included: 'test of feeling on your feet'; a positive response was taken as an indication of having a foot examination. In the Netherlands, patients were asked to report on the medication they were currently taking and whether or not they had had their feet examined in the past 15 months. For both countries, responses were used to calculate the percentage of patients per practice who reported taking a statin, and the percentage of patients per practice who reported having their feet examined. Procedure In both the UK and the Netherlands, the questionnaire was mailed to all primary care doctors, nurses, and (in the Dutch practices) practice assistants at participating trial practices at the end of the intervention period. In the UK, two reminder letters were sent to non-responders at fortnightly intervals. Dutch non-responders received one reminder letter after three weeks. Patient reported outcomes were also collected by postal questionnaire at the end of the intervention period of both trials. Analytical approach Internal consistency of multi-item measures was assessed using Cronbach's alpha (for measures with more than two items) using an acceptability criterion of >0.6, and Pearson's correlation coefficient (for two-item measures) using an acceptability criterion of r >0.25. We were interested in the relationship between practicelevel behaviour and aggregations of individuals' cognitions (intentions and PBC), and investigated this using multiple regression analysis. We conducted analyses to reflect four possible team patterns. First, we argued that the behaviour was likely to be driven equally by the individual intentions of all the practice members; we therefore calculated a mean value for each practice. It was likely that we would both get responses from single-doctor practices and get single responses (from either a nurse or a doctor) from multi-doctor practices. Under these circumstances the concept of a mean value was less meaningful, and therefore we repeated the analyses including only those practices from which we received more than one response. Second, we considered that behaviour could be most driven by the individual with the highest intention (and their PBC) within the practice, and so used these measures as predictor variables. Third, we considered that the behaviour could be the product of one team member hav-ing a strong intention, and another team member having a high level of PBC. An example of this would be the situation where a nurse had a high intention to perform the behaviour and a doctor had a high PBC score as a consequence of knowing that the nurse intended to perform the behaviour. Fourth, we considered that behaviour was most likely to be driven by the individual whose role it was to perform the behaviour. Therefore, for foot examination, we considered that this could be the role of a nurse. The statin analysis was restricted to doctors. As the TPB predicts a direct effect of both intention and PBC on behaviour, both were included in the regression analyses. We also explored a country effect (to allow for both 'real' and methodological differences between them) and the number of responses per practice. Although both host studies were randomised controlled trials, we analysed them as two cross-sectional studies on the basis that any effect of the interventions on behaviour would be mirrored by a change in cognitions, and that the relationship between cognitions and behaviour should therefore persist, whether or not the trial changed the levels observed in the intervention group. Ethical approval The UK study was approved by the South Tyneside, Southwest Durham, Hartlepool, and North Tees Local Research Ethics Committees (LRECs). The Dutch study was approved by the ethics committee of Radboud University Medical centre, Nijmegen, The Netherlands. Results The details of the number of healthcare professionals surveyed and the characteristics of their practices, as well as the survey response rates are shown in Table 1. Overall, 98 practices were surveyed and health professionals from 83 (85%) practices returned questionnaires. Practices were dichotomised into single-or multi-practitioner practices. Of the 83 practices, the 69 contributing at least one GP responder to the statin analysis were not significantly different in terms of size to non-responder practices (Pearson 2 = 2.248, d.f. = 1, p = 0.13). For the analysis of foot examination, the number of nurses per practice was also available. In the Dutch study, this included eight nurses and 14 assistants who inspected feet, and excluded 26 assistants who did not inspect feet. Practices were again dichotomised, and the 83 practices contributing at least one responder to this analysis were not significantly different in terms of the number of primary care doctors in the practice (Pearson 2 = 2.149, d.f. = 1, p = 0.14); but were significantly more likely to have two or more nurses (80% versus 47%, Pearson 2 = 7.215, d.f. = 1, p = 0.007). In the UK study, a random sample of 2,815 patients were surveyed, and usable responses were received from 1,433 (51% In a regression model including both mean intention and mean PBC (Table 2), neither significantly predicted behaviour but there was a significant 'country effect' with Dutch primary care doctors being 11% more likely to prescribe statins. When PBC was removed from the model, intention still did not predict behaviour and there was no additional effect of an interaction term between intention and country (i.e., intention was not a significantly greater predictor in one country than the other). A similar analysis restricted to the smaller number of practices where there was more than one respondent produced a similar pattern of results, though the country effect was not significant. When using the highest intention score for each practice, none of highest intention, PBC of the highest intender, or highest PBC in the practice predicted the prescription of statins (Table 2). Again, the country effect is apparent and of the same order of magnitude and significance. When PBC was removed from the model, intention still did not predict behaviour, and there was no additional effect of an interaction term between intention and country. *Includes eight nurses and 14 assistants who inspect feet; excludes 26 assistants who did not inspect feet. Foot examination The three-item measure of intention had a Cronbach's alpha of 0.96. The two-item measure of PBC had a Pearson's Correlation Coefficient of 0.44 (p < 0.001). In UK practices, the overall mean (sd) of the practice mean intention score was 4.9 (1.3), and in Dutch practices this was 4.4 (1.4); these were not significantly different. Similar values for the strongest practice intention were, for the UK practices, 5.9 (1.3) and for the Dutch practices 5.1 (1.6) (Mean difference (95%CI) 0.78 (0.14 to 1.43), p = 0.018). The mean intention score for a practice was significantly correlated with the highest intention score within that practice (Pearson Correlation Coefficient 0.78, p < 0.01) and the highest intention score was also signifi-cantly correlated with the practice mean percentage of patients reporting a foot examination (Pearson Correlation Coefficient 0.29, p < 0.01). In a regression model (Table 2) including both mean intention and mean PBC, neither significantly predicted behaviour but there was a significant 'country effect' with UK practices being 14% more likely to inspect feet. When PBC was removed from the model, intention still did not predict behaviour, and there was no additional effect of an interaction term between intention and country. A similar analysis restricted to the smaller number of practices where there was more than one respondent produced a The highest intention score in a practice belonged to 38 nurses (24 of whom were from practices where intention scores were available for both primary care doctor and nurse respondents) and 39 primary care doctors (eight of whom were from practices where intention scores were available for both primary care doctor and nurse respondents). In the remaining six practices, this score was the same for both nurse and primary care doctor, and the regression used the scores for individuals who have both the highest intention and the highest PBC. The highest practice intention was a significant predictor of foot examination. Again, there was a significant country effect, with reported feet inspections being 11% fewer in ND practices than UK practices (p = 0.011). Removing PBC, including an interaction term for intention/country and including type of healthcare professional (thus exploring professional role) did not significantly change the model. Finally, the analysis was repeated using the highest intention score for the practice and the strongest PBC score for the practice. In this model, the PBC score is predominantly that of the primary care doctor respondents. This analysis produced results similar to the previous one. Discussion This paper reports an analysis of four different ways of dealing with the problem of relating the cognitions of individual members of a team of healthcare professionals to a shared outcome of their collective behaviours. For the behaviour of foot examination, how the individual cognitions were analysed made a difference with strongest intention, not mean intention, being significantly associated with practice level behaviour. However, this has to be regarded as exploratory and preliminary in a number of ways. The theories we were using were not necessarily intended to be used as we have used them, and we are proposing an extension of the use of the TPB to the collective behaviour of a team. Pragmatically, there does not seem to be any reason why measures cannot be used in this way. Indeed, other measures of team performance, such as the team climate inventory, use a simple mean as their summary statistic. In a theoretical context, it is unclear what a team's mean intention score represents. However, as suggested earlier, if mean intention is predictive, it suggests some kinds of collective processes, especially with regard to decision-making and communication. Our finding that mean intention was not predictive (while acknowledging our limited numbers and response rates), suggests that for the management of these two clinical behaviours by primary care teams, decision-making and responsibility may not be distributed equally across the team. We were using a cognitive model for what seem to be intentional behaviours. However, these are relatively routine behaviours and they may well, over time, become routinely maintained and therefore no longer need thinking through each time they are performed. Therefore other measures, either instead of or alongside social cognition models, may have additional predictive power for teams. Indeed, in a study of primary care practitioners' antibiotic prescribing behaviour that compared the predictive power of theories, a measure of habit was the best predictor of behaviour. While mean levels of intention to perform both behaviours were positive, being between 4.4 and 5.6 for both behaviours in both countries, levels of performance for what should be almost universal behaviours were low; for only foot examination in the UK was the reported rate of performance about 50%. This could be due to: low reporting rates by patients (our source of this data); the potential mismatch for prescribing statins arising from patients reporting what they were taking and doctors reporting their intention to prescribe; or bias (e.g., social desirability) in reporting of intention by healthcare professionals. However, it could also indicate the possibility of there being post-intentional factors which we have not measured that are influencing behaviour, such as intention stability, habit, and anticipated regret. The finding that the strongest intention score within each team, for inspecting feet, significantly predicted patients' reports of foot inspection, is consistent with the possibility that healthcare professionals may have had stronger intentions if they had been assigned responsibility for foot inspection within the practice (though our attempt to allocate roles in our analyses did not confirm this). The idea that assigned roles and responsibilities influence cognitions and behaviour has received substantial support in the behavioural literature. An alternative possibility is that teams allocate responsibility for a task to those with the strongest intentions to perform it, i.e., that roles evolve and may be chosen rather than being allocated. These possibilities warrant further investigation. While we explored different ways of relating behaviour and its theorised predictors, our data from patients and healthcare professionals had limitations. The measures of behaviour were collected by patient self-report and so may be subject to recall and other biases. However, these measures were the only measures in common for these behaviours across the two host trials. Encouragingly, the rates of statin use and foot inspection reported by the English patients in this study are supported by additional data from medical records reported elsewhere. This provides a degree of validation that these proxy measures provided a measure near to that of actual rates of statin prescription and foot inspection. In the UK sample, 20% of the patients had their care shared between primary and secondary care. We cannot quantify the impact of this but it should be specifically examined in future work. We know that across individual practices we usually had only a minority of team members responding so that the team mean scores did not include scores from those disinclined to complete questionnaires. The implication of this is that we may have lacked the power to detect difference across the different analyses. Also, if individual healthcare professionals do have a specified role within a practice (e.g., to inspect patients' feet), we do not know whether that individual responded to the questionnaire. If individuals with the highest intention within the team, or with the assigned responsibility, did not respond, then we may have underestimated these effects. While non-response is an enduring issue for health services research in general, an ideal study of this type would include responses from all members of the participating teams. Conclusion However exploratory this work, the issues raised are of enduring importance, both methodologically and theoretically. In studies wishing to understand the behaviours of healthcare professionals in relation to the management of many chronic diseases then some sort of aggregation of measures from individuals is inevitably going to be necessary. Given that so much of healthcare involves teams of healthcare professionals, the issues addressed in this study, however imperfectly, need to be addressed. This is not simply a methodological point but a necessary step in advancing the theoretical and practical understanding of the processes that lead to implementation of clinical behaviours within healthcare teams.
If you’ve seen the commercials for Arrival, it’d be very easy to assume this big Hollywood scifi movie with Amy Adams, Jeremy Renner, crazy aliens, and big ships is an action movie. It’s not. It’s something else—something much more special. In Arrival, Amy Adams plays language expert Louise Banks; when several alien ships land on Earth, Banks is hired to try and communicate with them. This much of the plot is evident in the trailers, which are edited and packaged as to imply the only thing stopping an imminent alien invasion is Amy Adams’ character. The other humans all look like they’re about to grab their guns, just off-camera. There’s definitely more happening in Arrival than its trailers reveal, but it’s not lasers, spaceship dogfights, or things blowing up. Movie-goers looking for spectacle and violence will likely be disappointed to discover the film’s biggest action scene is Louise deconstructing a sentence. It contains only one explosion. But Levy also hopes people get over it when they finally see what the movie is—thoughtful, introspective, and unique. Whether or not that exact scenario plays out, it’s fascinating to hear a producer admit the film demands that viewers engage with it on a different level from what they’re used to, and then requires them to convince others to give it the same chance. Having seen the movie myself, I can tell you that it’s a legitimate science fiction masterpiece that will spawn tons of conversation, interpretations, and eye-opening rewatches. Here’s my full review.
There’s a darkness inside designer Yohji Yamamoto that radiates in the aesthetics of his clothing. Whether it’s crafting billowing womenswear that lacks the usual cheerfulness of spring blooms that other labels favor, or its unveiling Y-3 SPORT’s take on versatile and agile sportswear, many assume that his now signature “all-black everything” is the byproduct of form rather than feeling. “Black is modest and arrogant at the same time,” he has said in the past. “Black is lazy and easy – but mysterious. But above all black says this: ‘I don’t bother you – don’t bother me.'” Yamamoto is correct in his assertion that a black color palette can evoke both aggression and submission. Wearers can stand out like drops of paint on a blank, white canvas, or disappear into an oil drum. And perhaps above all else, his affinity for its usage seems to come from a personal tragedy that shapes him to this day. Yohji Yamamoto was born an only-child in the Shinjuku district of Tokyo in 1943 to a mother who was a dressmaker and a father who worked in the restaurant business. At the time, World War II had been an active conflict for two years. In the Soviet Union, the Battle of Stalingrad had just come to an end, German forces liquidated the Jewish ghetto in Kraków, and Japanese aircraft again bombed Darwin, Australia. Like other nations who were involved in the war, Japan decreed that all males at age 20 had to register for two years of service and remain in reserve status, subject to recall, until 40. In a four-year period between 1941-1945, the size of the Japanese armed forces grew from 1.7 million to 5.5 million men as soldiers fanned out to regions like Hong Kong, the Philippines, Thailand, Burma, the Dutch East Indies, and British Malaya. Fumio Yamamoto, Yohji’s father, was one of the millions of men who was drafted into Imperial service to fight against the Allies. “He went against his will,” Yamamoto recalled in the 1989 documentary film, Notebook on Cities and Clothes. “When I think of my father, I realize that the war is still raging inside me.” The very nature of Fumio’s death is still shrouded in mystery to this day. Although a 1982 profile on him stated that his father “died of undetermined causes on a transport ship en route to the Philippines,” Yamamoto’s own recollection is slightly different. In his 2011 book, My Dear Bomb, Yamamoto wrote, “I remember that at some point after I entered elementary school, I think, my mother held a funeral for my father in spite of the fact that none of his remains had been returned to us. ‘Died in the line of duty during fierce fighting in the mountainous region east of Baguio, Philippines,’ said the notification of death. His remains have yet to come home.” Yamamoto’s formative years ultimately shaped how he viewed the world – absorbing the ravages of war-like grief, starvation and despair – and ultimately interpreting them as commonplace as if buttons on a shirt. “When I was three years old, four years old, I knew already that life must be very tough,” Yamamoto said. “I had to fight. I had to protect my mother.” According to The Telegraph, after her husband’s death, Yamamoto’s mother, Fumi, learned to sew at the Bunka Fashion College and ran a dressmaker’s shop in what her son describes as the ‘seedy Kabukicho area’ of Shinjuku in Tokyo. The trade was particularly buoyed by women who had lost spouses in the War and needed to provide for their families on their own. By 1955, Japan was home to some 2,700 dressmaking schools, up from 400 just eight years earlier. Although Fumi excelled in her trade making dresses and designs with European influences, her husband’s death and the events of the war forced her to revert to foraging in the countryside for food to provide for her and her son. “I grew up after the second world war, the only son of a war widow,” Yamamoto recalled. “This pushed me to see society through my mother’s eyes. I believe that seeing the world through a woman’s eyes was my destiny and enabled me to do what I do.” According to the 1982 profile, Yohji was 12 when his mother transferred him from public school to the Ecole de L’Etoile du Matin (School of the Morning Star), an exclusive French Catholic school near the Imperial Palace where he would ultimately meet his future business partner, Goi Hayashi. “I nearly became a lawyer but I decided I really wanted to help my mother with her dressmaking business,” Yamamoto recalled. “My mother reacted angrily when I told her. She said: ‘If you really want to help me, you must go to dressmaking school.’ And so I did.” In his early 20s, Yohji Yamamoto began his career after earning a degree from Bunka Fashion College in 1969 – an institution that not only layed the foundation for his mother’s profession, but also cultivated and instructed the likes of Jun Takahashi, Junya Watanabe and NIGO as well. “At the very beginning, I just wanted women in men’s style,” Yamamoto told The New York Times. “Typically Japanese women were wearing imported and very feminine things and I didn’t like it. I jumped on the idea of designing coats for women. It meant something for me — the idea of a coat guarding a home, hiding the woman’s body. Maybe I liked imagining what is inside.” It seems clear that Yamamoto’s earliest visions for how women should carry themselves in Post-War Japan reflected a certain need for “masculine armor” given the over 2 million military casualties the country suffered. Rather than repeat the floral, European-style ensembles that reflected a cheery and hopeful future that his mother had been making, Yamamoto’s monochromatic designs told the story of children who were forced to see their mothers as both nurturers and disciplinarians. Many journalists kept saying, “Yohji, why are you making such dirty clothing?” He remarked about his distressed and often black pieces. “But I was seriously thinking that those are beautiful compared to the established style of garment from other famous designers at the time. ‘Dirty is good.'” While one can look at a Yohji Yamamoto collection and think “more black?,” it’s hard to fault his usage given his own personal history. “She wore nothing but black mourning clothes and I would watch as the hem of her skirt fluttered,” he said. Although he would never have to fight a literal war of his own, Yamamoto has prepared every day of his life like it was a possibility. “My role in all of this is very simple,” he said. “I make clothing like armor. My clothing protects you from unwelcome eyes.” Subscribe 1232 Shares Share Tweet Email WhatsApp Words by Alec Banks Features Editor Alec Banks is a Los Angeles-based long-form writer with over a decade of experience covering fashion, music, sports, and culture.
Plasminogen activators (PAs) are serine proteases with trypsin-like specificity that convert the proenzyme plasminogen to the enzyme plasmin. Plasmin, in turn, is the primary agent of fibrinolysis in the blood stream where it degrades the fibrin network of a blood clot to form soluble products. The two known primary human plasminogen activators are tissue plasminogen activator (t-PA) and single chain urokinase plasminogen activator (SCU-PA), the latter being the proenzyme of urokinase (UK). T-PA, a 63-65K protein, is secreted by numerous mammalian endothelial cells including aortic and venous endothelial cells. T-PA also has a high affinity for fibrin. For these reasons, t-PA is thought to be generated and to act directly at the site of a thrombus. SCU-PA, a 55K single chain protein, on the other hand, is thought to arrive at the site of a thrombus via the blood stream. T-PA and SCU-PA, UK and streptokinase (SK, a third plasminogen activator), as well as modifications thereof, are under intense study to determine their respective physiological roles in thrombolysis, angiogenesis, metastasis, inflammation and ovulation. Such studies include clinical studies of the use of these substances in treating thrombosis. Such investigations also include the search for means for producing larger quantitites of these enzymes from normal human cells for use as thrombolytic agents. Additionally, such increased levels of production of the enzymes themselves would also give rise to elevated levels of the respective messenger RNA's (m RNA's). The availability of increased yields of the mRNA's would, in turn, enhance production of the enzymes, or modifications thereof, by recombinant DNA production methods. For a recent review of plasminogen activators, particularly t-PA, UK and SCU-PA, see Cederholm-Williams, S.A., "Molecular Biology of Plasminogen activators and recombinant DNA progress", Bio Essays, 1, 168-173 (1984). Currently, the main (non-recombinant) source of t-PA in larger quantities is Bowes melanoma cells. These malignant cells yield sufficient t-PA for the purification and characterization of the enzyme and for preparation of monoclonal and polyclonal antibodies. Additionally, they produce sufficient specific messenger RNA (mRNA) to allow complete gene cloning. However, a source of t-PA and its messenger RNA from normal (i.e. non-malignant) cells is sought. Such a source is needed which will produce a large amount of t-PA from a serum-free medium and permit isolation of significant amounts of mRNA from the cells. The presence of serum greatly affects t-PA production and recovery due to the presence of t-PA inhibitor and a variety of proteins found in serum. Two recent journal articles report on the production of PA from normal human cells. First, A. Kadouri and Z. Bohak, "Production of Plasminogen Activator In Cultures of Normal Fibroblasts", Biotechnology, June 1983, pp. 354-358, report on the production of plasminogen activator (PA) from several different strains of lung fibroblasts. They particularly studied the production of PA from the IMR-90 human diploid fibroblasts with different sera and with culture plates coated with poly-D-lysine. Two experiments were also reported in which a serum medium was used first, and thereafter, the medium was changed to a serum-free medium supplemented with 0.5 percent lactalbumin hydrolyzate for a few days production (see FIGS. 1(b) and 2(b) on page 356 thereof). A batch and a continuous production process were also studied, but the medium used for these experiments was not clearly identified. The article does not recognize that there are two distinct PA's produced by the cells. In the second paper, Gerard C. Brouty-Boye et al., "Biosynthesis of Human Tissue-Type Plasminogen Activator By Normal Cells", Biotechnology, December, 1984, pp. 1058-1062, the authors report on the production of t-PA from human embryonic lung (HEL) cells in a serum-free medium. They studied the use of eight different possible inducers to stimulate the t-PA production from these cells. These potential inducers were calcitonin (salmon), cholera toxin, colchicin, concanavalin A, glycine, glycylglycine, heparin, lactalbumin, sodium butyrate, .alpha.-thrombin, and ultraviolet light. Of these, only concanavalin A significantly (4 times) enhanced production over that without an inducer. The authors also noted that no synergistic effects between concanavalin A and the other tested substances were seen. Applicant's invention comprises the use of a combination of heparin and endothelial cell growth factor (ECGF) to enhance the production of t-PA and SCU-PA by normal human diploid lung fibroblast cells in a serum-free medium. ECGF is an extract from bovine hypothalmus or pituitary gland which stimulates the growth of bovine and human venous or aortic endothelial cells. (See Maciag, T. et al., Proceedings of the National Academy of Science, 76, pp. 5674-78 (1979) and Olander, J. et al., In Vitro, 16, p. 209 (1980)). ECGF is available commercially. Heparin at concentrations of 90 mcg/ml, has been reported to potentiate the stimulatory effect of ECGF on the proliferation of human umbilical vein endothelial (HUVE) cells and of endothelial cells from adult human blood vessels. No suggestion is made that these agents stimulate PA production by these cells. See Thornton, S. C. et al., Science, 222, p. 623 (1983). In this study the medium was supplemented with 20 percent fetal bovine serum. Maciag, T. et al., Science, 225, p. 932-5 (1984) have reported further that heparin has a strong binding affinity for ECGF as shown by the use of heparin-Sepharose chromatographic extraction of ECFG. Applicant's invention differs from the above in that the combination of ECGF and heparin has been found to significantly enhance the production of t-PA and SCU-PA by normal human lung fibroblast cultures in a serum-free medium. As described below, other endothelial cell polypeptide mitogens may be employed in this invention as endothelial cell growth factors, and, hence, hereinafter "ECGF" is used to denote endothelial cell growth factor itself, which can be isolated from bovine hypothalmus or pituitary gland. The words "an endothelial cell growth factor" as used hereinafter includes these other endothelial cell polypeptide mitogens.
Gelatin-Based Hydrogels Blended with Gellan as an Injectable Wound Dressing Injectable scaffolds are of great interests for skin regeneration because they can fill irregularly shaped defects through minimally invasive surgical treatments. In this study, an injectable hydrogel from biopolymers is developed and its application as wound dressings is examined. Gelatin-based hydrogels were successfully prepared at body temperature upon blending with low content of gellan, and the synergetic effect on the gel formation was carefully characterized through rheological methods. The electrostatic complexation between gelatin and gellan was confirmed to contribute a continuous hydrogel network. The obtained blend hydrogel demonstrates remarkable shear-thinning and self-recovering properties. For antibacterial purpose, tannic acid was incorporated into the blend hydrogel. In addition, tannic acid-loaded blend hydrogel was verified to accelerate the wound healing on the mice model, significantly than the control groups. Thus, this paper presents a facile approach without chemical modification to construct injectable gelatin-based hydrogels, which have great potential as a wound dressing or tissue scaffold at body temperature. Experimentalu In vitro release study. In vitro release study was carried out using Franz diffusion cell (TK-12B, Shanghai KAIKAI Technology Co.) with a receptor compartment (7 mL PBS) through piglet skin (donated by Laboratory of Professor Wenhu Zhou, School of Pharmaceutical Sciences, Central South University). The full-thickness abdominal skin from piglets was excised and fat adhering to the dermis side was cleaned using a blunt scalpel, followed by repeatedly washed with saline. Care was taken to avoid damaging skin. The skins were sealed in aluminum foil paper at -20 o C and used within 2 weeks. A predetermined amount of TA-loaded hydrogel (0.5 g) or TA solution (0.5 mL) was placed on the donor side. The receptor medium was continuously stirred at 100 rpm and maintained at 37 ± 0.5°C with a water jacket. At predetermined time intervals, 2 ml samples were withdrawn from the receiver compartment and replaced with an equal volume of fresh buffer. Collected samples were analyzed by UV spectrophotometer at 276 nm. Cell cytotoxicity assay. L-929 mouse fibroblast cell line was obtained from the cell bank of Xiangya Central Laboratory of Central South University (Changsha, China). Cells were cultured in DMEM medium containing 10% FBS and 1% antibiotics (100 units mL -1 penicillin and 100 g mL -1 streptomycin) under 5% CO2 atmosphere. Cells were seeded into a 96-well plate at a density of 5 10 4 cells per milliliter, respectively. After 24 h of culture, the cell culture medium was replaced with fresh medium containing hydrogel sample (50 L per well). After 24 h of incubation, the supernatants were removed and the fresh medium contained CCK-8 solution was added into each well. After another 1 h of incubation, the absorbance at 450 nm was measured in a microplate reader (Bio-Tek ELx800, USA). Cell viability (%) was calculated from the ratio of the absorbance of the treated cells to the untreated cell. S3 L929 cells were cultured to ∼80% confluence in 24 well plates in DMEM medium, washed with PBS. Subsequently, a mock wound (scratch) was induced across the cell sheet using a 200 L pipet tip on the bottom of each well and rinsed with medium to remove cell debris. Separately, hydrogel precursor mixture (50 L) was injected onto the denuded area at 37 o C. Then DMEM (1 mL) were added to each well. Scratched cell sheets treated with culture medium (1 mL) served as a control. Images of the treated and untreated cells were taken after 0, 12, and 24 h to monitor the cell migration propensity. Histopathological examination. On the 12th day of post wounding, three mice from each group was sacrificed and the skin tissue was removed by a scissor. Skin specimens were fixed in 10% buffered formalin, processed, embedded in paraffin, and then sectioned perpendicular to the wound surface into 4 mm sections by standard procedures. Sections were stained with hematoxyline-eosin (H&E) and Masson's trichrome. All sections were analyzed using light microscopy by two pathologists in a blinded manner. Samples were scored concerning microscopic appearance in a blinded fashion, and the score was adapted from the literature, as shown in Table 1. 1 The collagen content was analyzed using the software of Image J.
Begin Reading Table of Contents A Preview of _The Secret of Ella and Micha_ Newsletters Copyright Page In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author's intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author's rights. _To my readers, this one's for you._ # _Acknowledgments_ A huge thanks to my agent, Erica Silverman, and my editor, Amy Pierpont. I'm forever grateful for all your help and input. To my family, thank you supporting me and my dream. You guys have been wonderful. And to everyone who reads this book, an endless amount of thank-yous. # Chapter One # Micha I'm trying not to think of all the messed-up reasons why Ella wouldn't show up to our wedding, but it's fucking hard. After everything we've been through, she didn't even call or leave me a note. My thoughts keep drifting back to the day after we kissed on the bridge and how afterward she told me that she loved me. I'd gone over to her house the next morning, ready to talk about it—talk about us—hoping she hadn't changed her mind overnight, after she'd sobered up. When I climbed up that tree and ducked into her room, all I found was an empty bed. She was gone and that was worse than just dealing with an Ella in denial over her feelings for me. I knew she loved me even if she wouldn't admit it, and I could handle that if it meant she was still in my life. But having her gone, missing from my life, having no idea where she was, was like losing my arm—or my heart. And right now, I feel like I'm verging on that that place again. The cab driver is moving at a snail's pace down the road that leads to the secluded neighborhood Ella and I have been living in and it's driving me crazy. He actually looked at Lila, Ethan, and me like we were the ones who were insane when we'd hopped into the cab and I told him to drive as fast as possible, not worrying about the speed limit. "Can't you drive any faster at all?" I ask, thrumming my fingers on top of my legs. "We're barely moving." He shoots me a dirty look through the rearview mirror. "I'm driving the speed limit." "You say that like it's okay," I say, leaning forward toward the plastic window dividing the front of the cab from the back. "Micha, relax." Lila touches my arm, trying to calm me down. Her blonde hair and red dress are damp from her jump with Ethan off a cliff into the ocean. They were having fun while we waited for Ella to show up. We should all be having fun. But now I'm being stood up. _Stood up. Shit._ I slam my palm against the plastic, losing my cool, something I rarely do, but all I keeping thinking about is that she ran. Again. "I swear to God, you need to press down on that gas pedal or else—" "Micha," Lila hisses, her blue eyes firm on me as she grabs my arm and jerks it away from the plastic window while the cab driver narrows his eyes. "That's not helping." I rake my fingers through my hair and then undo the top button of my shirt because it's suffocating me. Lila hits redial on her phone, trying to call Ella for the hundredth time, but it goes straight to her voicemail. Ethan's hardly said anything, but I know what he's thinking—that I should have expected this. Except that's the thing he doesn't get. Yes, Ella does this kind of stuff a lot but it's because she's either scared or confused or hating herself. It's what she's done since we were kids. I know this, just like I know that no matter what, we'll end up together. Finally, the cabbie pulls up in front of the small single-story house I've shared with Ella since earlier this year. I don't even bother waiting for the car to come to a complete stop before I shove open the door. I toss a few bills through the slot in the window and stumble over my boots as I step out onto the curb. Ethan shouts at me to settle the hell down, but I shrug him off and jog across the lawn, stomping over the flowers tracing the path to the front door. I remember when we first came to look at the house. My mom knew a Realtor in San Diego and she said she could hook us up with a cute house we could rent for dirt cheap, due to the fact that the owner was an old woman who bought it back when houses were affordable. Ella and I had taken our time wandering around looking at the small bedrooms, the narrow but decent kitchen, and the wide backyard. I could tell Ella was pretending that she was uninterested, but I could see it in her eyes that she loved the house. "So what do you think?" I'd asked, nudging her with my shoulder as she stared at the yellow shutters decorating the front of the house. She'd nonchalantly shrugged, but bit her lip, which meant she was trying to suppress her enthusiasm. "It looks like a house." I moved up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist, stifling a smile as I dipped my mouth toward her ear. "A house you could see yourself living in?" She dithered and then amusement laced her voice. "Well, me, yes, but you I'm not so sure. Maybe we'll have to find another place for you. Or better yet, you could always live in the garage." I pinched her ass and it made her squeal. "Don't pretend like you're not picturing all the many places in it that I could fuck you," I whispered hotly in her ear. She shuddered and I knew right then that it would be our first home. We moved in a week later and everything has been going good for the last six months. I've been working on recording an album in a small studio near here, playing in concerts with a lot of musicians who are similar to me, playing anywhere we can just to get the chance to play while Ella works at an art gallery and goes to school, wearing my engagement ring on her finger. She seemed happy and even content when we decided it was time to actually have the wedding. I'll admit I would have rather had it back home where my mom could come to it, but Ella and I decided we'd have the wedding here, just she and I, and tell everyone later because it seemed to make Ella more at ease about the idea of getting married. It wasn't really a big deal to me, not to have anyone there but Ella, me, Ethan, Lila, and the minister. I mean, I haven't talked to my dad since I gave him my blood and marrow, so I wouldn't have even invited him to begin with. But I know my mom's going to flip when she finds out we got married without her... or she would have flipped anyway. Now I'm not so sure there's even going to be a wedding. Shaking the damn thought from my head, I make my way to the house. I unlock the front door and hurry inside, scanning the living room for a sign that Ella's bailed. Everything looks normal, but then again, when she ran the first time, she barely took any of her stuff. I go to the back door and check out the grassy yard and deck, but both are empty. My hope is dissipating as I walk past the empty bathroom and into our bedroom, the pressure in my chest building at the thought that she's gone. _She left me. Shit._ But when I push the door open, I jump back, shocked by the sight of her. She's sitting on the bed, overwhelmingly gorgeous in a white-and-black wedding dress, her legs pulled up to her chest, her chin resting on her knees, her auburn hair pinned up in tangled curls. The bottom of the dress is pulled up over her feet, revealing that she's wearing black combat boots, not heels like a lot of girls would. It almost makes me smile because I couldn't picture her looking more perfect and more like herself if I tried. But when she looks up at me, her big green eyes filled with so much sadness, it rips the approaching smile off my face. I don't say anything as I make my way to the unmade bed, maneuvering over the pile of discarded clothes, sketchings, and my guitar, and then I sit down beside her. Reaching forward, I sweep strands of her auburn hair out of her eyes and tuck them behind her ear, then trace a line with my finger up and down her cheekbone. I wait for her to speak first, because I don't know enough about what's going on in her head to know what the right thing to say is. We sit for what feels like forever, staring at each other, and the longer it goes on the more nervous I get about what she's going to say when she finally does speak. I hear Ethan and Lila walk up to the door, talking under their breath, but the sounds of their voices quickly fade as they leave right away, like they sense that we need to be alone. "I'm so sorry," Ella says, finally breaking the silence. She lets out a deep sigh as she peers up at me through her eyelashes, biting her bottom lip. I fight the urge to close my eyes against the sting in my heart. "What happened? I thought..." I cup her cheek with my hand, telling my unsteady voice to shut the hell up. "I thought we both wanted this." Her bottom lip springs free as she releases it, then she lifts her chin off her knees and sits up. "We did... I do... It's just..." She releases a frustrated breath and flops her hands against the mattress. Pressure releases in my chest and confusion takes its place. "I don't get it... You didn't show up and you wouldn't answer your phone... I thought you..." I have to battle to stay composed because it's one of my biggest fears: that she'll run and leave me. It's probably pathetic, but I can't help it. I don't need anyone else bailing out on my life, especially not Ella. "I'm so sorry, Micha," she utters with wide eyes. "But I couldn't talk to you until I thought of the right thing to say." "Talk to me about what?" My voice cracks with fear and I clear it. "Talk to you about the wedding." She looks around like she's hunting for an escape route, but ultimately her eyes land back on me. "I talked to your mom the other day—she called me asking if I knew anything that you wanted for your birthday, and she also wanted to know if we were coming home for Christmas." I raise my eyebrows in surprise. "Okay, that's nice I guess... but what does that have to do with skipping out on our wedding?" She gives a disheartened sigh. "She asked if we'd set a date yet for the wedding yet. I didn't know you hadn't told her we were just going to get married here, without anyone." My fingers stiffen on her cheek. "Did you tell her we were?" "You know I'm a pro at lying." I snort a laugh. "Not really, but we can pretend for now." She shakes her head, her lips twitching to smile. "Stop making jokes. I'm trying to be genuinely serious and honest right now." "You... serious and honest?" I question with doubt, grinning amusedly at her. "Really?" "I know. It's weird." She pauses, her chest nearly busting out of the top of her dress with each ragged breath. "I think..." She shifts her body, tucking her legs underneath her as she gets to her knees. "It's just that..." Her eyelashes flutter as she stares at the sunlight through the window. "I don't even know how to say this," she mutters. I scoot forward on the bed, shoving the bulky material of her dress out of the way and getting close to her. "Pretty girl, whatever it is, you can say it. You can say anything to me. You know that." I just hope to God it's not what I'm thinking. That she's changed her mind. That she doesn't want to get married. She tilts her head and our gazes meet. "I know, but it doesn't make it easier for me to say it. You know it's hard for me to say how I'm feeling." I stroke the inside of her wrist with my thumb. "I know, but I'm always here for you." I'm trying to remain calm, but it's difficult. She's scaring the shit out of me, especially since I have no idea what the hell she's trying to say. I thought we had all this behind us. The day she put that ring on her finger was the happiest day of my life and I thought I'd have many more happy moments with her to come, but now I'm worried I jumped to conclusions. "And it's really hard for me to admit what I want sometimes," she continues, squeezing her eyes shut. "I know it is," I say. "But like I said, you can tell me anything, even if it's bad." Her eyelids lift up, her pupils shrinking as they hit the light. "I know and I think... I think we should just..." Her hand trembles in mine as her words rush out of her. "I think we should go home and have a normal wedding with our families." She presses her lips together and holds her breath. I remain motionless, fighting to keep my laughter in, because I know it's going to piss her off, but eventually it gets to me and it slips out. "Oh my God." I nearly choke, wrapping my arm around my stomach. "I can't believe that's what this is all about." "Micha." She pinches my chest through my shirt. "Stop laughing. I'm being serious." "Oh, I know you are." I continue to laugh and the longer it goes on, the more irritated she gets, until finally she gathers her dress and scoots toward the edge of the bed to leave. I quickly circle my arms around her waist and draw her back down on the bed. She flops onto the mattress and I fold my body over hers, fighting through the bulky fabric to get close to her. As I press up against her, she tries to squirm out from under me, pressing her hands against my chest, but I pin her arms to the side of her head. "It's not funny, Micha," she says hotly, but I can tell she's working really hard to stay angry with me. "I was trying to tell you how I feel and you laughed at me." "I know I did and I'm sorry." I suppress my laughter the best I can. "But you're too fucking adorable for your own good." She scowls. "I'm not adorable and you know it." "When you tell me things like you want to have a wedding with our families and are nervous about it, you're fucking adorable." I dip my head down and gently kiss her cheek. "I love you and we can get married wherever, however, and whenever you want, just as long as we get married and you never _ever_ stand me up again." She pouts out her glossy bottom lip. "I'm sorry about that. I just panicked." I nip at her bottom lip because it's too delicious to resist. "Next time, please just talk to me. Or at least send me a text." I kiss her again, then put a small amount of space between our bodies so I can look her in the eye. "A simple SOS or something." "Deal," she says, but still seems anxious. I hesitate. "Are you sure that's all that this is about?" She swiftly nods. "Of course." There's something in her green eyes I don't like, a familiar look that used to dwell there when we were growing up. Sadness, combined with fear and worry. I open my mouth to press her about it, but she arches her back and brings her mouth to mine. I distractedly kiss her, slipping my tongue deep into her mouth as all thoughts of abandonment and fear momentarily fade away. I'm pretty sure it's the best ending to getting stood up on my wedding day. If only I could convince myself that there will be no more bumps in the road, but I worry about the look in her eyes and going home to get married. I'm worried about Ella. Even though things have been really good between her and her father and brother, sometimes during her phone conversations with them, one of them ends up bringing up the past and I know it upsets her. They're not trying to be hurtful. In fact, I have to give her father props for how much he's changed, although it still pisses me off that he ever let things get that bad. Let his daughter feel the blame for her mother's death to the point where she thought about taking her own life. But he's been better about stuff and I remind myself that if Ella can have a nice version of her dad now, then she should have it. And she's been doing well, too, but she sometimes still struggles with depression and her fear of commitment. And I worry that it's the fear of commitment that is behind what just happened. That she's just stalling because she's not ready to marry me. And that maybe she really doesn't _want_ to marry me. # Chapter Two # Ella I'm trying to stay as calm as possible over the fact that I'm about to permanently seal my future, admit that I actually have a future, and give part of me to someone else. I've never been a fan of thinking far into the future, of thinking about what will happen when I get older, where I'll be. I avoid these kinds of thoughts mainly out of fear of what I'll see—who I'll become—and most of the time I just don't think I really deserve a future. But I don't want to be that girl who's so terrified of her past, who she is and the things she's done, that she can't move ahead in life. I don't want to be stuck motionless in a world crammed with self-loathing. I want to be strong, be someone who's worthy of love, who does things for the people they love. I thought I'd arrived at that place, but then the box showed up in the mail yesterday, sitting on my doorstep like an omen, from some guy named Gary Flemmerton, a name I don't recognize, but what I did recognize was what was in the box—stuff that belonged to my mother. My thoughts got jumbled. I ended up doing something stupid. I stood Micha up at our wedding, not because I don't love him. I do. So, so much. But I'm confused. About the box. About what's inside it—the journal my mother wrote, her drawings, photos of her. It was her life, stuffed in a box, revealing things I never knew about her, like things that she drew or wrote. I should be happy I got to discover some of her past. But for some reason discovering this just painfully brought up the past and it made me question my future. I started thinking about where I was going in life. Where will I be in five years? Will I be mentally healthy? Where will Micha and I be in our lives? Will we still live in San Diego? Will he still be playing music? Will I be working in an art gallery or selling my art? Will he still love me? Will we be happy? Will we have kids? The last thought is scary. I've never pictured myself as a mom and the only memories I have of my mom are the ones where I'm taking care of her. I don't want to do that to my own kids, make it so they have to take care of me. On top of the panic over my future, I started feeling guilty that we were having a wedding without Micha's mom there. I could picture her getting upset, especially since she was the one who pushed us to get engaged. Micha would end up feeling bad, because that's what he does when someone feels hurt. Plus, there's this one other thing... something that I know sounds crazy, but I sort of want my mom nearby but the only way it's possible is to have the wedding in Star Grove where she's buried. My mind was made up by the time Micha came back to the house but seeing him sort of unwound all the confused knots inside me. I'm still trying to sort through my thoughts, but I decide to take it one step at a time. After I get out of my dress and put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, I start packing up my stuff to go back home to Star Grove to have our wedding. I put the box with the journal into a large duffel bag to read later when I think I can handle it, along with my mother's sketchings and the wedding band I bought Micha. "I think we should get married on Christmas," Micha announces as he exits the closet with a bag in his hand. He took his tux off and put it in the black bag so we can drop it off at the rental store. He now has on a pair of faded jeans, a black T-shirt, his black leather watch, and boots. As sexy as he looked in the tux, I prefer him this way because he looks like my Micha. "It's the perfect day," he adds, setting the black bag down on the bed. "Yeah, I guess," I say, pressing the fluffy wedding dress into the bag while trying to zip it up. It's actually Lila's dress. She lent it to me after we snuck into her parents' house and took it out of her closet. I also got to meet her mother during our little trip and the woman seems like a real bitch. I remembered the time Lila showed up at my house crying and it all started to make sense why she showed up that night at my house in Star Grove over a year ago in tears. But it's been a few days and she'll barely talk about it and I'm not the kind of person to force people to have heart-to-hearts. "But do we really want to share our anniversary day with another holiday?" I ask "I like that you're thinking in advance." Micha drops his duffel bag on our bed and prods me with his elbow to move out of the way. Seconds later, he has the bag zipped up and the dress securely inside it. "But still, Christmas also marks the anniversary of when we got engaged." He looks down at the ring on my finger. "It'll be one year since I gave you that." I lift my hand up in front of me and the black stone glimmers in the light, which highlights the scratches, marks, and dings. The beauty. The perfection. The meaning. "I like the idea of a Christmas wedding I guess, just as long as we don't have to have tacky Christmas decorations, like Santas and reindeer or something." "You can have whatever kind of decorations that you want," he says as he drapes the black bag with the tux over his shoulder and then collects our bags. "Just as long as you'll marry me." "You're too easy on me." I lower my hand to my side and smile, even though my nerves make my stomach roll. "But it's a deal. A Christmas-day wedding with no Christmas decorations." He looks happy as he embraces and kisses me and then we go outside into the cool ocean air and put our bags next to Micha's 1969 Chevelle SS. He then runs back inside to get his keys because he left them on the counter. I stare at the inflatable Santa across the street waving at me, or maybe it's just the wind blowing him around. There's hardly a breeze here though, and nothing compares to the winter wonderland I'm willingly about to go back to. Star Grove. My hometown. The place where I broke apart and was put together again. The place that holds so many memories, both good and bad. I hope it's worth it. I hope nothing bad happens. I hope this trip will finally hold only good. For some reason, I'm doubtful and the longer I stand there in the driveway, staring at the Santa, the more anxious I get. Finally Micha comes out of the house with Lila right behind him, heaving her suitcase down the steps and up the path. Micha kisses me when he reaches me, then unlocks the trunk and sets Lila's suitcase inside. "Are you going to ask your dad to walk you down the aisle?" Lila asks cheerfully as I hand Micha my suitcase. Micha looks at me curiously, waiting to hear my answer as he drops my bag into the trunk. "There's not going to be an aisle." And I don't want my dad to walk me down it. Yeah, I don't mind him at the wedding, but I don't want him to be the person who guides me to the finish line when he wasn't that great for most of the journey. Lila places her hands on her hips and narrows her blue eyes at me. "Oh, there's going to be an aisle. You'll see." Micha laughs as he tosses Lila's suitcase into the trunk. "I think she means business, pretty girl." I'm about to tell him to shut up when Ethan exits the house with his bag in his hand, squinting against the sunlight. "Are you two sure you don't want to just drive down to Vegas and elope?" he gripes as he approaches us, then chucks his duffel bag at Micha. "I really don't want to see my mom or dad or Star Grove—I've been enjoying my space from both." "Baby, come on. Let them be. They deserve a beautiful wedding, not an elopement in a tacky fake church." Lila glides her hand up the front of his chest, stands on her tiptoes, and kisses his neck. Then she whispers something in his ear as she plays with his hair. I'll admit they make a cute couple, especially now that Lila has this whole grunge thing going. Her blonde hair is chin length and streaked with black that matches Ethan's hair. She's wearing jeans and a tank top that aren't name brand like everything she used to wear when we were living together. Her style goes well with Ethan's laidback look: his plaid shirt and faded jeans and a pair of sneakers that he's probably owned since he was sixteen. And Lila's average height allows her to nestle her head against Ethan's chest comfortably. Looking at them with the sunlight and my house in the backdrop, I find myself wishing I had time to draw them. After a lot of kissing and whispering in Ethan's ear, Lila convinces him to stop complaining and he begrudgingly agrees that Vegas is a ridiculous idea and that Micha and I should get married in Star Grove. "A week is not a lot of time to prepare a wedding," Lila declares, pulling her sunglasses over her eyes. "Not a real one with decorations, flowers, dresses, tuxes, and guests. God, I wish we had more time to plan this." "And I wish you wouldn't take any time to plan it," I say, and when she frowns I sigh. "Sorry, I'm just not into wedding stuff." I round the car to the passenger side of the Chevelle, trailing my finger across a few dings and chips in the black paint that were put there when Micha intentionally crashed it into the snow bank. Micha opens the driver door and steps back so Ethan can climb into the backseat. "It doesn't matter what kind of wedding we have," he says, "just as long as Ella's there with me. In fact, we don't even need dresses and tuxes. We could even be naked and standing in my backyard and I'd be okay." He winks at me over the roof of the car. "As long as we're together, I'll be happy and being naked would just be an added bonus." This makes Lila giggle as she ducks her head and hops into the backseat with Ethan. I push the seat back, get in the car, and shut the door, then pull the visor down to block the sunlight. Micha adjusts the driver's seat before he closes the door and starts the engine. "So is everyone ready for this?" He looks around at the three of us, but when his eyes finally land on me I know he only really cares about my answer. It takes me a second to answer and he notices my hesitation and his expression starts to fall. But even though my throat feels dry I manage to say, "Of course." My voice trembles a little. "Okay then." Giving me a small but slightly forced smile, he backs down the driveway and drives down the highway, toward home where all of this started. Where Micha and I first met, first talked, first played, kissed, fooled around, danced, said I love you. Where Micha and I began. We drive down the dark, desolate highway for hours, the moon a bright orb against the black sky and the trees on the side of the road only outlines. Music is playing from the speakers and Ethan is snoring in the backseat with his head against the headrest while Lila leans against him. I have my sketchpad opened on my lap and a pencil in my hand. I'm supposed to be working on my portfolio over Christmas break for graduation in May. I'm not even sure exactly what I'm going to do when I graduate with my associate degree, but it'll have something to do with art. Honestly, if I had my way, I'd spend all day with Micha, listening to him sing, while I draw things that mean something to me—things that move me. I wouldn't want to draw so I could sell my art. Yes, it would be an added bonus, but doing it as a job would take some of my passion for creating away. Right now all the pages in my sketchbook are blank or have unfinished pictures on them because I wasn't feeling it and stopped. It's supposed to be full of pieces that mean something to me, that will make people experience emotion, tell a passionate story from the heart. I can't seem to find my angle and everything I start ends up feeling forced. _I wonder if my mom had this problem._ "So I'm trying to decide whether to tell my mom or not that we almost went through with a wedding without her," Micha says, slipping his fingers through mine, and the contact jerks me from my thoughts and I gasp, startling him and myself. "Are you okay?" he asks. "You seem distracted." "Yeah I'm fine... and I vote no." I set my pencil down and close my untouched sketchbook, since it's too dark to draw anyway, and put it down on the floor beside my feet. I rub my tired eyes, then slant my head to the side and watch the stars in the sky stream by in various illuminating colors, trying not to think about the journal tucked away in my bag in the trunk. My mom's journal and drawings. My mother who won't be at my wedding. I want to scream at myself because it shouldn't be such a big deal. She was hardly around when I was alive so what does it matter? Yet for some reason it does. "What's the matter, pretty girl?" Micha glances at me and there's a tease in his tone. "Are you afraid she's going to get upset?" He releases my hand to sweep strands of his blond hair out of his aqua eyes that are so strikingly beautiful even the darkness can't conceal it. "I'm never afraid," I assure him as he returns his fingers to mine, bringing me instantaneous warmth. "I'm just worried she's going to get upset and cry and then things are going to get awkward." He chuckles softly, and then delicately kisses my knuckles, causing my heart to flutter. "So you're only worried about things getting awkward, huh?" The ring looped through his bottom lip grazes my skin as he moves his mouth away, and then he puts his hand to the shifter with our fingers still entwined. "There's nothing else bothering you at all? Like the fact that you're going to have to stand up in front of a group of people and tell them why you love me?" I gape at him. "What are you talking about?" "Our wedding vows," he says. "Did you forget?" I look at the window to hide my guilty face. With the box arriving on my doorstep yesterday and the panic of actually getting married, I'd completely forgotten about the vows. Micha had thought it'd be a great idea to write our own vows and I'd agreed because it was only going to be him and me, Lila, Ethan, and a minister. I knew there was no way I could write anything as poetic as Micha would. The boy is amazing with lyrics and letters and words in general. Myself, not so much, especially when it comes to writing about the heavy stuff like my feelings. I really suck at self-expression, unless it's through art. _I wonder if I could get away with just holding up a few drawings of him?_ "You did forget, didn't you?" Micha starts laughing again, looking so happy it hurts my heart, because I should be that happy. And I am, for the most part, but there's still stuff bothering me, like the journal, the vows, my future, what the hell I want to become of my life. I smash my lips together and meet his gaze. "I might have let it slip my mind, but not because I don't love you." "I know that." "I know, but still..." I sigh. "I'm such an asshole." He laughs even harder, one hand gripping the steering wheel as he merges into the other lane. "You're not an asshole." He skims his fingers across the bumps of my knuckles with his thumb. "And we don't have to write our own vows if you don't want to. I'm perfectly content with just marrying you." "You're so sappy sometimes," I tease, and then take a shaky breath. "But I want to do the vows." It's such a lie but I want to make him happy—he deserves to be happy. And this is something I can do to give that to him. He cocks an eyebrow. "Are you sure?" _No_. "Yeah, I'm absolutely sure." I sound kind of choked, but I don't think he notices. I feel bad, but at the same time I can't help how I feel. I'm never really sure about anything. I get anxious when it comes to huge decisions and that makes me hesitate every single time. If I had my way, it wouldn't be like that, but sometimes things are out of our control when it comes to who we are. "Vows it is then." He smiles and it makes me sad. I want to be as happy as he is. I really do. But sometimes it seems like it's impossible, no matter how hard I try. I fall asleep somewhere between the exit ramp and the bridge that stretches over the lake that's at the edge of Star Grove, the one I almost jumped off the night before I ran away to Vegas. By the time I open my eyes again, we're pulling up to Micha's old house, which is next door to mine. The sun is ascending from behind the mountains that surround our little town and snow blankets the lawns around us. It's freezing here, and the sidewalks and driveways are all glazed in ice. Silver, green, and red Christmas lights twinkle on some of the nearby houses, but most of the front yards in this neighborhood are decorated with broken-down cars, boxes, trash. There's a younger guy who I'm pretty sure is selling drugs on the street corner, and a guy yelling at his wife as she storms down the sidewalk in her pajamas. "Welcome home," Micha mutters, and then yawns, stretching his lean arms above his head. I cover my mouth as I yawn. "You should have let me drive a little. You seriously look tired." "I am seriously tired," he says, silencing the engine. "And I plan on getting some sleep just as soon as you take a shower with me." He flashes me a grin and then pulls the keys out of the ignition. "That'll wear me out and I'll be able to fall right to sleep afterward." "Dude, shut the fuck up," Ethan grumbles, making a disgusted face. His black hair is flat on one side where his head was against the window and he has his tattooed arms around Lila as she sleeps with her head on his chest. "Hey, you can't give us crap," I tell Ethan, unbuckling my seat belt. "I'm officially scarred for life after yesterday." "What happened yesterday?" Micha asks as he cracks open the door and cold air rushes into the car. Ethan shoots me a dirty glare, but I ignore him. "I came home from work," I tell Micha, "and heard some very disturbing noises coming from the guest room." "Nice," Micha says and then flinches when I punch him in the arm. "What? If it'll make you feel better we can make a whole bunch of noise in the shower and pay them back." "Please don't," Ethan pleads grumpily as he stretches his free arm above his head. "I've heard enough from you two to last me a lifetime." "Okay, this is getting really awkward," Lila mumbles with her eyes still shut. "Can we all just pretend that we haven't heard each other have sex... or phone sex?" And that's my cue to get out of the car since she's referring to the time Micha and I had phone sex when I was still sharing an apartment with Lila while Micha was on the road. As I step out into the snow, Micha laughs and Ethan cracks a joke underneath his breath. Ignoring them, I slam the door and wind around to the back of the car, leaving my tracks in the snow. Thankfully, I thought ahead and wore my lace-up boots and a pair of jeans, otherwise I'd be freezing. I don't have a jacket on, though, and my hair's pulled up in a ponytail so my neck's exposed to the icy air. I wrap my arms around myself and wait for Micha to come open the trunk as I stare at my house next door. I can tell my dad's been out and about because of the fresh tire tracks going up and down the driveway and the fact that his Firebird is parked near the back steps, the windows defrosted. Beside the car is the tree that Micha used to climb up almost every night to sleep with me. I used to hate the tree because I climbed up it the night my mom died, but now, looking at it, I can't help but smile because it was the thing that brought Micha to me many times. "Baby, where's your jacket?" Micha asks as he struts around to the back of the car, slipping off his own jacket. "I think it's in my suitcase." I force my attention away from my house and onto him as he hands me his jacket and I distractedly slip it on. He's so God damn gorgeous it's distracting. I wish I could just draw him all the time. He'd probably let me if I asked, telling me he belongs to me and I can do whatever I want with him. I absentmindedly rub my thumb across the ring on my finger as I feel the reality of the thought. That we belong together. _Him and me. Forever_. He looks down at my ring, then takes my hand and reaches out to sketch his finger around the diamond band twisted in knots that encase a black stone. "I'm still surprised how well you're handling this." "What? Being engaged?" I shiver from the cold, or maybe it's from his touch. A pucker forms at his brow as he glances down at the ring on my finger. "Over the fact that we're going to get married..." He looks over at my house. "Here, with everyone." My muscles tense, but I joke to lighten the tension building inside me. "Give me a few days and we'll see if you still think I'm handling it well. You might not even want to marry me anymore." "You know as well as I do that we're going to get married." His eyes darken with desire as his voice deepens. "Just like we both know that I'm going to fuck you when we take a shower in just a few minutes." His voice sends tingles all over my body, a flurry of hot sparks. "I swear to God, you are the horniest person in the world." "Nah, I'm just a guy who's completely attracted to his beautiful fiancée." He leans in to give me a kiss on the lips, before popping the trunk. I grab my bag and slide the handle over my shoulder. "You're always over complimenting me. You know that?" He swings the duffel bag over his shoulder and looks like he's resisting an eye roll. "Don't worry, I'll stop when your head gets too big, but I doubt that'll ever happen." He picks up a large bag and chucks it over the roof of the car to Ethan, who catches it against his stomach with a grunt. "Jesus, a little warning would be nice," Ethan says as he slides the handle of the bag over his arm. Micha grabs Lila's suitcase and extends the handle, lowering the bag down to the snowy driveway. "You guys are staying here, right?" Micha calls out to Ethan, slamming the trunk shut. Ethan shrugs, looking at Lila, who shrugs too. "I was planning on it." He drapes his arm around Lila's shoulder and she cuddles against his chest as they hike through the snow for the back door, leaving Micha and me to finish unloading the trunk by ourselves. "You know I like your place more than my own." "Only because my mom lets us do whatever the hell we want," Micha points out. "True," Ethan calls out. We follow them to the side door of the house that's right in front of the garage where Micha used to work on his car all the time and I would hang out with him because it was the only place I felt at home. "God, Lila, this thing is heavy," Micha remarks as he drags Lila's suitcase in the snow behind him. "What the hell did you pack?" "Normal stuff," Lila says, looking offended. Ethan opens the back door and steps into the kitchen. "She overpacks." "Hey," Lila protests, bumping her elbow into Ethan's side as she steps into the house. "I'm a lot better than I used to be." "True," Ethan agrees, following her in and letting the screen door bang shut. "Is your mom home?" I ask as Micha lifts the suitcase up the steps. He shrugs, opening the screen door. "Maybe." He pushes the suitcase into the kitchen while holding the door open with his elbow. "She might have had to work the morning shift, though, or she might be out with Thomas." I hitch my finger through the handle of the bag. "But you told her, right? That we were coming?" I step inside the kitchen and into the warm air, stomping my boots on the mat just in front of the threshold. "And why we were coming?" I sound so nervous. Damn it. I need to chill out. Micha shakes his head as he shuts the door. "I thought we could do it together." My eyes skim the small kitchen I ate many meals in while I was growing up. If I hadn't, I probably would have starved. "Sounds good, I guess." He pauses near the kitchen table. "Unless you're not okay with that." "No, I'm okay with that," I tell him, attempting to push through my nerves. _You can do this. It's not that scary. You've been living together for six months. Hell, you've pretty much lived with him since you were four_. "We should do it together." He nods, but his aqua eyes are still fixed on me, like he's trying to read my soul. I kind of wish he could so he would tell me what it says, because sometimes I'm not so sure. After a few intense moments of staring at me, he gives me a smile and then grabs hold of my hand. He steers me around the narrow counter area and toward the hallway that leads to his bedroom. Lila and Ethan head to the other end of the house where there's a small guest bedroom Ethan used to crash in all the time while we were growing up. Micha kicks his bedroom door open and I can't help but smile as vivid memories rush back to me: the room where we grew up, where we spent many nights together, where he proposed to me. They're beautiful memories and they remind me of why I'm going to marry him. I hold my breath for a moment as the thought slams straight into my chest again, like it did right before I was supposed to go to the wedding. My heart rate picks up as I glance at the window, thinking how easy it would be for me to run. I've done it once and I could do it again, but deep down in the bottom of my heart, buried below my anxiety, I know I don't want to. I suck a slow breath through my nose and exhale out my mouth. _Relax_. _You need to stop panicking._ His bed isn't made and has probably been that way since the last time we were here a year ago. Drumsticks and a guitar are on the floor in front of the open closet and hanging on the wall are his favorite band posters, along with some of my drawings. Old clothes are piled on a chair near the window that looks out to the side yard of my house and to the leafless tree that extends to my bedroom window. His room still smells like him, too, as if the scent of his cologne is embedded in the carpet fibers. I've always loved the smell, a simple scent bringing me instant comfort even in the darkest times. I wonder if I just stand here and breathe it in over and over again if it can help me forget what's in the bag that's secured over my shoulder. Micha chucks his bag on the unmade bed and turns to me, rubbing his hands together. "Ready for our shower?" he asks with a devilish grin. I drop my bag onto the floor. "Yeah, just give me a second to get my clothes out. They're all buried beneath the wedding dress." He crosses his arms and gives me an apprehensive look. "Are you sure you're okay? You've been acting really distracted and now you're acting like you don't want to be around me." I plaster on the most generic smile. Deep down I know he probably can read right through my bullshit. "I'm perfectly fine." I place my hands on his shoulders and kiss his scruffy cheek. "But if you really want to know, I have some naughty little nighties in my bag that I don't want you to see, otherwise you'll make me try them on for you and they're for after we get married." He cocks his head to the side, assessing me as he unzips his jacket. "Since when do you wear nighties?" He shucks off the jacket, balls it up, and tosses it on the dresser. "Since Lila made me go into Victoria's Secret and buy them." Which isn't entirely a lie. That actually did happen, but I do feel like a jerk for not coming straight out and telling him about the journal and drawings. "You know, I'm really starting to like Lila. She's such a good influence on you," he says cleverly and then kisses me deeply, slipping his tongue into my mouth before pulling away. "If you're not in the shower in five minutes, I'm coming back here naked to get you." "Deal," I tell him and he heads out the door with a clean red T-shirt and jeans in his hand. As soon as the door shuts, I exhale loudly as I move my bag onto the bed. My fingers shake as I unzip it, and then I dig past the dress to the bottom of the bag and remove the box addressed to me, the return address from a Gary Flemmerton in Montana, but that's not who it's from, at least not according to the note inside the box, which was written by mother's mom—my grandma. And it makes no sense, because I've never talked to her before, yet she took it upon herself to write me a note and send me some stuff of my mother's. It's weird, yet at the same time it's got me thinking things I don't want to think, like maybe I could meet her, but then again, do I really want to let more people into my life? The note's pretty simple and when I take it out of the box and read it again, I have the same reaction: confusion. _Ella, I know you don't know me and I'm so sorry about that. There were things that you probablydon't understand, or maybe you do. Maybe Maralynn told you about me. Maybe she didn't. But regardless, I was going through the attic, cleaning it out, and found some of her old stuff. I thought that you'd like to have it. I was going to keep it myself, but it's just too painful. If you don't want it, you don't have to keep it. I just thought you might like it._ Then she signed her name in flawless cursive handwriting. I'd only ever met my grandmother once and that was at my mother's funeral. We didn't say anything to each other and my father didn't talk to her. It makes no sense why she'd give me her phone number like I'd been the one avoiding her all these years. She could have come up to me at the funeral and said something, but instead she sat across from my dad, my brother, and me in the barely occupied church while the minister preached about life after death. I think she might have smiled at me once, but I wasn't completely sure at the time, nor did I care, because I was in a place where guilt was possessing my heart and mind. Plus, from what I knew about my grandmother, she wasn't a very nice person. I'd heard my mom talk about her maybe only five times and from what she told me, she was a horrible mother who treated her daughter like shit and who disowned my mom when she announced she was going to marry my dad. I guess my grandmother hated my dad and thought he wasn't good enough for her. That pretty much sums up everything I know and I've never talked to her to be my own judge. I'm not sure if I want to. The woman has been a shadow in my life. Then again pretty much everyone was a shadow in my life except for Micha. Micha has been my light in my dark life. I smile to myself, noting that I should put that in the vows. My expression instantly sinks as I realize that eventually I'll have to write a page of heartfelt words and have to read them aloud, pour my heart and soul out to strangers. And when it's all done, Micha and I will be husband and wife. I'll have him forever and he'll have me. Just thinking about it, my pulse increases and my heart slams against my chest. It'll be just him and me forever, through thick and thin, through light and darkness. _Knock it off. You love him._ I'm starting to freak out at the infinite future barreling at me, and I struggle to shake it off and concentrate on the box instead. I wedge my fingers through the opening in the top and remove the thing I'd been looking at when I'd been debating whether to go down to the cliff to get married. It's a black leather book, the cover faded, and inside is my mother's handwriting, stating her thoughts and feelings, her soul poured out across the many pages. I open the journal as I sink down onto the bed. "For all of you who think you know me, you don't," I read aloud, running my fingers along the faded script. That's just the first page, and even reading it again puts goose bumps on my arms. It's as far as I've read and it seems like far enough, yet it doesn't. I've always wanted to get to know my mom better, the mom who didn't lie, didn't have panic attacks, the one who smiled, laughed, told jokes. Did she lie in these pages? Should I care so much? What's done is done. She's gone, and reading her journal isn't going to bring her back. Yet I do care. "Ella." The sound of Micha's voice startles the living daylights out of me and I jump, slamming the journal shut. He's standing in the doorway, completely naked just like he warned me he would be. Lean muscles carve his stomach and cursive letters tattoo the side of his rib cage in black ink, the first lyrics he ever wrote, which he swears he wrote for me: _I'll always be with you, inside and out. Through hard times and helpless ones, through love, through doubt._ Setting the notebook down on my lap, I cover my mouth. "Oh my God. You're naked." "Don't 'oh my God, you're naked' me." He enters the room and his muscles ripple with his movements, causing heat to pool inside my stomach. "What if Lila and Ethan saw you?" I ask, lowering my hand to my lap. "Then they saw me," he replies, his eyes fastened on me as he shuts the door. "I told you I'd come in here naked and get you if you weren't in there in five." He rotates his wrist, pretending to check a watch that he's not wearing. "And it's been five." I cross my legs because just seeing him like that makes me want to lie down on the bed and spread my legs open so he can slip inside me. "Well, I was coming." "Oh, you will be in a few minutes." A grin flashes across his face but then it vanishes when he notices the box next to me and the journal on my lap. "What is that?" I bite my lip guiltily. I haven't told him yet, because I know he'll worry about what it'll do to me. Still, I'm not going to lie to him now that he's asked. "It came in the mail yesterday. It's a box full of stuff... my mom's stuff." His eyes widen and his lips part in shock. "What? Who's it from?" I tap the top of the box with my finger. "Well, it says from a Gary Flemmerton, but the note inside is... well, it's from my grandmother... my mom's mom." "Okay. Didn't your mom say she was mean?" he asks cautiously. "Yeah, sort of." I smooth my hand over the journal with my chin tipped down. "But sometimes my mom lied about stuff." He shifts his weight and sits down on the bed beside me. Then he hooks a finger under my chin and elevates it so I'm looking at him. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks, looking at me with concern and making me feel at home, at peace, okay with everything, even the bad stuff. "I can't just yet," I tell him and when he starts to frown, I add, "Not because I don't want to, but because I haven't even looked through all the stuff yet to know what I want to talk about." "Do you want to go through it now? With me?" he asks with understanding. "Not right now." I suck in a slow breath at the idea of reading my mom's thoughts, concerned about what they'll reveal, what they won't reveal. _Who was she? Was she like me once?_ "But I will... I just need to process stuff one step at a time." He nods, but still seems uneasy as he moves his finger away from my chin and puts his hand on his lap. "So who's this Gary guy? And why did he send it to you all of a sudden out of the blue? And why did he send it for your grandmother?" "I have no idea, but here's the note." I pick up the scrawled piece of paper from out of the box and hand it to him so he can read it for himself. After he skims over the note he looks even more perplexed as he sets it aside on the nightstand. "So she was just cleaning out the attic and thought, 'Hey, maybe I should send the granddaughter who I've never talked to a box of her mother's stuff? Or have this Gary guy send it for her'?" "Maybe Gary's her boyfriend or something?" I lift my shoulders and shrug. "I have no idea because I've never talked to her before." Micha glances at the note again, strands of his blond hair falling into his eyes as he shakes his head, worrying just like I knew he would. "This is really weird. I mean, how did they even get our address?" "That's a good question." My mouth sinks to a frown as I look out the window at my small two-story house just next door, the one I grew up in, the one that is filled with painful, sad memories. There's snow falling and landing on the roof, which is missing half of the shingles. "Maybe from my dad." "Yeah, but wouldn't he have said something to you about giving it to her?" he asks. I aim a doubtful look at him because that doesn't sound like my dad at all. "Even though my dad's been better, he still gets weird about the past and my mom... Besides, I haven't talked to him in, like, a week." I swallow the massive lump lodged in my throat. "But I'll go ask him in a while." Micha practically beams at me like he's so proud that I'm doing the mature thing and not running away from the problem. It makes me realize that I am and that I shouldn't be running away from marrying him, even though my initial instincts are screaming at me to bail out. It's been in me practically forever. Run when things get too deep, too emotional, too complex. I've run a lot, but I've been good lately and I want to keep doing well. "Do you want me to go with you?" he asks with compassion in his eyes. I nod, tucking loose strands of my hair behind my ears. "I do." His smile broadens. "You remember those words very carefully. You're going to need to say them again soon." "I do," I repeat with a playful grin as I bump my shoulder against his and it makes his smile stretch to his eyes. "I do. I do. I—" He swiftly slides forward and his lips silence me. At first it's a slow, warming kiss, but the longer it goes on the fierier and more passionate it gets. Suddenly his fingers are grabbing onto the bottom of my shirt and then he tugs the fabric up over my head. Chucking it aside, his lips crash back into mine again as he gets to his feet, pulling me with him. Then he picks me up in his arms and I can feel his hardness pressing up between my thighs as I secure my legs around his midsection. It feels so good and my body ignites with heat and eagerness and suffocates all the bad thoughts in my head. As he carries me across the hall, I don't even care if Lila or Ethan walks out and sees us. All I care about is being with him. When he steps into the bathroom, music is playing from his iPod in the dock on the counter and the shower is on, the mirror fogged up from the heat and steam. The humidity in the air instantly clings to my skin as Micha bangs the door shut with his foot, sealing us in the sweltering room without breaking the kiss. He mutters an "I love you" over the lyrics of "The River" by Manchester Orchestra, and I utter the same thing back as he devours me with his hands and mouth. The feel of his lips, the soft sound of the lyrics, and the dampness of the steam absorbs into my skin and floods my veins with lust, need, hunger. They flood me with love. God, I feel so loved sometimes I forget how to breathe. Maybe I should put that in my vows, too. # Chapter Three # Micha God, she's come so far, sometimes I can't even believe she's the same person I grew up with. The Ella I used to know would have run like hell if something like that journal showed up on the doorstep, but this Ella is handling it beautifully. Even though I love her no matter what—runner, Stepford wife, or crazy and impulsive—my heart grows more in love with her with each day, for the person she was, is, and the people we are together as a couple. Soon to be husband and wife. I just pray to God we get to that place. Deep down I know we will; it's just that I'll feel so much better once she says "I do." My hands travel all over her body, feeling the flawlessness of her skin, her smooth stomach, her perfect neck, and then I taste her lips as my tongue explores every inch of her mouth. She tastes fucking amazing, like cherry lip gloss and peppermint. I pull away with one of my hands pressed to her lower back, and the other gripping her thigh that's hitched around my hip. "What do you taste like?" I ask as her eyelids flutter open. "Huh... what..." She breathes dazedly, like she barely has any idea of where we are. "Gum... I think... why?" "You taste like cherries and mint." I lick her lips with my tongue and then set her down on the floor. "It tastes good." She unlaces her boots and kicks them off as I unbutton her jeans and jerk them down her long legs. She's wearing a pair of black lacy panties that cover half of her sexy ass and I run my finger along the little pink bow that's sewn on the front of them. "I haven't seen these before," I say. "I told you," she says, breathless. "Lila made me buy naughty lingerie." She tugs the elastic out of her hair and her auburn locks slip out of the ponytail and fall to her shoulders in waves, damp with the moisture from the shower. I reach behind her to unhook her bra and the straps immediately fall off her shoulders. Her breasts spring free, her nipples perking as they hit the air. "God, you're beautiful." I leisurely take in the sight of her long legs and amazing body. She shakes her head, like she always does whenever I give her a compliment, but before she can protest, I bend down and suck one of her nipples into my mouth, silencing her. Her neck arches and her head falls back as she knots her fingers through my hair, moaning. "Micha..." She drifts off as I massage her nipple with my tongue while my hands wander to her panties. Hitching a finger in the top, I tug them down and she meets me halfway, kicking them off when they reach her knees. I return my mouth to her nipple as I slip my fingers up her bare thigh, not stopping until I'm inside her. "Oh God..." Her knees start to buckle, her back pressing against the edge of the counter. I move my fingers inside her as my mouth makes a path back and forth between her breasts, sucking her nipples into my mouth and tracing circles with my tongue. Her hand glides up my back, gently scratching lines on my skin, and when she reaches my shoulders, she grips tightly, holding on to me. I continue to kiss her breasts and feel the inside of her with my fingers as she veers closer to the edge, but eventually I crave more. Drawing my mouth away from her nipple and pulling my fingers out of her, I trail kisses down her stomach and her hands fall from my shoulders as I get down on my knees. She gasps as I bury my face between her thighs and slip my tongue inside her, my hands on her hips, gripping at her flesh. I taste her until it drives us both mad and her body tightens and her back arcs. She gasps in bliss as she clutches the counter for support. By the time she returns to reality, I'm rock hard and desperate to be deep inside her. A groan escapes my mouth as I stand up, licking my lips before I seal my mouth to hers. Then I blindly steer us toward the shower, fumbling around until I find the curtain and pull it back. I break the kiss only to get us in the shower, and then once we're under the showerhead, I go straight back to kissing her. Warm water rivers down our bodies, our skin soaked as our hands explore each other. We kiss until we can't breathe, until my heart is slamming inside my chest, until she's trembling uncontrollably, then I delve my fingers into her hips, pick her up, and with one hard thrust I slip deep inside her. She sucks in a breath, her arms looping around my neck and her legs wrapping around my waist, so she's fully opened up to me. I pull slightly out of her and then sink into her again with my hand braced against the shower wall. With each rock of my hips, she clutches onto me tighter, her back bowing, her breasts pressing against my chest. "I love you," she whispers against my lips, shutting her eyes, our bodies moving rhythmically. "I love you, too," I say, holding onto her as we both come apart together. # Chapter Four # Ella I've opened a Pandora's box and there's no turning back. After I got out of the shower, I started working on my portfolio some more, but I became really frustrated when I couldn't get the creative juices flowing, so I decided to read my mom's journal and now I can't seem to stop. We've been at Micha's house for only a day and I'm halfway through the damn thing, the house too empty and quiet to distract me from reading every last word my mother wrote. Micha found out that this morning his mom was with Thomas and now she's working the night shift at the diner. She won't be home until morning and Micha and I decided we'll talk to her when she gets home, to announce the news. Micha and Ethan took off a couple of hours ago to the grocery store to restock the cupboards that weren't full enough to feed their "hungry man bellies." Their words not mine. And Lila's taking a shower. I'm sitting at the kitchen table, wearing one of Micha's shirts and a pair of jeans. It's chilly due to the fact that Micha's mom always leaves the heat low to save money. It's part of Star Grove life though; half the town is in poverty because a plant shut down a long time ago. We did it at my house, too, sometimes leaving the heat off intentionally and sometimes unintentionally when I forgot to pay the bill or there wasn't enough money to pay it. I have a cup of coffee in front of me, along with the journal. The first ten pages are fairly normal, talking about prom and her love for art, although her words are a little mopey. I never even knew she liked to draw but from the few drawings in the box, it looked like she had talent. It's kind of nice to read about her like that, but then things start to get dark and the warm, fuzzy feelings I was having getting to know that artistic side of my mom shift into chills, especially when I get to the part about my dad. At first she seemed excited to be dating him. Like, really excited, to the point where she almost seemed high. But then the excitement went quickly downhill, reminding me of all those times when she seemed okay and then suddenly she wasn't. _I'm not sure who I am anymore. I feel like I'm lost all the time. When I look in the mirror, the person I see isn't the person I used to be. Instead of eyes, I see two empty holes. Instead of a mouth, I see lips sewn together. I don't know what's happening to me. What changed in me. What made me feel like my skin is molting off as I turn into a different person who can't even walk anymore without a lot of effort. If I had my way, I'd sit in bed forever._ _Until I died._ _But I can't do that now. I have a responsibility. A child growing in my belly and a man who will be my husband in just a few weeks. It's terrifying and not the life I think I want. But there's nowhere else to go and really any other alternative is just as bleak as the one before me. Any future is, and sometimes just having one is frightening._ The entry was written when she was eighteen, right before she married my dad. She was pregnant with my older brother, Dean, something I didn't know. Her thoughts are terrifying, especially since I've recently been contemplating my future and where kids fit into the mix. But I don't get it. My dad once told me that she used to be happy in the beginning, but if that's the case, then when was he talking about? When was the beginning? Because in the journal entry she'd known him for only six months and she already seemed to be falling into the dark hole of despair that I'm very familiar with, no matter what I do or try to change about my life. In the end, I have depression. It'll always be with me—with Micha and me. I've known this for a while and yet I'm still going forward with him, always crossing my fingers he never regrets it. _But what if he does?_ I take out a drawing that's folded up in the back of the journal along with a photo of my mom on a bed with her chin on her knees and her hair falling into her green eyes that look exactly like mine. She's smiling, but there's something off about the snapshot, like she's forcing herself to look happy, or maybe that's just what she looked like when she was happy. It's hard to tell sometimes and most of the time when I knew her, she just looked lost. She doesn't look lost here, but she doesn't look like she's someone who's got everything figured out. I wonder if that's what I look like? The drawing is of this vase with a single rose inside it and the petals are cracked and wilting, piling up around the bottom. It hurts my heart looking at it, because as an artist, I can guess what place her thoughts were at when she drew it because I've been in that place. "Oh my God, Ella, you did not ball up your wedding dress and shove it in a duffel bag." Lila huffs as she stomps into the kitchen with an overflowing armful of fabric and a rolled-up magazine. She's wearing a holey pair of jeans and a plain pink T-shirt, her blonde and black hair damp. "Seriously, why would you do that?" "I'm sorry." I quickly shut the journal, regretting having opened it in the first place. Maybe I wasn't ready to read it. Maybe I should just let the past go. I'd been doing so well and I've even been off my medication. _But I want to understand her._ "I didn't even think about it when I stuffed it in there." Lila lets the bottom of the dress go, but holds onto the top, examining the fabric. "It's all wrinkled now." She scrunches her nose at the front of the dress as she fiddles with one of the black roses on it. "We're going to, like, have to hang it up in the bathroom and steam the wrinkles out." "The bathroom should be all steamed up from your shower." I bring the brim of the mug to my mouth. "So you could hang it up now." "Yeah, it was already steamed up from your shower." She rolls her eyes and then laughs off her irritation. "You two and showers... I don't get it." "Well, you really should," I say, unable to restrain a smile as thoughts of Micha and his hands and tongue overtake me. The dark thoughts the journal instilled in my head evaporate like the steam coming from the mug, although I'm fairly sure they'll be back if I continue to read it. "You're really missing out." She drapes the dress on the back of the chair and sits down across the table from me. "Then maybe I'll have to try it sometime with Ethan." Quiet settles between us as she opens up the magazine she was carrying, and I realize it's a wedding magazine. We've been friends for almost two and a half years now and it still feels like we hardly know each other sometimes. Perhaps it's because of my lack of being able to talk deeply about things or because it seems like we both like to carry our secrets. "So you and Ethan," I start, setting the mug down on the table. "How's that going?" She shrugs, restraining a grin as she flips a page of the magazine. "Good, I guess." "Do you, like, love him?" I make a mocking swoon face. I never had any girlfriends when I was growing up. Instead I was mostly surrounded by Micha and his friends or my brother and his friends, so sometimes acting girly is weird. Lila lowers her hand onto the table and then crosses her arms. "I think I do." "Think?" I ask. "Or know? Because I heard you both know." Her brows furrow. "Did Ethan tell Micha that we said I love you?" I nod and take another sip of my coffee. "They do that sometimes, you know. Tell each other their secrets like a couple of girls." "Well, they are friends," she says. "They should tell each other stuff." I nod and wonder if I should tell her about my fear of writing and saying my vows, since I can't discuss it with Micha. She could help me figure stuff out. Maybe. Although I don't think she could help me with the fear of getting married, which might be behind the reason why I can't write my vows. Before I can say anything, though, she suddenly rises from her chair with a big grin on her face. "I almost forgot. I got you a present." "Why?" My expression falls. No one's ever given me presents except Micha and I'm not really a fan of getting them. "For your wedding, duh." She rolls her eyes like I'm being absurd and then heads back to the guest room. A few minutes later, she returns with a big pink gift bag in her hand. "Here you go, bride-to-be," she singsongs and then hands it to me. "I was going to give it to you yesterday, but... well, you know. Things happened." "Yeah, I know." I set the bag down on the table. "That really wasn't about my panicking about getting married. I promise." She plops down in the chair and props her elbow on the table. "Then what was it about?" "Stuff." I'm hesitant, and when she presses me with a look, I decide to let her in on my life just a little, especially since I recently learned her parents haven't always been that great to her either. "I'm just worried about stuff in the future." She slumps back in the chair. "Well, that's normal, Ella. Everyone worries about their future, especially when they're about to get married and are starting a future with someone else." "Yeah, I guess you're right. I should probably just try to relax." But even when I say it, it doesn't seem possible. Relax. Sure, it's easy when I'm in Micha's arms or he's inside me and everything else around me—life—feels nonexistent. But alone without his comfort I'm hyperaware of the things that lie inside me, the dark things that could overwhelm me with sadness at any moment—I could lose myself at any moment. We sit quietly as fluffy snowflakes melt against the windows and leave thin trails of water on the glass. Eventually Lila sits up and attempts to look happier. "Okay, enough with the sad. You need to open my present." I make a wary face at the gift bag and then open it up. There's decorative paper inside and a box sealed with a bow. I set it down on the table, then untie the bow and lift the lid. The first thing I come across is a blue garter trimmed with white lace. I take it out and put it around my wrist. "You know that doesn't go there, right?" Lila teases, sitting up in the chair. "And it's your something blue." "How very traditional of you," I say playfully and Lila smiles as I move onto the next item, a silver bracelet with a heart charm on it. "And that's your something borrowed," she informs me. "You have to give it back to me when the wedding's over." "It's pretty," I tell her, even though it's not really my style. But I appreciate it—her making the effort. "But I thought the dress was my something borrowed?" She shoves the magazine aside and crosses her arms on the table. "Nah, you can keep the dress and consider it your something old. It doesn't hold anything but painful memories for me anyway." "Are you sure?" I ask. "I'm positive," she assures me and then gestures at the box. "Take the next thing out. It can be your something new." I direct my attention back to the box and remove a much smaller box inside it. Inside, there's some red, lacy fabric, which I take out and hold up. "Jesus, this is skanky," I say wiggling my fingers through what look like nipple holes. She giggles. "Skanky but fun." I sigh, stick my hand into the box, and pull out a sequined thong. "Is this the bottom part or something?" "It's whatever you want, I guess," she says with humor in her voice. "It could even be for Micha." I snort a laugh and drop the thong onto the lacy fabric. "This is like a sex kit, isn't it?" She shrugs, examining her nails. "I went into this really questionable store with sex toys and lingerie and told the clerk to pick out the best newlywed gifts." I slip the garter off my wrist and add it to the pile with the thong. "So you have no idea what's in here?" "Not a clue except for the garter and the bracelet—I added those myself. But I'm dying to find out." "Okay, now I'm really intrigued." I reach in and remove the next item, a feather duster with a really long handle. "What is this for?" I run my fingers along the feathers and then shiver. "It tickles." She giggles, twirling a strand of her short hair around her finger. "I think that's the point," she says and I extend my arm across the table and tickle her face with it. "Hey, what the hell?" She laughs as I pull it away. "That's not for me and I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to tickle faces with it." "It could be for you. You and Ethan could totally use it." I set the feather duster on top of the pile and reach for the last item, which is in another box, a long narrow one. "You really want to go down that road?" she questions. "The one where we talk about our sex lives?" I shrug as I open the top of the smaller white box, and then tip it to the side so batteries fall out. "You used to tell me all the time about the guys you hooked up with." I pick up the batteries, scrunching my forehead. Her expression plummets and she abruptly becomes uncomfortable. "Yeah, but I'm not hooking up with some guy. I'm hooking up with Ethan and in the past you two didn't always seem like the best of friends." She snatches the batteries from me with inquisitiveness in her expression and this weird look crosses her face. "Yeah, we've been better lately though, and besides, regardless if Ethan and I are getting along, you can talk about stuff with me," I tell her as I stick my hand into the narrow box. "I just don't want to hear all the details..." I trail off as I take out the item inside it. "What in the love of God, Lila? I mean, I knew this was a sex kit, but really?" Lila's face turns bright red as she busts up laughing, her shoulders hunching forward. "I was sort of wondering if that was what was in there when the batteries fell out." I hold up a pink vibrator with this weird front part attached to it, biting my lip not to laugh. But Lila continues to laugh as she extends her arm across the table and takes the vibrator out of my hand. Then she pops the batteries inside the bottom, twists a nob, and it starts to hum. Laughter escapes both our lips as she drops it on the table and it begins to shake. "Imagine how good it will feel," she says, tears slipping through her eyes, her whole body trembling with laughter. Still laughing, I ask, "Was the cashier who put this all together a guy or a girl?" "A guy," she says, poking the vibrator with her finger to steer it away from falling off the table. "A total creeper appar..." she drifts off as the back door swings open. Snowflakes flurry in as Micha and Ethan come strolling inside, tracking snow and carrying a few plastic bags of groceries. Micha takes one look at the vibrator, the pile of lacy and sequined fabric, and the feather duster and the bags immediately fall from his hands as he explodes with laughter. "What the hell did we miss?" He grips onto the countertop for support as his knees buckle. Ethan stands by the backdoor, looking lost, like he can't quite figure out what the hell we were doing. Lila overlaps her fingers as she leans back in the chair. "We were playing a game." "What kind of a game?" Ethan wonders and the confusion is replaced by a wicked look. "See who could stick it farther up their—" Lila cuts him off as she picks up the vibrator and chucks it across the room. It zips past his head and hits the door, still humming. "Do not finish that sentence, Ethan Gregory." We all settle briefly into an awkward silence and then everyone spurts out in laughter. We continue to laugh until Micha scoops the vibrator up and turns it off. The humming stops and he puts it down on the table in front of me, winking at me as he backs up to where he dropped his groceries. "So we were thinking of having a party," he announces as he piles the bags onto the kitchen counter. I make a face as I put the vibrator, lingerie, and feather duster into the bag. "Really?" He picks up a box of cereal out of the bag. "It'll be like a bachelorette slash bachelor party." "Aren't we supposed to have those separately?" I ask, pushing the bag aside. "And with strippers," Lila adds, and Ethan gives her a strange look as he slips off his jacket and hangs it up by the back door. "Yeah, we could do that but I'd rather have a party with you," Micha says. "And you can always strip for me later when it's over. That's much better in my opinion." "TMI," Ethan says with a frustrated sigh as he sets the bags he was carrying on the counter. Micha rolls his eyes at him and then turns to me. "So are you down?" "For a party?" I ask. "I guess." "You guess?" he questions, as he puts the cereal box into the cupboard. "We don't have to if you don't want to." "It's fine. A party sounds fine." I get up from the chair and walk across the kitchen to him. I cross paths with Ethan as he heads for Lila. He whispers something in her ear and then the two of them wander off toward the guest room, Ethan muttering that they'll be back in a few. I start helping Micha unpack the groceries, putting cans of food into the cupboard. "Who are you planning on inviting to this party of yours?" I ask. He shrugs as he opens the fridge to put a gallon of milk away. "Just the people we used to hang out with. The ones still living around here anyway." I close the cupboard and lean against the counter. "Which is probably pretty much everyone," I mumble and then internally sigh. "Are you going to play at this party?" He kicks the fridge door shut and goes back over to the bags. "Do you want me to play at this party?" I stare down at the floor. "If you want to." He pauses and I continue to stare at the linoleum floor until his boots appear in my line of vision, and then I angle my chin back to meet his eyes. "What?" I ask as he aims a suspicious look at me. "What do you mean, what?" He positions himself in front of me, his jacket still speckled with wet spots from the falling snow outside. "This is bothering you and I want to know why." "It's not bothering me," I start to protest but he targets me with a warning look. "It's just that this will be the first party we've ever been at as a couple." "And?" "And from my knowledge, a lot of the people who came to these parties... the female ones..." I search for the right words that won't make me sound like a jealous asshole, but there aren't any so I decide to just be blunt. "You fucked." He winces, but then quickly composes himself. "I know, but that's in the past. What matters is that I'll be fucking _you_ at the end of the night, over and over again. In fact, I'll be fucking you every night for the rest of your life." He gives me a flirty smile and I swat his chest with my hand. "What?" he says innocently, trapping my hand against his chest. "Would you rather me say 'make love'?" He brushes his thumb across the ring on my finger. "Because we can do that, too." With one swift movement, he slides his palm down my side, grips my hip, and spins me around. Pushing down on my lower back, he presses up against me as I grip onto the counter for support. "It's really up to you." His breath caresses my ear before he draws his mouth away to nibble on my earlobe. I shudder and his chest collides against my back as he laughs. "Of course if we make love then the vibrator isn't going to be much use," he says. "It's a gift from Lila." "It looks fun." His voice comes out gravelly. "Fun for me or for you?" I joke. His hair tickles the back of my neck as he leans his head against me, sucking in a slow breath. "Keep it up, pretty girl, and you're going to get it." "Maybe that's what I'm aiming for." I bite my lip in anticipation, waiting for him to react. He misses a beat and I feel him shift his hips. "I swear to God, you're going to be the death of me." His lips touch the back of my neck, feather soft, and then he rubs his hips against me before stepping away, and I turn around and we return to putting the groceries away. I notice him glance at the closed journal on the table a couple of times, but he doesn't say anything about it. Eventually, I decided to answer the question I know he wants to ask but isn't going to because he knows it's better for me to bring it up. "I read some of it," I admit as I stand on my tiptoes to put a can of beans on the top shelf. "And how was it?" he casually asks as he rummages through the last bag of food. I hop up onto the counter, letting my legs dangle over the side. "Intense." "How so?" I shrug. "Her thoughts were just dark and I found out that she was pregnant with Dean when she decided to marry my dad." He positions himself in front of me and urges my legs open so he can step in between them. "Really?" I nod, pressing my knees against his side. "And she was scared." "Of being a mom?" His hands clamp down on my thighs. "And having a future." Tears sting at my eyes. The words are striking a nerve. A painful, aching nerve, buried deep inside my heart. I massage my hand over my chest, trying to get the crushing pain out. Sensing my panic, Micha quickly wraps his arms around me. The second I'm in his arms, I feel better, lighter. He hugs me as I breathe. _Breathe. Breathe. Breathe._ I bury my face in his chest and he supports my weight like he always does. _Always._ "Are you really sure you want this for the rest of your life?" I mutter against his chest. "More than anything, Ella May." He kisses the top of my head. "I've known that since the day we met." The tears subside as I look up at him. "You've known you wanted the crazy girl next door to be your wife since you were four?" He nods, holding my gaze. "Maybe not as a wife, but I knew from the moment I saw you that I wanted you in my life forever." Tears make their way back up, this time not out of panic but from the overwhelming abundance of emotions I feel for him. God damn it, it's so intense. Too intense. Feelings built over years and years of history, starting with the moment we first met. "You were always there for me," I say. "No matter how much of a pain in the ass I was." He smiles. "And even though you won't ever admit it, you were there for me, too, every time I needed you." I want to disagree with him, but I don't because it'd ruin the moment. "Just you and me against the world," I whisper as tears drip from my eyes and down my cheeks. He fixes a finger underneath my chin, slants my head back, and leans in to kiss me. "Always and forever." # Chapter Five # Micha _Four years old..._ I love spending time with my dad, especially when he works on cars 'cause it's the only time when he really talks to me and does stuff with me. He's working on the Challenger while I play with my toy car, driving it really fast back and forth across the Challenger's bumper. "Micha, can you hand me that wrench?" my dad says with his head tucked underneath the hood. It's a really old car that he's working on fixing up, but it seems like it's taking him forever. I don't know why he just doesn't drive it the way it is now. I think it looks pretty fun and all the sides are different colors. I jump off the bumper and dig around in his toolbox near the back end until I find the wrench and then I walk to the front and hand it to my dad. "Thanks," he mutters and goes back to working on the engine. I get a juice box out of the cooler, lean against the fender, and stare at the next-door neighbors' house. It looks a lot like mine, but there is a lot of trash and car parts are everywhere and it looks like nobody ever cleans up. I'm about to head back to the trunk when the door swings open and the girl who lives next door steps outside. She looks like she's going to cry, but she looks like that almost every time I see her. She's got hair that's the same color as our red mailbox and every time I talk to her, her eyes remind me of leaves. Her name is Ella and she always has tears in her eyes. I'm not sure if it's because her mom is yelling at her all the time or because they make her take out the trash every day. Whatever it is, she always looks like she's gonna burst into tears. I asked my dad once why the neighbors were always yelling and he said it's because they are a messed-up family. I grab another juice box out of the cooler and wave to her as I step out of the garage. She doesn't wave back, but she's usually shy at first, like she thinks I'm the boogeyman or something. With her head tucked down, she wipes the tears out of her eyes and walks down the steps. She doesn't have any shoes on and the cement has to be hot under her feet. "Hey, Ella," I say, walking up to the fence between our houses. She stands at the corner of her house with her arms crossed, staring at the ground. She barely talks, and half the time, even when she's talking, she looks down at her feet or the ground or at the trees. I hear her mother yelling in the house, telling Ella she needs to come clean up the dishes. My mom says I'm too young to help with the dishes, even though my dad says I should be helping out more. Ella keeps wiping her eyes with her hand as her mom yells from inside the house and I wonder if she's hiding from her mom. Finally, the yelling stops and Ella dares to look at me. I hold up one of the juice boxes, offering it to her, hoping she'll come over to my house for once. "Do you want one?" She looks at me for a really long time and then she slowly walks toward me. She pauses at the grass, looking like she's scared to come closer, so I reach my arm over the fence. She stares at the juice box, then runs up and takes it. "Thank you, Micha," she says quietly, stepping back as she pokes the straw into the juice box. "You're welcome," I tell her, as she starts slurping on the straw. I feel bad for her. I don't think her parents take care of her because she always seems really thirsty and hungry every time I offer her a snack. I've tried to get her to come over and play a few times, but she always says she can't. "Micha, get in here," my dad calls out from the garage and he sounds really mad. "I need your help." Ella instantly steps back, her eyes widening. "Bye, Micha." "You should come over," I call out and hold my toy car through the hole in the fence. "This is my favorite one, but I'll let you play with it." She eyes the car and then glances back at her house. "I think my mom might get mad at me if I do." "You can just come over for a little bit," I suggest. "Then when your mom comes out looking for you, you can climb back over the fence. Besides it's really fun watching my dad work on the car." She glances back and forth between the house and the car in my hand and finally she hurries back toward her house. I think she's going back inside, but instead she grabs a plastic box that looks like the thing I keep all of my toy cars in. She drags it over to the fence and steps up on it. She takes a gulp of her juice box and then she hands it to me and I step back as she climbs over the fence. She falls down on her knees as she lands and cuts one of her knees a little. "Are you okay?" I ask her. She nods, looking like it doesn't hurt at all as she wipes the dirt off and stands back up. She grabs the juice box and toy car from me and I smile as I walk back toward the garage with her, happy I finally got her to climb over the fence. # Ella _Six years old..._ I like my next door neighbor Micha a lot. At first he was kind of scary because he was so nice and no one's ever been that nice to me before. But now he's not too scary. He always shares his juice and cookies with me at school and when Davey Straford pulled my hair and told me I was icky because I had holes in my clothes, Micha shoved him down and told him he smelled like rotten eggs. The teacher got mad at him and then his dad got mad at him when we got home from school. He couldn't play with me for three days 'cause his mom and dad said he was grounded, but it's been three days and now I can go over again. It's a really hot day, so I get two Popsicles out of the freezer before I head over. My shoes have got holes in the bottom of them again so I don't even bother putting them on. My mom yells at me to take out the trash as I walk out so I have to go back and haul it out of the trash can. She's always yelling at me to take out the trash and do the dishes. It makes me sad sometimes because I get tired, but my dad says she's sick and my brother and I have to be nice to her and help her out because he has to go out at night to "clear his head and take a break." The garbage bag's really heavy and leaves this gross slimy stuff on the kitchen floor as I drag it out, slide it off the steps, and toss it into the bigger trash can. I put the lid on and skip down the sidewalk and then climb over the fence. The sprinklers are on and the grass is all wet and kind of muddy, but I splash in it anyway, getting the bottom of my jeans wet, and some mud gets stuck in my toes. I skip up the sidewalk, making footprints on the cement all the way to the side door of Micha's house. I'm about to knock on the door when I hear someone crying from inside the garage. The door is open and Micha's dad's Challenger isn't inside and it's always parked in there, so it's weird. Micha's dad is always working on it and getting mad at it. When I get inside the garage, I find Micha sitting where the car used to be parked, with his back turned to me. It sounds like he's the one crying, which makes no sense. Usually I'm the one crying and Micha is the one smiling. "Micha," I say and the crying stops. "I can't play today, Ella," he says quietly, and it looks like he's trying to wipe tears away. I walk around in front of him, but he won't look up at me, so I sit down on the floor. He tucks his arms onto his lap and I can only see the top of his head, because he's looking down at the ground. "Micha, what happened?" I ask, the Popsicles cold in my hand. He shakes his head and then his shoulders begin to shake as he starts crying again. "My dad took the car and left." "I'm sure he'll be back soon," I tell him, not understanding why that's making him cry. My dad leaves in his car all the time. He shakes his head and looks up at me. Micha's eyes are this really pretty blue color that I saw on these beads once that I used to make a bracelet at school. His eyes are really wide and shiny right now like the beads and he looks so sad. It kinda makes me feel like crying, too. "No, he's not coming back," he tells me and tears roll down his cheeks and fall onto the ground. "Ever. My mom said he ran away and he's never coming home." I don't know what to say to him. My dad ran away once, too, at least that's what my mom told me, but then he came home that night and my mom said it must have been because he couldn't find anywhere else to go. But sometimes she tells stories that I don't think are true. I scoot closer to Micha, not sure what to say to him, so instead I hold out a Popsicle. He keeps crying as he looks at it and then he finally takes it from my hand. He peels the wrapper off and I peel mine off and then I sit there with him while he cries because it always makes me feel better when he sits with me when I'm upset. Eventually his tears stop, long after the Popsicles are melted in our bellies and Micha finally gets up and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. I get to my feet, too, and I search for something to say. "Do you want to do something?" I ask. He glances at me, still sad, but then he nods. "Yeah, what do you want to do?" I smile and take his hand. "Whatever you want to do," I say. He's usually doing stuff for me, but today it should be about making _him_ happy. He considers something and then there's the slightest sparkle in his eyes. "How about hide-and-go-seek?" I nod and then we play until the sun goes down, turning a sad day into a decent one because we're together. # Chapter Six # Micha Later that day, I rap my hand on the doorway as I walk into my bedroom. Ella is lying on the bed on her stomach with the journal opened in front of her. I really wish she'd stop reading that thing. As much as I know it's good for her to have something that belonged to her mom, I can see in her eyes that whatever's in there is bringing her down. She hasn't been on her medication for a while and hasn't talked to a therapist in a few months, at least that I know of. She's been doing fine and I want her to stay that way, but I also don't want to be the asshole who tells her to quit reading her dead mother's journal. So I keep my mouth shut and instead check her out. She's beautiful, her auburn hair pinned behind her head, wavy curls framing her face, and she's wearing a black-and-red dress that hugs her body and black stilettos on her feet. "God, you're so fucking hot," I say, adjusting myself as the urge to slam the door and take her from behind tries to overpower me. But people have started to arrive at my house for the party, so I control myself. Ethan is letting everyone in but he wasn't too happy about the party to begin with. Although I have no idea why because he used to enjoy parties back when we were younger. It was our thing and we probably threw more at my house then we actually went out to, since my mother never cared just as long as we cleaned up afterward. I had to laugh at Ethan when we were driving and chatting about what's been going on in our lives for the last six months or so. I guess when he and Lila go back to Vegas they're packing their stuff and hitting the road to try to live out his dream of being a mountain man. It's strange because Lila doesn't seem like the type, at least when I first met her, but now she seems different. She seems less preppy, and I hate to say it, but at first I thought she came off as a rich spoiled brat. But she's not though. She's actually really nice. Ella glances up through her long eyelashes, her gaze skimming over my black jeans, my studded belt, and my Pink Floyd T-shirt, and then she bites her lip. "You look good, too." She closes the journal and sits up. "Trying to impress anyone in particular?" I roll my eyes and kick a shirt out of the way as I stroll into my room. "Only you." "Yeah, _I_ might know that." She looks down at her hand as she flexes her fingers in front of her and the diamonds and black stone of her engagement ring sparkle. "But unlike me, you don't have a ring on your finger branding you as taken." "You could always give me my ring," I tell her. "I'll wear it." She shakes her head, climbs off the bed, and tugs the bottom of her dress down, a dress that looks a lot shorter now that she's standing. "No way. You're not going to see that until the wedding." She pauses, putting her hands on her hips. "It doesn't matter anyway. If any girl hits on you, I'll just kick her ass." "That's my feisty girl." I give her a deep kiss and then hold up a finger as I get an idea. I back toward the door. "You go out and start having fun and I'll take care of the ring problem." She looks perplexed but follows me out of the room. She joins the small group gathered in the living room as I head to the door. I slip on my jacket as I step out onto the porch and into the snow. Christmas lights flash from the house across the street and I can hear the thumping of music from somewhere down the street. I trot down the stairs and hurry into the garage, flipping the light on. I pull a box down from the top shelf and set it on the counter. As I'm sifting through the car parts, my phone rings from my pocket. When I take it out, my producer's name, Mike Anderly, flashes across the glowing screen. I press talk and put the phone up to my ear. "It's a little late to be calling," I tell him, balancing the phone against my ear as I rummage through the box. "I know, but I couldn't wait until morning to call you and tell you the news," he says, sounding way happier than he normally does. Usually, he's all business and kind of cranky. "What news?" I pick up the metal ring from the box, smiling at my clever idea. "That you got on the tour." I nearly drop the ring. "The Rocking Slam Tour?" I ask. It's the tour I've been trying to get on for months, the one that has a ton of my favorite bands, musicians I idolize. The one where I'll have to be on the road for three straight months. "That would be the one," he says cheerfully. "So get your ass over here so we can celebrate." My mouth turns downward. "I can't. I'm in Wyoming, getting ready to get married. I told you this last night." "Oh yeah, I forgot." He sighs. "Well, hurry and get that taken care of so you can get back here and celebrate. You leave in just a few weeks anyway and we have to finish recording." _Shit_. "Yeah... I'm not sure I can go." "What the hell do you mean, you're not sure you can go!" he exclaims. "We've been trying to get you on this tour for months." "I know that," I tell him. "But I didn't really think it was going to happen, and now I've got stuff going on." "Well, it did and you're going," Mike says sternly. "Look, I'm not saying I won't. I'm just saying that I need to talk to Ella first. She needs to be okay with my being gone for that long." "And what if she says she's not?" he asks, astounded. "Then what?" "Then I won't go." It hurts to say it, but it's the truth. She's more important to me than anything, and if she doesn't want me to be gone during our first few months of marriage then I won't. It's that simple. Music starts playing from inside the house and I quickly slip the metal ring on my ring finger, which will hopefully alleviate some of Ella's worry. "Look, I gotta go. I'll call you in a week when I get back in town." "You better not say no," he grumbles and I hang up the phone before he starts ranting, something he does a lot. Tucking my phone into my back pocket, I go back inside the house, wondering how Ella is going to react to the news. I can see her pretending like she's okay with it but deep down not really wanting me to go. She hides her feelings well so if I'm going to do this I need to make sure she's completely and utterly okay with it. Any doubt and I'll stay. Besides, as much fun as the tour would be, our little life in San Diego is good, so why ruin a good thing? _Because being part of this tour is my dream._ Frowning at the thought, I shut the back door behind me as I step inside the kitchen. Ethan is sitting on the table, drinking from a red plastic cup and Lila is laughing at something he says while she pours herself a drink over at the counter. There's another couple chatting in front of the kitchen sink. I used to go to school with them, but I can't remember their names. I wave to them when they say "what's up" and then I head for the living room. "Bottoms up." Ethan lifts his cup as I pass by him, toasting to something, and then he throws his head back and guzzles the drink. "Are you wasted already?" I ask. "Because you're supposed to play the drums in, like, ten minutes or so." "Nah," he says, but his bloodshot eyes suggest otherwise. "I've got this. Besides, I can play the drums when I'm drunk perfectly fine." "Micha, do you want me to make you a drink or pour you a shot?" Lila calls out with a bottle of orange juice in her hand. "No, thanks," I tell her, scooping up a beer from the cooler near the doorway. "I have to stick to beer." She nods knowingly as she sets the juice down on the counter beside the row of vodka, tequila, and Bacardi bottles and a stack of plastic cups. Ever since Ella called me out on my asshole drunken behavior about a year ago, I take it easier on getting trashed, usually sticking to only a few beers. It was hard at first, but now it's comfortable. I pop the top off as I stroll into the cigarette-smoke-filled living room, letting the wonderfully potent smoke settle in my lungs. Even a couple of years after kicking the habit, minus a few slipups, it still gets my mouth watering. Earlier, Ethan and I shoved the couches aside to make room for his drums, which we picked up from his house during our drive back from the grocery store. My old guitar is leaning against a taped together microphone stand. There's also an amp and a bass guitar in the corner beside a small plastic Christmas tree decorated with red and sliver ornaments and tinsel. I haven't figured out who's going to play the bass yet, but I put it up there just in case. I know a lot of people who play the bass and it'd be nice to have a good sound even if it's just a party. I sort of feel like I'm saying good-bye in a way because in a few days I'll be married, my life with Ella will finally start, and this life can hopefully become a memory of everything we shared that got us to that point. I start to go over to my guitar when I spot Ella sitting on the back of the sofa with a red plastic cup in her hand. A tall, scraggly looking guy whose name I think is Brody is standing in front of the sofa, staring at her legs and cleavage while yammering about something. I walk over to her and hop up on the back of the sofa beside her. Then I drape my arm around her shoulder. I know I'm being territorial and I know she'd never do anything with anyone but it doesn't mean that I'm going to let some guy look at her like he could eat her up. He's lucky I don't punch him. Ella's mine and he needs to walk the fuck away. "Hey, where'd you go?" Ella asks me as Brody gives me an uneasy look and then walks off without saying a word. "To get this," I reply, holding up my fingers. She takes my hand and runs her finger over the metal ring. "Did you seriously put an O-ring on your ring finger?" I dazzle her with my most charming smile, the one I know makes her stomach somersault. "Now everyone knows I'm taken." She takes a sip of her drink and then licks her lips. "Such a shame. I was looking forward to kicking all the girls' asses who hit on you tonight." "I bet you were," I mumble as I lean forward and lick a drop of alcohol off her lip. "Bacardi, huh?" She shrugs and angles her head back to take a large swallow. "I thought I'd have fun tonight. Get a little drunk." I eye her over warily. "I'm not sure I like that. Drunk Ella can sometimes be mean. And horny." "Hey." She restrains a smile as her hand clamps down on my thigh, squeezing hard. "I'm not a mean drunk." I waver as I sip my beer. "I can remember a certain tantrum over a lost poker game. One where you drunkenly threw a chip at me." She narrows her eyes. "Only because you were being smug." "Smug because I won and got to see you naked." "Well, maybe I'll get drunk enough tonight that you can see me naked. Just as long as you quit saying I'm a mean drunk." She hops off the couch and my arm falls from her shoulder. "And by the way, you can be the same way when you get drunk." "What way?" "Horny and mean." I raise my beer up and point a finger at it. "That's why I'm sticking to these." I slide my feet off the couch and stand up. "So what song do you want me to play tonight?" She taps her finger against her lip and there's a playful look in her green eyes. She's already buzzed, which means I'm going to have my hands full tonight. "How about the one tattooed on your ribs? The one you said you wrote for me but I've never heard you play before?" I automatically touch the side of my rib where the tattoo of the lyrics is hidden underneath the fabric of my shirt. "I've never sung that one out loud for anyone. And I'm not ready to." "Why not?" "Because..." I pick at the damp beer label. "Because I wrote it for you." "Okay..." She frowns, confused. "Then play it for me now." I glance at the room packed with rowdy and drunk people. "I don't think I can right now." "Why not?" "Because it's personal." Because it means so much to me and the last thing I want to do is sing it to a room full of people when I haven't even sung it to her. Besides, I'm a little nervous to sing it for her because it's intense. She gives me the most lost look and I sigh, because I know I'm acting strange. "It's just that when I wrote it, the lyrics kind of threw me off because it was the first time... that I realized I thought of you... like that." "But we both know how you feel now," she says, looking at the metallic O-ring on my finger. "I know that." I stroke her cheekbone with my fingers. "And when I play it for the first time, I want it to be just you and me." "Like later tonight?" she asks, hopeful. "Or maybe on our honeymoon," I tell her and smile when her jaw drops. "What? Did you think I didn't have anything planned?" "But the wedding has been pushed back." She cranes her neck and looks over her shoulder as more people enter the living room. "So if you had one planned, then how'd you move it?" "Because I had it planned for a few weeks after yesterday, when we were supposed to get married." I suddenly realize that if I go on tour my honeymoon plan has gone to shit. And I saved money to book it, skipping out on eating fast food and instead bringing my lunch—shit like that to get extra cash. A three-day cruise, which is a simple, normal kind of honeymoon and perfect for us since we didn't really do simple or normal for most of our lives. "So where are we going?" she wonders, intrigued, tucking in her elbow when a guy who I think is named Del walks by wearing a Santa hat and singing "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," drunk off his ass and completely off-key. "No way. It's a surprise," I say, ushering her toward the front of the room when Ethan waves me over. Standing beside him is Jude Taylorsen, a pretty good bass player, so I'm guessing they're ready to roll. "I have to go play now." She clutches the cup as she stands in the crowd. It's getting louder and smokier by the second. I know if it gets too packed in here furniture is going to get broken. I didn't use to mind, but now I feel guilty and I make a mental note to kick everyone out before it gets to that point. "And play that one song," she shouts out as I back up toward where Ethan is chatting it up with Jude. "The one you played at the coffeehouse when I first came back from Vegas." I smile charmingly at her. "The one where you got all possessive on me?" She sticks out her tongue. "Kenzie is a skank and a bitch. You should be grateful I saved your ass from that." I press my hand to my heart. "You were jealous. Admit it." She glares at me, but her lips itch to turn upward. "I was a little bit." "I know you were." I wink and start to turn around. "And if you want, you can play the cover for that song that was playing in the bathroom earlier," she says. "I like that song." "Like the song?" I question, looking back at her from over my shoulder. "Or like the memory the song's linked to?" "Both," she says simply and throws her head back to down her drink. The curves of her cleavage peek out of the top of her dress and I shake my head, knowing I'm not the only guy in the room staring at her. But then I smile, knowing I'm the only guy in the room who gets to be with her. She lowers the cup from her mouth and gives me an accusing look, like she knows I was just staring at her breasts. I blink my gaze off her and head over to the microphone. I set my beer down on the floor next to the wall, pick up my guitar, and slide the strap over my shoulder, running my fingers along the initials I carved in the back. I got the guitar when I was thirteen at a yard sale for, like, five bucks. It was my first guitar and even though it took a bit to get the hang of it, I loved playing it. There's something about music and lyrics that helps me express myself, even when it's hard. I was playing the first time I realized I had feelings for Ella, feelings that ran much deeper than just friend feelings. She was in the crowd dancing solo like she did a lot, her hands in the air, her hips rocking to the beat. I couldn't take my eyes off her and I found myself wishing I was down there with her, touching and kissing every inch of her. It was that night I went home and wrote the lyrics that I eventually got tattooed on my ribs because it was the kind of moment filled with emotion and the lyrics I created about her needed to be marked on me forever. It was the moment I realized I loved her, even if I wasn't fully aware of it at the time, but only because I didn't fully understand love yet. Looking back, though, I know the moment I penned the words there'd never be anyone else. Ella was my one and only. # Chapter Seven # Ella I refuse to be the sad Ella tonight and dwell on things that aren't making me happy, like my mom, her dark thoughts and fears— _my_ dark thoughts and fears. I'm not going to think about my future either or the fact that I can't seem to even get my portfolio started. Tonight it's about having fun and watching Micha play, one of my favorite things in life. I am not going to sink down into a pit. Micha starts out with the song he sang in the coffeehouse, just like I asked him to do. Sweaty bodies nearly suffocate me as I sway back and forth to the music. Lila's standing beside me, gazing at Ethan pounding on the drums like he's the love of her life. She's wearing a sleeveless blue shirt and jeans, along with a pair of my boots. "You look starstruck," I shout over the music, fanning my face with my hand, my skin already getting damp with sweat. Even though it's cold as death outside, there are so many people packed in the small living room, the body heat alone makes it desert hot in the house. She shrugs, her eyes fastened on the front of the room where the guys are playing. "I think I am." I shake my head and then capture her hand, feeling the alcohol smother any amount of anxiety surfacing. Lila laughs as I spin her around, holding my drink in my hand, ignoring the guy who shouts at me when I accidentally ram my elbow into his gut. Lila grasps onto her drink as she twirls around, trying not to spill any. I keep spinning her until the music stops and Micha's voice flows over the room. "Okay, this next one was requested by the only person I'll take requests from." He winks at me and some girl shouts out that she'll do whatever he wants if he sings a song for her. I turn around, scanning the crowd for the culprit and find her at the back of the room. A tall, curvy girl with dark hair, giving me a condescending look as she takes a sip of beer. Kenzie, the waitress from the coffeehouse. Go figure. "I think someone wants her ass kicked tonight," I state, targeting her with a look. She went to school with me and knows what I'm capable of. It's been a while since I've gotten into a fight, but it doesn't mean I've forgotten how. Lila claps her hands and jumps up and down. "Oh my God, we should totally take her on together." She turns to me with a smile on her face. "I'll hold her back and you pull her hair." I gape at her. "Who are you?" "Someone who wants to find out what it's like to get in a fight." She beams, making fists. "Come on, Ella, be my Mister Miyagi." "Whoa, you're acting weird and I like it." I tap my finger against my chin thoughtfully. "Well, first off, you don't pull hair. That's a girl's way of fighting." "But I am a girl." "Yeah, but if you fight like a guy then you win. Element of surprise. It totally throws them off." Lila bobs her head up and down, eyeing Kenzie as she takes a swallow from the red cup in her hand. "I could see how that would work." "It works perfectly almost every time," I assure her. "And if you really want to get mean you can kick—" I'm cut off by the low beat of the drums, guitar, and base mixing together in perfect unison. I turn around and face the front of the room, no longer giving a crap about Kenzie. She can say whatever she wants. It doesn't mean anything to anyone who matters. Micha strums his long fingers across the guitar as he stands in front of the microphone. His eyes are locked on me, the silver O-ring on his wedding finger glistening in the inadequate light of the living room as he sings the song that was playing while we were in the shower earlier. The lyrics bring fresh memories flooding back and I swear to God I can feel the heat of the steam and the scorching trail his hands left all over my body. I watch him play, longing to touch him and for him to touch me. I put the plastic cup up to my lips and swallow another mouthful of Bacardi, feeling the burn of it along with the heat on my skin, realizing that Micha was right. I do get horny when I'm drunk because all I can think about right now is him being inside me like he was in the shower. When his lips part to sing the chorus, I shut my eyes and let the lyrics and sultry sound of his voice spill over my body. I'm gone. The people around me no longer exist. It's just me and Micha and his beautiful voice. I remember the first time I heard him play, sitting in his room on this beanbag chair he had, watching him play and sing on his bed without a shirt on with this intense look on his face, like the words he sang owned him. "So what do you think?" he'd asked after he'd stopped strumming the strings. I'd shrugged, pretending that the sketchpad on my lap wasn't holding a drawing of him on the bed. That I didn't just draw him, making lines and shades that mattered. That he mattered enough to me that I took the time to draw him. I felt so lost at the moment, hearing him sing like that as I stared at a drawing that wasn't just a drawing. I was lost but in the most wonderful way. "It was okay, I guess," I replied nonchalantly, adding a few shadings around his eyes because they were too beautiful not to have extra detail on them. "Just okay?" He cocked his eyebrow as he held the guitar on his lap. He looked a little upset about my answer and it made me feel guilty. "No, it was beautiful," I said softly as I stared down at my drawing, uncomfortable at how intimate the moment was because I didn't use the word _beautiful_. Just like I didn't draw pictures of people unless it was an assignment for school. I waited for him to say something, even though I wished he wouldn't. But he never said anything, finally just playing the same song again. I'd smiled down at my drawing because even though I knew it wasn't possible, I swear to God he could read my mind and eventually I'd started working on my drawing of him again while listening to him play. I'd always loved music, but hearing it from his mouth warmed my soul in a way that I never knew was possible. I shake my head from the memory. Maybe there's another sentence to put in my vows. Although, all these notes are getting a little personal and I'm not certain I'll dare read them out loud. Panic claws at my throat and I start to open my eyes to go get another drink, but then Micha reaches the intense part of the song and I don't want to leave the moment. I want to dance, get lost again like the first time I heard him play. So I keep my eyelids closed and sway my hips, shaking my head back and forth, my hair flying everywhere. I'm in heels and it's a struggle to maintain my balance, but I don't care even when I stumble a few times. Just like I don't care that I'm rocking out in a room full of people who are absorbed in beer and trying to find someone to hook up with and who are probably looking at me like I'm a weirdo. I'll take being a weirdo over not enjoying this moment. I've forced myself not to enjoy too many moments in my life. I need more enjoyment. Maybe it's the alcohol in my system that's making me think these things or maybe I'm just being my old self. Or perhaps I'm just being me. Whatever it is, I roll with it, dancing to the tempo of the music. Lila laughs at me and when I open my eyes she's dancing, too. We continue through the entire song and I keep swaying my hips with my hands above my head, even when the music stops and voices rise around me. Moments later the stereo clicks on and the sound suffocates the chatter. "New Low," by Middle Class Rut, starts vibrating through the speakers and I know it will only be seconds before I'm no longer dancing solo in a room full of people. Right on cue, Micha's long arms wrap around my waist and he guides me back against his body. I know it's him because of the overpowering scent: his cologne mixed with mint and beer and something intoxicatingly wonderful that belongs only to him. I deeply inhale it in, moving with him as we grind our bodies together to the beat. "You're so God damn sexy," he says, breathing into my ear and giving it a little nip. "Do you know how hard it is to stand up there and play while you're down here doing this?" "Doing what?" I ask innocently as his hand sneaks up the back of my dress and cups my bare ass. His brow arches. "What panties are you wearing?" I smile to myself. "A sequined thong." I whirl around and press my body up against him, enjoying myself way too much. His hand slides down my back and he crushes my body into his until there's no space left between us. I roll my hips against him and he lets out a husky growl. Unable to control myself, I throw my arms around him, stand on my tiptoes, and kiss him, urging his lips apart with my tongue. He kisses me with equal intensity as I suck on his lip ring, stroke the inside of his mouth with my tongue, and bite at his bottom lip. "God damn it, pretty girl, you're killing me." He groans a deep, throaty groan that makes my thighs tingle and I slip my hand between us, rubbing him hard. "Baby, easy. There are people..." He trails off as I move my fingers to the top of his jeans. I know I'm drunk and horny just like he said earlier, but I don't care. I know what I want. Him. When I start to undo the button of his jeans, he jerks away, his aqua eyes glazed, his expression blazing with desire that matches my own. He doesn't say a word as he entwines our fingers, then pulls me with him as he maneuvers through the crowd for the kitchen, shoving people out of the way with his elbow. He scoops up two beers as we pass the cooler and hands me one. Ethan is standing beside the cooler, dripping with sweat from playing the drums, his shirt off and his tattoos showing. Lila is behind him with her head on his back as she traces her fingernails up and down his skin. Micha gives him a chin up and says, "In an hour kick everyone out." "Why can't you..." Ethan blinks at him and then pulls a face as his gaze flicks between Micha and me while Lila giggles. "All right, will do." I pinch Micha's ass because I can and he incoherently mutters something. Then he's tugging me with him as he crosses the kitchen and moves toward the hallway. We go into his room and he kicks the door shut behind us. When he turns to face me, his lips immediately cover mine, his fingers digging roughly through the fabric of my dress. "You taste like beer," I murmur with a drunken giggle as I kiss him back, fiddling with the bottom of his shirt as we back toward his bed with our beers still in our hands. "And you taste like Bacardi," he mutters against my lips, and then suddenly he's pulling away. "Wait, how wasted are you?" I roll my eyes. "First of all, even if I were wasted, it wouldn't matter. You can't take advantage of me when I'm yours," I say and this lustful look flares in his eyes. "And second of all, I'm not that wasted. I'll remember everything we did in the morning." "I do like your logic." He takes the unopened beer from my hand and sets it down on the dresser along with his. "But are you sure?" "I'm positive." That's all the convincing he needs. With one swift tug, he jerks my dress over my head so forcefully that he tears the corner of the fabric and sends the pins in my hair flying through the air. He pulls a "whoops" face, but I cover his mouth with my hand. "It's just a dress." Then I crush my lips against his, his lip ring searing hot against my mouth as my hair falls down and brushes against my shoulders. Minutes later, all our clothes are on the floor and we're lying on his bed, him on his back and me straddling him. He thrusts his hips up to me halfway as I slide down on top of him. His eyes shut as I grip onto his shoulders and I gasp when he sinks farther into me. My hair falls loosely down my back as I slant my head back and shut my eyes. Gripping onto my hips, he rhythmically thrusts inside me over and over again. Our bodies bead with sweat as my mind drifts further away. Helpless energy channels through me and I dig my nails into his flesh, needing something to hold on to. Finally he takes my hands and I grasp on to him until I come apart. I cry out his name and every single worry I had disappears and all that's left is the blissful contentment that only Micha can make me feel. # Chapter Eight # Micha I'm lying in my bed, thinking about how to tell Ella about the tour when Ethan kicks everyone out of the house. Darkness has settled into my room and the noise and voices slowly dwindle until the house becomes silent. I sit up, but only to turn my iPod on, selecting "I Can Feel a Hot One," by Manchester Orchestra, then lie back down. Ella is naked beside me, flat on her stomach, her hair scattered all over her back, the sheets pulled up halfway over her body as she sleeps soundlessly. Moonlight flows through the window and across her lower back, highlighting the infinity mark tattooed in black ink. It matches the one on my arm perfectly and sometimes I wish I could remember the night we got them, remember what we'd been thinking when we made the permanent decision. What led up to the moment when we thought, Hey what the hell, let's go get matching tattoos that mean forever and eternally. What was going through our minds? What was going through Ella's mind? I lightly trace the curving lines on her back and I feel her shiver beneath my touch. "Are you awake?" I ask, my fingers wandering lower, to the top of her ass. She nods her head, her eyes still closed. "I can't sleep when you're touching me like that." "How about like this?" I roll over to my side and lean down to kiss her lower back. "Does that help?" I ask, suppressing my laughter when she shivers again. "No, it's worse, but it's okay. You can keep kissing there if you want to." I smile to myself and then place another kiss on her back, sliding my tongue over her skin. She squirms so I do it again, then rest my head on her back, place my hand on her side, and my fingers fold around her ribs. "Do you remember any of that night at all?" she murmurs against the pillow. "Any of what night?" "The night we got the tattoos." "I already told you when we woke up on the park bench that I didn't remember a thing and the memories never came back to me. It's just one of those kinds of nights that I think will be a blank." "Yeah, but I've always wondered if you were just telling me that you didn't remember because you worried that I'd get weird about whatever happened." "Well, as much as that sounds like something I'd do, I honestly can't remember a single thing," I say. "Other than, one minute we were drinking a lot out in my backyard while a party went on inside and the next thing I knew we were waking up on the park bench, your shoes were missing, and my arm was burning like a motherfucker. I'd seriously like to know how I managed to convince both of us to do it. And how I managed to get you to do something so permanent," I tell her and she grows quiet, the sound of her breathing mixing with the slow-paced song. The longer she remains silent, the more I start to worry. "Ella May?" "Yeah." Her voice is high and full of nervousness. My palm glides down her side to her hips. "Have you been lying about not remembering any of that night?" She pauses, her body tensing. "No. I've already told you a thousand times I can't remember a thing." "Pretty girl, I think your lie's showing." I tickle her side and she buries her face in the pillow, shaking her head. "You do remember something, don't you?" I press my chest against her back and lean over her shoulder, dipping my mouth to her ear. "Just tell me. I won't be mad." "I know you won't be mad," she says, rotating her head to the side so her face is away from the pillow. "But you'll be smug, which is worse and why I've kept it a secret." "I won't be smug," I say enticingly. "I promise." "You will too, Micha Scott," she argues. "I know you too well not to think otherwise." "I can make you roll over and tell me." I push away from her a little and skim my finger down her back to the center of her legs. She jumps, startled, as I start to put my finger inside her. "Micha." She narrows her eyes through the dark as she flips over onto her back and bolts upright, the moonlight hitting her bare chest. "That was a low move." I sit up, pulling her legs over my lap as I turn to the side and relax against the wall. Then I situate her on my lap, so her ass is positioned over my cock. "Just tell me," I say. "I'll try not to be smug but I want to know." She sighs and then puts her head against my shoulder. "Fine, but only because I love you." I kiss her forehead, breathing in her words, never getting tired of hearing them. "Fair enough." She sighs again and then she splays her fingers across my stomach. "You remember how we decided that everyone at your house was annoying and that we just needed to have a party of our own so we took a bottle of Bacardi and snuck outside?" I nod, resting my chin on top of her head. "Everyone was always annoying." "Yet you always had the parties." She draws a pattern across my stomach and then up to my chest. "Almost every weekend after you turned sixteen." "I was bored and liked the distraction." I shiver from her touch—she's the only girl who's ever gotten me to shiver. She walks her fingers up my stomach and stops them over my heart, pressing her palm flat against it. "The distraction from what?" I place my hand over hers and trap her hand in place. "From you." She tenses and so do I because I know what's coming. "Is that why you slept around so much?" she asks quietly. I shut my eyes, knowing she can feel the acceleration in my heart rate. "Haven't I always told you I was just passing time until you came around?" "Yeah, but did you really have to sleep with everyone?" "I didn't sleep with everyone—not even close," I point out. "And I was sixteen and horny and everyone I hung around with was having sex." "So it was because of peer pressure?" she questions doubtfully. "Because that doesn't sound like you." I open my eyes and sigh, releasing her hand. "It wasn't really because of anything and that's kind of the point. I was young and bored and in love with my best friend and if I tried to do anything at all that went past the friend boundary, she'd get upset. I didn't know what to do with myself half the time, and honestly, Ella, I felt like shit most of the time about the stuff I did, not just with other girls but with you." I pause, giving her room to say something and when she doesn't, I continue. "Do you remember that time when I made you go racing with me and when I won I kissed you because I got a little overly excited?" She hesitantly nods with her hand still positioned over my heart. "I almost punched you in the face, but only because it was a reflex. I wasn't used to people touching me like that." "You were so pissed." "Only because I was confused." I pause. "About what?" She hesitates. "About me and you and what I was feeling." "And what were you feeling? Because I'm dying to know." Even though I have her now, I still love hearing about our past and the fact that sometimes I wasn't the only one suffering in silence. She turns her face toward me so her breath warms my chest, her lips grazing my skin. "I'm not sure." "Did you like what you were feeling?" I touch my lips to her forehead. She wavers for a moment and then nods. "I did. A lot. And that was the problem." I smile as I stare over her head at the window where Christmas lights glow through the darkness outside. There's a set of silver ones on the tree that leads to Ella's room, the one I used to climb up all the time just so I could be near her. "Thank you, pretty girl." "For what?" "For telling me that. It's nice to hear that it wasn't always me," I say. "Now will you please tell me about the tattoos?" She grimaces and then moves her head back to look me in the eyes. "It was my idea to go get them," she admits. My jaw nearly drops. "What?" She rolls her eyes at herself and then sits up, swinging her leg over me so she's straddling my lap and her nipples brush against my bare chest. "We were drunk and you dared me to kiss you so I did. And then I stupidly suggested that it would be super funny if we did something to mark the moment and then decided it should be tattoos." "And I just willingly went with you?" I ask, not with skepticism because it does sound like something I'd do. She nods as her palms glide up my shoulders and then she links her arms around the back of my neck, her soft nipples grazing my chest. "You took me over to Jason's house and asked him to put infinity marks on us." "And then what?" I inquire, my fingers finding her waist. She shrugs. "And then that's where things get a little hazy." I consider what she said and it makes me happy. "So this entire time you were the reason I have this on me." I raise my arm with the infinity mark on it. She sketches it with her finger. "Does it make you mad?" "No, it kind of makes me very, very happy." "Why?" "Because it proves that you might have loved me all along." She wets her lips with her tongue and then leans into me, so close that when she blinks, her eyelashes brush against mine. "Even though I didn't know it at the time," she whispers against my lips, "I think you're right and I'm glad I finally figured it out." # Chapter Nine # Ella Even though I can feel it in my bones that I should stop, the next morning I read some more of my mother's journal. The part I'm reading was written a little before her wedding and she doesn't seem happy about it at all. She seems depressed and sad and everything a soon-to-be wife shouldn't be. _I'm not sure I can do it. Go down to the courthouse and make it official. I'd rather claw my eyes out. If my mother had her way, I wouldn't go through with it. She says Raymond is no good, that he'll ruin my life, and that I'm not fit to be a mother or a wife right now especially with what I've been going through... the drastic mood swings, the ups and downs. She's probablyright, but then again I feel like my life is already ruined, whether I'm married and a mother or not. Besides, I really do think I might love Raymond. Maybe. But sometimes the mere thought of taking another breath seems like the biggest chore in the world. I wish I could stop breathing. I wonder if it's possible for someone to be able to hold their breath long enough to die._ _Maybe I should try._ I look over at the picture of her and the drawing of the flower in the vase. When did she draw this and when was the picture taken? When she wrote this? Before? After? Why am I obsessing over it so much? _Just let it go._ "Baby, are you ready for this?" Micha asks as he loops his leather belt through the top of his worn jeans. Tensing, I close the journal, noting that he hesitantly glances at it. "Yeah, as ready as I'll ever be." "It'll be fine." He fastens his belt, then reaches for the cologne, glancing at the journal again as I climb off the bed. "Are you going to ask your dad about the journal?" "Yeah, I guess now is as good a time as any." I'm wearing a black and purple plaid shirt and jeans that are tucked into boots. I comb my fingers through my tangled hair and reach for my deodorant that's in my duffel bag. "I just hope he doesn't act all weird about it." Micha sets the cologne back down on the dresser beside a pile of his old guitar picks. "Why would he act weird about it?" I shrug, removing the cap from my deodorant. "Because it has to do with my mom, and what if he wants to read it?" "Then let him read it." I wipe some deodorant on my armpits and then toss it back into the bag. "Yeah, but it says stuff... about him... not nice stuff either, at least not great stuff about how she felt about marrying him." His throat bobs up and down as he swallows hard, raking his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, maybe you shouldn't then." He pulls open the top dresser drawer and begins digging through it like he's looking for something when there are only a few old T-shirts in there. I touch his arm lightly. "Micha?" He stiffens under my touch. "Yeah." "I want to marry you more than I've wanted to do anything else in my life," I say, turning him so that he's facing me, even though he's got his head tipped down. "And yes, I know that sounds super cheesy, but it's true so..." I trail off as he leans in toward me. "Even after everything you've been reading?" he asks, his hand cupping the side of my neck. I nod and his mouth covers mine. I part my lips as his tongue devours me in a deep, passionate kiss, his fingers knotting through my hair, tugging at the roots, forcing my head back. When he pulls away he looks high on the kiss, eyes glazed, pupils wide, and I love him for it. "There is something I want to talk to you about," I tell him, because I know it's time to ask questions that need to be asked. To have the talk about where we'll be in a few years, what our plans are for the future. "But let's do it after we tell my mom and your dad that we're getting married." "Are you sure?" he asks, his fingers unraveling through my hair. "I'm sure," I say. "Besides, if we don't get this whole wedding announcement thingy out in the open there isn't going to be a wedding, at least one that people can go to." "Where are we going to have it?" "I don't know," I say, and I don't. Even when I was little, I never imagined getting married. In fact, when I thought about it, I thought about how much I didn't want it. I watched my mother and father fight too much, be miserable, fall apart, our household always on the verge of cracking until one day it shattered completely. But I've changed. And it doesn't matter where it takes place or what I'm wearing. I just want Micha there with me and I'm good. "In your backyard?" I suggest. "I mean, a lot of stuff happened in the backyard." His sucks on his lip ring, contemplating. "Yeah, a lot of things did, but a lot of things happened at our spot, too, so how about up by the lake. It's where we first said we loved each other, even if you don't remember it." "Won't it be cold?" "Does it really matter?" He has a point, but I still frown at the floor, my heart knotting in my chest as I remember the night on the bridge and how I almost jumped into the water. How Micha saved me. How I kissed him afterward to silence the three words I knew he was going to utter, words I can't get enough of now. I remember turning to leave, ready to bolt from him and my feelings, and then the rest of the night is only broken pieces in my mind because of the mixture of adrenaline and anxiety in my body, along with the pills I took from my mother's stash. Rain drops splashing against the asphalt. Puddles covering the ground. Water like black ink. Silver lightning blazing across the midnight sky. Micha's intoxicating warmth. "You never did tell me exactly what happened." I glance up at him. "Would... would you tell me what happened? I want to know what happened the night I first told you I loved you." He looks at me for what feels like an eternity, assessing me as he contemplates what I've asked. Then instead of walking out of the room like I fear, he pulls me down onto the bed with him and wraps his arms around me. "Absolutely. I'll always give you whatever you want." # Chapter Ten _Two and a half years earlier..._ # Micha Rain hammers down from the sky and slams against the charcoal asphalt, soaking my jeans and T-shirt. Lightning zaps across the sky and thunder booms, reverberating through the metal beams around and above the bridge. My lips are numb from the cold air, Ella's kiss, and the fact that she's walking away from me. "Ella May, don't you dare run away from this," I yell as I jog after her, my boots splashing against the puddles. She's having a hard time walking, veering from left to right as the rain drenches her jeans, shirt, and hair. The beams of the headlights from my car parked in the center of the bridge light up the darkness and makes her look like a shadow. "Micha, just leave me alone. _Please_." She trips over her feet and falls to the ground. I don't know if it's from the pills she took, if she's been drinking, if it's the combination of the two, or the simple fact that she's having a panic attack. I speed up and wrap my arms around her waist. As I help her to her feet, she wiggles her arms and tries to jab me with her elbows, attempting to shove me away. "Just let me go!" she cries and I hear a sob in her voice. It splits my heart into pieces because she never cries. _Ever_. The pain she's feeling... God, I can't even think about it. "Please just let me go." "No," I say as I support her weight in my arms and help her back to my car. "I'm never going to let you go. Don't you get that?" Holding on to her with one hand, I maneuver the passenger door open as rain continues to drown us. I put my hand over her head and help her duck down into the car. Once she's sitting in the seat and the door is shut, I feel slightly better, the crushing weight in my chest lighter. Not gone, but lighter than when I pulled up and found her standing on the edge of the bridge. I blink through the rain as I look over at the beam Ella was balancing on and then at the dark water below. "God damn it!" I curse and kick the tire as I yank my fingers through my wet hair. How did everything turn this shitty? How could a beautiful, smart, wildly wonderful girl be handed so many shitty fucking cards? She's spent most of her life taking care of her parents, and then her mother takes her own life and her father blames her. Why does she have to deal with this? Why can't something good finally happen to her? I have no idea how to handle this, but I know I have to try. Forcing my feet to move around the front of the car, I get into the driver's seat and slam the door. "It's fucking cold in here," I say, cranking up the heat as my wet clothes soak the leather seat. She doesn't look at me, keeping her forehead against the window and her hands lifelessly on her lap as rain drips from her hair onto her cheeks. "I can't feel anything," she mumbles. My heart sinks inside my chest and I have to take a slow breath before I speak. "Baby, put your seat belt on." She shakes her head, her eyes shutting. "I... can't..." She sounds exhausted, on the verge of passing out. I lean over and reach across the front of her. When I grab the seat belt, she doesn't budge even when I pull it over her chest. As I'm buckling her in, she abruptly shifts her weight toward me. The seat belt clicks into the lock as she rests her forehead against mine, her skin as cold as the rain outside. "You almost... you almost said you love me..." Her warm breath hits my skin as her eyes stay shut. "I know." I swallow hard, but I'm still afraid to move and break the connection between us. Water drips down my forehead, across my lips, and runs from my hand as I move my fingers away from the buckle and to her hip. "No one's ever said that to me before," she whispers. "I know," I say, my fingers shaking as I hold on to her. Her shoulder turns inward and presses into mine as she slumps more of her weight into me. "Did you... did you mean it?" I slowly nod without leaning away, causing friction between our foreheads. "More than anything." "Micha I..." she starts and my chest aches for her to say it. _Just say it please._ But then her forehead is leaving mine and she's moving back toward the door. "I'm really tired," she whispers, slumping her head against the window again. I gradually inhale and then release, trying to steady my erratic heart. It takes more than a few breaths to get me to where I can even speak again. "I'll take you home." "No, not home," she utters. "Somewhere else... I hate home..." I turn forward in my seat and watch the raindrops crash down against the hood and windshield. "Where do you want to go?" "Somewhere that will make me happy," she says and flinches when thunder booms. Placing my hands on top of the steering wheel, I shut my eyes. Some place that will make her happy? I'm not sure a place like that exists at the moment, but I have to try. Opening my eyes back up, I shove the shifter into reverse and back up off the bridge. When I reach the end, I put it into drive and crank the wheel, turning the car around. The road is flooded with puddles and the windshield wipers are cranked on high as I drive away from the bridge. Every time the thunder and lightning snaps, I jump, but Ella stays still, nearly motionless. When she does move, it's only to mess around with the iPod. She skims through the song list forever, her fingers fumbling over the buttons. She keeps shivering but when I ask her if she's cold she shakes her head. Finally she selects a song: "This Place Is a Prison," by The Postal Service. Then she slouches back in the seat, leans her head back against the headrest, and stares at the ceiling as the song plays through the speakers. I continue to drive until I reach the side road that weaves out to a secluded area surrounded by trees and nestled near the edge of the lake. The road is a muddy mess and I'm worried that we're going to get stuck. But somehow I manage to make it to our spot, the one Ella and I always go to be alone—to be with each other. I park the car so it's facing the dark water and leave the headlights on. The water ripples against the raindrops as the wipers move back and forth across the windshield. "Tell me what you're thinking?" I finally say, not staring at the lake. "I'm thinking I should have jumped," she says emotionlessly. Something snaps inside me and I lose it. "No, you fucking don't!" I ram my fist against the top of the wheel and she jumps, lifts her head up, and stares at me with wide eyes. "You don't want to be dead, so stop saying it." My voice softens as I reach over and tuck strands of wet hair behind her ear. "You're just confused." "No, I'm not," she protests. "I know exactly what I'm thinking." But I can tell she doesn't by the glossiness of her eyes, the vastness of her pupils, and the fact that she's struggling to keep her eyelids open. "I don't want to be here anymore, Micha." "With me?" I choke, cupping her cheek. She swallows hard, her eyes scanning mine. "I don't know." "But I thought you knew exactly what you were thinking?" I say, not sure if I'm going about this the right way, but it's the only way I know how. "All I know is that I don't want to feel this." She slams her hand over her chest, a little too hard. Her eyes are wildly big, filled with fear and panic as her chest heaves for air. "I don't want to feel all this pain and guilt." "What happened to your mother wasn't your fault." I place a very unsteady hand over hers, worried I'm going to fuck this up. I'm stunned by how rapidly her heart is beating, thrashing against our hands. She's probably got so much adrenaline pouring through she's lightheaded. "That's not what my dad and Dean say," she whispers, pulling her hand away and forcing mine to fall from her chest. "Your dad and your brother are fucking assholes," I tell her firmly, leaning over the console. "And it doesn't matter what they think—no one else matters but you and me. Remember, you and me against the world." Her eyelids shut and then flutter open again. "You're always saying that." "Because I mean it. I don't care about anything else. I could lose anyone else and make it through. But not you, Ella May. I can't do this without you." A few tears fall down her cheeks. "I hate myself." "Ella, God damn it, don't say—" "No!" she shouts, jerking away from me and huddling against the door. "I fucking hate myself! I do! And I wish you'd just see what I really am. You're always seeing more in me than what there really is..." She drifts off as more tears spill out and she scans the outside of the car, the trees, the water, the rain, like she's contemplating running. "If you'd just let me go, you'd be happier." "No, I wouldn't." I ball my hands to keep from touching her because I know it's going to set her off more. "I..." I blow out an uneven breath, knowing that what I'm about to say is going to change everything, even if she won't remember it in the morning. I will. I can't go back from it and honestly I don't fucking want to. "I fucking love you. Don't you get that?" I unclench my hands and stretch my arm over to her, grabbing her arm as she shakes her head. "I love you." My voice softens. "And no matter what happens, with you or me—with us—I'm _always_ going to love you." Her shoulders start to heave and she gives in to my hold, allowing me to pull her over the console and onto my lap. Then I wrap my arm around her and cradle her head against my chest as she sobs into my wet shirt. I smooth my hand down her head, each sob tearing at my heart. I stare out into the rain, watching it splash against the lake, feeling so helpless. I wish I could take all of her pain and guilt away. She doesn't deserve this—she doesn't deserve anything. What she does deserve is someone to love her unconditionally, which I've been trying to do for a while, if she'd just let me. _I need to find a way._ "Micha." The sound of her strained voice jerks me back to reality. When I glance down at her, she's looking up like she's lost and has no idea where she is as she clutches onto my shirt. I know she's probably going to fall asleep soon and when morning rolls around there's a good chance she won't remember any of this. I trace a finger underneath her eyes, wiping the tears away. "Yeah, baby?" She takes a deep breath and then she's pulling on my shirt, forcing me to get close to her. "I love you, too," she whispers and then she presses her lips against mine. She kisses me briefly, but it's enough that I feel it all the way through me. I clutch on to her as I kiss her back with every ounce of emotion I have in me, wishing it could be just like this all the time. But just as quickly as it all began, it stops as she leans away and settles back in my arms. Moments later, she's asleep. I listen to the rhythm of her breathing and the longer I sit there holding her, the fiercer my heart beats, and no matter how hard I try to keep them back, eventually tears escape my eyes. My head falls forward against the steering wheel and I cry quietly through the sounds of the rain. Crying for her. For the life she was handed. Because I'm so in love with her it hurts me to see her like this. Because I know when morning comes, there's a good chance she won't remember this. Because I'm afraid I'm going to lose her forever. # Chapter Eleven # Ella When Micha finishes telling me what happened, I lay quietly on the bed with him, my head right over his heart. It's beating faster than it normally does and I wonder if he's feeling what he felt that night. The fear I put in him and whatever else was going through his head at the moment. "I can't remember any of that," I say, looking up at him. "I think it was the combination of the pills and my... my anxiety. Things sometimes get blurry when I go to that place." "I know," he says, staring down at me. "Like I said, I knew that night there would be a good chance you wouldn't remember any of it. I just thought that I'd never see you again after it happened." Silence stretches between us as I struggle to remember and he struggles to forget. "I'm sorry," I tell him because it's the only thing I can think of to say. There are no words that could possibly even begin to explain to him how bad I feel for putting him through that and for me doing it to begin with. It still hurts to even think about it, how I was about to throw everything away—everything I have with Micha now. "I really am." He moves me with him as he sits up. "You don't have to be sorry for something that happened a few years ago—something that wasn't even in your control." "Running away was." "You know, I thought so at first, but now I don't think that's entirely true. I think sometimes in life shit happens and people have to do what they can to move past it." The corners of his mouth tug upward into a sad smile. "For you, that was running away and for me... with my father, it was deciding it was better to let him go." "But I came back." I tuck my legs under me and kneel up between his legs. "Well, I came back for summer break because I had to, but now I'm back, for the most part." "I know." His fingers spread across my cheek. "It's called healing, Ella May." "I guess it is," I agree. "But you wouldn't let your father back into your life, even if he tried." His thumb grazes my bottom lip. "I've got everyone I need in my life. My mom. You. Even Ethan and Lila. That's more than a lot of people have." His hand leaves my lips and he threads his fingers through mine so the O-ring on his finger is pressed against my engagement ring. "Besides, I have you forever. And one day we'll have our own family and that's what will matter in the end." I'm not sure what kind of face I make, but he definitely notes a shift as I move to the edge of the bed. "What's wrong?" he asks, sitting up straight and sliding his long legs over the edge of the bed and his feet onto the floor. I wanted to prepare myself for this talk, about our future, where we're going, but now it's kind of unavoidable because he said our own family... Shit. Does he mean kids and everything? "I've actually been meaning to talk to you about that." "About what? Having you forever, or having a family of our own?" "Um..." I swallow hard. "The last part." "About having a family." He speaks slowly and cautiously like he's afraid he's going to scare me. "Yeah, sort of..." I struggle to talk about a subject that makes me feel so uneasy. "I mean, where are we even going?" He looks puzzled. "I'm not sure I'm following you, pretty girl." "Are we..." God, this is so difficult. "When you say family, are you... are you talking about having kids?" He considers his next words wisely. "Not having kids right at this moment, but having them in the future, yeah." "And what if... what if I said I didn't want to have kids?" I bring my feet back onto the bed and sit cross-legged. He scratches his scruffy jawline as he brings his feet up on the bed and faces me, crisscrossing his legs. "It all depends on why you don't want to have them, I guess." "So you do want to have them?" I'm a little surprised that he doesn't even have to think about it. His eyes search mine and then he definitively nods. "Not right now, but eventually way down the road." "And what if I said that way down the road I couldn't see myself as a mother?" I chew on my lip nervously. "Then what?" He slips his fingers through mine and holds both of my hands. "Why can't you see yourself as a mother?" I roll my eyes and pull one of my hands away to gesture at myself. "I think it's sort of obvious." He looks genuinely perplexed. "No, not really." "Because of who I am." I struggle for words. "Because of my problems. Because I don't even know what being a mother entails. I mean, I had a few good moments growing up, but other than that I pretty much took care of my mother instead of the other way around." He wiggles his fingers from my hand, grabs my knees, and drags me closer to him. "Exactly, which is why I think you'll make a great mom." "I think you're wrong," I disagree. "If anything, it'll make me a very confused mom." His hands glide from my knees to my thighs and his fingers jab into my skin like he's afraid to let me go. "No way. As much as I hate it, you took care of everyone in that household. You cooked. Cleaned. Paid the bills. Helped your mom take her medication. Stayed home and took care of her while your father went out to the bar every night acting like a teenager. At sixteen, Ella May, you were more responsible than a lot of thirty-year-olds." "I did stupid stuff, too," I remind him. "I think you're forgetting all the fights I got into, all the roofs I jumped off, the many times I made you drive recklessly and tested the boundaries of life." "You had to breathe somehow." I think about what he said, squirming because all this positive talk about me is making me uneasy. "You're seriously freaking me out right now." "I know," he says. "But it's the truth. You'll make an awesome mom if and when that time comes around." I eye him over with skepticism. "And what if it doesn't? What if I say there's just no way I can do it? What if I say that I just want to spend the rest of my life drawing and listening to you sing? Just you and I?" "Then I guess it'll be just you and I growing old together," he says with a trace of a smile on his lips. "And I can live with that, too. I can live with anything just as long as you fucking marry me." And with that, he gets to his feet. "This weekend. No more messing around." He sticks out his hand and I take it, nodding. He pulls me to my feet and we walk toward the door. "Although, I must say that we would make beautiful babies together." He flashes me a cocky grin and I roll my eyes. "Imagine one with your hair and my amazing eyes." "You're too cocky for your own good. Besides, I'd rather they had your hair and my eyes. I've never been a fan of the color." My face twists in disgust I grab a few strands. "Although I love your eyes, too. Maybe she could just have your hair _and_ eyes." His brow crooks up as he starts to pull the door open "She?" I bite down on my tongue, realizing my slipup. "Did I say 'she'?" I feign dumb. He nods and there's a sparkle in his aqua eyes as we step out into the hallway. "So you'd want a girl?" I fight for oxygen and then seal my lips. If I could picture myself with a kid, I picture her as a little girl, all punked out with blonde hair and blue eyes. I'm not ready to admit that aloud yet, though. "Can we just go tell your mom about the wedding?" I ask, trying to sound neutral, but my voice comes out more off pitch than I intended. "Before Lila and Ethan let it slip out." He looks at me for about five seconds longer and I wonder who he sees. The girl he met when he was four? Or the one who ran away when she was eighteen? Or this new one who thinks about weddings and babies? "Whatever you want," he finally says and starts down the hall. He's always saying that and I tug on his arm, stopping him. "What about what you want for once?" He pauses, searching my eyes for God knows what. "I have everything I want right here," he says simply, and I can tell he means it. # Chapter Twelve # Micha The whole baby talk with Ella was a little weird, but it needed to be talked about, I guess. I'd never thought that much about it, but having kids wouldn't be so bad, down the road of course. It's not like I worry I'd turn into a shitty father like mine. I think I was always a bit more like my mom than him and I'm glad. But I want to make sure that Ella and I are both in the right place if we decide to have them. I meant everything I said. Either way, kids or not, I'll be happy as long as I'm with her. But I think now I really need to talk to her about my future in music and the tour coming up. I should have probably told her right after the baby talk since we were talking about our future. It would have been a good time, but I was scared and nervous of what she would say—or what she wouldn't say. Music is my passion, my emotional outlet in really hard times, and Ella knows this and I know she'll be supportive, but what I don't know is if she'll come with, and if she does, will she be doing it because she wants to or because she thinks it's what I want? And if she doesn't, then that means I have to give it up—give up my dream. And knowing that makes me want to avoid it as long as possible. With the tour and our future still lingering in my mind, we enter the kitchen with our fingers linked, the fresh aroma of coffee in the air. I feel like I'm seven years old again and Ella and I are telling my mom how we broke our next-door-neighbor Mrs. Millerson's garden gnome because we wanted to see if it was a real gnome. Mrs. Millerson had caught us and told us we had to get her a new one. We thought we were going to get yelled at but thankfully my mom always went a little easy on me due to the fact that my dad bailed out and she's always had a soft spot for Ella. But now instead of telling my mom about the broken gnome we're telling her that we want to have a wedding in five days and how we almost got married without her. My mom flips out at first, more than I thought she would, but her anger turns to excitement when I remind her that yeah, we were going to get married without her but we decided not to. Thomas, my mom's boyfriend who's a little younger than her, is in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal at the table while all this goes on. He looks a little more cleaned up than when we last saw him; at least he's wearing a clean T-shirt and jeans without holes in them. My mom is still dressing like she's younger—her shirt has all this flashy diamond shit on it and there's some on the trim of her pants. But I don't say anything about it. I get that she's happy and even though I still think Thomas is an idiot, especially when he drips milk on the front of his shirt, he seems to make her happy. "So we're really going to do this?" my mom asks with a grin on her face as she pours a cup of coffee. "Do what?" I ask, exchanging a confused glance with Ella, who shrugs, as confused as I am. My mom shakes her head at me as she sets the coffeepot down on the counter near the sink. "Get married." I press back a smirk. "I didn't realize it was a _we_ thing." She sighs, like I'm a silly little child, and walks past us, making her way across the kitchen to the fridge. "I didn't mean _we_ as in all of us." She opens the fridge door and takes out a gallon of milk. "I meant _we_ as in you and Ella." She beams at Ella as she pours milk into her coffee. "The daughter I never had. God, this is going to be so much fun." Ella steps back, tensing, shying away because my mom's enthusiasm is scaring the shit out of her. "What's going to be so much fun?" she asks. "Planning your wedding." My mom glances at Ella and me as she puts the milk back into the fridge. "You two are going to have the best wedding. I'm going to make sure of that." I pull Ella toward me and circle my arms around her waist, trying to ease her panic. "You know you have only five days to plan it and then we have to return home, right?" I tell my mom. My mom clasps her hands together and glances over her shoulder at the snowflakes drifting down from the cloudy sky. It's early afternoon but with the lack of sunlight it looks like it's late in the day. "Five days is perfect." She returns her attention to us. "I can do a lot in five days." "And we're all broke," I remind her, pressing Ella's back against my chest. She's being really quiet and it's making me nervous. I'm not sure if it's all the wedding talk that's freaking her out or the fact that we just had a baby talk. "I have some money saved up." My mom collects her cup of coffee from the counter. "And besides, you can have a nice wedding without spending a whole lot of money." Her eyes land on Ella. "Do you have a dress already?" Ella shakes her head and then blinks at my mom distractedly. "What?" "A dress, sweetie." My mom looks at me questioningly from over the top of her cup as she takes a swallow. "Does she have one yet?" I lean over Ella's shoulder to catch her eye and I'm startled by the layer of water in her eyes. There's something wrong and I need to find out what it is. "Yeah, she has one," I say to my mom and then grab Ella's hand and lead her toward the hallway, calling over my shoulder. "Mom, we'll be right back." Ella absentmindedly follows me. Once I get her into the hallway and out of my mother's gaze, I stop us and whirl her around to face me. "Okay, what's wrong?" I ask, examining her watery eyes. She stares over my shoulder at a few framed pictures of my mom and me hanging on the wall. "It's nothing." I place my hand on her cheek and force her to look at me. "It is something; otherwise you wouldn't be about ready to cry." "I don't..." Tears bubble in the corner of her eyes and her voice cracks. "It's just that... God, this is so stupid." She rubs the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. "Nothing you say is stupid," I assure her, wiping a stray tear away with my thumb. She frowns doubtfully at me. "Even when I told you that I was pretty sure we could push to one hundred miles per hour when there was a foot of snow on the road?" "Yeah, well, we all have our drunk moments," I say, recollecting the night she's talking about. How she was a little drunk and a little excited over the fact that some dude told her she had a nice ass. She would never admit that was what was making her all cheery, but I could tell it was and it was fucking annoying. "Go faster," she'd begged from the passenger seat with her head against the dashboard as she watched the night sky through the window. "Go, like, a hundred." "No way," I'd replied, shifting into a lower gear as the engine grumbled. The road was dangerous going twenty-five, the car barely able to keep any sort of traction as we slid up the vacant street, heading home. "Oh come on, Micha Scott." She sat up and ran her fingers through her hair. She had on a leather jacket and a black shirt underneath it that had a low collar and I could see the curves of her breasts. The sight made me hard, which pissed me off because another guy had put a smile on her face. "Just try it. If things get too crazy, you can stop." I shook my head, ripping my gaze from her cleavage. "You're drunk and thinking stupid." "Hey, that's not very nice." She'd pouted. I hated when she pouted because she looked ridiculously sexy and it made it difficult to deny her anything she was asking for, even if it meant us getting killed. She propped her elbows onto the console and leaned over, putting her face only inches away from my cheek. "Come on, just do it. For me." She had this amused, drunk look on her face. She was too gorgeous, perfect, beautiful for her own good. If I could, I would have told her that. Told her how amazingly perfect she was and how I could spend thousands of hours writing lyrics about how beautiful she was and it wouldn't even begin to describe it. My eyes may have been on the road but all my attention was on her. "Pretty girl, I'm not going to kill us, no matter how hard you beg." Her lip popped out even more as she slumped back in the seat. "Fine. Don't have any fun." Propping her boots on the console, she'd slouched back against the seat. "And I don't know why you keep calling me that." "What, pretty girl?" I smiled amusedly as she nodded with a frown, her eyelids drifting shut as exhaustion took her over. I took a chance, telling her the truth, knowing that she probably wouldn't remember it by morning. "It's because I think you're beautiful, but I can never get away with calling you beautiful without you kicking my ass, so I settled for a milder version of the truth." I sighed as she passed out, her knees slumping to the side and falling off the dash and onto the floor. Then her head lowered down against the console and she wiggled it to the side until it was pressed against my ribs and her hair was on my lap. Smiling, I slowed down the car and took my time getting home. The night actually turned out to be pretty fucking perfect. "I've had a lot more stupid moments than you." Ella's voice jerks me from the memory. "Oh, I doubt that," I argue, bracing my hand on the wall beside her head. "And I doubt that whatever you're going to tell me is going to sound stupid." She rubs her hand over her face, leaving red lines on her skin. "Part of the reason..." She clears her throat. "I'm just thinking about mom stuff. That's all." "About the journal?" "No... about getting married... without a mom around." She wavers. "It's part of the reason why I wanted to get married here. So we would be close to her." My heart sinks into my stomach. Through all of this, I'd never even thought about that. About how she must be feeling about her mom not being around for all of this. "See, I told you it was stupid," she says with a heavyhearted sigh. "I should just keep my mouth shut." "No, it's not stupid. Not at all." I pause, considering my next words carefully because they're important. "Do you want to have it somewhere near the cemetery?" She quickly shakes her head. "No, I like by the lake. It's just nice knowing she's in the same town. God, this is so weird. I'm talking about her like she's still alive." Her voice quivers at the end and she looks away, avoiding eye contact with me. "Hey." With my hand, I turn her head back toward me. "Nothing about wanting your mother near you is weird, whether she's alive or not." She smiles sadly, but it's nice to see her smile while we're talking about her mom, even if it's a sad smile. "Well, I still want to have it at the lake," she tells me. "And my dad will be there, so I guess it won't be so bad." "What about Dean and Caroline?" I ask. "Should we invite them?" "Caroline's pregnant so I'm not even sure she could and it's super short notice," she says. "It's up to you." I give her a quick kiss on the lips and then step back. "If you don't want to invite them, then fine. But, I mean, you do get married only once, you know." Her lips creep into a malicious grin. "Oh, I plan on getting married a lot. At least ten to twenty times. You're just my practice husband." She playfully nudges me with her shoulder. I embrace her and catch her off guard as I tackle her to the floor like I used to when we were kids. My hand snaps out before we hit the carpet and I catch her weight. Then I hold my body up slightly away from her so I don't crush her. "Micha." She laughs, her legs opening up so my body falls in between them. Her fingers span across my shoulder blades as I press on her lower back, our legs entangled. "Get off me. We're too old for this." "No way," I say. Heat radiates between our bodies and her hair is sprawled around her head and across the carpet, and the tears that were in her eyes moments ago are gone. "We'll never be too old for this. Ever. I will still tackle you when we're ninety years old." She stares up at me for a moment, her expression unreadable, her pulse hammering through her fingertips. "You make me happy," she says in a shaky voice. It may seem like such a simple statement, but for Ella to admit she's happy is a huge, major, life-changing event and it gives me hope that everything will end up okay. "And vice versa," I say and then kiss her. # Chapter Thirteen # Ella Telling Micha's mom was a piece of cake. Well, except for the part when I told Micha my strange thought process about having the wedding in Star Grove because I'd feel closer to my mom. That was a little weird. But Micha being... well, Micha, he made me feel okay about feeling that way. Lighter. Which is good, because there's a chance that after I tell my dad, not just about the wedding but about my grandmother and the box she sent me, the lightness may shift to graveness. Micha goes over to my house with me, our fingers entwined like we're kids about to tell something really bad to our parents. But we're not kids and getting married isn't a bad thing, but sometimes talking to my dad can turn that way. Although it hasn't in a while. He's actually been really nice and chatty lately. When I enter the house, I nearly drop dead on the floor because it's clean. There are no alcohol bottles littering the yellow and brown countertops. He's bought a new kitchen table, too, a new-used kitchen table anyway. It's white and has a bench on one side and two chairs on the other. The floor is still stained, but it has recently been swept and mopped, the air smelling like Pine-Sol mixed with cinnamon. There aren't any past-due envelopes on the counters or table. I remember the last time I was here how the house was going to get foreclosed but he managed to get it out of it, working overtime and paying the amount past due. "Wow," Micha says as he turns in a circle, rubbing his jawline as he examines the kitchen. "I feel like I've entered an episode of _The Twilight Zone_." I let go of his hand and cross the kitchen to the table, picking up a decorative ceramic rooster. The head pops off and it starts to make a loud rooster noise as I glance inside. "Oh my God, there's homemade cookies in it." Micha laughs as he strolls up behind me. "You sound so adorable." He sweeps my hair to the side and his lips caress the back of my neck. "Getting excited over cookies." I take a cookie out, put the rooster head back on, and then set it back down on the table. "So what? The only cookies I ever had when I was growing up were Oreo cookies." I bite down on the homemade chocolate chip cookie and turn around to face him. "And you would always make us share those and then would take the half with all the filling. You always gave me whatever I wanted except when it came to those damn cookies." He steals a big bite of my cookie. "What can I say? I may love you but I love frosting just a little bit more." He swallows the cookie and then opens his mouth to steal another bite but I stuff the entire cookie into my mouth, lifting my eyebrows, giving him an arrogant look. Arrogance rises on his face too and then he covers my mouth with his, slipping his tongue between my lips, trying to steal bites of chewed-up cookie. I jerk back, laughing, and making a repulsed face. "You are so gross," I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. He licks his lips and then grins. "I win." I stick out my tongue, which has gooey chewed-up cookie on it. "That is what you just ate." His tongue slips out over his lips again. "And it was so, so good." I shake my head, but can't stop smiling, and then I roll my eyes at myself because I'm turning into one of those girls who gushes around their boyfriend... fiancé... soon-to-be husband. Reality suddenly slaps me in the face and my eyes widen. "Holy shit, I'm going to be Ella May Scott." I breathe, not sure whether I'm panicking or just surprised. Micha's mouth sinks to a frown, the arrogance dissipating. I'm not sure if it's because he just realized that too or because of my alarmed statement. I open my mouth to say something, but then my dad enters the kitchen and my words get stuck in my mouth. Despite the clean sight of the kitchen, my dad still looks grungy and rough around the edges. He's wearing an oversized plaid jacket over a holey navy-blue shirt and his jeans have paint on them, along with the boots he's wearing because he works as a painting contractor now. His face is unshaven and he looks a little heavier than the last time I saw him a year ago but his eyes are clear, not bloodshot, and while he does smell like cigarette smoke, it's not mixed with the smell of booze. He stumbles over his boots when he sees me standing in front of the table and then catches himself on the door frame. "Holy shit." He takes a good look at me as he blinks. "What are you doing here? I thought you couldn't make it home this year for Christmas?" I huddle closer to Micha, almost as a defense mechanism. Even though I know my dad is doing much better, I can't entirely forget the past. When he was drunk. When he blamed me for my mother's death. When he wouldn't even look at me because it hurt him too much. "Yeah, we had a change of plans," I tell him as I feel Micha's fingers brush my own. My dad lets go of the door frame and steps up beside the counter. "Well, I'm glad, Ella," he says awkwardly, a trait that is very common whenever we're around each other. He massages the back of his neck tensely, glancing around the clean kitchen. "If I would have known you were coming, I'd have stocked up the cupboards and stuff with food or something." "It's fine," I say. "We're actually staying over at Micha's house anyway." My dad's gaze flickers back and forth between Micha and me. "Well, that's good, I guess." Silence draws out between us and I can't help but think about what my mom said in the journal about him. How she wasn't thrilled to be marrying him. How her mother didn't want her to marry him. How depressed she was. Did he know about all this? Because he once told me things weren't always bad, that things used to be good between them. Was it because my mom hid her depression and dark thoughts from him? Is that how I am with Micha since I can't seem to talk to him about my fears of getting married and having a future? Finally Micha clears his throat and jabs me in the side with his elbow. "Oh yeah." I shake my thoughts out of my head. "I actually have something to tell you." My dad looks bewildered as he leans against the counter and folds his arms. "Okay." "You remember how I told you a couple of weeks ago that Micha and I were getting married?" I rub my finger along the stones of the ring, trying to calm the nervousness in my voice. I don't even know why I'm nervous, other than that I'm worried that my dad is going to say or do something that will ruin the amazingness I've been feeling lately. I think it's just scars from my past that are causing the worry, but they're still there. My dad nods. "Yeah, I remember." "Well, we were going to get married in San Diego, but we decided to come back and have the wedding here," I tell him. "This weekend actually, on Christmas day." His eyes enlarge and then travel down to my stomach. "Ella, you're not..." He shoots Micha a dirty look as he stands up straight and looks around the kitchen, avoiding eye contact with both of us, appearing uneasy even for him. "You're not..." As it clicks what he thinks I throw my hand over my stomach. "What? No. I'm not... I'm not pregnant. God." I can't believe he'd think that. I've been careful not to let that happen and have been on the pill for a year now. He frowns, looking unconvinced. "Okay." Micha chuckles under his breath and I narrow my eyes at him. "This isn't funny," I hiss, but laughter threatens its way up my throat, too. I know it's not funny, especially since I found out that my mom and he got married because she was pregnant with Dean, yet it is. He's acting like a dad and it's hilarious because I'm twenty years old and this is the first real time I've seen him come even remotely close to playing the part. "I promise she's not pregnant, Mr. Daniels," Micha says, shooting me a quick grin. "We just decided it was time." _Mr. Daniels?_ I mouth at him. _Really?_ Micha nonchalantly shrugs and gives me an innocent look, mouthing, _What?_ My dad's gazes flicks back and forth between Micha and me. "But you're... you're so young." "So were you and... mom," I point out with hesitancy because it goes against what I'm trying to prove, but he doesn't know that I know about mom being pregnant when they said "I do." "Yeah, but..." My dad trails off, staring at the back door. "That was different, though... things between your mom and me... they were complicated." "Because she was pregnant." I reveal that I know the truth, unable to keep it in any longer. When his eyes snap wide, I add, "Mom's mom... my grandmother sent me a box of her stuff and it had this... Mom's journal in it." There's a pause where I can hear everyone breathing and a car revs its engine from somewhere outside. "That wasn't from your grandmother," my dad says with a heavy sigh, unfolding his arms. "Well, it was, but she didn't mail it to you. Her lawyer did." "Her lawyer?" Micha and I say at the same time. My dad nods, looking very uneasy. "She actually passed away about a month ago and I guess there was this box found in the nursing home with your name on it. The lawyer handling her will called me up, looking for you so he could send it to you." She's _dead_? I'm a little shocked and I feel strangely saddened, which is weird because I never spoke to the woman. But, still, she was my grandmother. I don't know how to react because I didn't know the woman at all, yet it makes me sort of sad, knowing I'll never get to know her. I'd even considered it for a brief second, when I'd read over her note in the box, and now the possibility is gone. "Why didn't you give me a heads up?" I ask my dad and Micha protectively scoots closer to me, like he can sense something bad is about to happen. My dad reaches for his cigarettes in his jacket pocket. "Because it's hard to talk to you about that stuff... especially about stuff like death and certain people." "About my grandma?" "And about your mother... because it was a box of her stuff and I wasn't sure how you'd react or how I felt... feel about it." My mouth makes an _O_ as my dad opens the pack, plucks out a cigarette, and plops it into his mouth. He pats down his jeans for the lighter and finds it in his back pocket. Once he gets the cigarette lit and inhales a soothing cloud of smoke, he looks more relaxed. "It's a touchy subject for both of us." He reaches across the counter for an ashtray near the sink. He taps the cigarette on the side and then holds it in his fingers, smoke filtering through the room and erasing the delicious cinnamon scent. "But my... therapist says I should start working on talking about it more, especially with you." "You're seeing a therapist?" I'm surprised. "Since when?" He looks over at Micha with reluctance, then sticks the end of the cigarette into his mouth and takes another drag. "For a month. My sponsor thought it'd be a good idea." His phone rings from inside his pocket and he holds up his finger. "Just a second," he says as he retrieves his phone. He checks the screen and then answers it, walking out of the kitchen. "God, are all the Danielses seriously messed up?" I mutter under my breath. "He's seeing a therapist, too? First my brother, then me, and now my dad. It could be like the family motto: enter my family and your head's going to get messed up and you'll have to have a shrink put it back together again." I peek over at Micha. "Don't even think it," he warns. "You're not crazy and you're not going to ruin my life. You'll only ruin it if you leave me." His words remind me that I'm not that person anymore, the one who pushes people away. _I need him and he needs me._ "I'm not going anywhere. I promise." I blow out a breath. "But can you give me a minute?" I ask him. "I think I need to talk to my dad alone." He seems reluctant. "Are you sure? Because I don't mind hanging around even if it means enduring your dad's awkwardness." I nod and give his hand a comforting squeeze. "I just want to ask him a few things about my mom and I think he'll answer more easily if it's just me." Micha remains still for a few seconds longer and then, nodding, he backs away, holding onto my hand until we're far enough away that our fingers slip apart. "If you're not back in, like, an hour," he says, opening the back door and letting snow and a chilly breeze gust in, "then I'm coming back for you." "Micha, what do you think's going to happen?" I joke. "It's just my dad." He intensely holds my gaze, making a point without saying it. There have been many times where painful, hurtful things have happened between my dad and me. "All right, see you in an hour," I promise and he steps outside, drawing his hood over his head as he shuts the door. I pull out a chair and sink down into it, then steal another cookie from the rooster jar. I'm stuffing the last bit of it into my mouth when my dad walks in, clutching his phone. He glances around the empty chairs. "Where'd Micha go?" I swallow the cookie and brush the crumbs off the table. "Home for a little bit, so you and I could talk about some stuff." "Yeah, we do need to talk." He sits down, then glances at the rooster on the table without the lid on. "I see you found the cookies." "Yeah, but who made them?" I wonder curiously. "You?" He shakes his head as he puts the lid back on. "No, Amanda did." "Who's Amanda?" "This woman I met while I was staying at the alcoholism treatment center." "Was she another recovering alcoholic?" I ask. "No." He pushes his sleeves up and rests his arms on the table. "She was the secretary there." "Oh," I say. "So... are you, like, dating her?" He scratches his head. "Um... sort of... I guess." "Oh," I say, at a loss for words. It's weird he's dating because he's my dad and the only person I've seen him with is my mom, but then again their relationship was beyond rocky. "Is she the one who cleaned the house?" His hand falls from his head to the table. "No, I cleaned it. Why?" I shrug. "Just wondered. It looks nice." He gives me a look, like he wants to say more, but then he changes the subject, relaxing back in the chair. "So what was in the box?" he asks rigidly. "I know it was stuff that belonged to your mother, but what exactly?" "Mom's journal and a few other things, like drawings and photos." I pause at the sudden increase of my heart rate. "I didn't know she liked to draw." He stares down at the table with a sad look on his face. "She did when she was younger," he says quietly. "But she stopped not too long after we got married." It's so hard to talk about this aloud, asking him questions, but I force myself to continue because I want to know—understand. "Why did she stop?" When he glances up, his eyes are little watery. "Because she stopped enjoying it and so there was no point, at least that's what she told me." I trace the patterns of the wood in the table, staring down at them, because I can't look him in the eye with what I'm about to say. "You told me once, when I was... when I was dropping you off at the recovery clinic, that things weren't always bad. But when was that? I know her bipolar disorder progressively got worse, but even from the start it always felt like Mom was sad all the time." He's silent for a while and I worry I might have upset him. But when I look up at him, he's just staring at me like I'm a person, not a painful reminder of the woman he once loved, which is how he used to look at me all the time. "Things were never one hundred percent normal when it came to your mom," he says, his voice strained. "But in the beginning she had way more ups than she did downs. And her... episodes... they were few and far between." "Was she ever happy?" Again it takes him a moment to answer. "She was happy sometimes. I think anyway. It was so hard to tell." "Why was it so hard to tell?" Deep down, though, I think I know the answer. Because sometimes it's hard to be happy or to even admit that you're good enough to be happy, that you do deserve it, so you refuse to feel it, fight it. It's my own thought process sometimes and I hate it, but I've also learned to deal with it... I think. He smiles, but it's a sad smile. "It's just the way she was, Ella May. And I really want to believe she was happy, even though she didn't show it." It's weird hearing him call me that and it throws me off and I let a question slip out that I probably shouldn't. "Why did you love her?" I ask and then pull a remorseful face. "I'm sorry, Dad. You don't have to answer that." He shakes his head, more water building up in his eyes. "It's okay. You can ask me things. I'm doing better with... stuff." He pauses, deliberating, and then his breath falters. "I loved her because in the beginning she was erratic and impulsive and she could make life really surprising and... unpredictable." He stares over my shoulder, lost in memories and for a brief moment he almost looks happy. Then he blinks his eyes several times and the look disappears before he turns his attention back to me. "I think she was happy when she had you. And Dean." I can't tell if he's lying, but I don't really care if he is or not. He might just be saying it to make me happy and I'll take it. "Thanks, Dad." "No problem." He seems like he wants to say more, squirming and popping his neck, like he has nervous energy flowing through him. "Ella, I don't want to make you mad but I... I really wish you'd think about waiting to get married." _What?_ "Why?" "Because..." He rubs the back of his neck and leaves his hand there with his elbow bent upward. "You're so young... and should live your life before you tie yourself down to grown-up stuff." He lets his arm fall to his side. It takes me a moment to speak, because there are a lot of mean words that want to push their way up my throat. Like the fact that I was tied down by grown-up stuff since I was four. Bills. Cooking. Cleaning. Taking care of people. That stuff is not new to me. "I'll think about it," I say, but I don't mean it. I back toward the door, zipping my jacket up. "And, Dad... thanks for talking about Mom." "No problem," he replies. "I should have talked about her more, I guess." I don't say anything. I agree with him, but I don't want to say it because it'll only hurt him, ruin this whole weird, good father/daughter vibe we have going. I open the back door and the wind blows inside, dusting snow across the floor. "And, Ella," he calls out as I'm about to step out into the snow and the glacier-cold breeze. I pause and glance over my shoulder. "Yeah?" "If you need any help... I mean, with the wedding and stuff if you decide to do it... I'm here if you need me," he says, shifting his weight. "Thanks," I tell him, confused because he wants to help and it's not something I'm used to. "I'll let you know, but I think Micha's mom's on top of a lot of stuff. She's super excited." He looks a little bit disappointed and I open my mouth to say more, but I can't think of anything else to say so I wave, walk outside, and shut the door behind me. I feel somewhat bad because he seemed upset about my declining his help, but at the end of the day Micha's mom was more of a parent to me than either of mine. She and Micha were my family since I was four, not my dad, my mom, or Dean. It was just his mom and Micha, but mainly Micha. He was my past and he is my future. I pause as I'm about to hop over the fence, the snow knee-deep and soaking through my jeans as I have a revelation that slams me square in the chest. From the day Micha begged me to climb over the fence for the very first time, we've been inseparable, except for the time I ran away to college. He took care of me. He loved me. He showed me what love was. And I think deep down, even though I couldn't admit it a couple of years ago, I secretly hoped that he'd be in my life forever—that I'd end up with him. That I'd still be hopping over the fence to see him when I was twenty years old with his ring on my finger. That fifty years down the road I'd still be with him, sitting on a porch swing, drinking lemonade or whatever it is old couples do. It makes my heart thump in excitement and terror because I think it's time to let go of the dark things that haunt my past, let things go that I might not want to, so I can move forward into a future with a simple fence, juice box, and a toy car. # Chapter Fourteen # Micha "Are you sure you want me to do this?" I ask Ella, staring down at her mother's journal on my lap. She nods as she digs through her bag on the floor. "Yeah, I only want to know if you find anything happy." She peers up at me, wearing only a red-and-black bra and matching panties. "If you don't, then I don't need to read it. But if you do, then I want to read it just so I can hear about the happy part of her I never got to see." I massage the back of my neck, nervous about reading something so private. "Okay, if that's what you want." "It is." She straightens her legs and stands up with a black dress in her hand. "But only if you feel comfortable doing it." I want to say that I'm not but there's no way that I'm going to. Not after she came into the house yesterday after talking to her dad and announced that she was ready to move forward without finishing the journal because she wanted to let go of the past. I'm not even sure where the declaration came from, but there's no way I'm going to do anything that will ruin it. "I'm down for a little reading, I guess." I move the journal off my lap and onto the bed, then lean forward and grab the edge of the short, tight dress she's about to put on. "Just as long as you tell me where the hell you're going wearing this?" "Out to dinner with Lila," she answers. "Why? What's wrong with the dress?" "Because it's smaller than most of my shirts," I tell her, jealousy ringing in my voice. "Your ass will be hanging out of it." She snatches the dress away from me. "It will not," she insists, bending over and stepping into the dress. "Besides, Lila said specifically to wear this one." I rise to my feet as she shimmies the tight fabric over her body and slips her arms through the thin straps. It hugs her body perfectly but the bottom barely covers her thighs. "Why?" I question. She tousles her fingers through her hair. "I'm not sure. You'll have to ask her. All she'd tell me was that it was a surprise." "Oh, I'm going to," I assure her and then leave the room to go find Lila. She's in the kitchen with Ethan, bags of red and black candles and matching flowers, ribbons, and other decorative shit scattered all over the countertops and table in front of them, along with wrapping paper and tape and a bag full of Christmas present bows. Lila, Ella, and my mom spent half the day shopping and Ella had come home looking worn out but with a bag full of wedding decorations and I guess a few presents for Christmas. She never was the shopping type and I'm guessing that Lila and my mom had more to do with the overabundance of wedding decorations and presents than Ella. "I have a question for you," I say to Lila as I scoot out a chair and join them at the table. She's got Ethan tying ribbons, and even though he doesn't look happy, he's still doing it, which is kind of funny. "Don't say a word," Ethan warns as he ties a piece of black ribbon into a bow. "Time and time again I've watched you do stupid shit for Ella and haven't said a word." I rotate a candle in my hand. "No, you said a lot of words that annoyed the shit out of me." He shakes his head and then drops the bow, looking at Lila. "Can I be done with this?" He flexes his fingers like he has a cramp. "I can't even feel the tips of my fingers anymore." Lila snips the end of a red piece of ribbon with a pair of scissors. "No way. We have about a hundred more to go." She sets the ribbon and scissors down. She's wearing this dark blue dress that has sparkly stuff all over it. It's not as tight as Ella's but it is equally short, if not shorter. "So what's your question, Micha? And if it's about your Christmas present from Ella, I'm not going to tell you what it is." "It's not that," I say, shaking my head. "And what are you talking about? Ella and I don't get each other presents." Except for last year when I gave her the engagement ring, but that was different. "Maybe not in the past," she says with a smile. "But she did this year." Shit. Does that mean I have to get her something? And if so, then what? I shake my head. I'm getting sidetracked. I shove the candle aside and fold my arms on top of the table. "That's not what I was going to ask you. I want to know where the hell you're taking Ella tonight." Lila shrugs as she reaches for another roll of ribbon. "Out to dinner." "Where?" I ask. "Why does it matter?" she replies, unraveling a bit of ribbon around her hand. "Because she's dressed like a whore," I say bluntly, attempting to throw her off. But it doesn't faze her. "She isn't going to look like a whore. She's just dressing up to go out." "Not to dinner, though. You don't need to be dressed like that to go to dinner," I say and point at her dress. "What's wrong with how I'm dressed?" She bats her eyelashes innocently. "I'm just wearing a dress." "I'm going to agree with Micha on this one," Ethan chimes in, cracking his knuckles. "I don't like the dress at all." Amusement dances in Lila's eyes. "You liked it the other night." "Yeah, when I was the only one seeing you in it," he says, extending his hand toward the heap of ribbon Lila unraveled. Lila grins as she pushes her chair away from the table. "Oh, you two and your jealousy." She pats Ethan on the top of the head. "It's so adorable." She strolls behind him and kisses the top of his head. "I'm going to go see if Ella's ready," she singsongs and Ethan checks her ass out as she walks away and leaves the room, calling over her shoulder, "And Micha, feel free to make yourself useful and start tying bows." I gape at Ethan. "Is she being serious?" He cuts a piece of red ribbon. "Yeah." He drops the scissors onto the table. "But it's your fault." "Why the hell is it my fault?" "Because you're the one who wouldn't just drive to Vegas and elope." I reach over the table and pick up a roll of ribbon. "That sounds more like your kind of marriage than mine." He nods in agreement. "Yeah, you're right, still though. We wouldn't have to be sitting here, tying ribbon like a couple of whipped pussies." I fiddle with the ribbon, stifling a laugh. "So what am I supposed to be doing?" Sighing, he shows me how to tie the ribbon and then we sit at the table tying bows for the next twenty minutes until Ella and Lila walk into the kitchen. Ella stops just short of the table and crosses her arms. Her hair is loose at her shoulders in waves, her eyes are lined with black, and her lips have a tint of pink to them. She has heels on that have straps that wind up her ankles, and between the shoes and the short dress her legs look nearly endless. "Well, look at you two," she says with hilarity in her voice. "All crafty and tying bows." I rotate in the chair and scan her amazingly perfect body, picturing how later her long legs will be wrapped around me. "You better watch it, Ella May, or you won't have any ribbons at your wedding." "Good," she says, tugging the bottom of her dress down. Lila pokes her in the back. "Hey, I thought you liked the ribbons." Ella pulls an apologetic face. "No, I said out of all the silly, frilly decoration stuff you guys were throwing at me, the red and black ribbons were the least annoying." Lila frowns disappointedly. "So you don't like it?" Ella sighs. "No, I do. Sorry, I'm not being very nice right now. You're helping me and I should be more grateful." Now Lila sighs. "Don't lie to me. If you don't like the ribbons then you don't. We can do something else." Ethan shoots me a funny look and then reclines back in the chair with his arm draped over the top of it. "You know, if I didn't know any better I'd think it was you two who were getting married." Lila's heels click against the floor as she strolls over and gives him a kiss on the cheek. "All right, it's time for you to get back to your bow tying," she says as she walks toward the back door and Ella follows her. As Ella's passing by me, I snag her elbow and pull her back, drawing her down so her head lowers and then I put my lips beside her ear. "Don't get into any trouble, please." She tilts her head to look at me. "When have I ever gotten into any trouble?" "If you want me to ramble off the list," I reply, "then I will, but it'll probably take the rest of the night." She attempts to restrain a smile as she scowls at me, but then it slips through and she kisses me deeply. "I'll do my best not to get into any fights," she says, backing away, a little breathless from the kiss. "Or any other trouble." "And try not to wreck my car," I call out as Lila opens the door. "You're letting them take your car?" Ethan asks, looking at me like I'm insane. I shrug. "What else are they going to drive?" "They'd be better off walking," he mutters, and then yells out to Lila and Ella, "Don't drive drunk or shove any dollar bills down dudes' pants." "We're not going to a strip club," Lila retorts, but then giggles as she retrieves her jacket from the coat rack. Ella puts on her leather jacket, covering up a little bit and making me feel slightly better about the dress. She opens her mouth to say something but Lila snatches her arm and yanks her outside, slamming the door. Thomas and my mom went out for dinner and the house is really quiet as Ethan and I sit in silence, taking in what just happened. "Do you kind of feel like their bitches?" he asks, turning around in the chair with ribbon in his hand. I stare at the pile of ribbon and candles on the table. "Yeah, kind of." We exchange a look and then simultaneously push away from the table and get to our feet. "So the question is," Ethan says as he grabs his jacket off the back of the chair, "do we want to go to a bar or go somewhere noisy, like a party?" "We could always follow them," I joke as I walk over to the coat rack beside the back door. "Play creepy stalkers for the night." I grab my jacket and slip it on, pretending like I'm joking but deep down I'm serious. I don't like the idea of Ella going out dressed like that, in this town. Not only is she too beautiful and sexy for her own good, but she's also got history in this town, with people who either overly like her or with people who loathe her. And if the feisty Ella makes a grand appearance, especially the drunk one, a lot of shit could happen. "That's not a bad idea," Ethan agrees, responding to my joke, looking serious. "But we don't have a car." "Should we just start walking?" I ask as I open the door. It's late, the black sky is clear of clouds and the stars are shining. Lights twinkle from next door and reflect off the ice covering the yard. Ethan zips up his jacket. "Sure." We step outside and hike down the driveway through the snow, then make a left toward town. The snow on the sidewalk crunches under our boots and our breath fogs out in front of us. It's freezing, but it's not the first time we've walked around late at night in below-zero temperatures. "So I'm waiting for you to panic," Ethan unexpectedly announces, kicking a chunk of ice out of the way. I stuff my hands into my jacket pockets. "Panic over what?" "Over getting married." "Why would I panic?" He gapes at me. "Because you're going to be with one person for the rest of your life, and that the rest of your life decisions are going to be based on what's best for not just you but for you and her. You can't just do whatever you want anymore." "Have I ever really been with anyone else though?" I ask. "I mean relationship-wise." He shrugs. "No, I guess not, but still. It's such a huge responsibility and there seems like there should be a little panic involved, even if it's for a minute." "Not really," I say. "At least if it's the right person." He takes in my words with a perplexed look as he stares at the ground. Finally he shakes his head and then looks up. "And what happens if Ella tells you that she doesn't want you going on that Slam Tour or whatever?" "Then I won't go," I say. I told Ethan about my dilemma the other day, while we were cleaning up the house the morning after the party, because I needed to get it off my chest. "You'd just give up your dream?" he asks. I nod. "Yeah, pretty much." "And what happens, like, five years down the road when you look back and regret it?" I kick the tip of my boot at the snow. "Why are you pushing this so hard? I mean, I know you're not a fan of Ella, but it's like you're trying to talk me out of marrying her, which will never happen." He abruptly halts near the edge of the curb and I slip on the ice as I slam to a stop beside him. My hands go out to my sides and I quickly regain my balance. "I'm not telling you not to marry her," he says with a frown. "I'm just telling you that since you're going to marry her, you need to talk to her about the tour and make the decision together about whether or not you're going to go. Otherwise you're going to get married in a few days without talking about something major and that could lead to problems." "You're so weird sometimes," I tell him, pulling my hood over my head. "You give relationship advice all the time, yet I've never seen you in a relationship except for with Lila, but somehow your advice makes sense." He shrugs, staring at the single-story brick home across the street that is covered in flashing red and green lights. "I watched my parents do the wrong things for years and years, so I know what doesn't work," he says as we cross the street. "Now, whether or not my advice is the right way to go, I really have no idea." I hop up onto the curb, stuffing my hands back into my jacket pockets. "I'll talk to her tomorrow." He doesn't say anything, but I can tell he's glad I said I would, for whatever reason. "You know what?" he says, changing the subject. "I think we need to have a bachelor party tonight. It seems wrong that we're not having a real one." "Yeah, I think you're forgetting what the strip bars look like around here," I say to him unenthusiastically. "Remember when we decided to go to one right after we graduated?" I shudder at the thought. "I think I'm still a little scarred over the things I saw." His face contorts in revulsion. "Yeah, how could I forget?" As we round the corner of the street, heading east, he adds, "But we could go get drunk, just for old times' sake." He sticks out his fist. "What do you say? You want to get trashed down at the pub one more time?" I pound fists with him. We haven't hung out in a while, ever since I moved, so I don't get many chances to hang out with him. "Yeah, why the hell not? One last time, for old times' sake." I can't help but smile at the many times Ethan and I snuck into the pub with our fake IDs. We always had a lot of fun and it hits me that we've sort of moved on from that stuff. It's kind of sad, but at the same time, I'm glad we've moved on from this town, moved forward in our lives, because not a lot of people around here do. # Chapter Fifteen # Ella "I can't believe you brought me here," I shout over the chest-bumping music, fanning my hand in front of my face because it's hot and smells like sweat and old cheese mixed with beer. There are strings of Christmas lights coiling around the ceiling beams and they sparkle across our faces, giving our skin a pink glow. Lila pivots in her stool, her eyes skimming the dance floor. "Well, I asked around and everyone said this was the place to go to have a little fun." I shake my head as I pick up my drink. "Oh, Lila Dila, fun in Star Grove is not the same as California fun or even Vegas fun." I rotate in the stool, motioning my hand at the crowd of rough-looking people, most dressed in old jeans, plaid shirts, T-shirts, boots. We aren't the only ones dressed up, but girls wearing fancy dresses are few and far between. And there's no flashy lights or décor, just low lighting due to a few lightbulbs being out, round tables and mismatched chairs, and peanut shells and wrappers on the floor. The music is coming from a stereo, not a DJ, but the good thing is the drinks are cheap. "Well, I wanted to give you one last hoorah before you tie the knot in a few days," she says, sipping on the straw that's in her margarita as the bartender, a middle-aged guy with thinning hair and a mustache, eyes us down. He's been doing it since we walked in, checking us out, but so far it's been easy to ignore him. "I was trying to be a good maid of honor." "Didn't we already do that back in San Diego the night before the wedding?" I ask. "When you took me out for drinks at that club?" She raises her eyebrows at me. "The wedding that never happened?" "True," I say. "But we still had our hoorah." She slurps the rest of her drink before reclining back in the stool and setting it on the counter. "You can never have too many last hoorahs." She frowns as she sits up straight. "We've barely seen each other in the last six months and now we're hardly going to see each other anymore after you get married." I'm not the heart-to-heart kind of girl but she's making me feel bad. "Lila, we'll still be friends no matter what. And you're dating Micha's best friend. We'll see each other more than you think." She rearranges a few strands of her hair back into place. "No, we won't. You'll see. You'll move on, probably have babies, and I'll still be living in Vegas, trying to figure out what I want to do with my life." "That's not what I hear," I tell her. "I heard that you and Ethan have a big road trip planned." She seals her lips as she watches the dance floor. "Yeah, I guess that's the plan." "Then why do you sound so unconvinced?" "I don't know. Shit happens, you know. Things sometimes change." I take another swallow of my drink. "Is there something going on between you and Ethan? Are you fighting or something?" She shakes her head. "No, but it doesn't mean that I don't worry about all the things that can go wrong." "Like what?" "Like life." She turns toward me, crossing her legs. "Not all of us have the perfect relationship, although I can't say that what Ethan and I have is bad. It's great, but it's not like I have a ring on my finger." "Yet," I say, and she rolls her eyes at me. I throw my head back and guzzle the rest of my drink, feeling the burn of the vodka as it slides down my throat. "Besides, I don't have the perfect relationship." I put the glass on the bar. "Need I remind you I stood Micha up just a few days ago." "Yeah, but you had a reason, right? Because you were worried about your future." The way she says it with suspicion makes me wonder if she doesn't believe my reasoning. "Yeah," I say. "And because of other stuff... things I don't like to talk about." "What kind of stuff? Is there something else you're not telling me?" I twirl a strand of my hair around my finger, feeling uncomfortable. I can tell Micha personal things about me but he's my best friend, fiancé, my everything, which sounds so cheesy but it's true. _I wonder if I should put it in the vows._ The burn of the alcohol rushes through my veins and I begin to think maybe it's time to talk to Lila about stuff. She's usually good about giving advice and maybe she can direct me on what to do. But I don't want to talk about my mom and the box—I talked enough about that with my dad. But there is something else. "I'm having trouble writing my vows," I admit. She props her elbow on the countertop as her eyebrows knit. "You guys are writing vows?" I nod. "It was Micha's idea." Lila drums her fingernails on her knee. "Yeah, I assumed as much." She pauses. "Why do you think you're having such a hard time?" "Because I'm not a writer," I say. "And because... well, because I hate expressing my emotions to an empty room, let alone to people." "Yeah, but we already kind of know how you feel about Micha, since you can't keep your hands off him." She inspects her reflection in the mirror on the back wall of the bar. "But I get the emotion part and not wanting to say it to anyone. Sometimes I hide what I feel, too." "Really?" I ask, raising my voice as the music gets louder. "It never seems like you do." She glares at some creepy guy with a ponytail who keeps grinning at her from across the bar. "Maybe it's not that I hide what I'm feeling so much as I pretend to feel something else, but I've been trying to stop because it's unhealthy." I know from experience that she's right. "So how do you suggest I get over the not being a writer part?" "You just put the pen to the paper and write, I guess." She shrugs. "I'm sure something good will come out." I continue to try to figure out a better solution until the song switches to an upbeat tempo and Lila claps her hands together, her eyes lighting up with excitement. "I love this song," she says. "Let's take another shot and dance." "I'm only taking a shot if it's Jäger," I tell her. She makes a gagging face. "Ew, you're so gross. I'll just stick with tequila." She orders our drinks, and then we slam them back and head for the dance floor. We dance in the low lighting, making the occasional trip back to the bar for more shots until we're hot, sweaty, exhausted, and ready to go home. I feel good, not just because I'm buzzed, but because I had fun, even though I'm scared of getting married, worried about writing vows. As we push through the crowd, heading for the exit, we collect our jackets from the chair. We slip them on as we push out the door and the ice-cold air makes my bare legs sting. "Let's run," I tell Lila and she laughs as we take off, staggering and slipping in the ice as we run toward the Chevelle parked beneath the lamppost. "Wait." Lila suddenly slams to a stop when we're almost to the car. She looks back at the club with a torn expression on her face. "Maybe we should go back inside where it's warm and call the guys to come get us. We said we wouldn't drive drunk." Through the sea of alcohol sloshing around in my head, I realize that we indeed shouldn't be driving since everything looks a little distorted and standing seems complex. "Yeah, good idea." I start to turn around to head back when a blue Camaro drives into the parking lot and parks between us and the door to the club, blocking our path. "You have got to be shitting me," I mutter as the window rolls down. Mikey sticks his head out as a cloud of smoke rushes from the open window. The last time I saw him I was throwing a milkshake into his window and then he tried to chase us down. Knowing Mikey, I'm guessing he's probably still holding a grudge. "Ella, what's wrong?" Lila asks tracking my line of sight as a smile creeps up Mikey's face. "Who is that?" "Well, well, if it isn't the town rebel." He continues smiling as he opens his door and hops out. He's about average height for a guy, which makes me in heels as tall as him, but my weight is no match for his. His black hair blends with the night, his nose is crooked, probably because someone clocked him, and he has a barbed-wire tattoo curving around his neck. His boots stomp against the icy parking lot as he strides over to us with a smirk on his face. "So is that Gregory idiot with you, because I've been dying to kick his ass too for that shake stunt you two pulled." "What?" Lila asks way too loud and I shoot her a look over my shoulder, warning her to keep her mouth shut. Then I glance over at Mikey's car, noting that there's someone else in the passenger seat, a guy, I think. As Mikey slows to a stop in front of us, he measures Lila up with a sly look on his face. "Are you his girl or something?" "Whose girl?" Lila plays dumb, shielding herself by stepping behind me. She's scared, her erratic breathing showing through the fog. Mikey looks her over for a little bit longer and then focuses on me. I don't like how he's looking at me, not like I'm Ella the girl who could hang tight with the guys, even if he didn't like me. He's looking at me like I'm a girl, because I'm dressed like one and I suddenly regret wearing the damn dress and fucking heels. "Ella, I know you're not stupid," he says, inching closer. "I know you know that around here people just don't get away with throwing shakes in cars. They have to pay—things have to be even." I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. "Just like I know that no one around here respects you." The muscles in his neck tighten as he steps into the light from the lamppost. I'm growing a little nervous. Even though Mikey has always tried to seem tough, it was all an act and most of us knew that he was a lot of talk. But this Mikey looks different than the one I used to know. More ragged, rough, intense, and less cowardly. His eyes are sunken in and red and I wonder if he's gotten into drugs, but it doesn't really surprise me if he has. It happens sometimes in this town. "Watch your fucking mouth," Mikey cautions. Lila captures my arm, her fingers trembling as she whispers, "Maybe I should call or text Micha and Ethan." I shake my head and hiss, "No way. Then they'll just end up in a fight." Lila glances at Mikey. "I think we might end up in a fight if we don't get them here," she whispers nervously. "No, we're fine," I reassure her, even though I'm not so sure myself. "Just go to the car and wait for me." I turn around and target my eyes on Mikey, attempting to look tougher than I feel as Lila backs toward the Chevelle. He cracks his knuckles and neck, like it proves he's tough. "You think you can frighten me with a look?" He spans his arms out to the side at the empty parking lot. "You got no one around to protect your ass." That feisty, fighting girl that I keep shoved down inside pushes her way out and I step forward so we're close. "And that's okay." I span my hands out to the side and glance around, mockingly imitating his move, ignoring the fact that I know things are going to get ugly. There's nothing I can do about it. I could run, but then he'd just chase me. "Since I don't see any threat around." A vein bulges in his neck and he starts to pace to the side while the other guy in the car climbs out. He's tall and bulky with cropped hair and arms the size of my legs. I try to calculate how fast I can run to the car in heels, and if I make it to the car, can I drive fast enough to get away because I know he's going to chase me down whether on foot or in a vehicle. "Ah, now you're not so cocky," Mikey says with a smirk when I don't respond. I hate to back down because it would mean living through hell for almost forever, since no one in Star Grove can seem to forget, but at the same time this isn't my home. I might be here for holidays, if that, so in the end, does it even matter? Sucking in all of my stubbornness, I put my hands up and step back, putting distance between us. "Fine, you win," I say through gritted teeth. "No fucking way." He counters my step back, narrowing the distance between us. "You insulted me and ruined the leather in my car. You don't just walk away. The question is, how are you going to pay? I mean, I could just make you pay to get it reupholstered." His eyes scroll up my body suggestively. "Although, there might be something else you can give me." I can't help it. I burst out laughing, which probably isn't the best thing to do, but I'm drunk and not thinking rationally. Big Guy starts rushing for me as I back away with my hand over my stomach, my laughter echoing around us. But he slips and eats it, falling flat on his back and I laugh harder and Mikey's face heats with anger. He snatches my arm and jerks me forward, his fingers pressing against my skin and I wince as I stumble. "Fuck off," I say, yanking my arm back. His fingers dig tighter as he wrenches me forward, opening his mouth to say something, but I bring my knee up and slam it in his manly parts. I'm not sure how much force is behind the blow since I'm intoxicated and having a hard time keeping my balance, but it seems to do the job and he frees me from his hold, clutching his junk as his face contorts in pain. I'm about to turn and run when he lifts his arm and strikes me across the cheek. My ears ring and I see spots as I clutch my cheek and blink. "You fucking asshole!" I shout, pissed off. Some girls would have cried, but the pain only makes me want to get him back. I see the big guy walking toward us as Mikey lifts his hand to hit me again. I bring back my own hand and slam my fist into his cheek. It's not the first time I've hit someone and I'm pretty sure it won't be my last, but no matter how many times I punch someone in the face, it still hurts my God damn hand. We both cry out in pain, Mikey cupping his jaw where I clocked him while I shake out my hand as I scramble away from him, ready to bolt for the car. But then a group of guys and girls exit the bar, creating a lot of noise and making it so there are now witnesses. One of the guys sends a questioning look in our direction as he lights up a cigarette and I seize the opportunity to hurry over to the Chevelle and climb in with Lila. Her eyes are huge and dotted with tears and her arms are wrapped around herself. "Oh my God, Ella. That was—" "Star Grove," I tell her, then add, "Lock your door." She obeys as I lock mine, too. Mikey goes up to one of the guys who just walked out and they exchange a handshake while big guy stares me down with his arms folded over his chest. I reach for my phone inside my pocket, debating who to call. I know that if I call Micha he's going to come here and if Mikey's still here then there's a good chance a fight's going to go down and that's the last thing I want. "I already called them the second that asshole came after you," Lila tells me. "They were at a pub a few blocks over. They're headed here right now." "Shit, Lila, now they're going to come here ready to throw punches." I glance in the rearview mirror, wincing as I touch my red, puffy cheekbone. "I think it's going to bruise." Lila frowns. "Great, now you'll have a giant bruise in all of your wedding pictures." "What pictures?" "The ones Caroline's going to take." She slaps her hand over her mouth. "Oh shit, I wasn't supposed to tell you that." "What?" I gape at her as I cradle my injured hand. "Who invited them?" She drops her hand from her mouth to her lap. "Micha's mom. She thought it would be good for you to have your brother here." I'm not sure how to respond. My quiet wedding is now turning into a bunch of people who are going to be staring at me while I seal my future and of course read the vows I haven't even started to write. It shouldn't seem like a big deal, but at the same time it does. Especially if I do something stupid like panic. I don't want anyone to see me panic. I slump back in the seat and keep my eyes locked on Mikey, who's still chatting with the guy. "God, I forgot how intense this town is," I say, changing the subject. "Everything is either life or death." "Why don't I just drive somewhere close?" Lila suggests, reaching for the door handle to get out of the car and switch seats with me "I feel sober enough now to at least get us away from here and then we can tell Micha and Ethan to meet us somewhere else so they won't have to show up here and get into a fight." "It doesn't matter where we go," I tell her. "Mikey will just chase us down. In fact, I bet he's hoping we drive somewhere just so he _can_ chase us." "What is wrong with that guy?" she asks, looking at Mikey. "He hit a girl." "It's just how people are around here." I put the keys in the ignition, debating whether or not to start the car and turn the heat on. It's cold as death in here but at the same time the rev of the engine might set Mikey off. If my vision weren't slightly blurred I'd totally take on racing Mikey in a heartbeat, but I have a feeling that if I try anything right now, I could end up wrapping the car around a tree. Lila could get hurt, or someone else, and if something happened to me then that lovely future Micha and I have planned will be gone. The last thought sits in my chest, but in a good way because a few years ago I'd have driven the car and risked it all. Some of the girls start off for a truck, lighting up a cigarette and passing it around, and the guys soon follow, waving at Mikey and the big guy. A gangly guy with a beanie on lingers behind and then he says something to Mikey and then all three of them climb into the Camaro. "What are they doing?" Lila slants forward in the seat and squints at the Camaro as Mikey rolls up the window. He doesn't drive away, but he does turn the headlights off. I thrum my fingers on top of the steering wheel. "Probably dealing drugs." "Oh." Lila frowns and then stares out the window to the side of her. I'm about to say we should just take off on foot and meet Micha and Ethan when someone knocks on the window. I jump but relax when I see Micha standing outside with the hood of his jacket pulled over his head and this relaxed look on his face like he's had more than beers to drink tonight. Ethan is beside him and when he glances inside the car, he winds around the front, heading toward Lila's side. "When they ask what happened, tell them it was a girl who hit me," I whisper to Lila and then unlock the door. Micha backs up so I can open the door and then he ducks his head to look in the car, his blond hair hanging in his eyes. "What happened?" he asks, his breath smelling like an array of different alcohols. He carefully looks me over and then his eyes flare as he notes my swollen cheek. "How the hell did that happen?" He glances over at Lila and then his burning gaze lands back on me. "Lila said you guys needed help." I shrug as Lila opens her door and I hear Ethan say something to her about looking so hot. "There was this bitch in the club who we used to go to school with," I tell Micha. "Apparently I kicked her ass one time and she was drunk and wanted to fight. Lila panicked and called you guys, even though I told her I could handle it." "Hey." Lila pokes me in the back and I flinch. "You were not handling it very well." I discreetly glance over at Mikey's Camaro that's still parked in front of the door. "I handled it fine. Can we just go home now?" Micha crouches down, his eyebrows knitting. "Yeah, I think that might be a problem." He leans to the side and laughs this silly drunk laugh as he says to Ethan, "I think we were lucky to even make it here." "You're drunk," I remark and Micha looks back at me with a guilty face. It's been a while since I've seen him drunk and it worries me, not because I think he's going to be mean but because if Mikey comes over and tries to start something Micha is more likely to pick a fight and more likely to lose. "Maybe," Micha admits with an adorable grin on his face. "But I won't be mean and hurt you." He presses his hand to his heart. "I said I'd never hurt you again and I won't. In fact, I'll be really, really nice if you let me," he says, glancing at my chest. "I'll do all sorts of nice things to you..." His fingers spread across the top of my leg. I roll my eyes while Lila and Ethan giggle over something. I don't dare turn around, worried about what I might see the two of them doing if I do. Out of the corner of my eye, I check on Mikey's car, relieved it's still parked and quiet. "I think we should go home," I say, looking back at Micha. "And how do you suppose we should do that?" Micha asks innocently as he glances around at the four of us, then chuckles under his breath. "Is anyone sober? Because I'm not." "I'm not either," Ethan says with a slur to his speech and Lila laughs even louder. I blink my eyes, hoping the blur and merry-go-round effect has vanished, but no such luck. "No, but we could always call your mom," I say, racking my mind for more ideas, but all I get is a headache. Micha waves me off and staggers to his feet, grinning proudly like he's just come up with the best idea ever. "Nah, we can just walk. Walking's fun." I laugh as he tugs me to my feet and grips my waist to hold my balance as I stumble in my heels. "Easy for you to say," I tell him, gripping onto his shoulder as we both slide on the ice. "You're not the one wearing heels." He works to steady us and then his eyes roam down my legs as he sucks his lip ring in between his teeth. "God, those are some fucking sexy legs." His eyes heat with lust and I know if I don't get him home soon, I'm going to have my hands even fuller. If a fight doesn't break out, then a live porn show might. "I just want to rub my hands all over them," he growls, moving in for a kiss. I laugh louder, trying not to trip as I gently put my hand to his chest and push him back. "I'll tell you what, you call your mom to come get us and I'll let you rub my legs as long as you want." "Promise?" he asks, with an intense look on his face. I cross my heart with my finger. "Promise, but make sure she brings Thomas. We can't leave your car here." Otherwise it'll probably get trashed. He grins at me and then retrieves his phone out of his pocket to call his mom. I keep an eye on Mikey's car, hoping he stays in there until we're gone, because if he gets out and Micha finds out he hit me, all shit's going to hit the fan. Micha isn't the most violent person, except when it comes to me. I remember how Micha told me he punched Grantford Davis because he was the one who drove me to the bridge that night. "Okay, she'll be here in, like, five," Micha announces, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. Then he steps forward, rubbing his hands together, breathing out a cloud of air. "Now for some leg rubbing." I laugh as he backs me up against the car then lifts me and sits me down on his lap as he sinks into the driver's seat and shuts the door. He starts rubbing his hands up and down my legs, tickling my thighs and making the air feel sweltering even though it's below zero out. Ethan and Lila start making out in the passenger seat, making these breathless noises, and Micha whispers something about them challenging us and then kisses me roughly. The next few minutes move by in a blurry haze full of kissing and touching and awkwardness because Lila and Ethan are in the seat next to us doing the same thing. But everyone's too drunk to care and by the time Micha's mom pulls up beside us in Thomas's old pickup, she damn near gets an eyeful. Thankfully, everyone's clothes are still on when she raps on the window. She makes Micha and I get out, cracking a joke about us acting like teenagers again, almost like she sort of misses it. Micha and I get in the backseat and Ethan climbs back, too, ungracefully diving over the console. Then Lila follows him, jumping onto his lap. We're crammed in the backseat, Lila's knees pressing against mine as I pretty much ball myself up on Micha's lap. "There's room up here," Micha's mom says, patting the empty passenger seat and then she adjusts the rearview mirror. "We're good," the four of us say nearly in sync and then we laugh. Micha's mom sighs and then follows Thomas out of the parking lot, leaving the bar, Mikey, and our past behind. At least for now. # Chapter Sixteen # Micha I feel bad about getting wasted, but I was having fun hanging out and drinking beers and shots with Ethan and I got a little carried away. I promise myself that I won't be mean to Ella no matter what and it's actually pretty easy, considering the moment I see her I want to tear off her clothes and bury myself inside her. As we head back to my house with my mom, our designated driver, like we're a bunch of teenagers again, I can't seem to keep my hands off Ella. I suck on her neck, giving her a hickey as my fingers sneak up her dress. She breathes against my skin as she buries her face against my neck, trying to be quiet. She smells like vodka and vanilla and I bask in the scent, ready to get home because I'm seriously about to lose it. The only time I get distracted is when we pass by a group of Christmas carolers standing on the corner near the park, bundled up in hats, coats, and gloves singing at the top of their voices. "Wait a minute," I say, leaning forward and slapping the console with my hand. "Stop the car." "Jesus, Micha." My mom flinches in surprise but then starts to tap on the brakes. "What's wrong?" "We should go throw snowballs at them," I say nodding my head at the carolers and then pinch Ella's leg. "Like we used to do when we were kids every year. It was kind of like our tradition." "Micha Scott," my mom says in horror. "That's terrible." But Ella starts to laugh. "I completely forgot about that. Remember that time I hit that guy straight in the face with one and then he chased us for blocks." "You always got us into so much trouble," I say with a grin. "Let's do it again." Ella starts to smile and even though we're probably too old to keep carrying on that tradition, we're both drunk enough that we're seriously considering it. But my mom presses on the gas and drives down the road, sighing disappointedly. "You two and your crazy ideas," she mutters under her breath. I'm disappointed that she's not letting us, but I quickly forget about it and start kissing Ella again until we're pulling up to my house and my mom is turning off the engine. "Do you guys want me to make something to eat?" my mom asks as we hop out of the car. "It might be good for you guys to eat something." "We're good. Thanks again for coming to get us." I wave her off and she sighs as I lead Ella inside, not even bothering to wait for Lila and Ethan or listen when my mom asks me to come back. By the time I get us to my room and close the door, I'm burning with the need to touch Ella as I flip on the lamp. I don't even give her a warning as I jerk her leather jacket off and throw it onto the floor. "I'm going to have my hands full tonight, aren't I?" she states with a wicked glint in her eyes like that's exactly what she wants. I squint at her cheek, grazing my thumb across it. It looks even redder and more swollen in the light. "How hard did that girl hit you?" She shrugs. "A normal hit." Then she grabs the bottom of my shirt and yanks me toward her. "But it doesn't matter. I got her back twice so everything's good," she says and then smashes her lips into mine so hard I think we'll have bruises in the morning. I slip my tongue inside her as my fingers wander through her hair, up her body, under her dress, into her panties. I feel her from the inside but only for a moment because it's all that I can take. Then I pull my fingers out of her and peel her tight dress off, chucking it onto the floor, too. She helps me out of my shirt and then undoes the button of my jeans so I can I slip them off. I notice that she only uses her left hand and I wonder if she hurt her other hand when she hit the girl. I'm about to ask her when she unhooks her bra, and all thoughts leave my mind. I grab her roughly and seal my lips onto hers as I back her up. She gasps against my mouth as her back slams into the wall and my knee bumps against the nightstand, knocking my lap onto the floor. The room goes dark, a small amount of light flowing in from the Christmas lights outside as I stroke her thighs, feeling her skin as I explore every inch of her mouth with my tongue until our lips are swollen and I need air. As I pull away, she sucks my bottom lip into her mouth hard, tracing her tongue across my lip ring and driving me mad. I groan as she frees my lip and I grind up against her, sucking kisses down her jawline to her neck. I gently bite at her skin, tasting her, rolling my tongue along her flesh as my fingers hook the edge of her panties and she makes these sexy whimpering noises. I move back only to slide them down her legs, and then I yank my boxers off. As I lean into kiss her again, I hear voices from just outside the hall. My mom laughing and Thomas saying something really loud. Ella and I pause, panting heavily, her chest colliding with mine every time she lets out a breath. "Maybe we should slow down," she whispers, blinking. "At least until they go to sleep. They might hear us." "No fucking way," I tell her, seeking a solution where we can be noisy without anyone hearing us. I reach for my iPod and click it on, cranking up the volume of "Change (In the House of Files)," by Deftones, and the music rises over the voices. "If we can't hear them, I'm sure they can't hear us," I say and then crash my lips into hers again. Her fingers make a searing path up my back and knot through my hair as I grab her thighs and pick her up, opening her legs and giving her hardly any warning before I sink deep inside her. We gasp as we move our bodies together, holding on to each other like nothing else exists, the sounds of the music drifting in and out of focus until I can't concentrate on anything else but her and how she makes me feel. How just a few years ago, I'd gone out with Ethan to the same pub and come home with a girl who had been hitting on me all night. The sex was meaningless, the passion, heat, sweat, burning raw intensity that I feel with Ella nonexistent. There was nothing and now there's everything. After we come down from the high, I gently pull out of her, carrying her weight when her weak legs give out on her. She laughs exhaustedly as I scoop her up in my arms and stumble over to the bed. I lay her down and then climb under the covers with her. She places her head on my chest and draws heart patterns on my damp skin. "I love you," she whispers. I shut my eyes and hug her tighter against me. "I love you, too." We hold on to each other, floating toward sleep, just like we did so many times when we were younger. We actually started sleeping together when we were about thirteen, after we'd been hanging out in my room and Ella didn't want to go home because she was avoiding her family. I let her sleep in my bed with me, not because I was being a pervert but because I liked having her around and didn't want her to go home. My mom worked nightshifts so I knew we wouldn't get caught. It was the best night of sleep I'd had in a long time and after that it started becoming a habit. We alternated nights between our rooms and sometimes at other peoples' houses, on park benches, and sometimes even in my car. The car was actually my favorite place, because it gave me an excuse to lie closer to her. Yes, a lot of amazing things happened in that car. All Ella and I needed was each other and my car and we were good, no matter what life threw at us, even if she was mad at me. We raced in it. We kissed in it. We held each other in it, just like we're holding each other now. I smile at the memories flooding my head. I start to fall asleep, thinking about the night that started with a fight over a stolen kiss and ended with us falling asleep together, squished in the driver's seat. It started off as a really shitty night, but in the end it turned out to be one of the best nights of my life. # Chapter Seventeen _Two and a half years ago..._ # Micha It's about time to race and I'm nervous, even though I have Ella in the car with me, my little good luck charm. We've been off balance all night, partly because my growing feelings for her are making things awkward since every time I'm around her I keep hoping she'll say she has feelings for me, knowing if I'm the one to tell her first she'll freak out. But not tonight. She's had a rough day and is in a bad mood and even though I want to scream out to her that I'm in love with her, I know I can't. I'm hoping, though, that after the race, we can drive up to our spot and talk for a little while, sitting on the hood of my car, listening to music—it's one of my favorite things to do. But for now I have to concentrate on racing, so I focus on driving, winning, and making sure Ella has a fun time tonight, despite the fact that I can't stop thinking about kissing her. "So are you ready for this?" I ask, pumping the gas as she dazes off, staring out the passenger window. She's been doing it most of the night and I wish she would just tell me what's on her mind. She turns and looks at me. "Ready for what?" I pump the gas again. "To race. I know how turned on you get over it," I pretend to tease, even though it's true. She rolls her eyes, for a fleeting second looking happy "Whatever." Then her expression falls and she looks out the window again. I hesitate. "So do you want to tell me why you've been so quiet all night?" She shrugs and lets out a loud breath. It grows deafeningly quiet in the car as she breathes in and out. I swallow hard and start to return my attention to the front of me, when suddenly she says, "Micha, can I ask you something?" She sounds choked and nervous and it makes me wonder what the hell she's going to say. "You know you can ask me anything." I grip the steering wheel, staring ahead at the trees, unable to look at her, praying to fucking God that she'll finally say something, like "Micha, can you feel it, too? Micha, please fuck me now. Micha, I love you." I'm hoping for the last one, even though it's not really a question, but after a long, drawn-out silence, all she ends up saying is, "What's the bet for the race?" She sighs at the end, like she was going to say something else—maybe something important. I have to take a deep breath before I speak, otherwise all the emotions on the brink of exploding inside me will show in my voice. "I think, like, a hundred bucks." "Who are you racing?" "Danny and his Challenger." "You're totally going to win it." Her lips turn upward and I think it actually might be a real smile. I relax as I line up to race. I'm nervous and Ella can tell because she turns up a little "The Distance," by Cake, because she knows it'll settle me down. When the lyrics and beat bump through the speakers, I look at her. "Only you know the way to my heart," I say with a tense, nervous smile. "Thank you, pretty girl." "Of course," she replies, relaxing back in the seat, looking comfortable there, like she belongs there, which she does. "What are best friends for?" I force a smile, then push in the clutch and shove the shifter into first. Danny's in his Challenger to the side of us and he throttles up his engine. I return it, pressing the gas down so hard the car vibrates from the rumble of the engine. Then Danny's girlfriend comes strutting up between the cars. There's a rule that the girlfriend of the instigator of the race has to start the race. When I do it, I always have to pick some random girl from out of the crowd, because I've never had a girlfriend—never wanted one. I've tried to get Ella to do it a few times, but she always rejects me, saying it's a sexist rule, when really I think she's worried people will start to think we're dating, even though a lot of people do already. "You know you can always tell me to slow down," I tell her, letting her know she's safe. "If you get scared." "You know I don't get scared." She slips her shoes off and props her feet on the dash for support. The way she looks so comfortable makes me grin. "I know, but I always want to make sure." Seconds later, Danny's girlfriend throws down her arms, and just like that we're off, kicking up a large cloud of dust that smothers the audience. The longer we drive, the more relaxed Ella becomes, her head falling back against the headrest and she looks so relaxed as she shuts her eyes and breathes in the cool air blowing through the window. She looks so beautiful at that moment, so touchable, so fucking perfect, and I almost forget I'm racing. Then I glance at the road and realize the Challenger has died and we're about to slam into it. "Shit," I mutter and one of the gears grinds as I downshift and the tires skid in the dirt, the car swerving a little. I know if I don't get control of the car something bad could easily happen. It's not the first time this sort of thing has happened, but Ella is always the first thing to come to mind, which makes it more important for me to regain control. "Micha..." Ella says as I crane the wheel to the side and downshift again. The car fishtails, the back end winding a curvy path against the dirt as we swerve to the right. I hold my breath as we veer sharply around the Challenger and just about over-correct, but I use force to straighten the wheel out. I get it under control, but there's little time for a celebration as the end of the road appears. "Damn it." I jerk on the e-brake and the tires screech. We spin out of control, the engine making a lot of noises, but I get everything under control and in the end we're racing back toward the finish line. I release a breath as I floor the car, even though the Challenger is still stalled. "Faster or slower?" I ask Ella playfully, because I've pretty much won the race. She grips the door handle. "Faster of course." I grin because I'm not surprised by her answer and she laughs as I slam my foot on the gas pedal. The trees and dark sky blur by as the headlights light up the dirt road ahead of us. I shift gears, increasing the speed, and people scatter out of the way, worried I'm going to lose control because sometimes it happens. But I easily make it over the finish line, winning, and Ella looks so happy that it makes all the tension between us dissipate. I smile this really stupid, goofy smile that makes Ella giggle and then I lean my head back against the seat, relaxing for the first time tonight. "Fuck, I thought I was totally going to slam into the back end of him for a moment," I say with a laugh. "I didn't," she says and I turn my head and give her a doubtful look, but still smile. "What? I knew you had him." " _We_ had him," I say. "And _we_ have one hundred bucks to split." I get really excited over the fact that I just won and she's with me and she's smiling, which was sort of the whole point of the night anyway. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," I say, amped up as I pound on the steering wheel. She snorts a laugh. "You're such a goofball." She laughs a little more and I swear to God the sound of it is the most amazing thing I've ever heard. Rare and beautiful and it makes me want to touch her so fucking much. Without even thinking, as if it's the most natural thing in the world, I lean over the console and pull her into a hug. For a second, I worry she's going to flip out on me because she hates getting hugged but she's happy enough at the moment that she hugs me back and I can't help but breathe in the scent of her. It's intoxicating, along with her warmth and, God, I get so swept away in her, wanting to touch her, kiss her, be inside her. Before I even know what I'm doing, I tilt my head to the side and press my lips to hers. I don't even know why I do it—I'm usually more careful—but I slip up and I know it the second our lips touch and she tenses, sucking in a sharp breath. I panic and before she can say anything, I pull back and get out of the car. I've seriously fucked up, not just because I know she's going to be upset with me, but because I took a happy moment and ruined it. Shit. I procrastinate as long as I can, celebrating and collecting my money from Danny and then we chat a little while about cars and other stupid shit, but I barely pay attention, distracted by the lingering sensation of Ella's warm lips on mine. Yeah, I know I messed up but, God, the taste of her was so incredible. Ella sits in the Chevelle for what seems like forever and then she finally gets out and goes and hangs with Renee and Kelly, even though she doesn't really like Renee. Ella was obviously in a bad mood when I'd woken her up from her nap earlier, but my kissing her only made it worse. As I'm chatting with Danny, Trixie something-or-other comes up behind me and whispers in my ear that we should go to my car and hang out alone. I briefly consider it, but all I can think about is Ella and I know it's time to go face her wrath. I decline Trixie's offer and walk up to Ethan's truck, where Ella's sitting on the tailgate arguing with him, while Renee and Kelly share a bottle of vodka. "Knock it off." Ella puts her hands on her hips, giving Ethan the death glare. "You're trying to pick a fight with me." Ethan shakes his head as he takes a swig of beer. "Bullshit. You're just in a pissy mood as usual." "Hey, you ready to go?" I interrupt, playfully nudging Ella's foot with mine like nothing happened, like we didn't just kiss. "If you are," Ella replies, her expression undecipherable, so I have no idea what the hell she's thinking. She jumps off the tailgate and walks past a row of cars, heading to the Chevelle parked over by a tree. She's wearing a pair of cutoffs and it's hard not to stare at her ass the entire time. I know if she looks back and catches me checking her out things will only get worse, but I take the risk and only look away from her when she gets into the car. "Good luck with that." Ethan rolls his eyes as Renee hands him the bottle of vodka. "What the hell did you do to her? She's even bitchier than she normally is." I release an uneasy breath. "I fucked up," I say and then turn for the car, feeling bad about kissing her, but the way she tasted was so fucking mind-blowing, it makes it hard to regret. I prepare myself before I pull open the car door and climb inside with her. I slam the door and the soundlessness that follows is unnerving. "Do you want me to drive slow or fast back home?" I try to make light as I put the keys in the ignition and turn over the engine. She slowly turns her head toward me. "I thought we were going to our spot?" she asks, surprising me. I'd honestly thought that idea had gone out the window for tonight because I thought she'd be too pissed off. I shove the shifter into drive and tap on the gas while pushing down on the brake, revving the engine. "You still want to go?" She shrugs as I turn the headlights on, lighting up the trees in front of us. "If you still want to go." Her eyes are unreadable in the dark, but I can tell by the silent plea in her tone that she doesn't want to go home. "Of course I do," I tell her, then I release the brake and peel out onto the road. "I was just making sure you still do." "You said I had to," she reminds me. "That you weren't going to let me sulk around at my house all night." "I know... but I'm giving you an out." _As a sorry-for-kissing-you-even-though-I'm-not-really-sorry._ "I don't want an out." She stares out the window with her arms crossed over her chest. She has the same tank top on as the one she was wearing when I woke her up, only she put a bra on, so sadly I can't see the outline of her nipples anymore. But I do notice how forcefully her chest is moving up and down. She's anxious and I don't think it's just because of the kiss. In fact, whatever is making her anxious now is probably the thing that had her sleeping in her bed at three o'clock in the afternoon. I don't say anything else and drive in the direction of our spot, a secluded area in the middle of the trees beside the lake. By the time we get there it's past midnight and Ella's drifting off to sleep. I park the car not too far away from the water, and then silence the engine but leave the headlights on. Ella blinks and sits up, quiet for a while as she stares out at the water. Finally she reaches her arm across the console and turns the key back over, so the battery turns on. Then she picks up the iPod from the dashboard and turns on some Spill Canvas, before getting out of the car. She treads up to the shore, stopping just before she arrives at the water, then crosses her arms and looks up at the stars, her hair blowing in the light summer breeze. I climb out of the car and cautiously walk up to the side of her. The moonlight reflects in her eyes as she bites on her bottom lip, refusing to look at me. I consider saying sorry for kissing her, but it'd be a lie and I fucking hate lying to her. "My mom had one of her episodes today," she says quietly, breaking the silence as she hugs herself. "She was looking for a picture of when we all went to the beach, even though we never have. I spent all day looking for it, even though I knew I'd never find it and finally I had to just lie to her and tell her I think I lost the photo, so she'd let it go." She closes her eyes and breathes in deep. "And I was so glad when she finally fell asleep... so fucking relieved. I'm the worst daughter in the world." "No, you're not." I sweep her hair off her shoulder and she stiffens when my fingers brush against the back of her neck. "You're a hell of a lot better than most daughters." She shakes her head as she swallows hard. "No, I'm not. I get so tired of it... all of it. Sometimes I just want it to all stop." She pauses, catching her breath. I rack my brain for something to say to her that'll make her feel better, but I'm not sure it's words I'm looking for. So I back away from her and she doesn't look at me, her eyes fixed ahead. When I reach the car, I open the door and lean inside to get the iPod. Then I shuffle through the songs until I stumble onto one of the slower, softer classics and then I crank up the volume and hike down toward her again. She looks over her shoulder at me as the music floods the forest around us. I stick out my hand, letting her know what I want to do, because we've done it before and I'm sure we'll do it again. She stares at my hand undecidedly before she guardedly moves over to me, her expression impartial. "You're such an old man with your music sometimes," she says, stopping just out of my reach, her arms still folded over her chest. I keep my hand extended to her and force a grin, even though I'm a little nervous. "Hey, 'Girl from the North Country' is a classic. And it's got Johnny Cash and Bob Dylan." "It's old-man music." Her tone is tinged with humor. "Because inside, you're an old man." "Then that would make you an old lady for hanging out with me." She rolls her tongue, restraining a smile. I grab hold of her hand and jerk on her arm, tugging her against me and her laughter slips through. The sound breaks the tension between us and I know I'm off the hook for now. I twirl her around a few times and she laughs even harder, her hair falling in her face as she stumbles to keep up with me. I continue to twirl her until I know she's dizzy, like when we were kids and we'd hang out in my backyard, spinning in circles. "Micha, please stop," she begs, laughing and stumbling over her feet. "I can't see straight." I stop and she crashes against me. She clutches on to my shoulders, holding on to me for support as I slip my arms around her and rock us to the rhythm, supporting her weight. My palm makes a path down her back, stopping when I near her ass, knowing I can't push things any further, at least not tonight. She relaxes her head against my chest and I breathe in the vanilla scent of her hair. "You're too nice to me sometimes," she says. "In fact, you spoil me. You should really stop." I leave one hand on her back and move the other to her head and hold her against me. "You deserve to be spoiled," I say, because no one else will except for me. No one's ever made her feel special, given her birthday presents, taken her places, and I'm pretty sure neither her mother nor her father have told her they love her. That became my job the moment I got her to climb over the fence. "Feeling better?" I ask her, kissing the top of her head. "I am," she says, her hands sliding up my shoulders and hitching around the back of my neck. "But Micha?" I try to remain calm, but it's difficult when she's touching me like this. "Yeah." "If you ever kiss me on the lips again without permission," she says, "I'll kick you in the balls." I snort a laugh. "Okay, sounds fair." She pinches the back of my neck and another laugh escapes me. "I'm being serious." "I know you are." And I'm sure she's telling the truth but I'm just relieved she's letting it go. She doesn't say anything else and I hold on to her until the song finishes. The next song turns on and we keep dancing, not stopping until five more songs have played through. I pull back only when I feel her weight lean heavy against me, like she's falling asleep. When I look down at her, her eyes are shut and her grip on me is loosening. "We should probably get you home," I say, brushing her hair back from her forehead. She shakes her head with her eyes shut. "I don't want to go home." "Then where do you want to go?" I ask. "Back to my house?" She yawns. "Can't we just stay here?" I stand there while she starts to drift off to sleep in my arms. Finally, I lean her back, slip my arms underneath her legs, and pick her up. She's too tired to argue with me and instead nestles against me as I carry her back to the car. Then I maneuver the door open and lower us both into the driver's seat. "Do you want to get in the backseat?" I ask, sitting her up so I can get my legs in and then shut the door. She shakes her head. "I just want to sleep right here." There's limited space, but in the end it doesn't matter how much room there is because she's in my arms and she wants to be there. So holding onto her, I recline the chair back and lie down. She shifts her weight, so she's to the side of me, our legs entangled as she rests her head on my chest. As the music continues to play, we drift off to sleep together. # Chapter Eighteen _Present day..._ # Ella When I open my eyes to daylight, Micha's already awake, with my mom's journal on his lap with the photo of her beside his leg. He's leaning against the headboard with his boxers on and he's shirtless so I can see his lean muscles and wisps of his hair dangling across his forehead. There's an intense look on his face as he reads the pages but when I move to sit up, my head and cheek pulsating in protest, he closes the journal, the intensity shifting to ease. "Anything good in there?" I ask, clutching the blanket over my bare chest. He shrugs, but by his frown I can tell he hasn't found anything that's happy. He tucks the photo into the journal, marking the page before he puts it aside, and then reaches over to stroke my puffy, tender cheekbone. "We should have put some ice on that last night," he says. "Seriously, Ella, it looks like it hurts like hell." I place my hand over his. "It does hurt like hell." "Do you want to tell me how it really happened?" he asks, and when I tense he adds, "I know when you're lying, Ella May, so don't try to tell me some girl hit you because I could tell last night that you were full of shit." "Then why didn't you call me out on it?" "Because I was thinking with my dick and nothing else." I smile, thinking about how he pushed me up against the wall and slammed into me so hard I could feel it through my entire body. "My legs actually hurt a little from last night," I divulge as I move the blankets off me and massage my thighs. He looks down at my legs with intensity in his eyes. "I could say I feel bad, but I don't." I cover myself back up with the blanket and lie down on the bed. He lies down with me and props his elbow on the pillow and rests his head against his hand. "I'll tell you," I say as his finger strokes my cheek, "but you have to promise me that you won't do anything about it. No going looking for a fight." He stops moving his fingers. "I won't promise that." "Then I won't tell you." "Ella May—" I cover his mouth with my hand and cut him off. "Don't 'Ella May' me. The last thing I need is a husband who either gets charges pressed against him or ends up seriously injured." He pauses and then his lips curve upward beneath my hand. "Say it again." "Only if you promise." "Fine." He sighs and my hand leaves his mouth. "I won't go looking for a fight as long as you'll tell me what happened and call me your husband again." He gets this goofy grin on his face that makes me smile. "All right, husband," I say, making his smile expand. I take a deep breath and tell him about Mikey. I can see for the entire time that he's working really hard to control his reaction, his hands balling into fists as he listens. When I'm finished, he's quiet for a while, and then he finally says, "Can I at least have Ethan kick his ass?" I shake my head. "No. Lila doesn't need him hurt either. Or in jail." His jaw is set tight and his eyes linger on my cheek before he blows out a breath. "I really want to beat the shit out of him, Ella May. I swear to God..." He clenches his fists, the muscles in his lean arms tightening. "I know you do," I say. "But I don't want you to." "You're killing me," he says, aggravated. "I know, but it's for the best," I explain. "Besides, I got a good kick and hit in." "He should have never hit a girl... I swear to God..." He blows out a frustrated breath, shaking his head. "Can't I at least fuck up his car or something?" "He'll probably think it was you," I say. "Or me." "Please, you have to give me something." I sigh. "Fine, we can sneak over to his house and slash his tires one night before we go home." "That's it?" He pouts, frowning. "Can't I, like, smash in his windows and then hit him a few times?" "Just the tires," I say. "And no hitting. I don't want this turning into a huge problem." His frown deepens. "Fine, but only for you." "Thank you." I give him a kiss and he still seems irritated, but he responds, sliding his tongue into my mouth. We keep kissing as he flips us over, rolling me onto my back and lying over me. He gazes down at me all lovey-dovey, stroking my cheek with a thoughtful look on his face, and when he opens his mouth, I have no idea what he's going to say. "Lila says you got me a Christmas present," he says, surprising me. I shake my head. "Only because she made me get you one, so don't think you have to get me anything. I know we don't do the whole Christmas thing." "What if I want to get you something, though?" "Then you can," I say. "But just so you know, what I got you isn't anything great." Which is true. While we were out shopping for wedding decorations, I saw these friendship bracelets that looked exactly like the ones Micha and I had for a while when we were kids, after we made this promise to be best friends forever. Eventually they got all worn out and we threw them away or lost them, and when I told Lila this, she said I should get them and give them to Micha as a present. I'm not one for sappiness, but I still found myself buying them. "I'm already getting you," he says. "Which is the best present ever." I shake my head, and can't help but smile. "You're so cheesy sometimes." "And you secretly love it." I don't respond because he's right and then he grins as he nudges my legs open with his knee, shifting his hips between them, ready to slip back inside me. But a knock on the door interrupts us. "Ella," Lila calls out from the other side. "Just ignore her," Micha whispers, nibbling on my earlobe as he grazes his thumb across my nipple. I groan, squeezing my legs against his hips as the tip of him presses into me. "Ella, I know you're in there and I need you to come out." She pauses. "Dean and Caroline are here." I work to keep my voice level as Micha thrusts inside me. "I'll be out in just a second." My voice comes out breathless and Micha laughs, his mouth hovering over mine. He pauses, arching his brow. "A second. Really?" I reach around and pinch his ass, causing him to laugh. "You better make it a second, otherwise you're going to get blue balls for the rest of the day." Shaking his head, he smiles. "Fine, you win." Then his slips all the way inside me and again I lose myself in him. About fifteen minutes later, we're fully dressed and we head out to the kitchen, exhausted but content. Lila's at the kitchen table, dressed in her pajamas with little cherries on the fabric. The table and counters are still covered in ribbon and candles, along with a few boxes of cereal and dirty dishes. Ethan's in the chair beside her, in a T-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms, eating a bowl of cereal. A knowing grin rises on Lila's face when she sees us. "Took you two long enough," she jokes as she adds a spoonful of sugar to her coffee. Ethan glances over his shoulder, his eyes bloodshot, probably because he's hungover. He stares at my cheek, which I tried to cover up with makeup, but shiners on the face are pretty much a lost cause so all I can do is wear it proudly. "Who the hell beat you up?" Ethan asks, stirring his cereal with a spoon. I touch the spot with my fingers as Micha releases my hand and goes over to the coffeepot beside the sink. "Mikey," I tell him. Ethan lets out a gradual exhale. "Shit, was it because..." He trails off as Micha hands me a cup of coffee. "Because you two jackasses threw a shake in his car?" he says. "Yep." Ethan frowns as he rakes his fingers through his hair, making it stick up on the top. "Hey, it wasn't my idea." "Yeah, it was mine," I say to Micha, inhaling the aroma of the coffee. "Don't give him credit for my awesomeness." "I'm too hungover for you two to start arguing." Micha grimaces as he stretches his arms above his head, the bottom of his shirt riding up, flaunting his muscles. Ethan and I exchange a challenging look, and then Ethan gives up and returns to eating his cereal as I take a soothing gulp of my coffee. "You said Caroline and Dean were here?" I ask Lila as I sit down at the table. Lila nods as she stirs her coffee. Her hair is pulled back in a short ponytail and she doesn't have any makeup on. "They were, but I told them you were going to be a minute so they went over to your house and I told them I'd send you over when you came out." Out the window, I see there's a large maroon SUV parked in the driveway beside my house, just behind the Firebird. "Is that their rental car?" I ask. Lila shakes her head. "No, they drove here because Caroline didn't want to fly. I think it's their car." "I guess he got rid of the Porsche then," I say, adding a drop of milk to my coffee. "Probably because they're about to have a baby and there's no room for a car seat in a Porsche." Lila smiles and then takes a gulp from her coffee mug. "Caroline's belly is so cute." Ethan shakes his head, his eyes wide as he fixes them on his cereal. I glance over at Micha, who's watching me while he leans against the counter, sipping his coffee. When he pulls the mug away from his mouth, he licks his lips. I know him well enough to know that he's attempting to read my reaction, not just about the Porsche—my mom's old car—being sold, but because Lila's talking about babies. I rise to my feet and look at Micha. "Do you want to come with me and say hi or something?" Micha nods and moves away from the counter for the back door. We grab our coats and tell Lila and Ethan we'll be right back, and then we head over to my house. Thomas's old truck is parked in the driveway behind Micha's Chevelle and there are shoe prints in the snow, leading from Micha's steps to the fence. Then they pick up on the other side of the fence, heading to the stairs of my house. I can't help but smile because it probably means Dean and Caroline took our little path to the house. I point down at the tracks. "Hey look, all the cool kids are doing it now," I joke. Micha grabs the top of the fence and hops gracefully over it, landing in the snowbank on the other side. "I'd rather they not. I like that it's our path and I want it to stay that way." "Me too," I agree, sliding my fingers around the icy metal fence and hoisting myself up. Halfway over, Micha grabs onto my hips and helps me to the ground, setting me in the driveway so I don't sink in the snowbank. We tromp through the snow to the house and walk inside, the air smelling like cinnamon and perfume, along with a hint of bacon. There are pans on the stove and there's coffee brewing in a pot on the counter. I should have prepared myself more because as soon as we enter, Caroline practically starts jumping up and down. She's wearing a flowing purple dress and her black hair is braided. The fabric of the dress stretches over her protruding belly and even though I try not to, I can't help but stare. Dean is sitting on the table, his feet propped up on a chair with a newspaper on his lap. He's dressed in a collared shirt and slacks and I still can't get used to the look. Growing up, all he would wear were old T-shirts and jeans and he even dyed his hair blue once. "Oh my God, there you two are," Caroline says excitedly, clapping her hands with enough energy to power the entire house. "Congrats, you two." "Thanks." I force myself not to get awkward and I let the nice moment be, even though deep down I feel uncomfortable with the positive attention. She pauses. "Ella, what happened to your face?" I cup my swollen cheek. "I got into a small fight, but nothing major." "Just like old times," Dean remarks with a shake of his head. "Well, I hope you're okay," Caroline says, examining my cheek. "I'm fine," I assure her. "The swelling will go down in a day or two." "Good, then it'll be gone for the wedding." She leans in to hug me and I uncomfortably hug her back, feeling her belly press against mine. When she moves away, she notices me staring and places her hand across her stomach. "It's a girl," she says and Dean glances up at me with a strange look on his face that I can't decipher. I wonder if he's freaked out, too, at the thought of children, if he's worried he'll end up like our father, drunk and nonexistent. I could ask him, but we're not to that place yet. "Congratulations," I say to both of them. "Thanks." Dean folds up the newspaper and tosses it into the table by the cookie jar. He's quiet for a moment and I seriously have no idea what the hell's going to come out of his mouth. "You, too." I'm surprised by his simple remark and I miss a beat before I respond. "Thanks." "This is going to be so good," Caroline says, hurrying over to the counter to a plate of eggs and bacon. "A wedding outside at Christmas time near a lake. I can only imagine the pictures I'm going to get to take." She starts munching on the bacon. "It'll be freezing though," Dean says, stating the obvious as he hops off the table and then strides up to Caroline and circles an arm around her waist. "You sure you don't want to have it inside? We'll all be freezing our asses off by the end of it." Micha and I exchange a look and then we both shake our heads. "No, cold temperature or not, I'm not having it anywhere else," I tell Dean, and Micha squeezes my hand. "It's important." "Okay," Dean says, confused. "I guess we're having an outdoor wedding. But who all's coming?" "Me, Micha, Lila, Ethan," I ramble off the list, counting down on my fingers. "Micha's mom and boyfriend, you and Caroline obviously, and Dad... and maybe his girlfriend." "Oh yeah," Dean says as he kisses Caroline's shoulder. "The secretary." "So you knew about her?" His shoulders rise and fall as he shrugs. "He mentioned it on the phone a couple of weeks ago." _He never mentioned it to me_. "Oh." Sensing my downward mood, Micha takes my hand and gives me a soothing kiss on the cheek, his unshaven jawline rough against my skin, but comforting at the same time. Dean doesn't seem to notice at all that something's bothering me, and it's not his fault. He doesn't know me like Micha does—no one in my family does. "That's not very many people," Caroline says, picking up a fork from off the plate. "Are you sure you don't want to have more? I mean, you've got to have some more old friends still around who'd like to come to it. I know it's short notice but people might still come if you invited them." I shake my head. "I don't have anyone else I want to invite." She frowns down at her eggs as she stabs them with the fork. "What about you, Micha?" "I'm good with just Ella there," Micha answers, hugging me against his chest. "No offense, but I really don't care if anyone else is there." Caroline sighs as she takes a bite of the eggs. "Well, I guess we'll start planning then." "Lila and Micha's mom have already done a lot," I tell her. "I don't think there's that much left to do." Caroline smiles at me as Dean lets her go and heads to the fridge. "Oh, Ella, there's always more to do," Caroline assures me. "Trust me." And she's right, but only because I'm not planning the wedding myself. If it were just me, I'd have Micha, me, the minister, and no one else. The wedding would take place somewhere serenely beautiful like at a private beach or in a field of violets. I would wear something punk/gothic and Micha would wear black with his leather bands because he always looks so God damn sexy when he wears all black. And there would be no vows, just exchanges of "I do" and a kiss. But I'm not planning the wedding myself. I have a whole team of people who are eager to make everything beautiful and sparkly. I end up spending the rest of the day with Lila, Caroline, and Micha's mom in the next town over so that Micha's mom can pick out a dress. Caroline buys one too and then purchases a necklace for me to wear even though I tell her I don't need one. She tried to buy me a veil at first but there was no way in hell I was going to walk around with a piece of cloth on my head attached to a diamond tiara. So she ends up buying these clips that have black roses in them to match the dress and then we go to a cake shop and order a cake. The whole thing is getting a little too fancy for me, but I let them go crazy because it's making them happy and it's not really hurting anything. Thankfully, Caroline has the same sort of gothic style as me and orders a black- and red-striped cake with this lace on the bottom and red roses on the top. It matches the red and black ribbons and candles we already have for decorations, which Lila insists we can string up on the tree branches, although I'm a little doubtful they'll stay up, especially if it's snowing. At the end of the day, I'm exhausted, but in a good, strange sort of way, like I may have accomplished something important, like finally committing to the wedding by being part of the planning. Plus, I'd always wondered what it would be like to have people in my life, even though I actually wouldn't admit it aloud. A few years ago, if I was capable of looking forward and seeing myself getting married, I'd imagine myself taking everything on alone and being miserable the entire time, feeling lonely and empty. But right now I feel whole, yet still sad because there's one person missing from the scene. Someone who can't be here and it makes my heart hurt because if it weren't for my mistake she might have been. I know my mom's death wasn't my fault but it took a lot of therapy to get there and despite the fact that I'm not holding onto my guilt anymore, I still know deep down in my heart that perhaps if I would have stayed home that night, my mom wouldn't have taken her own life and maybe, just maybe, she would have also been out shopping for wedding stuff with me. When I get back to Micha's house, Micha, Ethan, and my brother are still gone, looking for tuxes to rent at the last minute, even though I suggested they all just wear black button-down shirts. As Lila, Caroline, and Micha's mom get situated in the kitchen, ready to tie more ribbon and put candles in the glass jars they bought, I decide that I need to go visit the cemetery. So I grab my sketchpad and a pencil and bundle up in my coat, gloves, and boots. When I return to the kitchen, Micha's mom turns around from the sink and notices my outdoor attire. "Ella, where are you headed?" she asks, scrubbing down a plate with a sponge as she holds it under running water. I tuck my sketchpad under my arm. "I need to go somewhere." She looks out the window at the cloudy sky and then at the microwave where the time blinks 4:02. "But it's getting dark and colder." "I won't be gone for too long," I assure her, walking toward the back door. Lila gives me a strange look from the kitchen table as she loops some ribbon into a bow. "Do you want company?" They look at me as I open the back door and let the winter air inside. "No. There's something I have to do." I wave at them. "I'll be back soon. I promise." Before either of them can argue, I step outside and shut the door. Heading down the driveway, I pull the top of my jacket over my mouth and nose as the frosty air bites at my skin. At the end of the driveway, I veer to the right and walk down the sidewalk toward the cemetery, keeping a steady pace, knowing that I'm not going to be able to endure the icy air for very long. By the time I reach the cemetery, my fingers are numb, but I shake off the cold as I sit down in the snow in front of her headstone. There's a leafless tree just behind it and icicles dangle from the bare branches. The iron gate that borders the cemetery is frosted with snow that also covers the tops of some of the headstones. I relax back on my hands as the snow seeps through my jeans and stare at her gray headstone, trying to gather my thoughts. "I'm not even sure what to say," I say aloud, my breath fogging out in front of me. "I know I should come visit more, but I don't live here any longer." I set my sketchpad and pencil aside and lean forward, resting my arms on my knees. "So I moved to California... I have a home and everything, which is weird, but nice, I guess." I breathe in and breathe out. "Everything is nice really." I pause. "I'm sorry you never got your nice... I started reading your journal and I was hoping it'd have something nice in it, but there isn't anything, not really." I shut my eyes as the cold air kisses my cheek. "I really would like to know if you ever did get any sort of happy. I know Dad said he thinks that you might have been happy sometimes, but he didn't sound like he fully believed it. And I know that you can fake it because that's what I do sometimes. I actually used to do it a lot, but not so much anymore... anymore when I'm happy. I think it's real." My words are true, real, honest. I want to know if she was ever really happy, but maybe it's better not knowing since maybe the answer's not what I want to hear. Maybe she'd tell me no, that she was never happy—not ever. Not when she was younger, when she got married, had kids. I've been in that place where depression was everything but it's not my life anymore and I couldn't even begin to imagine not getting a glimpse of happiness that I feel now. If depression was _all_ she ever had then it would be sad and tragic and heartbreaking. "Completely off the subject, but I'm supposed to be writing vows," I say to my mom's headstone, wishing she could really hear me. "But writing's never been my thing." I press my pencil to the paper and then I draw a line down it, letting my hands move freely. "Drawing was more of my thing." Another line and then another. "I'm not sure if you knew that. I know you raised me and everything, but we never really talked, at least about life and stuff. I never even knew you liked to draw until I got a box from your mom with some of your drawings in it. Well, she didn't exactly send it to me—her lawyer did. She actually passed away. I'm not sure how I feel about that, either. I mean, I didn't know her, yet at the same time it's sort of sad she's gone." I make a few shadings and some curves and jagged lines. When I pull the pencil away, I've drawn Micha's face, half shaded, then below it I write, _My light in my dark life_. I turn the page and draw another quick image. It's nothing fancy but that's okay because fancy's not the point right now. When I'm finished, I have a picture of him holding his guitar, music notes surrounding him. Below it I write, _His mouth warmed my soul_. I draw another one and write, _God, I feel so loved sometimes I forget how to breathe_. Then I start moving the pencil over the paper again, creating a map of our life, the first time we slept together in the same bed, the fence, his car, the concerts, the New Orleans trips, the lake, even the bridge. Not all the lines are perfect, but it's the little flaws and imperfections that make the story so beautiful. I finish off the last drawing, which is solely of Micha and write, _My everything._ Then I close the sketchpad and get to my feet, dusting the snow off the back of my jeans, my ass frozen and numb. I know that if I'm going to turn it in for my final portfolio, I'm going to have to do more work on it, but the start is there, the basis, and I can build on it from there. Besides, starting is always the hardest part and even though I know everything won't just easily fall into place, at least I know that it's headed toward a completion. A potentially wonderful completion. # Chapter Nineteen # Micha When I return home from tux shopping, without a tux, because apparently there's nowhere around Star Grove that has them, Ella's not at the house. My mom tells me she went out on foot somewhere with her sketchbook, which worries me. "Do you know where she went?" I ask her, sitting down on the sofa beside her as she works on wrapping a Christmas present. She shakes her head. "No, but it couldn't have been too far, right? Since she walked." Maybe, but maybe not. My mom secures a piece of tape on the Christmas present and then sticks a bow on it. "There, I think I've finally got everything wrapped." She leans back to put the Christmas present below the small artificial tree in the corner. I frown as I slump back in the sofa. "Why is everyone so into presents all of a sudden? We never made a big deal about them before. First Ella and now you." "So... what's wrong with changing things and giving presents?" "Because I didn't get anyone anything." "Are you really worried about everyone or just Ella?" I sigh. "She got me something and it feels like I should give her something back, but I don't want it to be something stupid—I want it to mean something." My mom eyes me over for a moment and then she gets to her feet. "Get your coat on and follow me." "Why?" "Just do it." She uses her stern voice and I get to my feet. We put on our coats and then she heads outside, taking Ella's and my path and climbing over the fence to get to Ella's yard. I follow her, totally confused because she's acting weird. Then we wind around the Firebird and step up the back stairs to the door and she knocks, which makes things even weirder because I've rarely knocked before. I usually just walk in. "Mom, seriously, what are we doing?" I ask, stuffing my hands into my pockets. My mom knocks again and then turns to me, shivering from the cold. "A few weeks ago, I saw Raymond carrying out a bunch of boxes to the garage. I offered him some help and we got to talking and he told me that the boxes had some of Ella's mom's old stuff." "Okay? I'm not following you, Mom." She smiles at me. "I'm thinking that Ella would probably really like something that belonged to her mom, maybe something she could wear at the wedding." I open my mouth to tell her this is by far the worst idea she's ever had, since Ella's dad gets weird talking about stuff like that and I'm not even sure how Ella would react if I gave her something of her mom's since it's such an emotional subject for her. But before I can say anything, the door opens up. "Hey, Terri," Mr. Daniels says, looking confused as to why the two of us would be standing on his doorstep. "Hey, Raymond," my mom says with a smile. "I have a huge favor to ask you." I shake my head. My mom hasn't always been this way—so pushy. Well, she sort of has, considering it was her idea for Ella and me to get married in the first place, but she seems to be getting pushier the older she gets. Raymond's brows crease and my mom starts explaining the little Christmas present dilemma. I feel my insides wind into knots, worried that it's going to upset him and he's going to take it out on Ella. I know they've been good and everything, but still I can't shake the past and the things I've seen. And when my mom says, "So we were wondering if maybe there was something of Maralynn's we could give her, maybe in one of those boxes I helped you put in the garage a few weeks ago?" He scratches his head, looking really uncomfortable. "I'm not really sure there is. I mean, most of that stuff was just old clothes of hers." I tug on my mom's sleeve and say to Mr. Daniels, "No worries, we'll figure something else out." My mom ignores me, keeping her feet planted. "There's not even, like, a piece of her jewelry or something? Like some earrings that were hers?" Raymond looks even more uneasy and I'm about to walk off and leave her there when suddenly he stands up straighter and looks over at the garage. "Hold on... I think I just thought of something." He leans back into the house and grabs a large coat, slipping it on along with a beanie before he steps out and shuts the door. We follow him to the garage and my mom shoots me a grin, like, Ha-ha, I was right, and I shake my head but smile. When we get inside the garage, Mr. Daniels flips on the lights and heads over to a stack of boxes in the corner. He lifts up the top box and sets it aside and then stares at the box below it for a moment, almost as if he's afraid to open it. I glance at my mom, who swallows hard, looking a bit uneasy. But then Mr. Daniels relaxes a little and carefully opens the box. He rummages around inside it for a moment and then he takes out this small wooden box. When he turns around, he's holding it in his hand like it's something really important. "We didn't have a real wedding, you know," he says, looking up from the box. "We barely even dressed up." My mom nods understandingly. "Micha's father and I got married at a park and I think there was, like, a total of ten guests." "We only had two," Mr. Daniels says. "They were both my friends, and the only reason we invited them was so they'd be our witnesses. Maralynn didn't want to have anyone else there." He takes a deep breath and sighs. "But anyway," he says, and extends his arm toward me, urging me to take the wooden box. "I gave this to Ella's mom the morning of our wedding. It's not anything fancy. I actually bought it at a pawnshop for, like, twenty-five bucks, but she wore it when we got married and maybe you can give it to Ella and have her do the same." The box creaks as I open it. Inside there's a black ribbon threaded through a small red rose pendant. "It's a necklace," Mr. Daniels tells me. "Ella's mom had a thing for roses. I'm not sure if Ella will even want to wear it, but it doesn't hurt to try." Discounting the fact that Ella might get a little emotional about it being her mom's, if this were a normal necklace, I could see her wearing it with pride. "Thanks," I say, shutting the box. "I'm sure she'll like it and I'm sure she'll be glad that you gave it to her." Mr. Daniels nods, and then without saying any more we leave the garage. He and my mom chat at the back door for a little while about nothing major as I stare at the sky noting that it's turning gray and wondering if Ella came home while we were in the garage. I decide to go check and say thanks again to Mr. Daniels before I head back over to my house. When I walk in, Lila and Ethan tell me that she's not there and that they're getting ready to go visit his parents for a while, even though he doesn't want to. They head out and I go into my room and hide the necklace. Then, trying to distract myself, I read some of her mom's journal. Page after page of dark thoughts: _I can't do this. Be a mother and a wife. I thought I could but now I feel like I need to run, flee, escape the fear of commitment on foot. Because it's either escape or wait until Raymond decideshe's had enough of me and abandons me. It's inevitable. I can feel it. He'll leave me because really I'm not good enough and sometimes I don't want to be good enough. It's too much work and takes too much strength and I'm so tired._ _Maybe I should just run away and leave it all behind._ _I really should._ Her words pierce at my chest because if I didn't know any better, I'd swear Ella had written them. But I don't believe that Ella will run away again. She loves me and I know that, even if she has a hard time expressing her feelings. I know she wants to be with me. _She_ moved the ring to her engagement finger and moved in with me. She won't run. She can't. I keep reading through and my mom sticks her head into my room to tell me she's heading out with Thomas to get some dinner. "Do you want anything?" she asks me. I shake my head. "No, thanks." "Well, there are some leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry," she says. "Thanks," I say and she smiles and then starts to shut the door. "And Mom?" She pauses. "Yeah." "Thanks for going over to the Danielses and doing that," I say. She smiles. "No problem. I'm just glad we found you something good to give her." "Me too," I tell her. When she leaves, I glance at the clock and decide to give Ella fifteen more minutes before I go searching for her. I continue reading the journal, periodically checking the clock. The next several pages are equally depressing and my heart starts to feel heavy in my chest. It's like I'm reading about a downward spiral, but fortunately I'm the one reading it, not Ella. It was her choice not to, which makes her so much stronger than all this darkness, because she knew it would probably bring her down and she chose not to let it—she chose to be happy. I'm about to put the journal away when I realize there's only one more page left and I decide to read it so I can be done with it. But then I'll have to go and break the news to Ella that I couldn't find anything happy inside the journal. Hopefully it won't crush her heart. But as I read over the last page the heaviness dissipates and the words kind of make me smile. After I finish reading it, I get up to go look for Ella because I'm worried about her being gone for so long and because she needs to read this. I put my jacket on and head to the back door where I left my boots, but as I'm crossing the kitchen, the door opens and a breeze gusts inside. Ella enters looking as frozen as a Popsicle, her lips blue, her cheeks kissed pink, and she's shivering. She offers me a small smile as she shuts the back door behind her. "Were you going somewhere?" she asks, eyeing my coat as she hugs her sketchbook to her chest. "Yeah, to look for you." I stop zipping up my jacket and place my hands on her cheeks, which are ice-cold. "God, you're freezing. How long were you out there?" She looks over at the clock on the microwave. "A couple of hours." "Jesus, Ella." I take the sketchbook and set it aside on the counter. Then I tug off her gloves, gather her hands in mine, and breathe on them while I try to rub warmth back into her. She smiles up at me. "How was your day of tux shopping?" "As good as any other day of shopping. Although we didn't get tuxes." "Good," she says. "I've never been a fan of them. You'll look much better in your jeans and a button-down shirt." "As long as you think so then I'm okay with it," I tell her, then pause, choosing my next words carefully as my fingers wrap around her wrist. "When I came home I read some more of your mother's journal." "Oh yeah?" She pretends to be only slightly interested but I feel her pulse accelerate in her wrist. "Find anything good?" "I did. Do you want to read it?" Her throat bobs up and down as she swallows hard, and then she looks at the sketchbook on the counter. "Can I wait just a little bit longer? I'm in good mood and I want to stay in one." "But what I found is good," I promise her. "Trust me." "I know, but it'll still be hard to read, whether it's good or bad. It still has to do with her and she's gone and it always makes me sad." How can I argue with that? "If that's what you want, but I promise it's not bad and I really think you need to read it before we get married." I massage her right hand and she winces. "Does your hand hurt?" She nods, wincing again. "It's the one I punched Mikey in the face with. My knuckles collided with his jaw." Thinking about Mikey hitting her still gets under my skin, but I force myself to shove it aside because I promised her I wouldn't do anything about it and I refuse to break my promises to her no matter what. "How many times have I told you to hit here?" I free her hand and pound my fist flat against my palm. "Don't use your knuckles." "I know, but I was drunk and he's a scary guy. I got a little nervous and screwed up the punch," she says and the anger inside me flickers. I was never one for fighting. Sure, I've gotten into a couple of fights but the only major one was with Grantford Davis, who deserved to get his ass kicked. "What do you want to do for the rest of the night?" I tuck a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. She looks around at the empty kitchen. "Where is everyone?" "Caroline went to your house with Dean. My mom went to dinner and Thomas went out with his friend." I place my hands on her hips. "And Lila and Ethan went out to get something to eat." "So we have the entire house to ourselves?" she asks with a naughty grin on her face. I tap my finger on my lip. "Whatever shall we do?" "Hmmm..." Her eyes sparkle as she collects the sketchpad off the counter. "I have no idea." I return my hand to her waist and glide my palm around to her ass, cupping it roughly. Her body arches toward me. "Oh, I have a few ideas, starting with you getting naked." She laughs and then suddenly takes off running toward the hallway, chucking her sketchpad onto the couch as she passes it. "I'll tell you what, I'll get naked when you can find me." She smiles at me, then spins around and disappears down the hallway. "Oh, pretty girl," I call out, winding around the table and chasing after her. The house is silent as I walk through the living room and past the sofa, getting a glimpse of a piece she's been working on in the open sketchpad. It's a drawing of me holding my guitar with music notes around me. Below it she wrote, _His mouth warmed my soul_. My heart does this stupid, very unmanly pitter-patter thing inside my chest, but I smile and take off jogging to my room. I check the closet, under my bed, and then, giving up on my room, I head for my mom's room. I search high and low, but can't find her anywhere, so I look in the bathroom. When I still can't find her, I backtrack to the living room. I'm about ready to step through the doorway and into the kitchen when she jumps out from behind the wall and into the doorway right in front of me, scaring the shit out of me. I press my hand to my chest as I catch my breath and she laughs as she wraps her legs around me and throws all her weight into me, sending us to the ground. I manage to not smack my head on the floor, but my back does hit it hard. She lands on top of me, her body falling on mine, and then she quickly pushes up so she's sitting on me with one leg on each side. Her hands come down beside my head as she stares down at me, her hair veiling around our faces. "That is for all the times you wrestled me to the ground," she says, seeming very pleased with herself as she pants for air. I shake my head as I sneak my hands to her hips. "Have I taught you nothing?" With one swift movement, I flip us over so she's on the ground and I'm lying on top of her. "I always win at wrestling." Then I kiss her. Hours later we're lying in my bed, our bodies tangled together as she lies naked on her side. She hasn't read the journal page yet and I'm not going to push her. Instead she has her sketchbook out and she's scribbling lines down on a fresh sheet of paper, attempting to recapture a photo of her mom sitting on her bed, looking sad. On the other side of the sketchbook there's a picture of what looks like me with the words _My everything_ written on the bottom. "What exactly are you working on?" I ask her as I trace a path up and down her spine, and with each stroke she shivers. "I know this one's your mom"—I tap my finger on the drawing of me—"but what's this one about?" The pencil briefly stops moving across the paper. "Can I explain it to you later?" She peers over her shoulder and wisps of her hair fall into her face. "I want to finish it first and then tell you everything." _Everything._ What does she mean by "everything"? "Can I have a hint?" She studies me, chewing on her lip, and then she directs her attention back down at the drawing, covered with angled lines and dark shades. "It's about our past... and our future." _Our future._ I'm surprised by her honesty and feel guilty because she's been so honest with me lately and I've been keeping a huge secret from her. Well, not exactly a secret, but I've been withholding information, concerned about how she'll react, fearing she'll say she'll go even though she doesn't want to. Or she'll say she won't go and that will be the end of my music dream. But it's time to stop avoiding the decision, especially when she's being so straightforward. I let my finger trail up her back a few more times and then I drape my arm over her side and press my face against the back of her neck, folding my arms around her. "I have to tell you something," I say, and her body goes as rigid as a board. "Calm down. It's not bad. It's just news... a decision we need to make." I hear her drop the pen onto the paper. "Okay." She sounds anxious. I kiss the back of her neck and shut my eyes. "I got a call from Mike the other day." "Oh, yeah? What'd he want?" She's trying to act calm but I can tell she isn't. I open my eyes and press my cheek against her skin. "You remember that Rocking Slam Tour that I was telling you about a while ago?" "The tour you really wanted to go on but didn't think you were good enough to get on?" She rotates over onto her back and looks at me. "The one with all the bands and singers who you idolize?" "Yeah, that's the one." She pauses. "Did you get on?" I nod slowly. "I did." A smile gradually rises on her face. "I'm so happy for you." She smashes a cheerful kiss against my lips, shocking me, and I'm too surprised to even kiss her back. When she pulls away, she looks confused as she assesses my reaction. "What's wrong? Why aren't you happy about this?" "Because..." I trail off, searching for the right words. Finally, I sit up and bring one of my knees up, resting my elbow on top of it. "The tour starts in a few weeks and goes for a few months." She sits up and hugs her knees against her bare chest, trying to look okay about it but sadness fills her eyes. "So you'd be gone for a few months?" I nod, staring out the window at the glow of the Christmas lights shining against the ice on the house. "And I'd have to cancel our honeymoon." She presses her lips together, like she wants to say something, but she's trying to fight it. Then she lowers her head onto her knees. "I don't care about the honeymoon. I want you to live out your dream." I'm silent for a moment as I work to pick up on her vibe, the real one that she's trying to hide from me. "Pretty girl, tell me what you're thinking?" I ask, because I can't read her very well at the moment. "I'm thinking you should go," she says, lifting her head up. "I'm not going to hold you back. I promised myself I'd never do that." "You wouldn't be holding me back." I scoot closer to her and put a leg on each side of her. "I want to be with you no matter what." "I know you do," she says, taking my hands in hers. "And you will. We'll just be apart for three months, which we've done many times." "And I was miserable all those times." I pull my hands back only to put them on her legs so I can spread them open. "I don't think I should go." I pull her toward me and wrap her long legs around me, feeling a ping of disappointment, but knowing it's right. If she's not going, than neither am I. "No, you're going to go and you're going to love it. I'm not going to have it any other way." She looks me straight in the eyes like she means business. "I won't marry you if you don't." I don't know what to say. I know her well enough that I know she's probably not one hundred percent okay with this, but she's trying to make me happy. But I don't want to go without her. "Come with me," I sputter out abruptly, sounding like an idiot. Her eyes widen. "On the road for three months?" I nod, getting a little excited at my sporadic, yet brilliant idea. "It could be fun. You and me and the car and the road. It could be our first adventure as husband and wife. We always said we'd go places when we were kids. In fact, we promised one day we would. This could be our chance." "For three months?" she repeats. "That's a long time on the road and I have school and work." "You could take a break from work and take online classes maybe," I suggest and then feel like an ass for even asking her to do such a thing. She gets quiet, thinking about what I said, looking panicked and lost and excited all at the same time. "You don't have to decide now," I tell her, not wanting her to feel pressure to do something she doesn't want to do. "Just think about it for a few days." She hesitates and then conclusively nods. "All right, I'll think about it, but only if you do one thing for me." "Anything." A slow grin spans across her face. "Play me the song." # Chapter Twenty # Ella Go on the road for three months with him? Really? It's crazy to even think about, yet at the same time I want to go. It's not like I'd truly miss my job at the art gallery and I could finish school online. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I wonder why I'm even thinking about it at all. I should just go with him. Live life to the fullest. Draw. Be happy. Relax. I've never done that before, never thought I could. But suddenly it hits me: I can. Holy crap. I could just do whatever I want. Travel on the road with him, listening to him play, watching him up on stage as his words move me the way he always does whenever he sings. It seems so damn easy, so why am I hesitating? I decide after he plays me his song I'll tell him that I'll go with him. That way he won't have to worry about leaving me behind, because I know he is. _Oh my God, I'm seriously going to do this._ Dressed in only his boxers, Micha gets his guitar from the closet and sits down at the foot of the bed. Holding the guitar in his lap, he wraps his long arms around it, and then plucks at the strings. "You know, I'm sort of nervous." His eyes skim over my body as I relax against the wall with only a sheet draped over my naked body. "I never in a million years imagined you'd be naked when I played you this." I can't help but smile as I fluff up a pillow and lean against it. "You know, I'm not going to even be surprised if somewhere in your song you talk about me being naked." "No way." He lowers his head, his blond hair hanging down into his aqua eyes as he positions the guitar. "This song was not about my horny feelings for you. Only about my love." He peers up, grinning, but it's underlined with nervousness. I roll my eyes, but my stomach flutters. "So sappy." He wiggles his eyebrows at me and then he grows silent, holding his breath. "Are you ready for this, Ella May? Because it's super intense." I nod excitedly. "Bring on the intensity." His fingers start moving gracefully across the strings, and everything around me, the room, my thoughts, my body blurs away into something that I never thought I could be. When he sings the first few lyrics, the soft, melodious sound of his voice blankets me and I float away to a place of memories linked to emotions that connect his soul to mine. > _I see you standing inside the crowd, heart hidden inside, drowning in pain, no way to get out._ > > _The pain stabs at my heart, bleeds inside me, because if you'd just let me, I'd take all the pain away._ > > _You think no one needs you. That you don't deserve anything else, so you let yourself drown._ > > _But I sink with you, refusing to let go. I want to take away the pain and let it bleed into my soul._ He starts to pluck the strings with more passion, the volume increasing as he closes his eyes, his voice intensifying as he reaches the chorus. > _Know that no matter what happens_ > > _through the hurt, the sadness, the burning ache inside my chest_ > > _I'll always be with you, inside and out._ > > _Through hard times and helpless ones, through love, through doubt_ > > _My heart is yours forever. I'll never let go. I'll never let you sink._ > > _I'll carry your pain for you if you just let me._ He pauses as he plays a few more intense notes and then opens his lips again. > _The way I feel about you burns deep inside my chest, feelings I hold in, but desperately want to let out._ > > _It hurts every time I'm around you, hoping things will change, that somehow I'll find a way to save you,_ > > _find a way to stop you from drowning, pull you back and take your place, let the pain take me over._ > > _God, please just let me take the pain away before it kills me because I can't watch you drown anymore._ > > _Because I need you. I want you. I can't live without you._ The pitch of his voice is a little uneven at the end, but it still sounds beautiful and his fingers keep playing, his eyes still shut. > _Know that no matter what happens_ > > _through the hurt, the sadness, the burning ache inside my chest_ > > _I'll always be with you, inside and out._ > > _Through hard times and helpless ones, through love, through doubt_ > > _my heart is yours forever. I'll never let go. I'll never let you sink._ > > _I'll carry your pain if you just let me._ > > _God, please just let me._ His voice drifts off as he plucks a sequence of notes and then finishes the song. He sits quietly for a moment, his chest rising and falling before he opens his eyes. Then he takes one look at me and his eyes widen in alarm. "Shit." He shoves the guitar aside and scoots across the bed toward me. "Baby, you don't need to cry. It wasn't supposed to be a sad song." I touch my fingers to my cheeks and they're soaked with tears. I hadn't even realized I was crying, but I'm guessing I probably began from the start because each word hit me powerfully in the heart. "I'm not sad," I tell him, wiping the tears away with my hand. "I just didn't know you felt like that all the way back when you were fifteen. It means you felt like that for a really long time." He traces his fingers down my cheeks, erasing the tears, but the feelings behind them still linger in me and I'm glad. "I couldn't even understand the lyrics myself at first, but when I finally did I realized I loved you and I'd do anything to make you happy." More tears flow from me and I don't even try to hold them back—I couldn't even if I tried. Too much emotion was in that song and it still burns in my heart, too fresh, raw, but in the most wonderfully real way. I think about all those years when it was just him and me and the many more years we have ahead of us. As I climb onto his lap, I circle my arms around him and hug him tightly. "Just so you know, you were the one who didn't let me drown. If it weren't for you, I probably would have given up," I say and he rubs his hand up and down my back. "And I'm glad you didn't let me." # Chapter Twenty-One # Micha I wasn't expecting her to cry. I knew the song was really intense and emotional, which is why I'd never sung it to anyone before, but Ella's not a crier and her tears only added beauty to the moment. I hold on to her as the sun disappears behind the mountains and the room shifts to a dark gray, the lamp the only source of light in the room. Finally her tears subside and she moves away from my chest. Her eyes are red and puffy as she dabs her fingers across her cheeks. "So what did you find in my mom's journal?" she asks. I raise my eyebrows. "You want to read it now? I thought you wanted to wait?" She brushes her hair out of her face. "I guess so, since you said I had to read them before the wedding and it's tomorrow." I smile as she traces the cursive lines of the tattoo on my rib cage. "Tomorrow and you're all mine." Her lips itch to smile as she stares down at the tattoo. "I think I was yours a long time ago." "You think so?" "No, I know so, at least I do now." She tilts to the side and grabs the journal off my nightstand and then hands it to me. "Will you read it to me... the page you said I need to read?" I nervously nod, hoping she'll take what I read as a good thing, and then I lie us down on our sides, facing each other with our heads on the pillow and our legs tangled together underneath the sheet. Her fingers fold around my ribs as I hold the journal up, turning it to the page that I marked. "I think it's the vows she wrote right before she married your dad." "Really?" She seems shocked. "Are you sure they're her vows, because it didn't seem like she was too eager to marry him." "Well, I'm pretty sure this is about your dad, since it says _To Raymond_ on the top," I say with a smile. "And it's nice, what she wrote. Short and simple, but nice." "Is that how our vows are going to be?" she asks, peeking up through her long lashes, giving me a hopeful look. "They can be however you want them to be," I reply. "And if you still want to back out, you can." "No, thanks." She nestles her head into the crook of my shoulder. " 'K, I'm ready. Read what she wrote." I take a deep breath. I was living in a world where nothing made sense. Darkness. Instability. Life on the verge of death. Then you came into my life and shined through the darkness, showing me that light did exist. And for a moment I walked the path, breathed for the first time in a long time. You gave me air and I wouldn't have it any other way. Without you, I wouldn't remember what it was like not to suffocate. Without you, I wouldn't remember what the light felt like. And I'll always love you for that, Raymond Daniels. I stop reading and look down at Ella, checking her reaction. She looks like she's going to cry again and then suddenly she sits up and moves out of my arms. Before I can respond, she's climbing out of bed and pulling a shirt over her head. "What are you doing?" I ask, sitting up. She slips on a pair of jeans, shimmying them up to her hips, and then she fastens the button. "Going to talk to my dad." I'm puzzled, but I don't want to press. She doesn't look upset, only eager as she puts on her boots and reaches for her jacket hanging on the bedpost. Then she takes the journal from me, rips out the page I just read, and stuffs it into her pocket. "I'm going to give this to my dad." She leans across the bed and presses her lips to my mouth. "I'll be right back," she says, breathless with enthusiasm as she hurries to the door, leaving me alone in my room and a little stunned. I wasn't expecting her to be so enthusiastic about it, but I'm glad she is. I want her to be happy. I just hope I can keep doing that for her, make all the right decisions, keep her smiling, laughing, keep any pain away, just like my lyrics begged her to let me do. # Chapter Twenty-Two # Ella I run over to my house with a crazy amount of energy fueled by the piece of paper in my pocket. I'm not even sure if it is her vows. In fact, I think it's not, but what I do know is that my dad deserves to read the words, deserves to know that at one time he made my mom happy when it seemed like it was impossible. The Firebird is parked in the driveway, so I know my dad's home. When I burst into the kitchen, I'm relieved to find he's eating dinner at the table and he's alone. He still has on his work clothes, a stained white shirt and jeans that are specked with red paint and there's some paint splattered on his hands. He has a plate with chicken, potatoes, and a roll on it and a cup of milk in front of him. His head snaps up in my direction as I come barreling inside the house. "Ella, what's wrong?" he asks, pushing away from the table and getting to his feet. "You look upset." "No, I'm fine. I promise," I say, breathless as I take the piece of paper out of my pocket. "In fact, I'm sort of happy right now." "Well, I'm glad." His face contorts with confusion, as he looks down at the paper in my outstretched hand. "What is that?" "It was in Mom's journal," I say and his face falls and his mouth plummets to a frown. "Just take it," I insist. "And read it. I promise you won't regret it." He hesitates and then takes the paper from me. His fingers tremble as he unfolds it and smoothes out the creases. His eyes start to skim the paper. Seconds tick by and tears form in the corners of his eyes. The tremble in his hands intensifies the farther down he gets and I can tell he's about to cry, but not out of pain. He doesn't look upset or hurt. Or disappointed. Or sad. He looks... well, strangely relieved. When he's finished, he carefully folds it up and then holds it in his hand like it's something precious. "You said you got this out of her journal?" he asks as he looks up at me. I nod as I wrap my coat tightly around myself, hoping he's feeling at least a little happiness knowing he made Mom happy. "It was the last page. Was it... was it her vows for your wedding?" He shakes his head as he stares at the paper in his hand, a tear or two dripping of his eyes. I'm not sure if I've ever seen him cry before and witnessing it seems like some sort of miracle that makes me happy but also a little uncomfortable. He breathes in and out for several minutes and then he collects himself and pats my shoulder, giving me this strange look before he pulls me in for a very awkward hug. He smells like cigarettes and paint, but there's no scent of booze. It's different and weird, like the hug itself. I remember all those times when I was younger and I watched the other moms at the park hug their kids when they got hurt or just because they wanted to. The many times I watched Micha's mom hug him when she was happy, sad, or when she wanted to say she was sorry. I remember the first time I was hugged. I was eight and I'd scraped my knee open. Micha tried to hug me better like his mom did with him. His arms barely made it around me before I freaked out and shoved him to the ground. I think about all the hugs that came after that, though, and how each of them became easier. This one with my dad is far from easy, but maybe if we do it more often, it'll become easier, just like moving forward in my life has become. When I get back to Micha's house, it's past nine o'clock. The air is deathly cold and seeping into the quiet house. I kick my boots off at the back door, hang up my jacket on the coatrack, and then pad through the kitchen to Micha's bedroom, only to find the room dark and him asleep in the bed, his face snuggled into the pillow with the blanket over him. I flip the lamp on, slip my jeans off, and then quickly hop under the blanket with him. He stirs as I nuzzle up to him, then tenses when my chilled skin touches his. "Are you awake?" I ask as I comb my fingers through his soft hair. He lets out a sigh as his hands find my hips beneath the blanket. "I was having such a good dream, where you snuck into my room and started touching me, but not my hair. It was a much lower place. I think you should try to find it." I smile as my fingers drift down his firm chest. "I have to tell you something." He eyes open, and they're red and full of sleepiness. "Should I be worried?" I shake my head. "Not at all." He slides an arm over my stomach and pulls me closer to him. "Tell me then." "I want to go on the road with you," I say and as soon as I say it, I know it's the right choice. For us. "I'll take the rest of my classes online and quit my job." He's silent and full of surprise. It takes him a moment to answer and when he speaks his voice is off pitch. "Are you sure you want to quit your job?" "I want to be with you all the time. And I want to watch you play and just draw things that mean stuff to me, like you and I and the places we've been, all our spots, like the lake and your room, the tree you used to climb to get into my window... the one that always brought you to me," I say with honesty. "If I could picture my life being any way, that's how I'd picture it. It's what I want to do." His expression is unreadable as he searches my eyes for the truth. "Are you sure? Because you have a few weeks to think about it and I want you to be absolutely sure. I never want you to do anything you don't want to do. I—" I interrupt him. "Micha, I'm sure if you're sure. I want to spend as much time as I can with you—I want to be with you and I want you to live out your dream." "I'm sure about anything as long as it means I get to have you," he tells me with passion in his tone as he shakes his head with bewilderment in his eyes, like he can't believe that this is happening. "And yes, I want you to come with me more than anything." "Even more than you want to marry me?" "Maybe not quite that much, but it's close." We share a quiet moment as we contemplate our future and where it'll hopefully take us. At least that's what I'm thinking about. With Micha, I never know, especially when his hand wanders down to my ass and he gets this naughty look on his face. "Are you nervous about tomorrow?" he asks as he presses his mouth against my forehead. His finger circles around the infinity mark on my lower back, sending shivers and tickling vibrations through my body. "Honestly, yeah," I tell him as my fingers hook the top of his boxers. "You?" He slides his hand up my side and then down my arm to my hand. "Honestly, a little, but mainly because I'm worried everyone's going to freeze their asses off." "Are you nervous that I'll run?" I don't even know why I ask it. It just sort of slips out and I can't help but think of the morning after the night on the bridge, when I decided to run and then just a week ago when we were originally supposed to get married. Neither time was because I didn't love him. Even the night on the bridge, I did love him even though I wouldn't admit it. And that time I ran because I didn't love myself. "Honestly?" he asks and I nod. "No, not really." "Not at all?" I ask. "Even considering my past?" He shakes his head. "I know that you love me, Ella May. Just like I know that emotions freak you out, but deep down you feel more about us than a lot of people feel in their lifetime. Just like I know that you're scared and excited at the same time. Just like I know that every single day I've spent with you, good and bad, has been worth it. And it's because of those things that I know that you'll walk up that aisle that Lila's going to make you walk up, say your vows, kiss me, and then we'll have our happy, sad, sometimes-good, sometimes-bad, crazy, bumpy, intense, worth-the-journey ever after." His words plunge into my heart and tears well up in my eyes again. "Are you going to say that in your vows tomorrow, because it was pretty perfect." He smiles against my forehead. "No, I have something better planned for tomorrow." I lean back and look him in the eyes, which are sparkling. "Oh yeah?" "Yes, yeah." He lowers his mouth toward mine. "And it's even better than the lyrics." And then he kisses me as his hands explore my body. By the time we pull away, we're exhausted, naked, and sweaty and it's just after midnight. "Hey," I tell Micha as I look at the clock. "It's officially our wedding day and Christmas." "Are you ready to go through with this?" Micha asks as he pins me between his legs and arms. I nod with my eyes closed, but my heart is knocking inside my chest, wanting to flee. I'm going to get married today. _Holy shit!_ "Yeah." "You sound nervous," he remarks, kissing the top of each of my eyelids. "I am," I admit. "But that's probably normal, right?" "I'm sure it is." "Are you nervous?" He hesitates. "Yeah, a little." I free a breath trapped in my chest and open my eyes. "I'm glad." "That I'm nervous?" he questions. I nod, sliding one of my legs out from between his and hitching it over his hip. "Because it means we're on the same page and usually that's not the case." He considers what I said and then bends his knee so it's pressed up between my legs, his body heat blissfully scorching against my skin. "I guess you could look at it that way, at least if it'll get you up the aisle." "I'll be fine," I assure him, cringing at the idea of either walking up the aisle alone or with my dad. Neither seems that appealing because alone I'm probably going to freak out, and with my dad, if I do freak out, he won't be able to calm me down. "Micha... will you... will you walk up the aisle with me or tell Lila we're just going to skip that part?" "Can't you just tell her?" he asks, frowning. I shake my head. "She's wedding crazy. Seriously, I think she should consider becoming a wedding planner." His arms slip around my waist and then he tastes my mouth with his tongue. "If you want me to walk up the aisle with you, then I will." "Thank you," I whisper and hug him tightly, knowing that if he's there with me it'll be so much easier to get through it. Everything is when he's with me. It's quiet for a while, and when Micha speaks again, he sounds a little bit excited. "So since it's officially Christmas," Micha says pulling away from me slightly to look me in the eye, "are you going to give me my Christmas present?" I frown. "It's a really silly present." "So what?" he says. "Besides, silly presents are the best." I sigh and then sit up, slipping from his hold, and pad over to my duffel bag that's on the floor in front of the bed. "Okay, but try not to get too disappointed when you open it," I say, taking out the wrapped-up box with a bow on it. I climb back in to bed and hand it to him. He grins at the box as he crisscrosses his legs. "Aw, you even wrapped it and put a bow on it and everything," he says in a teasing voice. I shake my head and playfully pinch his arm. "Don't make fun of me. And Lila made me wrap it." "I like that you wrapped it," he says and then rips off the paper like a little kid would. I put the bracelets into a small box, so he has to open that as well. When he gets the lid off, he stares at the thin strips of leather with the words _forever_ engraved on both of them. When he doesn't say anything, I start to grow nervous, like he might not get what they are. "They're like the ones we used to have when we were kids, but I didn't get the one that says 'best friends,' figuring since we are way more than that I'd just get two forevers." He glances up at me and I can't read his expression at all. "I remember. You actually made me wear the one that said 'best friends' and it made me sort of feel girly." I frown, regretting the present. "Yet you still wore it." "Because you asked me to," he says. "And we both know I'd do anything for you." "Sorry, it's sappy, right?" I reach for the box to take the bracelets back. "I should have gotten you something better." He quickly picks up the box and turns, holding it out of my reach. "Are you kidding me? This is perfect." "But you just said they were girly." "No, I said that having a bracelet that said 'best friends' was girly and that was when I was eight." He smiles and I start to relax as he takes out one of the bracelets. "This is the perfect present, Ella May, because it means something." "It's kind of a sappy present though," I say as he slips the bracelet on. "Which makes you a sap, just like me," he replies as he takes my wrist and slips the other bracelet on. "I guess you must be wearing on me," I joke, and then lean in to kiss him. "But that's okay." I fiddle with the bracelet, reducing the size so it'll fit my wrist, while Micha gets out of bed and starts digging through his dresser drawer. I think he's looking for a shirt to put on or something, since it's freezing, so I'm surprised when he returns to the bed still shirtless but with a small wooden box in his hand. "Now, I didn't have time to wrap it since I got it for you tonight," he says, handing the box to me, his hand shaking a little bit, like it did last Christmas when he gave me the engagement ring. "Merry Christmas, Ella May-soon-to-be Scott." I smile, but I'm a little nervous at what the hell he could be giving me that would make him nervous. I take a deep breath as I open the box. Inside is a ribbon necklace with a rose pendant. "It's beautiful," I say with honesty as I run my fingers along the pendant, which feels like porcelain. Micha lets out a loud breath as he scoots closer to me. "It's actually from me and your father. It belonged to your mother. He gave it to her on their wedding day and we sort of thought maybe you could wear it at our wedding, as a way to sort of be close to her." It's like he's pushed this button and without warning I start to cry, tears streaming down my cheeks like a fountain, dripping down my lips, my nose, onto the necklace in the box. I'm not even a crier, yet for some reason, I seem to be crying a lot lately. Usually, I'd fight them back, but I really don't care at the moment. I just cry. Cry because I'm happy and sad at the same time. Sad because my mom won't be there, but happy because I'm marrying the love of my life tomorrow. My head tips down so it takes Micha a second to realize I'm crying. When he does, he cups my face and lifts my head back, immediately wiping the tears away with a worried look on his face. "I'm sorry," he says. "I was worried about giving it to you because I thought it'd upset you." I press my lips together and shake my head. "I'm not upset at all." "Then why are you crying?" "Because I'm happy," I say with a smile as tears continue to pour out. He still looks unconvinced. "So you like the present?" "I love the present," I say and then kiss him with so much passion we collapse back onto the bed, the wooden box still clutched in my hand. We kiss until we're breathless, and then I pull away only to say, "The present is perfect—you're perfect." And he really, really is. # Chapter Twenty-Three # Micha "Oh my God, you two and your fucking crazy-ass ideas." Ethan paces back and forth, flattening a path in the snow in front of my car with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, a hoodie pulled over his black button-down shirt. I went for a different look, wearing a pinstriped buttoned shirt Ella picked out for me, black jeans, and boots, along with a dark jacket we borrowed from Thomas. She made me roll up the sleeves and keep my leather bands on my wrists because she said it made me look sexy. Honestly, I don't really give a shit what I'm wearing just as long as she's happy. "What?" I ask, popping the trunk of the Chevelle. The snow was so deep driving up that I had to put chains on the tires and it was still a pain in the ass to get down here, so I'm a little worried about going back. "It's just a little cold air." He shakes his head as he glares at me. "We're all going to be ice statues by the time this is over, buried alive under five feet of snow." "Hey, we'll make great snowmen," I joke as I glance up at the sky where light, fluffy snowflakes drift toward the ground, landing in the bare branches of the trees and covering the ice-covered lake. Lila came down here a little earlier with my mom and scattered candles around a flattened-out area in snow beneath a canopy of trees, although I have no idea how the hell they're going to get them lit. They also tied black and red ribbons all over the branches along with silvery Christmas lights that are plugged into an extension cord that's plugged into an AC adapter in my car, which means I have to leave the engine on for the entire wedding. They sprinkled rose petals all over the snow, which I can barely see now because of the fresh layer of snowflakes on top of them. After they did all this, they took off to go check on Ella and help her get ready. I'm glad she's not alone, because she seemed a little nervous when I left the house. As I unload a few fold-up chairs from the trunk, I pretend I'm not nervous, even though I am. Not because I want to bail but because I'm fucking getting married and it's starting to freak me out. Ethan's responsibility lecture is fresh in my mind and I keep thinking, What if I screw up? I can't. Not with Ella. "You okay, man?" Ethan asks, dropping a few chairs onto a growing pile. "You look a little pale." "I'm fine." I put my foot on the bottom bar of a chair and stomp down on it to unfold it, and then I stand it up in the snow. "Make sure you line them up straight," Ethan says as he unfolds a chair and lines it up with the one I just set up. "Lila will chew our asses out if we don't." I smile, but keep my head down as I start forming an even row. It doesn't take more than a minute to get the few chairs set up, since there's hardly anyone attending the wedding, but it seems like an eternity goes by. By the time we're done, I'm fidgety and jittery, a bundle of nerves sparking inside me. Finally I can't take it anymore. Adrenaline is rushing through me and my pulse is erratic so I go back to my Chevelle and open the glove box. Digging around beneath a stack of papers, I find a pack of cigarettes that I hid in there ages ago for moments just like these. "Really?" Ethan questions as I sit down in the driver's seat with the door open and my feet planted in the snow. "I just need to calm down," I say and pop one into my mouth. He shakes his head, laughing under his breath as I grab the lighter out of the pack, cup my hand around the end of the cigarette, and light it. As soon as the nicotine enters my lungs, I feel better and my heart rate starts to settle. Ethan heaves a large Tupperware bin out of the trunk and drops it onto the ground as I suck drag after drag off the cigarette, my heart calming, my skin warming under my coat and shirt. "You feel better?" he asks as I graze my thumb over the end of the cigarette and scatter ash across the snow. I savor another breath of smoke. "Actually, I do." He rolls his eyes. Ethan never did like it when I smoked, except I think he used to smoke pot. He would always chew me out, though, for getting ash in his truck and stinking up the upholstery. After I finish the cigarette I put it out in the snow as a large maroon SUV comes bumping down the road. I wish I had some cologne on hand because now I stink and Ella's going to know I've been smoking. She won't get mad at me, but she knows I do it when something's wrong, and knowing her, she'll think it's because I don't want to get married. The SUV stops close to the Chevelle and the engine keeps running as Dean hops out, zipping up his coat. His hair is combed to the side and he has these really shiny shoes on. I remember when we were younger, how he had an eyebrow piercing and was obsessed with the idea that one day he would have tattoos all over his arms and a goatee. "Hey, man, you might want to go back to the house and check on Ella," he says, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his slacks as he walks up to me. I meet him at the front of the car and sit down on the frosted hood, folding my arms. "She said she was going to drive down here with my mom and Lila." He shakes his head and hitches his thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the road. "She was... is, but something sort of happened." I stand up, my pulse immediately accelerating as the fear that I've been stood up again races through my mind. "Why? What happened?" He looks tense and uncomfortable, rocking back on his heels. "I'm not really sure. All I know is that Ella's friend... that blonde girl, told me I should probably come get you." I don't even wait for him to say anything else. I get inside the car, unplug the lights, and press on the gas, hoping it's not what I'm thinking. Hoping she's not standing me up again. # Chapter Twenty-Four # Ella Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. I'm trying to get air into my lungs, but I feel like I'm suffocating, invisible fingers wrapping around my neck as I battle for oxygen. I don't even know where the panic attack stemmed from. One minute I was fine, getting my hair pinned up as I listened to Lila talk about her and Ethan's road trip plans and the next I felt like I was drowning in the fact that as soon as Lila was finished with my hair, I was going to have to put the dress on. Then it'd be time to go to _my wedding_ , say my vows, start my future. I'd flipped out and started bawling, scaring the crap out of Micha's mom, Lila, and Caroline as I jumped out of the chair and raced back into Micha's room. Lila came to check on me as I was bawling on the bed. She tried to talk to me, but I couldn't stop crying. Then I'd pulled a blanket over my head, ready to shut down, but then I'd remembered all the progress I'd made over the last couple of years and instead I ended up saying something that shocked me. "Go get Micha, please." My voice cracks through my sobs. Lila pauses. "Um, okay." Seconds later, I'd heard the door shut. After she leaves, I cry for what seems like hours, ruining my makeup as tears stream down my face. I keep trying to tell myself to get out of the damn bed and go put the dress on because deep down I know I want to and I'm just scared. Finally, the door creaks open and I freeze as I hear the soft sound of footsteps padding over to the bed. The mattress sinks as someone sits down on the edge of the bed, and then a hand touches my shoulder on the outside of the blanket. "Ella..." Micha's voice is alarmingly off pitch. "What's wrong?" When I don't respond, he pulls the blanket off my head and the cold air stings my skin. I peer up at him through tear-filled eyes and he sighs, looking like he's on the brink of crying too. "Are you..." He swallows hard as he touches my cheek with his fingers, and then he shuts his eyes. "Are you getting cold feet again?" I shake my head and sit up, rubbing the back of my hand across my face, making my makeup worse, I'm sure. "No, it's not that... I'm just..." I search for what I'm really feeling, because I want to tell him the truth. "I'm just scared. I keep thinking about putting the dress on, walking down the aisle, saying my vows... moving forward. I'm overwhelmed and I needed someone here who got me. Who could help me put my dress on and get me through this." A slow breath eases from my lips as I realize that that's all I want—Micha by my side because he'll get me through this. Sure, I know that sometimes I have to do things on my own, but at the same time admitting when I do need someone makes me stronger. He opens his eyes and blinks back the tears. "Are you sure that's it?" "Yes, I'm sure," I tell him, wholeheartedly. "I just panicked and I'm so sorry. I just need you here with me right now." He studies me for what feels like forever and then he suddenly slides me to the side of the bed, takes my hand, and pulls me to my feet with this intense look on his face. Releasing my hand, he grabs the bottom of my shirt and tugs it over my head, moving carefully to avoid ruining the curls and braids or knocking out any of the black flowers. He discards my shirt on the floor, and then unties the drawstring of my pajamas, his eyes locked on me as he slips them down my legs. I refuse to look away from him and the longer I focus on him, the calmer I get inside, the violent rainstorm settling into a light drizzle. When the pants reach my feet, I step out of them. He makes his way to the closet and gets my wedding dress. It's a beautiful dress, a shimmering black silk top, a red ribbon securing the back, and an elegant flowing white bottom bunched together in places by red and black roses. Micha slips the plastic straps off the hanger as he returns to me and then lowers the dress to the floor so I can step into it. Once I get my legs through, he guides the fabric up my body until the top covers my breasts. Then I hold the front up with one hand and he walks behind me and grazes his fingers down my spine. "Feeling any better?" he asks, his breath hot on my neck and I shiver. I nod, freeing a trapped breath. "A lot better actually." "Good, because I want you to feel better. I want you to feel good about this—about marrying me, Ella May." He slowly zips up the dress and the fabric constricts against my body, pushing my breasts up the slightest bit. Once he gets it zipped, he steps back in front of me, nudging the flowing bottom out of the way with his boot. "Are you sure you want this—want me forever?" He has this guarded look in his eyes, like he's trying to pretend that he can handle whatever, but I can tell that if I say no—that I don't want this—it'll crush him. "Micha, I want this more than I've ever wanted anything," I say honestly as I run my fingers along the bottom of my eyes and across my cheeks. "Just let me fix my makeup and we can go. I'm sure I look hideous." "You look beautiful," he says without missing a beat. "You always do." "Hideously beautiful, I think you mean," I joke, and he cracks a smile, his fingers seeking my cheek. "No, you look beautiful," he promises. "But if you want to fix your makeup you can. I don't think I can do that for you." I smile and pick up my makeup bag from the dresser, but he ends up holding one of my hands so it's sort of like he's helping me, only it makes the actual act of putting makeup on a bit complicated. But I manage and I end up getting the black eyeliner and lip gloss on without any mishaps. When I'm done, I sit on my bed and Micha kneels down in front of me and helps me put on my boots. "I feel like Cinderella," I remark as I put my foot in and he laces the boot up. He peers up at me and a smile touches his lips. "Good. That's how you should feel." He stands up and then guides me to my feet before he leans in to kiss me. Then he walks over to the nightstand and picks up the wooden box he gave me last night. He opens it up, takes out the necklace, and, stepping behind me, puts it on me. As soon as the ribbon and rose are secured around my neck, I feel weirdly at peace. He kisses the back of my neck and then walks around in front of me. "Are you ready for this?" His tone's light but I can tell he's worried about my response. "I'm more than ready," I tell him and then grab the front of his shirt and pull him in for another kiss. When I pull away, I give him a questioning look. "Wait a minute... did you smoke?" He scratches the back of his neck, looking guilty. "Sort of, but only because I was a little nervous." "About what?" "About starting our future... taking care of you the right way. I just want to make you happy." "You have since the day we became friends," I assure him and the anxious look in his eyes evaporates as I slip on my leather jacket and tuck the photo of my mom inside it because I want her with me, even if it is just a picture. He gives me a funny look, but he doesn't say anything and then we leave the room, holding hands, and head to our wedding together and everything feels right because he's here by my side and I wouldn't have it any other way. # Chapter Twenty-Five # Micha She looks beautiful in her dress, her hair all done up in braids and curls, her green eyes big as she stares at me, gripping onto my hands for dear life as we get out of the car. I try to stay calm but my hammering pulse makes it hard to breathe, not because I'm nervous but because I'm excited. I turn on "The Story," by Brandi Carlile, so it's quietly playing through the speakers, and Ella smiles, remembering how it was playing at Dean and Caroline's wedding when I told her that I wanted to marry her. "You remembered the song," she says. "Of course I did," I reply, extending my elbow to her. "It was an epic moment in our history." She loops her arm through mine and then we start to walk up to the aisle. By the time we make it up the snowy rose-covered path, with our friends and family staring at us, I feel so content and happy, knowing that in a few moments Ella will be mine forever and I'll be hers. I think a few of them are a little bit surprised to see this actually taking place, particularly Ethan and Lila, who are cuddled up together and who look a little bit shocked when we get out of the car. My mom, however, looks like she's been pretty much waiting for this day. She nearly beams as she sits with Thomas, watching us with more happiness in her eyes than I've ever seen. Dean looks neutral, just how he always looks, and Caroline's almost in tears. And Ella's dad's a little harder to read, but it almost looks like he's about to tear up. At the end, we stand under the canopy of the trees as the minister starts reading a marriage speech that I barely pay attention to. Snowflakes dot Ella's hair and melt against her chest where the rose pendant rests just above her breasts, making her skin wet. She looks perfect and I seriously want to lick her right now, but I don't think it would be appropriate, so I tell myself to keep cool until later tonight when I can do anything I want to her. I basically zone out and focus on her until the minister announces it's time for me to read my vows. Then I let go of Ella's hand only to take out the folded-up piece of paper from my pocket, my fingers shaking as I unfold it. Ella looks nervous, her breath increasing and causing more haze to surround her face as she waits to hear what I have to say, the truth about how I feel about her. "I can't think of a time when I didn't want to be with you." I glance back and forth between the paper and her as I speak. "From the moment you stepped out the door of your house, I thought you were beautiful and I wanted you in my life. I can't say it was love at first sight since I was too young and I don't believe in love at first sight. I believe in finding the right person who makes everything easy, who makes me happy, who makes life worth living and more exciting, whether it's kissing on swing sets," I say and that gets her to smile, "racing cars, getting tattoos, sharing Popsicles and tears, or just sitting in my room singing while you draw. I couldn't have done life without you and every single moment, good or bad, has been worth it because it got us right here to this very place and this very moment where I get to have you for the rest of my life. You make me happier than I can even begin to explain. I love you, Ella May, more than life itself, and I'll continue to love you until I take my last breath—I'll love you forever. You own my heart." By the end, my voice is getting unsteady with the emotions flooding through me as I think about everything we've gone through to get to this place and that in a few moments she will be mine forever, the girl next door who I fell in love with and gave my heart to completely. I suck in an uneven breath as I stuff the paper back in my pocket, knowing Ethan's going to tease the shit out of me for acting so emotional, but at the moment I don't care. I keep my attention on Ella, watching her as she fights tears back and takes a piece of paper out of her jacket pocket. She stares at it for an eternity, like she can't find her voice, and her hands tremble. My heart constricts in my chest as I wait for her to say what I mean to her, worried she won't be able to do it. But then, surprising me, she finally releases a deafening breath and the sound of her voice sends a rush of relief through me. "You know, when I first met you, you scared the shit out of me." She pulls a "whoops" face and glances at the minister, who sighs because he knows us well enough to know this is just how we talk. Then she returns her focus to me and clears her throat. "You were so intense and determined to get to know me and I couldn't understand why you would want to, for a lot of reasons, reasons that you know about because you know me better than anyone." Her voice wobbles a little and she lets go of the paper and wipes her sweaty palm on her jacket. "But eventually you sort of wore on me." Her lips quirk and it makes me grin. "You became my light in my dark life and you made me feel so loved that I'd forget how to breathe. You were the only one who could make me laugh, smile, have fun, not give up. You were always there for me and somehow, through the crazy, intense years, you fought your way into my soul and ended up becoming my everything. You became my lifeline, the one person I could rely on no matter what, whether I was upset or pushing you away—you were always there for me. And I love you for it and for the amazing person that you are, for writing me songs and tattooing them on your skin, for wearing a ridiculous O-ring on your finger," she says, trying to smile but I can tell she's getting overwhelmed by her emotions. "And for loving me enough not to let me give up, no matter how hard I fought." A breath gradually eases from her lips as she stuffs the paper into her jacket pocket. When she looks up at me, tears are forming in her eyes. She's overwhelmed with emotion and I'm sure she can see the same emotion mirrored in my face. I've never seen her be so open like that and I think, if it's even possible, I might have just fallen in love with her more. It's quiet for a moment as everyone just sort of watches us, and then Ethan lets out a loud cough and I shake my head as Ella rolls her eyes. Lila hisses something at him and then the quietness surrounds us again. The minister finally continues on to the ring exchange, directing us with what to do. I slip the simple silver wedding band on Ella's finger and her breath falters as she looks down at it and smiles. Then she takes out her ring box and opens it up and it's a silver one that almost matches the one I gave her, only it's a little thicker. She replaces the O-ring with it, her hand shaking as she slips it over my finger. "I now pronounce you husband and wife," the minister announces and suddenly everything's official. She's my wife and I'm her husband. I hear someone in the crowd clap their hands as I lean in toward Ella to kiss her. She follows my lead, our lips magnetizing toward each other and we meet halfway. Underneath the trees' branches blanketed with snow, our lips brush and our arms wrap around each other, finally getting to our wonderfully, imperfect, difficult, complex, yet beautiful and worth it, ever after. # Epilogue _Two months later..._ # Ella "Wake up, beautiful," Micha says as he breathes in my ear and presses his warm body up against mine. "No way," I mutter, burying my face into a pillow as I draw the sheet over my naked body. "I'm too tired." "Come on, pretty girl. I have a surprise for you." He places a delicate kiss against my neck, slipping his tongue out along my skin before rolling away from me. "Come on, it'll be worth it. I promise." I hear him walk away toward the bathroom. "I'm going to go take a shower. Be ready to go somewhere by the time I get out." Moments later the door shuts and the shower turns on. I lie in bed for a while, telling myself that I'm not going to get up because I'm too damn tired from all the other mornings he's woken me up this same way. It's become a tradition. He finds a way to surprise me, whether it's taking me out to breakfast or waking my body up with his tongue. I finally give in and force myself to open my eyes because I have a hard time saying no to Micha. The sunlight sparkles through the window as I stretch my arms and climb out of bed. I pull a short, black dress out of my suitcase and put it on and then side-braid my hair and secure it with an elastic. After I slip on my sandals, I sink down on the bed and wait for him to get out while I stare at the rings on my fingers. Even two months later, I still can't help but smile when I see them there, marking one of the best days of my life. The day I told Micha how I truly felt, the day he conclusively became mine. We kissed and danced a lot that day, to a list of songs that made an appearance in our history. It was beautiful and magical and really sappy, but all weddings are. Afterward, we spent hours having sex until I felt like my body was going to break apart. It was amazing and exhausting—everything still is amazing and exhausting. And then we packed up our stuff and headed back home to start our life, but not after Micha made us stop by Mikey's house so he could slash his tires, like I promised him he could. We've been on the road for a little over a month now and it's been an adventure. Micha was given the option of riding the bus with a few other musicians, but because we missed our honeymoon, he decided that we could at least have a road trip, so we're traveling across the country in the Chevelle, making it our goal to have sex in every state. So far we've gotten up to sixteen, but after tonight it'll be seventeen. After a while, Micha comes walking out with a towel in his hand, looking gorgeous and sexy in a red plaid shirt that he hasn't buttoned yet so I get a glimpse of his muscles. His jeans ride low on his hips and my body burns as I look at him, thinking about the many times he's used those hips to thrust into me. His hair is wet and flipped at the ends and I bite my lip, wanting to run my fingers through it. "I'm so happy right now that I think there might be something wrong with me," I divulge and he snorts a laugh as he balls up the towel and tosses it onto the hotel room floor. "There's nothing wrong with being happy, pretty girl," he says, as he ruffles his blond hair into place. "It's good that you're happy." "I know that." I stand up and help him button up his shirt while he continues to fuss with his hair. "I hope you are, too, though." His brows knit as he glances down at me, his aqua eyes burning with intensity. "Of course I'm happy. You're here with me." "You know, if your fans knew you talked like that, they'd go even more wild for you." "No, they'd probably laugh," he says with a shrug. "But I really don't care what they think. Only you." "Not the female ones." I do up the last button and then link my arms around the back of his neck, standing on my tiptoes. "Okay, where are you taking me today, because I'm dying to know." "It's a surprise," he says, then grabs my hand and tugs me toward the door. "You say that every day." I pout as he slips his shoes on. He grins at me as he picks up my sketchbook and drawing pencil from the dresser. "I know, and that pouty look that you always get on your face when I won't tell you makes it so much fun." "Why are you grabbing that?" I nod at the sketchbook, closing the door behind us as we step out into the hallway. "Because you're going to need it," he says, leading me down the hallway. I sigh and follow him down the stairs and out to the car. We climb in, he starts the engine, and then he drives down the highway, heading out of town. We're in South Carolina right now, so even though it's February, the air is warm and the humidity makes my skin sticky, especially because we have the windows down. The ocean's pretty close by, the sand is golden, the sky is blue, and it makes my hands itch for the pencil and sketchbook Micha has in his lap. When he finally stops the car, we're parked in front of a field covered in luscious grass and bushes. There's also this lofty tree in the center, by itself, some of the branches stretching toward the sky and others drooping toward the ground. It kind of reminds me of the tree back at home for some reason and it dawns on me why he might have brought me here. Micha grins as he slips the key out of the ignition. "So when you said you wanted to come on the road with me, you said you'd love to spend your time drawing things that mean something to you, along with that tree I always used to climb up to get to you. Well, since that very meaningful tree is far, far away right now, I thought maybe you could draw this." He gestures at the field. "I found this field the other day when I was driving back from practice, searching for something that you could draw because I know you've been wanting to do a meaningful landscape drawing. The tree kind of reminded me of the one back home, at least I think so, but then again I'm no artist." He pauses, waiting eagerly for my response. I think I might have fallen in love with him even more. I didn't think that was possible, but every day the love I have for Micha grows stronger, especially when he does stuff like this for me. I lean over the console toward him. "I love you," I say, unable to help myself. "And I love the tree." "I love you, too," he says and then he kisses me. By the time we stop for air, we're both breathless and I've managed to climb over the console and onto his lap and his shirt's unbuttoned... I don't even know how it happened. His hands are under my dress, grabbing at my flesh as he stares at me a little dazed. "So are you going to draw the tree?" "Of course, but after I draw you first," I say. "Because you mean more to me than anything else in the world." "But don't you have a ton of drawings of me already?" "Yeah, but I don't have one with you sitting under this tree." "You have to be tired of drawing me, though." I shake my head. "No way. I will never get tired of you. Ever." "No matter how many times you say that, I will never get tired of hearing it," he admits, and then a thoughtful expression rises on his face "So me under the tree, huh? That's your meaningful drawing?" "I think it is," I say, and then we kiss for a little bit longer before we climb out of the car and walk toward the tree, happy, peaceful, and content as we live out our forever just how we want to—together. # It will change their lives forever... Please see the next page for an excerpt from _The Secret of Ella and Micha_ # Prologue # Ella I wonder if I can fly? With the wind and rain in my hair and my arms out to the side of me, it feels like it might be possible. Perhaps if I can get enough courage to jump off the thin ledge, I'll soar away into the night, like a bird with powerful wings. Maybe then I could reunite with her. "What are you doing?" Micha says, his voice higher than normal. "Get down from there. You're going to hurt yourself." His aqua eyes pierce me through the rain and his hands are on the beams above his head, hesitant to climb out onto the ledge. "I don't think I will," I say. "I think I might be able to fly... just like her." "Your mom couldn't fly." He balances onto the railing and glances down at the murky water far below our feet. "What are you on?" "I took one of her old pills." I tip my head back and bask my face in the rain. "I just wanted to see what it was like for her. Why she thought she was invincible." He steps down on the beam with his arms spanned out to the side and his clunky boots slip on the wet metal. The lightning flashes above our heads and collides with the earth. "Your mother didn't know better, but you do." Bracing one hand on the metal wire above our heads, he extends his other hand toward me. "Now come over here. You're scaring the shit out of me." "I don't know if I can," I say softly, raising my head back up as I rotate to face him. "I'm not sure if I want to." He dares to step closer and his thick eyelashes blink fiercely against the downpour. "Yes, you do. You're stronger than that." His hand begs me closer. "Please, just get over here." Staring down at the black water, my body starts to drift. "I swear to God, Ella!" Micha shouts, his tone sharp, his muscles tense. "Give me your hand!" I snap out of my daze and tangle my fingers with his. His other hand captures my waist and he leads us swiftly back to the railing, lifting me over it. My feet settle onto the concrete of the bridge that is pooled with puddles. Lights on the beams illuminate the night and Micha's car is parked in the middle of the bridge with the driver's door open and the engine and headlights on. He hops over the railing and then his arms are around me, embracing me securely, like he's afraid to let go. For a second it feels okay, weightless and uncontrolled. I tuck my face into his chest, the wet fabric damp against my chilled skin. The scent of him takes me to a place I wish I could go back to—my childhood. Back when things weren't as heavy because I was too immature to grasp the full reality of life. Micha pulls back and smoothes my wet hair out of my eyes. "Don't you ever do that to me again. I can't do this without you." But he needs to figure out life without this perception of me, because I don't know how long I can keep doing it without drowning. "Micha, I..." The look on his face silences my lips. He knows what I'm about to say—he always does. He is my best friend, my soul mate. In a perfect world, full of roses and sunshine, we'd be together, but this world is full of broken homes, drunken fathers, and mothers who give up easily. "I'm sorry." I cling to him as I say my final good-bye. "I didn't want to think anymore. It was just too much and my mind wouldn't slow down. But it's alright now. I can think clearly again." He cups my cheek, his thumb searing hot as he traces the pad lightly across my cheekbone. "Next time come to me—don't just run. _Please_. I know things are hard right now, but it'll get better. We've always made it through every single bad thing thrown at us." Beads of water trickle in his eyelashes, along his cheeks, over his full lips. There's a shift in the air, one I've felt coming for a long time. His lips part. "Ella, I love—" I crush my lips against his, hushing him and melting our bodies together. I allow his tongue to caress mine, letting him suck the rain from my bottom lip and savor the taste of me. We arc into each other, like we can't get enough, and heat flows through our drenched clothes, warming my skin. I could let it go on forever, but that would be wrong. The girl he thinks he loves needs to disappear. I don't want tonight to be irreversible, so I pull away, breathing him in one last time. Then I walk away, leaving him on the bridge in the rain, along with the old Ella. # Chapter One _8 months later..._ # Ella I despise mirrors. Not because I hate my reflection or that I suffer from Eisoptrophobia. Mirrors see straight through my façade. They know who I used to be; a loud spoken, reckless girl, who showed what she felt to the world. There were no secrets with me. But now secrets define me. If a reflection revealed what was on the outside, I'd be okay. My long auburn hair goes well with my pale complexion. My legs are extensively long and with heels I'm taller than most of the guys I know. But I'm comfortable with it. It's what's buried deep inside that frightens me because it's broken, like a shattered mirror. I tape one of my old sketches over the mirror on the dorm wall. It's almost completely concealed by drawings and obscures all of my reflection except for my green eyes, which are frosted with infinite pain and secrets. I pull my hair into a messy bun and place my charcoaled pencils into a box on my bed, packing them with my other art supplies. Lila skips into the room with a cheery smile on her face and a drink in her hand. "Oh my God! Oh my God! I'm so glad it's over." I pick up a roll of packing tape off the dresser. "Oh my God! Oh my God!" I joke. "What are you drinking?" She tips the cup at me and winks. "Juice, silly. I'm just really excited to be getting a break. Even if it does mean I have to go home." She tucks strands of her hair behind her ear and tosses a makeup bag into her purse. "Have you seen my perfume?" I point at the boxes on her bed. "I think you packed it in one of those. Not sure which one, though, since you didn't label them." She pulls a face at me. "Not all of us can be neat freaks. Honestly, Ella, sometimes I think you have OCD." I write ART SUPPLIES neatly on the box and click the cap back on the Sharpie. "I think you might be on to me," I joke. "Dang it." She smells herself. "I really need it. All this heat is making me sweat." She rips some photos off her dresser mirror and throws them into an open box. "I swear it's like a hundred and ten outside." "I think it's actually hotter than that." I set my school work in the trash, all marked with A's. Back in high school, I used to be a C student. I hadn't really planned on going to college, but life changes—people change. Lila narrows her blue eyes at my mirror. "You do know that we're not going to have the same dorm when we come back in the fall, so unless you take all your artwork off, it's just going to be thrown out by the next person." They're just a bunch of doodles; sketches of haunting eyes, black roses entwined by a bed of thorns, my name woven in an intricate pattern. None of them matter except one: a sketch of an old friend, playing his guitar. I peel that one off, careful not to tear the corners. "I'll leave them for the next person," I say and add a smile. "They'll have a predecorated room." "I'm sure the next person will actually want to look in the mirror." She folds up a pink shirt. "Although, I don't know why you want to cover up the mirror. You're not ugly, El." "It's not about that." I stare at the drawing that captures the intensity in Micha's eyes. Lila snatches the drawing from my hands, crinkling the edges a little. "One day you're going to have to tell me who this gorgeous guy is." "He's just some guy I used to know." I steal the drawing back. "But we don't talk anymore." "What's his name?" She stacks a box next to the door. I place the drawing into the box and seal it with a strip of tape. "Why?" She shrugs. "Just wondering." "His name is Micha." It's the first time I've said his name aloud since I left home. It hurts, like a rock lodged in my throat. "Micha Scott." She glances over my shoulder as she piles the rest of her clothes into a box. "There's a lot of passion in that drawing. I just don't see him as being some guy. Is he like an old boyfriend or something?" I drop my duffel bag, packed with my clothes, next to the door. "No, we never dated." She eyes me over with doubt. "But you came close to dating? Right?" "No. I told you we were just friends." But only because I wouldn't let us be anything more. Micha saw too much of me and it scared me too much to let him in all the way. She twists her strawberry blonde hair into a ponytail and fans her face. "Micha is an interesting name. I think a name really says a lot about a person." She taps her manicured finger on her chin, thoughtfully. "I bet he's hot." "You make that bet on every guy," I tease, piling my makeup into a bag. She grins, but there's sadness in her eyes. "Yeah, you're probably right." She sighs. "Will I at least get to see this mysterious Micha—who you've refused to speak about our whole eight months of sharing a dorm together—when I drop you off at your house?" "I hope not," I mutter and her face sinks. "I'm sorry, but Micha and I... we didn't leave on a good note and I haven't talked to him since I left for school in August." Micha doesn't even know where I am. She heaves an overly stuffed pink duffel bag over her shoulder. "That sounds like a perfect story for our twelve-hour road trip back home." "Back home..." My eyes widen at the empty room that's been my home for the last eight months. I'm not ready to go back home and face everyone I bailed on. Especially Micha. He can see through me better than a mirror. "Are you okay?" Lila asks with concern. My lips bend upward into a stiff smile as I stuff my panicked feeling in a box hidden deep inside my heart. "I'm great. Let's go." We head out the door, with the last of our boxes in our hands. I pat my empty pockets, realizing I forgot my phone. "Hold on. I think I forgot my phone." Setting my box on the ground, I run back to the room and glance around at the garbage bag, a few empty plastic cups on the bed, and the mirror. "Where is it?" I check under the bed and in the closet. The soft tune of P!nk's "Funhouse" sings underneath the trash bag—my unknown ID ringtone. I pick up the bag and there is my phone with the screen lit up. I scoop it up and my heart stops. It's not an unknown number, just one that was never programmed into my phone when I switched carriers. "Micha." My hands tremble, unable to answer, yet powerless to silence it. "Aren't you going to answer that?" Lila enters the room, her face twisted in confusion. "What's up? You look like you just saw a ghost or something." The phone stops ringing and I tuck it into the back pocket of my shorts. "We should get going. We have a long trip ahead of us." Lila salutes me. "Yes, ma'am." She links arms with me and we head out to the parking lot. When we reach the car, my phone beeps. Voicemail. # Micha "Why is Ella Daniels such a common name?" Ethan grunts from the computer chair. His legs are kicked up on the desk as he lazily scrolls the Internet. "The list is freaking endless, man. I can't even see straight anymore." He rubs his eyes. "Can I take a break?" Shaking my head, I pace my room with the phone to my ear, kicking the clothes and other shit on my floor out of the way. I'm on hold with the main office at Indiana University, waiting for answers that probably aren't there. But I have to try—I've been trying ever since the day Ella vanished from my life. The day I promised myself that I'd find her no matter what. "Are you sure her dad doesn't know where she is?" Ethan flops his head back against the headrest of the office chair. "I swear that old man knows more than he's letting on." "If he does, he's not telling me," I say. "Or his trashed mind has misplaced the information." Ethan swivels the chair around. "Have you ever considered that maybe she doesn't want to be found?" "Every single day," I mutter. "Which makes me even more determined to find her." Ethan refocuses his attention to the computer and continues his search through the endless amount of Ella Danielses in the country. But I'm not even sure if she's still in the country. The secretary returns to the phone and gives me the answer I was expecting. This isn't the Ella Daniels I'm looking for. I hang up and throw my phone onto the bed. "God Dammit!" Ethan glances over his shoulder. "No luck?" I sink down on my bed and let my head fall into my hands. "It was another dead end." "Look, I know you miss her and everything," he says, typing on the keyboard. "But you need to get your crap together. All this whining is giving me a headache." He's right. I shake my pity party off, slip on a black hoodie and a pair of black boots. "I've got to go down to the shop to pick up a part. You staying or going?" He drops his feet to the floor and gratefully shoves away from the desk. "Yeah, but can we stop by my house? I need to pick up my drums for tonight's practice. Are you going to that or are you still on strike?" Pulling my hood over my head, I head for the door. "Nah, I got some stuff to do tonight." "That's bull." He reaches to shut off the computer screen. "Everyone knows the only reason you don't play anymore is because of Ella. But you need to quit being a pussy and get over her." "I think I'm going to..." I smack his hand away from the off button and squint at a picture of a girl on the screen. She has the same dark-green eyes and long auburn hair as Ella. But she has on a dress and there isn't any heavy black liner around her eyes. She also looks fake, like she's pretending to be happy. The Ella I knew never pretended. But it has to be her. "Dude, what are you doing?" Ethan complains as I snatch my phone off my bed. "I thought we were giving up for the day." I tap the screen and call information. "Yeah, can I get a number for Ella Daniels in Las Vegas, Nevada?" I wait, worried she's not going to be listed. "She's been down in _Vegas_." Ethan peers at the photo on the screen of Ella standing next to a girl with blonde hair and blue eyes in front of the UNLV campus. "She looks weird, but kinda hot. So is the girl she's with." "Yeah, but she's not your type." "Everyone's my type. Besides, she could be a stripper and that's definitely my type." The operator comes back on and she gives me a few numbers listed; one of the numbers belongs to a girl living on the campus. I dial that number and walk out into the hall to get some privacy. It rings and rings and rings and then Ella's voice comes on the voicemail. She still sounds the same, only a little unemotional, like she's pretending to be happy, but can't quite get there. When it beeps, I take a deep breath and pour my heart out to the voicemail. # About the Author Jessica Sorensen is a #1 _New York Times_ and _USA Today_ bestselling author, who lives with her husband and three kids in Idaho. When she's not writing, she spends her time reading and hanging out with her family. You can learn more at: JessicaSorensensblog.blogspot.com Twitter @jessFallenStar Facebook.com # _Also by Jessica Sorensen_ _The Secret of Ella and Micha_ _The Forever of Ella and Micha_ _The Temptation of Lila and Ethan_ _Lila and Ethan: Forever and Always_ _The Coincidence of Callie & Kayden_ _The Redemption of Callie & Kayden_ _The Destiny of Violet & Luke_ _Breaking Nova_ _Saving Quinton_ _Delilah: The Making of Red_ _Nova and Quinton: No Regrets_ _Tristan: Finding Hope_ # Acclaim for Jessica Sorensen's Mesmerizing Novels # _THE EVER AFTER OF ELLA AND MICHA_ "A nice cap to a sweet story." —BadassBookReviews.com "Ella and Micha have stuck out to me through my whole romance journey. Everything about their story is consuming! You find yourself cheering for them at every turn. Start back at the beginning and follow their story... You'll see why this is a perfect conclusion to their story." —ReviewingRomance.com "As always Ms. Sorensen delivers an awesome, amazing, heartbreakingly beautiful story." —BookDrunkBlog.com # _THE TEMPTATION OF LILA AND ETHAN_ "Sorensen has true talent to capture your attention with each word written. She is creatively talented... Through the mist of demons that consume the characters' souls, she manages to find beauty in their broken lives." —TheCelebrityCafe.com "A sweetly emotional read with two characters that just break your heart." —BadassBookReviews.com "Perfect... This book was filled with everything that I've come to love from a Jessica Sorensen book... Loved it. I definitely recommend it." —BookBinge.com "An emotional, romantic, and really great contemporary romance... Lila and Ethan's story is emotionally raw, devastating, and heart-wrenching." —AlwaysYAatHeart.com "Sorensen has me pining for my next hit every time I finish one of her books. I devoured this and am now feeling some withdrawals. It's like a drug. You want more and more and more." —UndertheCoversBookBlog.com # _THE FOREVER OF ELLA AND MICHA_ "Breathtaking, bittersweet, and intense... Fans of _Beautiful Disaster_ will love the series." —CaffeinatedBookReviewer.com "Powerful, sexy, emotional, and with a great message, this series is one of the best stories I've read so far." —BookishTemptations.com "Another touching and emotional read that will leave you on the verge of tears at times and make your heart soar at others." —BadassBookReviews.com "A fun, sexy, unforgettable story of first love... will blow you away." —UndertheCoversBookBlog.com # _THE SECRET OF ELLA AND MICHA_ "A fantastic story... very addictive... This book will hook you in and you will feel hot, steamy, and on the edge of your seat. —Dark-Readers.com "A beautiful love story... complicated yet gorgeous characters... I am excited to read more of her books." —SerendipityReviews.co.uk "Fantastic... a great read... I couldn't put this book down... I was sad when it came to an end." —TheBookScoop.com "A really great love story. There is something epic about it... If you haven't jumped on this New Adult bandwagon, then you need to get with the program. I can see every bit of why this story has swept the nation." —TheSweetBookShelf.com "Absolutely loved it... This story broke my heart... I can't wait to get my hands on the next installment." —Maryinhb.blogspot.com "Wonderful... delightful... a powerful story of love... will make your heart swoon." —BookswithBite.net # _THE DESTINY OF VIOLET & LUKE_ "An unforgettable story that will deeply affect your emotions." —ABookishEscape.com "Sorensen does a great job of bringing these two characters together... a solid read." —BookBinge.com "Gripping and heartbreaking... You will be hooked, and you won't be able to not come back." —ReviewingRomance.com "Sorensen's intense and realistic stories never cease to amaze me and entice my interest. She is an incredible writer, as she captures the raw imperfections of the beautiful and the damned." —TheCelebrityCafe.com # _THE REDEMPTION OF CALLIE & KAYDEN_ "Enjoyable, moving... a beautifully written story." —JacquelinesReads.blogspot.com "The author did an amazing job of having the reader connect to the characters and feel for them as you read... I want _more_!" —JessicasBookReview.com "Extremely emotional and touching... It made me want to cry, and jump for joy." —Blkosiner.blogspot.com "I couldn't put it down. This was just as dark, beautiful, and compelling as the first [book]... Nothing short of amazing... Never have I read such emotional characters where everything that has happened to them seems so real." —OhMyShelves.com "[It] draws on human emotions and takes you into dark places. Although brimming with angst, it's a love story that will overflow your heart with hope. This series is not to be missed." —UndertheCoversBookBlog.com # _THE COINCIDENCE OF CALLIE & KAYDEN_ "Another great story of passion, love, hope, and themes of salvation." —BookishTemptations.com "Romantic, suspenseful, and well written—this is a story you won't want to put down." — _RT Book Reviews_ "An emotional rollercoaster." —TotalBookaholic.com ### Thank you for buying this ebook, published by Hachette Digital. To receive special offers, bonus content, and news about our latest ebooks and apps, sign up for our newsletters. Sign Up Or visit us at hachettebookgroup.com/newsletters # Contents 1. Cover 2. Title Page 3. Welcome 4. Dedication 5. Acknowledgments 6. Chapter One 7. Chapter Two 8. Chapter Three 9. Chapter Four 10. Chapter Five 11. Chapter Six 12. Chapter Seven 13. Chapter Eight 14. Chapter Nine 15. Chapter Ten 16. Chapter Eleven 17. Chapter Twelve 18. Chapter Thirteen 19. Chapter Fourteen 20. Chapter Fifteen 21. Chapter Sixteen 22. Chapter Seventeen 23. Chapter Eighteen 24. Chapter Nineteen 25. Chapter Twenty 26. Chapter Twenty-One 27. Chapter Twenty-Two 28. Chapter Twenty-Three 29. Chapter Twenty-Four 30. Chapter Twenty-Five 31. Epilogue 32. A Preview of _The Secret of Ella and Micha_ 33. About the Author 34. Also by Jessica Sorensen 35. Acclaim for Jessica Sorensen's Mesmerizing Novels 36. Newsletters 37. Copyright # Navigation 1. Begin Reading 2. Table of Contents # Copyright This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Copyright © 2013 by Jessica Sorensen Excerpt from _The Secret of Ella and Micha_ copyright © 2012 by Jessica Sorensen Cover design by Brigid Pearson Cover photo by Lisa Thornberg / Getty Images Cover copyright © 2013 Hachette Book Group, Inc. All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author's intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author's rights. Forever Hachette Book Group 1290 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10104 hachettebookgroup.com twitter.com/foreverromance First ebook edition: December 2013 Forever is an imprint of Grand Central Publishing. The Forever name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Hachette Speakers Bureau provides a wide range of authors for speaking events. To find out more, go to www.hachettespeakersbureau.com or call (866) 376-6591. The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher. ISBN 978-1-4555-8267-9 E3
To begin, and following the announcement of nonstop service to Hartford earlier this year, OneJet announced today the opening of two additional routes from Pittsburgh: Louisville, KY service will begin on July 18 th service will begin on Cincinnati, OH service will begin on August 15 th The State of Pennsylvania and the Redevelopment Authority of Allegheny County will provide $500,000 each in loans to support necessary investments in employees, equipment, and infrastructure. The partnership follows alongside private investment from local corporate leadership, including that of James Rohr, former Chairman of PNC, and Thomas Tull, co-owner of the Pittsburgh Steelers, with a private/public commitment of $2.5M in total. OneJet and Airport officials plan to announce two additional routes beginning in the fall. "Under the leadership of Christina Cassotis, Pittsburgh International Airport continues to be an important regional asset for our community. We are very excited to see OneJet operating in Pittsburgh," said Sy Holzer, PNC regional president of Pittsburgh. "OneJet is a wonderful addition for our travelers and is a great connection to two major growth markets for PNC." Former U.S. Secretary of Transportation, Ray LaHood, a senior advisor the OneJet program, stated: "Convenient and accessible regional air service is a critical priority for local and regional business. Today's announcement reflects decisive action by Pittsburgh and Pennsylvania leadership to secure service that will benefit the region's business travelers and key corporate employers." "Having dependable and timely access to transportation is a key factor when businesses are looking to grow or expand and OneJet is helping to give the region an advantage over the competition," Pennsylvania Governor Tom Wolf said. "We are proud to support such an important project and are thrilled with the promise of at least 80 new jobs this investment will help to create." Allegheny County Executive Rich Fitzgerald also noted, "This investment in nonstop service is a wise one that will help our growing region continue to have access to mid-size cities across the country. The service provided by OneJet will serve our area's businesses, to ensure our region remains competitive as we fill the needs of our business and leisure travelers." "This announcement adds to the growing momentum of flight options at Pittsburgh International Airport. These are markets that have demand for service but are not being served by traditional legacy carriers," Allegheny County Airport Authority CEO Christina Cassotis said. "We're thrilled to add 10 markets to our air service portfolio." All routes are subject to customary DOT approval. For additional information, please visit www.onejet.com. For customer inquiries or travel assistance, please call 1-844-ONEJET1 (663-5381). About OneJet OneJet is an air transportation network that provides consumers increased access to nonstop travel in small to mid-size markets, at relatively low cost. Services operate from the main commercial terminals and airports in markets served and feature TSA Pre access, expedited boarding, and complimentary on-board amenities, including high speed internet access. All flights are operated by regionally based operating partners featuring ARG/US Platinum Safety-rated and TSA-certified operations. The company incorporates former senior leadership from the U.S. major airlines, the U.S. Department of Transportation, leading U.S. aircraft manufacturers, and TSA. Logo - http://photos.prnewswire.com/prnh/20150806/256361LOGO SOURCE OneJet Related Links http://www.onejet.com
Q: Why can I see 2 different coordinates? I have the F3 screen open: Why can I see 2 different coordinates? The X section of XYZ: section has a different coordinate to the X in Looking at: - even though I'm looking at the block I'm standing on. A: There are several different measurements shown here using different coordinate systems. XYZ gives the floating-point position of your feet. This is where the game actually considers you to be. Block gives the integer coordinate of the block that your feet occupy. This will always be within 1.0 of XYZ in each direction, but rounded up or down depending on your position relative to the center of the block. Facing is the direction your face is pointing, in degrees around 2 axes. You could think of this as the latitude and longitude of your line of sight relative to the center of your head. In your case rotated almost 180 degrees down, and 90 degrees left. Note that this model follows the mathematical convention of degress counting counter-clockwise from +X rather than the geographic convention of clockwise from North. Looking at is the Block position of the first non-air block that your line of sight intersects (ie, the block that your reticle appears on). Since you're looking almost straight down, it's the block beneath your feet. And since that's a solid block, your feet are on top of it - or +1 Y relative to its block coordinates. A: To address the question asked, what is the variance between XYZ and Looking At when you are looking at your feet you need to be aware that your position is not where you are standing. XYZ is where you are considered to be but it is measured at your head/neck area. You can test this out by holding the shift key and letting it go with out moving, the Y value will vary. Looking at is literally the block you are looking at. In this case it is the block under your feet so the Y value has decreased because again, the XYZ value is near your head, not your feet. This is why people can perfectly light up an area according to the F3 screen and still get things to spawn because its the light level at your head, not your feet. Depending on if the light is coming from above or below it can be one level lower at your feet and thus a valid spawn location.
Ally Financial Inc., the auto lender bailed out by U.S. taxpayers, repaid the government $5.9 billion today, the Treasury Department said. Taxpayers have been repaid $12.3 billion, or more than 70 percent of the investment provided under the Troubled Asset Relief Program, according to a Treasury statement today. The Federal Reserve said Nov. 15 that it doesn’t object to a revised capital plan submitted by Detroit-based Ally. Ally said in August that it planned to pay the Treasury the $5.9 billion.
Neural network based precise location identification in a cellular mobile Next generation wireless networks are expected to support broadband multimedia services because of increasing demand for multimedia services. In such network, a mobile user may require multiple channels, and different users may require different numbers of channels. In order for a mobile user to gain access to a wireless network from anywhere in the service areas of the network, it is unavoidable that the coverage areas of two or more base stations overlap with each other. Channel rearrangement is a technique that enables a mobile user in the overlap area to handoff to another base station, such that the released channels can be used by a new call or a handoff call. In one such wireless network, i.e., the cellular network, with the increase in number of users, the demand for different services is growing day by day. For many such services it is required to identify the exact location of a mobile user within a radius of few meters or so. A neural network with its learning and generalization ability may act as a suitable tool to predict the precise location of a user provided it is trained appropriately by varying network conditions such as channel rearrangement, signal strength etc. The present work employs the 'mixture of experts' model based neural network having two experts. We have generated 15000 input patterns for both the experts for training and testing of the system. The scheme has reduced location management cost and is free from all unrealistic assumptions.
CMB Alignment in Multi-Connected Universes The low multipoles of the cosmic microwave background (CMB) anisotropy possess some strange properties like the alignment of the quadrupole and the octopole, and the extreme planarity or the extreme sphericity of some multipoles, respectively. In this paper the CMB anisotropy of several multi-connected space forms is investigated with respect to the maximal angular momentum dispersion and the Maxwellian multipole vectors in order to settle the question whether such spaces can explain the low multipole anomalies in the CMB. PACS numbers: 98.80.-k, 98.70.Vc, 98.80.Es
Contents About the Book About the Author Also by Anthony Powell Title Page Epigraph Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Copyright ### About the Book A post as special correspondent for a new and fragile Baltic state gives the young but melancholy Lushington an opportunity to turn his back on an unhappy love affair. While gathering information at the many parties he attends, he hopes to report on unrest, an assassination, perhaps even a revolution. Yet it is Lushington who once more finds himself out of his depth ... ### About the Author Anthony Powell was born in 1905. After working in publishing and as a scriptwriter, he began to write for the _Daily Telegraph_ in the mid-1930s. He served in the army during World War II and subsequently became the fiction reviewer on the _TLS_. Next came five years as literary editor of _Punch_. He was appointed a Companion of Honour in 1988. In addition to the twelve-novel sequence, _A Dance to the Music of Time_ , Anthony Powell was the author of seven other novels, and four volumes of memoirs, _To Keep the Ball Rolling_. He died in March 2000. ### _Also by Anthony Powell_ _Fiction_ Venusberg From a View to a Death Agents and Patients What's Become of Waring O, How the Wheel Becomes It! The Fisher King A Dance to the Music of Time A Question of Upbringing A Buyer's Market The Acceptance World The Valley of Bones The Soldier's Art The Military Philosophers Books do Furnish a Room Temporary Kings Hearing Secret Harmonies _Non Fiction_ Journals 1982-1986 Journals 1990-1992 _'Here, according to popular tradition, is situated the grotto of Venus, into which she enticed the knight Tannhäuser; fine view from the top.'_ BAEDEKER ## 1 LUSHINGTON collected the pieces of typewritten foolscap and shook them together so that the edges were level. Outside, it was raining. The literary editor said: 'Seeing the world broadens the outlook. You can learn a lot abroad. They're a funny lot, foreigners. I always go abroad for my holiday. I like it over there. The food makes a change. I shouldn't wonder if it wasn't pretty cold where you're going. Still, I expect you'll be sorry to leave old London all the same. We have some fun here when we do. I don't know any town like it. I don't really.' The literary editor took out his penknife and, breathing hard, trimmed where his thumbnail had a jagged edge. Lushington opened a box of paper clips and took one out. He pressed the paper clip through the corner of the sheets of foolscap upon which he had begun an article, and put them into a small dispatch-case. The literary editor finished off the nail by biting it, shut the penknife and put it back into his pocket. Miss Arnold said: 'I expect you'll give up newspaper work when you get out there, Mr. Lushington, and go into business and become a millionaire. All the best men become foreign correspondents for a bit. They say there is nothing like abroad for training.' The literary editor said: 'They've taken the place of the old diplomat. Better educated. Better informed. Better paid. And, of course, more reliable. But they carry on the same fine tradition.' Lushington said: 'Well, you will remember about trying to use both those two stories of mine for the feature page, won't you? It would be a great help if you could. I'd be very grateful.' 'I'll have a look at them just as soon as I have a moment to spare, which ought to be some time the day after tomorrow.' Lushington shut the dispatch-case and picked up his hat. Water dripped down the outer panes of the windows, one of which rattled three times at regular intervals. Outside, it was winter. Miss Arnold said: 'Well, good-night, Mr. Lushington, and good luck.' The literary editor said: 'So long, Lushington, and all the best, and don't forget to put that dope in the post tonight so that Booth gets it in time for the woman's page.' Taking the dispatch-case and pondering in his mind whether he would go home and finish the article and go to bed, or call on Lucy and sit up all night and finish the article, Lushington went down the stairs, which were of stone like those of a prison or lunatic asylum and were, in effect, used to some considerable extent by persons of a criminal tendency or mentally deranged. In the atmosphere there was a smell of icy damp paint permeating the rawness of the night. The wind circulated through the corridors and up and down the lift-shaft. He walked down several flights of stairs wondering whether he had remembered to pack his evening shoes. At the entrance the man with the birthmark on his face who sat at a desk in a cubicle and asked people their names and controlled the house telephone without much success said: 'So you're saying ta-ta to us all for a bit?' 'That's it.' Shaken by a fit of coughing, a bronchial upheaval like a tornado in its suddenness, the man said: 'Grand weather for travelling, I don't think.' He struck himself several times on the chest and then spat through the door of the wooden cubicle in which he was confined, neatly, and far out into the corner of the passage. 'That's a nasty cough of yours,' Lushington said. 'Rise and fall of the leaf finds out them with weak chests.' 'It sure does.' 'Suffered from asthma since I was a little kid not so high.' 'You have?' The man passed his hand lightly over his birthmark and said: 'It's the truth. Well, I hope it keeps fine for you.' 'And _I_ ,' said Lushington, 'hope it keeps fine for _you_.' He went into the street, where it was raining and cold. The lights disappeared suddenly in the windows of the pub on the other side of the road and deciding in favour of Lucy he got into a bus. Inside he tried to think of a joke to round off the article with. The bus bumped along through the rain. No joke quickened within him. It was too cold a night for that sort of joke, one of the good universal kind. Coming of that professional stock who, like the Jews, live secretly, holding at intervals well-attended family conclaves, remaining securely out of touch with life, Lushington had begun his career in the City. An almost absolute business inability and perhaps some hereditary flaw in his character had led him to journalism, and being ambitious he hoped one of these days to become dramatic critic on a paper with a decent circulation. Meanwhile he was going as special correspondent to a country on the Baltic, the name of which he could never remember. He was a serious young man with a pink and white face who believed implicitly in eventual progress on a scientific basis, although he had had Anglo-Catholic leanings in his City days. There was nothing at all extraordinary in Lushington's appointment to this post. It was the sort of thing that happened every day. More than this, it had been what he had wanted not so long before and was to some extent the delayed action of past intriguing. He was, in short, as the literary editor had said, lucky to get it. But there was a circumstance that gave the appointment some of the tang of a stale joke, a flavour used-up but at the same time forceful and disturbing like a tune running tiresomely in his head. This significance consisted in Da Costa being honorary attaché at the legation of that same Baltic state. Da Costa was not only an old friend of Lushington. He was also the man with whom Lucy was in love. Lushington could not therefore avoid reflecting, on hearing of his good fortune, that he was both leaving Lucy and going to a place where he would be reminded perpetually of her feelings for Da Costa. Lushington and Da Costa had been at school together. Da Costa's setting was similar to Lushington's without being precisely the same. He came of a large and moderately influential family whose possibly Iberian ancestors had made money in India, nabobs under the Regency, who, marrying with discernment, had formed a vaguely empire-building tradition. Da Costa himself did not belong to this tradition. It embarrassed him a little. But now in the last resort he had found himself unable to circumvent it. After coming down from Oxford he had hung about, working at a thesis on comparative religion. And then Lushington had introduced him to Lucy and the trouble had begun. Da Costa like Lushington was shy. But whereas Lushington's shyness took the form of creeping about rooms pretending that he was really not there at all, Da Costa's manifested itself in shouting loud and laughing and upsetting things to counteract this feeling of personal inadequacy. As it happened, Da Costa was good at games and examinations, so that his difficulties were pretty fundamental ones and not merely adolescent non-adaptability setbacks. For example, unlike Lushington he was bored by the society of women. He could stand them only for an hour or so on end. This was due to an unusual mental orientation, or perhaps to laziness because he was not prepared to concede the exactions of time and energy that prolonged intimacy with one would require. In some ways, they attracted him to a considerable extent and once he had been induced by friends to spend a week-end with an intellectually cultured chorus girl. It was not, however, a success and in any case, as Da Costa himself used to point out, he had not enough money to prolong the relationship. Then for a short time he was always seen about with a major's widow. But it did not do. There was something, as his friends used to say, lacking. In spite of this and perhaps because of it women liked him. Among them Lucy. Lushington had met Lucy at the house of the man who wrote the music column for his paper. Nothing had marked their meeting as in any way out of the ordinary. Lushington liked her, but it was not until several weeks after this first meeting that he fell in love with her and it was some months later before he had the courage to tell her so. He had never been in love before, except slightly with one of his first cousins, who was already engaged to a man in the Treasury, and he was surprised when he found that Lucy returned his feelings. He was not at all certain what he ought to do. In due course she became his mistress. She was not a vicious girl, but she had had two husbands and had become accustomed to doing as she wished. But all the time she knew that he was not what she was looking for. That was one of the reasons why she would not marry him. Lushington on his side, surprised when he found that Lucy was attracted by him, was amazed when he found himself living with her, and before he had begun to consider their relationship as anything less than a phenomenon he had lost her by introducing her to Da Costa just at the moment when he was beginning to feel that she really belonged to himself. He lost her in the sense that she gave him up as a lover. His place was not taken by Da Costa, because Da Costa was for a long time unaware how matters stood and even when he became aware took no steps in the matter. Something about his unbalanced manner and respectable background had appealed at once to Lucy, but he felt towards her, as towards most of the women whom he met, only an amiable lack of interest. However, it flattered him at first that he should have made such an impression on her, and then annoyed him when he found that he had caused a great deal of unnecessary trouble and had gained one of those emotional responsibilities which he devoted so much of his time to avoiding. For a short time the situation had adjusted itself by all three of them going about a great deal together, because they liked each other's company and this system enabled Lushington to be with Lucy and Lucy to be with Da Costa. It was a working compromise but it got on everybody's nerves. In the end it was Da Costa who decided that he could stand it no more. He decided to leave England and his family, who had repeatedly requested in the past that he should do something useful, but suggested that he should join the legation of a relative who was Minister at this obscurely northern capital. The idea was fostered by his elder brother, who was married and had several children and who had once been called the most popular man in Throgmorton Street. The post of honorary attaché was considered by the Da Costa family to be the very thing. Da Costa himself liked the idea because, being a young man with wide interests, he wanted to see abroad and, although he was unsatisfactory as an attaché, he himself found congenial the purely formal social contacts of his profession, which was in this respect a great improvement upon what he had been accustomed to in London. His relative, as it happened, retired soon after his arrival, but this was due to a personal whim and was unconnected with Da Costa's shortcomings. In the meanwhile a new Minister had not yet been appointed, and as the routine work at the legation had to be completed somehow, the _chargé d'affaires_ made no effort to eject Da Costa during the interregnum. And now Lushington's newspaper had decided to send him to the same place. He was to stay there for some months and write about the political situations. Undeniably it was a good job. But at the same time there were drawbacks. ## 2 THE bus stopped and Lushington got out and went through the passage with posts across it which led to the square where Lucy lived. The rain was falling in a measured way on the leaves of the trees inside the square's railings. He rang the bell. Then he waited, listening to the rain and the noise of the water running down the wall of the next house where one of the outside gutters had burst. Lucy opened the door herself. She was wearing a dressing-gown over her pyjamas and said: 'Oh it's you, is it? Come in, sweet, but I'm afraid there isn't such a thing as a cigarette in the house.' 'Why are you dressed like this? Are you ill?' 'I'm just going to bed. I'm going to have a bath and then go to bed. Why have you come to see me now?' She was fair and had short curly hair and she held the dressing-gown tight across her body so that it showed her figure and her round, knowing, little breasts. He went through the door and followed her into the sitting-room. She slipped her arm through his and into the pocket of his overcoat, taking his hand. Lushington put his hat on the table. Then he kissed Lucy. 'Why have you come now?' she said. She finished kissing him and went away and lay down on the sofa, under a tartan rug, turning sideways and resting her head on the end of the sofa. Lushington took off his overcoat and sat down in one of the arm-chairs. He said: 'It's settled that I go tomorrow.' 'By train?' 'By boat. I thought I might make a story of it for the paper.' 'Are you glad to be going?' 'I don't mind much either way.' 'Why aren't you glad?' 'Well, I shan't be seeing you for some time.' 'You must find someone else,' she said. 'You must really. You can't go on like this. It's absurd. Besides, it's awful for me. Can't you find someone else?' 'Perhaps I will out there.' 'It's funny you're going to the same place.' 'It's in the news, you see. They've been having political troubles. Revolutions and so on. Front page stuff, almost.' 'Don't go and get shot.' 'I expect I shall.' 'It's a pity I can't come with you.' 'Yes, why don't you?' She pulled the rug almost over her head and turned away from him towards the inside of the sofa, doubling herself up. There was a pause. She lay there looking a little like a sick child, very slight and taking up hardly any room on the sofa. Outside, the rain came thudding against the window. Lushington said: 'You haven't told me why you are dressed like that yet.' 'I'm not well. I'm going to have a bath and go to bed.' 'What's wrong with you?' 'I don't know,' she said, 'I'm just not well. I haven't been well for weeks. I hate everything. That's why I'm not well. There is nothing to be done about it. But tell me about yourself. What has been happening? Anything?' 'Nothing much. Except that I'm going away. And I've told you that.' 'Who was that with you when I saw you the other night? In green?' 'I don't think you know her. I met her somewhere. She looks rather nice, don't you think?' 'I hate those slit eyes. You're not in love with her or anything like that, are you? I don't trust your taste.' 'No, I'm not.' Lucy laughed and threw the rug on the floor and stretched out her arms. Then she stood up, still laughing. She said: 'Anyway I suppose I ought to have my bath now.' 'Do you mind if I finish off an article on your typewriter?' Lushington said. 'There's paper in the drawer.' 'Here?' 'Yes.' He watched her go into the bathroom, a narrow den leading out of the sitting-room, and heard her turn on the geyser. He sat for a few moments in front of the typewriter thinking of the first time he had seen her. At seventeen Lucy had run away with her first husband, who was rumoured once to have held a war-time commission in a Guards battalion. Her father, a captain retired from the Marines, who had lost his wife's money by judicious investments, lived in a bungalow on the south coast with his eight children and this used sometimes to make him appear a discontented man. But his wife was a woman who looked always on the bright side, so that in later life Lucy used to say that she could never remember which of her parents had contributed most towards her elopement. Lucy had been married at Torquay and her husband had worn an Old Etonian tie which he had seen on his way there in a glass case on Paddington station. But although he had initiative he was an ignorant and rather greedy man and the marriage had lasted less than eighteen months. Not long after the decree was made absolute it became apparent that she was more than remarkably good-looking. She showed signs of becoming a film star. But she was a girl who felt that life should be full of meaning and she broke with her second husband, a film producer, because he adapted one of the minor classics too freely. After that she lived on alimony and occasionally had lovers. But somehow it was not a success although as a sex she liked men, and in the evening she used to sit in her room and play the gramophone or read a book because, although this was not very amusing, it seemed better than going about with the people who were her friends. She often said so. She often told Lushington when he became her lover that she felt like this. Also it filled up the time while she waited for the ideal man, who became as the months went on an increasingly improbable figure, because her adventures, particularly those on the films, had caused her to develop a mild but insidious megalomania. But even after she had decided that Da Costa was what she wanted Lushington used often to visit her because she could not have Da Costa, who was not interested in anyone at all. Lushington opened the dispatch-case and put one of the sheets of paper into the machine. Lucy came out of the bathroom and watched him typing. Clouds of steam began to puff into the sitting-room. She took up the rug again and wrapping it round her knees sat on the edge of the sofa. Lushington typed. The article had to be finished somehow. The steam began to fill all one side of the room with fog. Lucy went into the bathroom again and, without shutting the door, turned off the water. He heard her get into the bath and begin to splash about. He wrote: '... and, too, why do people keep on repeating the old, old lie that the only maidens with sex-appeal are the ones who want always to be having a good time? When will all those would-be clever people commence to understand that that girl who holds our heart in thrall is the old-fashioned miss, whom our grandfather loved as she tripped demurely between rose-blossoms, along the garden path, in that quaint old-fashioned frock to meet her sweetheart. After all it is among the kindly, everyday folk that you find garnered-in the best hearts, among those worth-while, simple souls...' He wrote for some time. Lucy splashed about next door. Outside a clock struck. It was still pouring with rain. Lushington took the last sheet out of the typewriter and read it through, altering 'empirical' to 'real-life.' Then he lit a cigarette. From the bathroom Lucy said: 'It's a new country, isn't it?' 'Yes.' 'Who used to own it?' 'Russia. I think Germany had some of it too, I'm not sure.' 'Come and talk if you have finished.' He clipped the sheets of paper together and put them once more into the dispatch-case. Then he went into the bathroom. Lucy was lying on her back, only her head appearing, the light deflected through the water making it join her shoulders obliquely as if it grew at a sharp angle to the rest of her body. Lushington said: 'I'm going now. Good-bye.' 'Don't go yet. Why go now? I've hardly seen you at all.' 'I've still got some packing to do.' 'You poor darling.' She sat up in the bath and reached out for the towel to dry her hands and arms. Painfully he became aware of how lovely she was and how much he wanted her. For the moment he was glad even that he was going away where he would not see her, so that perhaps by being distant from her he might not want her so much. She threw away the towel and put her arms round his neck and he held the cigarette away at arm's length to keep the smoke from her face. 'Good-bye,' she said, 'I hope you have a lovely time.' 'What are you going to do?' 'I may be staying with people in the country for a bit.' 'At the home of that curious new admirer of yours?' 'I expect so.' 'Is he nice?' 'Yes,' she said, 'I'm very fond of him. He has very nice manners.' 'He has no roof to his mouth, has he?' 'The poor boy is very sweet really. He's so young.' 'Well, good-bye,' said Lushington, 'I'll write and tell you all about life out there. How we all are.' 'Thank you, darling.' He stood there not wanting to go. She said suddenly: 'Do you think he's like that? Always has been? I mean is it really no good? Will it never be any good?' 'Who?' 'Him.' 'No, of course not. How absurd. He has had girls. Very dull ones, I admit. But women don't amuse him much.' 'He is undersexed?' 'He is not in the least undersexed. You think there is something pathological about every man who does not fall for you.' 'But he doesn't like women.' 'He gets on without them. Some men can. It has been done.' 'Then he is undersexed.' 'All right. He's undersexed.' She said: 'Don't get angry. All I mean is do you think that one of these days he might begin to like me?' 'I daresay.' 'Do you think so?' 'In the meantime please remember that there is always me.' 'Darling.' He shut the door behind him and went down the stairs out into the square. The rain had stopped, but water still trickled down the wall of the house next door. A gramophone was playing in one of the basements as he passed and he stood for a few moments listening to it. The curtains did not meet across the windows of the room, so that he could see people inside who were dancing. He watched them for a time, oppressed by the recognition that there was still some packing to be done. Then he walked home, posting the article in the letter-box at the end of the square. ## 3 THE boat was small. It smelt of cocoanut oil and was to call at Copenhagen on the voyage. Recreation on board was limited to reading in a bunk or sitting in what was called the _smoke saloon_ and talking to Count Scherbatcheff. It was also possible to talk to Count Scherbatcheff while walking up and down the deck, and this was in fact preferable when the two Danish young men from Manchester University who were interested in radio sat in the smoke saloon with their friend the German commercial traveller. Count Scherbatcheff, who was about thirty, had a fair moustache and, having studied engineering in Belgium, he sometimes wore a beret with three different-coloured buttons in it, each of which stood for something definite in his life. He and Lushington used to lean over the side of the boat and discuss expenses and similar matters. The North Sea, an engrailed tract of sheet-iron, heaved a little. All the sky was grey. Count Scherbatcheff, who had stomach trouble of some sort, patted the front of his overcoat. He said: 'For example, my great-uncle was a very extravagant man. He used to have supper-parties after the opera. Very often at these parties he would give chorus girls baths of champagne. He would astonish gypsies and such people by his behaviour.' 'Often the only baths that they ever got?' 'I should not be surprised. Moreover in Russia before the Revolution we used to give huge tips. It was absurd. It was unnecessary. I can give you no idea how large they were. Really it was ridiculous. I can remember when I was a schoolboy going out to dinner by myself at Yalta and leaving the waiter an outrageously large tip. A great deal too much.' Lushington turned up the collar of his overcoat. He hoped that it was not going to be rough. There was a red, weak sun but a cloud was reflected darkly in the metal surfaces of water. The boat heaved again. Count Scherbatcheff, steadying himself with a piece of rigging, said: 'It will be bad in the Baltic. There it will almost certainly be rough. In the Baltic the sea is often very stormy. I shall not be surprised if the weather is inclement on this trip.' They walked up and down the deck. Sometimes other ships passed on the horizon. It appeared that Count Scherbatcheff was going on a visit to his grandmother, who disliked travelling and, when the Revolution came, had refused to emigrate as far as England or France. 'She is a woman of great obstinacy,' Count Scherbatcheff said. 'Like all my family she is very obstinate. I myself am very obstinate. It was for this reason that she refused to move.' 'Did she stay there during the Revolution and the War of Independence?' 'Through both. And through the civil war that followed them.' 'She was lucky to escape. How did she do it?' 'When the trouble began she had been staying with cousins who had a small estate in the neighbourhood. A house which afterwards was burned. We Russians are not popular with these people and especially this was so during the Revolution and before the Independence was declared. My grandmother was out walking one day when she was thrown from the Nikolai bridge by some members of the Social-Democratic party.' 'Into the river?' 'It was the custom. It was from the Nikolai bridge that Jews were sometimes thrown.' 'Why?' 'Jews. I cannot say the word. _Les Juifs._ It is hard to pronounce. _Jews._ That is how you say it? At times of public excitement.' 'Quite.' 'Fortunately it was summer time and my grandmother swam to the further bank. The very next week the Bolsheviks came into power and threw into the river many members of the Social-Democratic party.' 'And when the Independence was declared I suppose they threw the Bolsheviks in?' 'By that time,' Count Scherbatcheff said, 'it was winter. Holes had to be cut in the ice.' That was how the time passed as far as Copenhagen. They arrived there at night and the two Danish young men disembarked. The German commercial traveller remained on board but he never spoke again. He sat alone in the smoke saloon and read the back numbers of _Die Freundschaft_ which he had taken the precaution to bring with him. Lushington and Count Scherbacheff walked up from the docks into the town and dined there and went to a cinema. When they arrived back on board they found that there were some more passengers. There was a pile of luggage, but its owners had retired to bed. ## 4 THEY sailed from Copenhagen early the next morning. Among the new arrivals was another Count. Lushington found this additional Count in the bar. He was a fat man who smelt of brilliantine and sandalwood boxes and his profession was to sell face cream. He made no secret of this and at once showed Lushington a sample of the face cream that he sold. As a slight return Lushington stood him a drink. It was at this juncture that the new Count introduced himself by handing across a card on which were printed the words _Le Comte Michel Bobel_ under a coronet. Count Bobel also wore a coronet embroidered on the outside of his shirt immediately over his heart and above it the letter B. It was embroidered in mauve silk and as he did not wear a waistcoat it was possible to see it when he opened his coat and rested his hands on his upper ribs, which he did when emphasising conversational points. He talked French some of the time and said that he was Russian. What race he actually belonged to it was impossible to say. In face he was German, with thick lips and a roll of fat at the back of his neck, but although he talked German he seemed to prefer using French or English and he had evidently an oriental strain, Levantine perhaps or Armenian, that through the working of some Mendelian law had given him more of its colour than his more immediate presumed racial infusions. Lushington said that he himself would not buy any face cream at the moment. Count Bobel said: 'You have seen the ladies, yes?' 'On this boat?' 'Indeed.' 'I have not seen them yet.' Count Bobel puffed out his cheeks. He was smoking an amber cigarette which he never removed from his lips, so that the smoke from it curled into the eyes of anyone who was standing beside him, making them smart and water. Lushington edged away. 'You like girls?' Count Bobel said. 'The younger one is magnificent. _Exquise._ They came on board at Copenhagen at the same time as myself. They have a great amount of luggage. But even before I had seen that, I could tell that they were ladies of rank. It will be a good voyage.' Lushington said that he hoped so. He himself was by no means confident after what Count Scherbatcheff had said and, besides, the wind seemed to be getting up. He tried to decide whether or not he would eat any lunch. He had been trying to decide that all the morning. While he was speculating on this point someone outside began to ring a bell. Making up his mind on the spur of the moment at least to see what the meal was going to be, he said: 'That is for luncheon. Shall we go below?' _'En avant, mon cher.'_ In the dining-saloon the ladies of whom Count Bobel had spoken were sitting at the Captain's table. Lushington habitually sat at the Captain's table and also Count Scherbatcheff, but the German commercial traveller and the two Danish young men had not sat there and the German now sat by himself. Count Scherbatcheff was late for lunch and accordingly had his seat appropriated by Count Bobel, who parried the efforts of the stewardess to eject him. The Captain, a gloomy Swede, watched the tussle but offered help to neither party, and when Count Scherbatcheff arrived he had to sit at the same table as the German. But he sat at the far end of it, away from the German himself, so that he could join in the conversation at the Captain's table. Lushington looked at the two ladies. One of them was elderly and fidgeted and moped, full of aristocratic worries. The other was much younger, a tall blonde with blue eyes and high cheek-bones, dressed in light-coloured clothes and looking like the leading lady in a German musical comedy. They were talking German to each other, but it was evident that the younger woman had Slav blood. She was not what technically is called beautiful. Her features were not proportioned with enough restraint for that and she was too tall and thin. But she carried with her a certain gorgeousness which was like something that Lucy, too, possessed, and for a moment he was reminded of Lucy, although this woman was not like her in appearance nor in manner. Count Bobel, who was still talking English, French, and German indiscriminately, said: 'And so you have been to Copenhagen, ladies? What a pleasant town in which to spend a holiday. I myself envy you.' They nodded, the elder one examining Count Bobel with apprehension. The younger one turned and looked at him too and in profile her cheek-bones and long, blacked eyelashes made an angular pattern against the varnished walls of the dining-saloon. Count Bobel, when he saw that she was looking at him, made his beautiful smile and, eyeing her wedding ring, said: 'And did you in Copenhagen buy many presents for your dear parents, mademoiselle?' She laughed and shook her head, glancing across the table for a moment to where Lushington was sitting. Her eyebrows were plucked and arched so as to give her an expression of exaggerated indifference to things, but her eyes showed that at some time in the past she had been hurt and made to suffer. Count Bobel said: 'Copenhagen is a very gay city, mademoiselle. I hope that you got into no mischief?' The Swedish Captain, awakened by the thought of mischief at Copenhagen from the kind of trance into which he was accustomed to fall at meals, said: 'Every year at the same season Frau Mavrin makes this journey. For three years I have taken her back on my vessel. Is not that so, Frau Mavrin? And Baroness Puckler too?' They said that it was true. They said that they went to Copenhagen to buy their Christmas presents. Neither of them seemed to care much for Count Bobel. Count Bobel himself, however, was quite satisfied with the impression he had made and asked for a second helping of stew and sauerkraut, saying: 'A thousand apologies, madame, that I should have addressed you as mademoiselle, but it seemed impossible to me that one so young should be already married.' Count Scherbatcheff when he arrived used different methods. He was handicapped from the start by being very angry at having his seat taken away from him, but after this initial setback he settled down into his stride, which was to be very attractive and feline and to talk English. He tried Russian at first, but this was not well received by the ladies. The old lady, Baroness Puckler, was less chilly with Count Scherbatcheff than she had been with Count Bobel, and after a short conversation it turned out that she knew several of his relations although she did not remember the grandmother whom he was on his way to see. But Baroness Puckler made it clear from her manner that in her native town no Russians were to be on her visiting list however friendly she might choose to be on board ship. Frau Mavrin treated Count Scherbatcheff as she had treated Count Bobel, eyeing him and laughing at his jokes, but not troubling to hide that she took no interest in him at all. Baroness Puckler said to Lushington: 'Does it happen that you know Mr. Da Costa at your legation?' 'I know him very well.' 'He often comes to my house. Ortrud, you have met him too, I think?' 'Indeed he is charming and has such a yellow face.' 'Yes,' said Lushington. 'He has.' He wondered if Frau Mavrin too was in love with Da Costa. At least it appeared that she had only met him once. He tried to estimate the relationship between these two women. Baroness Puckler behaved like someone who had in her possession a valuable pet, a rare animal that must be looked after constantly in case it should get into mischief or fall into a decline from inattention. But Frau Mavrin, as it were, produced and did showman for Baroness Puckler and yet it was evident that it was really Frau Mavrin herself who was being exhibited and by her very attentions evading any sentimental restraint. By the end of the meal everyone was great friends with everyone else. The Captain and the German commercial traveller went away and Frau Mavrin, Baroness Puckler, Lushington and the two Counts remained drinking coffee while the two hard-faced stewardesses cleared the table. The boat had begun to roll gently. Frau Mavrin said: 'Sophia, you must tell our fortunes. That will entertain all of us and pass the time.' 'But, my dear Ortrud, do these gentlemen wish that their fortunes should be told? And, besides, the motion of the boat is beginning to make my head ache. Do not you notice it yourself?' 'You must beg her, all of you,' Frau Mavrin said. 'You must press her to tell your fortunes. If you do not do this she will think that you do not wish for your fortunes to be told.' She looked at Lushington under her heavy lashes and he became aware of contact with her. She dropped her eyes suddenly, like pulling down a blind with a snap. For a moment he felt almost as if he had touched her. Then it was over and he and the Counts were telling the Baroness how much they would enjoy a prognosis. They took some time to persuade her, but at last she said: 'I will fetch my cards and tell the fate of each of you. It will rest on your heads if I foretell evil things.' She got up and went to her cabin. Count Bobel moved round to the seat next to Frau Mavrin. 'Like this it will be more convenient,' he said. The sea had become noticeably rougher and some of the beams in the dining-saloon began to creak. Once the coffee cups slid almost off the table and the smell of cocoanut oil seemed to have become more noticeable. There was also an increasingly evil scent of fish. Baroness Puckler returned with a pack of cards. She said: 'They are greasy, but always I use them. Those with the second sight often have a special pack that they prefer to use and such are these.' Count Scherbatcheff said: 'I fear, Baroness, that you will find my fortune a sad one. The fortune of a man who has lost in the gamble for life. A man who in that game has often thrown the zero.' Baroness Puckler handed the cards to Lushington to shuffle and cut. Count Bobel lit another cigarette and said: 'I am the King of Hearts. That is my representative card. It bespeaks my character. You agree, all of you?' Lushington made the cards and cut. Baroness Puckler began to lay them out on the table. Frau Mavrin said: 'And are you going to believe what Sophia tells you?' 'I don't know yet.' 'She has the true gift. She never makes a mistake in her predictions. She will indeed tell you the future.' 'How dangerous.' 'Do you think so?' Baroness Puckler began counting the cards, checking up their relation to each other. She said to Lushington: 'First I will say what stands round you. Like all your countrymen you are a prey to melancholy. The spleen of Hamlet. I see you in a big building. It is a church or a palace. You hurry through it writing in a book. Many people are round you, men and women, and they too write in books. A great noble who has many enemies rules over you all. And now I see you next to a fair woman. But she belongs to someone else. Quite soon there is a journey across water. The fair woman comes in again. I see her standing next to you. You go among a number of people. All of them are talking scandal. The fair woman goes out of your life. No, no. I see her with you again. Perhaps there are two fair women. You will meet a dark man who is displeased about something. Will you cut again? There are troubles and disturbances. Perhaps even death. You will receive a letter from across water. You will have a disappointment. There is a love affair. Perhaps it is one of the fair women. You will make some money. Not much money. A little money. It arrives in a letter. A small sum, but you will be glad of it. Perhaps it is the great noble who sends it to you. Cut again and wish. You have wished?' 'Yes.' Baroness Puckler looked at the card. 'You will have your wish. It will be granted to you.' Frau Mavrin said: 'I see from your fortune that you are a dangerous man. I am curious to know what you wished.' 'Are you? But if I tell you I shall not get my wish.' 'It is something wicked I feel sure.' 'Perhaps.' Count Scherbatcheff was next. He cut the ace of spades and before Baroness Puckler could speak he said: 'Ah, yes. I see. You need not explain it. The card of death. My poor grandmother. I knew that it must come sooner or later. But I feel an affection for her. In spite of her obstinacy I am attached to her.' The rolling of the ship was becoming more and more apparent and with it strange odours floating up from the galley. Some of the cards fell on to the floor and in picking them up Count Scherbatcheff knocked his head on the edge of the table. The rest of them were full of sympathy for him, but the rolling continued and occupied their attention. Baroness Puckler lifted her hands to her forehead. Lushington held on to the table to steady himself. Count Bobel took out a pocket comb and began to smoothe his hair. Count Scherbatcheff was too dignified to rub his head, but he patted his chest and said: 'I have learned sufficient, my dear Baroness. My poor grandmother. However much I may expect her death it will always be a blow to me when it comes. And now I shall go and lie down for a short time in my cabin.' He went away suddenly, unexpectedly. He was gone like a flash. They heard a door slam as he arrived below. Count Bobel said: 'It will interest all of you to hear what my fortune will be. I am a person who has had innumerable adventures of all kinds. I am a man of the world. I am interested in everything and naturally a man of that kind is the best subject for the seer. Be sure that you all attend.' But Baroness Puckler was standing up. She still held her hands to her head. The boat beneath them continued to ride uneasily the swell of the sea. The beams creaked all the time, Baroness Puckler said: 'Another time, Count, another time. Just now like Count Scherbatcheff I go to lie down for a little. Ortrud, I shall see you later.' Lushington and Count Bobel stood up. Count Bobel said: 'I trust, dear lady, that you are not unwell?' 'It is nothing. Nothing. But I go to lie down.' Baroness Puckler refused Count Bobel's arm and went away down the stairs that led to the cabins. Lushington, Count Bobel, and Frau Mavrin were left sitting round the table. Lushington himself was becoming aware of a feeling of vertigo, but he was unwilling to leave the field to Count Bobel, although the Count's presence prevented him from making any headway with Frau Mavrin. She sat in her place, assured of herself, almost lovely, making conversation to them both, sometimes staring from under her long eyelashes. The boat heaved about recklessly. The sensation of vertigo was becoming increasingly apparent. Count Bobel, who had left a pile of cigarette ends in the ash-tray, where they burned on incessantly like a small bonfire, said: 'You do not mind, madame, if I smoke a cigar?' 'Not at all.' 'And you, sir?' 'Naturally not.' 'You will smoke one with me. They are good, these. They are a special brand. They come from Batavia and are hard to obtain.' 'Thank you, no,' said Lushington. 'As it happens I think I, too, shall go to my cabin for a little while. I have reached an important point in a book I am reading. It is a detective story and very exciting.' ## 5 THE sea continued to be choppy. The German commercial traveller lay on his face on the leather seat which ran round the smoke saloon, with his cheek pressed against several copies of _Die Freundschaft._ His expression showed that philosophically he had reached the sphere of complete submission to fate. Lushington in his cabin thought about Frau Mavrin. He also thought about Lucy and remembered that she had said that he must find someone else. Later he felt better and ate a little dinner. Count Scherbatcheff appeared again too and said, rather insincerely, that his stomach was in any case so unsettled that it was unaffected by the motion of the waves. He did not accept, however, the amber cigarette that Count Bobel offered him. Count Bobel therefore smoked it himself and many more after it. He was also heard to ask for cointreau in the bar. The smell of cocoanut oil persisted, especially below deck, but that of fish was kept under better control and towards evening abated considerably. ## 6 THE wind had dropped a little and Count Scherbatcheff said that the worst was past and it would not be rough for the rest of the voyage. The passengers on board now formed a world of their own and it was difficult to imagine any time when acquaintance had not been limited to this half a dozen and all life proportioned to the boundaries set by the sea. Lushington sat with the two Counts in the smoke saloon. They were comparing experiences and after a lull in the conversation he said: 'I suppose we are due to arrive tomorrow?' Count Scherbatcheff, who was unwilling to break the thread of the discussion, said: 'After that you never feel the same towards a woman. It happened to me once with a girl of mine in Munich. I never felt the same to her after that. Never. Our relationship was altered. All was spoilt.' Count Bobel said: 'You should have taken more care, Count Scherbatcheff. With women you can never be certain. Now in London, Mr. Lushington, how is it with girls? Always I collect addresses. Is it true there are no _maisons_? No _quartier reservé_?' 'Absolutely.' 'That I cannot understand. _Comment s'amuse la jeunesse?_ ' 'This girl I was speaking of in Munich,' said Count Scherbatcheff, who disliked interruption, 'she was a Bavarian girl. An art student. I was passionately fond of her.' Count Bobel said: 'That is like we Russians. It is always the same. We cast our hearts at the feet of women. It is in our nature to give. We do not know restraint. You western peoples little comprehend our ways.' 'She was beautiful,' Count Scherbatcheff said. 'A girl of good family. A girl whom it would be impossible to forget.' Count Bobel said: 'I too have lived and loved in Munich, Count Scherbatcheff. Who can forget those summer evenings in the gardens of Nymphenburg? Or sunset through the trees at Schleissheim? Not I for one. Though it was long ago. I was connected with a pedicure establishment in that city for several months. A certain girl especially I remember who was employed by the same firm.' Count Scherbatcheff said: 'It is indeed remarkable that you should mention Nymphenburg. It was in those very gardens that I was accustomed to meet the girl I was telling you of.' 'She was fair,' Count Bobel said, 'and—' 'This girl was dark—' 'Allow me one moment, Count Scherbatcheff—' 'Please, please—' 'And now,' Lushington said, 'I shall walk a little outside before I go to bed. It is an English custom and, besides, my digestion requires that I take some exercise. Good-night. Good-night.' It was cold on deck. Lushington went to his cabin and put on an overcoat. Then he walked to the forepart of the boat and, leaning over the side, looked at the sea, wintry like that on which the schooner _Hesperus_ had sailed. He was feeling a great deal better now. The sea was calm and the hard clearness of the night limited the illusion of space and accentuated the claustrophobia of sea-travel. The ship seemed shut in closely by the waves and the bright wastes of stars. The breeze came faintly across the water as he walked along. He did not at once notice Frau Mavrin, who was standing away from the sea, leaning a little against one of the nondescript subsidiary structures that overspread the deck. When he became aware of her he saw that she was watching him. As he looked she came across the deck towards him and said: 'Do talk to me. I came here for a little before bedtime. It is such a lovely night.' 'The sea is very calm tonight certainly.' 'Where have you been? I have not seen you since dinner. Have you been avoiding me?' 'Avoiding you, Frau Mavrin?' 'No, no. It was silly of me to say that. I did not mean that exactly. And please do not call me Frau Mavrin.' 'I do not know your other name.' 'Ortrud.' 'It suits you. It is a lovely name.' 'Do you think so? Where have you been? Talking to the two Counts?' 'I was sitting smoking with them. That is why I did not see you after dinner.' 'Those two terrible men.' 'Don't you like them?' Standing beside him she touched his arm. 'You are the only person on board to whom I can talk. That fearful Count Bobel, whom I feel sure is not a count at all. And even Count Scherbatcheff, many of whose cousins I have met. Both of them made extraordinary suggestions to me as soon as I was left alone with them. But I suppose I should not tell you all this.' 'Suggestions?' 'I am a woman of the world. I know men a little. But is that any reason why they should behave in that way to me?' 'But of course not.' 'With you,' she said, 'I feel safe.' Not knowing exactly why he did it, Lushington put his arm around her. 'With me,' he said, hoping it would not mean fighting a duel with either of the other two, 'you are safe.' Later they leaned together arm-in-arm over the side of the boat, watching the sea. Lushington said: 'You are not Russian, are you?' 'Why do you ask?' 'You look a little like a Russian.' 'I am Austrian. You wonder why I am going on this voyage. I will tell you. My family had a small property in Galicia, but we lost all our land at the end of the War. My father would not change his nationality. He had been an officer in the _K. und K._ cavalry. You understand? He did not recognise the partition of the Empire.' 'Exactly.' 'So we went to Vienna and my parents kept a _pension._ I taught dancing. But my father was a man of naturally gay disposition. He rose above his misfortunes and used to lose all the money we earned by the _pension_ and the dancing lessons when he played cards. Then my mother, who was a Pole, became despondent and ran away with a Rumanian financier. It is because I look like my mother that you thought I was a Slav.' 'And then what happened?' 'For a time my father and I lived on the bets he won at the local cafe. No one came to my dancing class. And then one day a foreign professor arranged to have six lessons. Before he had completed the course I was married to him.' 'Did you teach him to dance after you were married?' 'Never.' 'Why not?' 'After we were married he said that there was no more need for him to know how to dance. He only wished to learn in order to find a wife.' Again she reminded him of Lucy, but because she was different and not because their careers had been a little the same. There was the rather sparkling hardness that gave meaning to what both said, but the force behind it here was all instinctive and unsupported by any of Lucy's semi-philosophic buttresses. 'He is a difficult man,' she said, meaning her husband. 'Older than you?' 'Oh, yes. He is difficult, you know.' 'Does he treat you badly, then?' 'He does not always understand.' They leaned there together, looking out towards the sea. 'I was so surprised when you kissed me,' she said. 'Were you?' 'I did not know that Englishmen did that sort of thing.' 'Now you know.' 'Now I know.' They moved from the sea, more conveniently, to a seat beside the wireless cabin. She seemed to him absurdly slim and yielding beneath her heavy coat. At the same time the deck was not in the circumstances an ideal place. She sat there for a time in his arms. Then she said: 'Which of the two Counts shares your cabin?' 'Neither of them. I have a cabin to myself. On the port side.' 'Which side is that? I don't know what that means.' 'There. That side.' 'They say that the sea rolls less on that side. That is the best side to have a cabin.' 'Which side is yours?' 'It is on the other side. At the far end of the passage. But do you find that it rolls much on your side?' 'Not so much as you might think. I am lucky to have a cabin to myself. Don't you agree?' 'Does it roll there more than it is rolling now? What do you think?' 'I don't know. I think it does.' 'It rolls very badly on the side I am on too.' 'You share a cabin with your friend, of course?' 'Yes.' They did not speak for some minutes. The wind was increasing and had begun to blow shrilly through the rigging, which creaked and strained insistently. The lights were still on in the smoke saloon. The two Counts would talk for some time yet. He said: 'Would you like to come down to my cabin and see if the boat rolls as much on that side as the side that you are on?' 'Yes,' she said. 'It would interest me to see.' ## 7 IN the cabin, when she gave herself to him, she lost some of her remoteness. This remoteness was a weapon, a protection that she might at any moment reassume. But she put it aside for the time when she gave herself to him. He was surprised and rather shaken, feeling that he had been carried unexpectedly off his feet. Afterwards he watched her. Like Lucy she was thin, but she had not Lucy's effortless, quite amateur loveliness. She was like a very spruce animal. Her skin was not so white as Lucy's. It was tawny, almost olive, and her hair was not so fair. Resting her arm on his shoulder, she said: 'We must meet again. It is a small place and we shall meet again. I am sure that it will be soon.' 'Yes, soon.' He kissed her. 'You are in love with someone else already, yes?' 'Why should I be?' 'It came in the cards.' 'So it did.' 'Is it true?' 'No.' 'Yes it is. I know. I always know such things.' 'Why do you ask, then?' 'You are in love with someone else and you do this? Are you not ashamed?' 'Anyway, I'm not married, as it appears you are.' 'She is an English girl and she does not love you. I know it is that.' 'How do you know?' 'I am sure of it.' 'Why should you be interested in it at all?' 'You will see. We will meet again and you will tell me all the story. What do you say to that?' 'We shall see.' 'Now I must go.' 'Don't forget this.' She laughed. 'How absurd. I nearly left it here. Give it to me.' She turned and slapped his face lightly. Then she opened the door, listened, and went out into the passage. Her perfume, heavy and disturbing, still hung about the cabin. When she had gone Lushington opened the port-hole for a few seconds, but it was so cold that he shut it almost at once. It was rough that night and he could not sleep. He continually thought of Lucy. But he did not think anything definite about her. He merely thought of her. ## 8 IN the afternoon the air was still clear and they could see a town between the gaps in the islands. The lower part of the town was obscure, hidden in light mists, but there were shapes behind that took on an architectural form. This was their destination. The end of the voyage. Soon they would be set at liberty from the sea. Count Scherbatcheff, who for his health's sake had eaten no lunch, said: 'In the first place let me assure you, Lushington, that the man is not a Russian. It is no doubt equally absurd to suppose that he is a count. His behaviour! Have you noticed it? The way he sits at table. His attitude towards the ladies and especially Frau Mavrin. What could be more repellent? And then the heraldic chinoiserie embroidered all over the front of his shirt. I feel certain that he is a man to be avoided. I take this opportunity of warning you to beware of him. There are a great deal too many men of his type about Europe at the present day passing themselves off as Russians.' He looked at Lushington through very pale blue eyes. To disembark he was wearing the _béret_ with the enamel buttons on it and a raglan overcoat that hung in folds like a cloak. He shook his head and began to walk up and down the deck, sometimes stopping to stamp his feet or beat his arms across his chest. The ship sailed on, seeming to approach no nearer the town. The hard-faced stewardesses only shrugged their shoulders when asked what time the voyage was coming to an end. Two hours? Three hours? They could not say. It was later that afternoon in the bar, when the view of the town had been hidden unexpectedly by a muddy haze, that Count Bobel said: 'Count Scherbatcheff is a good fellow, Mr. Lushington. He comes of an excellent family. But he is from Little Russia and, like all who come from Little Russia, he has very marked peculiarities. Besides, you must know that his mother was a Georgian princess. He has moreover learned nothing from our country's misfortunes. We of the Russian nobility must face a new order. Times have changed. We are no longer the boyars of John the Terrible. We must curb our pride. Count Scherbatcheff has not yet learned that. He may have a bitter lesson one of these days. Nevertheless he is a sportsman. _Un bon garçon_.' 'What part of Russia do you come from?' Count Bobel's eyes narrowed a little. His cigarette hung almost vertically from his upper lip and the smoke from it curled gently into Lushington's right eye. The scent of amber hung all round him in a protective cloud. He said: 'My family had several large estates. But they were in a distant part of the country. At a great way off. As you must know, Russia is a very immense country. For a foreigner it is difficult even to imagine the extent of it. And now as we shall be landing in a short time I must inspect again my baggage as it contains commodities about which there may be question at the _douane._ You understand me?' Lushington went on deck again. Ortrud and Baroness Puckler were there wearing all their coats and scarves and standing beside a cairn of suitcases. The Baroness said: 'Always this affair of getting past the customs and the passport officers. But last time we were lucky and it was all over in less than an hour and a half. Let us hope we shall repeat our good fortune on this occasion.' Ortrud said: 'It is good that we have reached here before the ice. Often at this time it is frozen up. We have had a lucky voyage.' Only her eyes, blue and lozenge-shaped, appeared above the collar of her persian-lamb coat. Lushington slipped his arm behind one of the suitcases and touched her hand. She caught one of the fingers between two of hers and said: 'We must all meet again when we have recovered from the stress of the voyage, Mr. Lushington. You will come and have dinner with me and with my husband?' As they went on towards the shore the islands receded from the town and remained to the right and left in the mist among which they had first appeared. The place came into sight suddenly, huddled up, with blue-green spires and a red and gold cathedral. A castle or palace in grey stone was built on a rampart in a part of the town that was on a higher level than the rest of the houses. The boat passed a fort jutting out into the sea and then entered twisting waterways between wharfs. Here there was accommodation for a navy, but the docks were deserted. Sometimes decrepit tramps rode at anchor, flying a German or Scandinavian ensign, with frozen washing hanging out to dry attached to the lower rigging. There were streets and houses among the docks and looking between these it seemed that ships were moored in the thoroughfares of the town itself, so that quite suddenly Lushington thought again of Lucy, vividly, as if she were standing beside him as they moved forward. These ships among the buildings recalled her to him, bringing back a day they had spent together in the country when, coming through some trees towards the sea, funnels and masts appeared before them a few fields away, rising out of hedges and ploughland, jagged and coloured gaudily against the green, damp English morning. These unlikely hulls by some configuration of an estuary had seemed cut off and permanently land-locked, part of the strangeness of the countryside. Liners built up among the hedges. The day had been doubly notable for Lucy's release from the higher pessimism and the ships here now reminded him of her as she had come through the trees with him and stopped all at once, her hair blowing across her face as they stood and looked at the painted funnels. But that had been months before, he thought. This was another country. Something altogether different. The ship had ceased to make headway and a motor-boat put out from one of the quays and puffed towards them. An officer wearing a sword came on board and a weary civilian with a shaved head and an eyeglass. This last person carried a heavy instrument as for jacking up a lorry. With this contrivance, which proved to be a survival from the early days of printing, he stamped all the passports which he considered to be in order and at the same time was persuaded by Count Bobel to accept a cigar. At last they landed and Lushington drove to the hotel, where he found a note from Da Costa, who apologised for having been unable to meet the boat. Lushington had dinner and went to bed early. He was tired after the journey. ## 9 THE hotel was unexpectedly large, with palm trees in pots placed at intervals round the lounge. There were two doors at the entrance, one of them so heavy that only very strong people could get into the hotel at all without help and even those who managed to push it open, unassisted by the hall porter, were often swept back into the street at the very moment when they had seemed on the point of gaining admittance. From the middle of the morning onwards business men sat in the wicker chairs of the lounge and drank coffee or _schnapps_ and worked out sums for each other in pencil on the backs of envelopes. Flosshilde, the reception clerk, sat at her desk all day long watching the business men. She had red hair and was fat for her age and she wore an engagement ring made of large imitation diamonds. She spoke a dozen words of all languages and usually she had the lounge well under control. Sometimes, but not often, when the business men were very tiresome, she lost her head and the manager had to be sent for. Now she stood over Lushington while he filled up forms for the police dossier of foreigners. 'See!' she said. 'You have not written. The profession of mother's father?' 'I don't know it.' _'So?'_ 'No.' 'Write _private_ , then. And the date of marriage of father and mother?' 'I can't remember.' 'They are truly married?' 'They always say so.' This was a critical situation. Flosshilde thought. She said: 'Write any time before your birthday. But write it a year before.' 'All right. But give me another pen.' Opposite the hotel was the National Theatre, in stucco, Palladian and undistinguished. In the Russian time it had been the Opera House. Near-by was the Bourse. All this was in the Low Town, where most of the buildings were modern and the streets were broad. In the High Town on the other side of the river there were medieval houses made of wood and the streets were narrow and broken by steps and archways. The place was quite unreal, Lushington noticed. Flosshilde said that there would be snow soon. When that came this unreality would be absolute, although as a set-piece the scene would remain unstylised. Because the unreality was something in itself. Not the product of historical association nor even the superimposed up-to-date-ness. It was related perceptibly to the foreground of sea. The weather was not unpleasantly cold and the air was astonishingly clear. But there would be snow soon, Flosshilde said, because it was already late in the month. ## 10 DA COSTA'S flat was in the High Town. There was a shiny white-painted stove in the sitting-room, built out into the middle of the floor, and a bookcase with all Da Costa's books in it, piled up anyhow, some of them facing the wrong way. It was a large, uncomfortable room, greatly overheated, the sort of room that Da Costa was accustomed to inhabit. Lushington sat there looking through the double windows at the Baltic. Da Costa, a dark young man with a greenish, horse-shaped face, stood beside him, also watching the sea, his mouth a little open as if at any moment he were going to laugh. The two surfaces of glass were faulty in the middle, so that the spires of the Lutheran churches seemed to have broken away from their swollen bases as they narrowed up. The spires of the Lutheran churches were green and the Russian cathedral was built of red brick with five gold cupolas. The flat was high up and the sea was a long way off beyond the docks, but to the right and left of the town it was possible to distinguish where buildings ended suddenly in stretches of sand and pines. On the other side of the house the bedroom looked down on to a square in which a few market stalls were set up once a week, and opposite these was the new railway station, designed on a substratum of _modernismus_ , with pylons and tumid, angular caryatids. This was in red stone, the same red as the Russian cathedral, and it stood out uncompromisingly against the sky, which was steel-coloured and opaque. Da Costa said: 'Sometimes, as an Englishman, I feel a little inferior about my name in a country where so many people are descended from seventeenth-century adventurers and are called everyday names like Baron Morgan or Count Mackintosh. Or even, like the Chilean consul, merely Smith.' Lushington laughed. He was experiencing the feeling of irritation brought on by seeing again an old friend from whom he had been separated for many months. Da Costa, he noticed, felt the same, and Lushington knew that Da Costa was wondering when he himself would begin to talk about Lucy. It was a point upon which he had not yet made up his mind. He was thinking at that moment of his own satisfaction that Da Costa should care so little about her and at the same time of his annoyance that Da Costa should care so little while he himself cared a good deal. But he knew by experience that if his own affection for Lucy ever seemed to show signs of diminishing Da Costa was accustomed to show uneasiness because this seemed to lessen the value of Lucy's feelings for himself. On that account at least Lushington decided to say nothing of Ortrud. Besides, the thought of her disturbed him and made him feel curiously more amiable towards Da Costa. Pope was in the room too, moving secretively as if he were tidying up, sometimes pausing to examine letters or papers that Da Costa had left lying about or making scraps of introvert conversation. Pope had an unhealthy complexion, strangely discoloured, mineral rather than flesh, and hair so fair that it was nearly white. He hurried about the room, touching everything. He spoke always gently as if he were talking to a sick person. Gently but with insistence. Da Costa leaned so close to the window that his nose touched it and made a steamy mark on the near pane. At this he retreated his face a little and turned towards the east, where on the high ground beyond the industrial quarter were low, green-painted buildings like dolls' houses, government offices in the Russian time, now made into tenements. Lushington watched the people passing below the window. The streets were crowded at this time of day, mostly with men in black overcoats and astrakhan caps and goloshes. There were also staff officers who carried under their arm black portfolios, and a few boy and girl students in coloured peaked caps on their way home from the University. The evening light came into the room with curious slowness, brightening and emphasising the colour schemes of mauve and Venetian red which the late owner, one of the Rumanian secretaries, had instituted and which Pope would not allow Da Costa to alter. Pope began arranging in order of precedence all the invitation cards on the mantelpiece. When he was satisfied with their sequence he addressed himself to Da Costa. He said: 'It always interests me to do this, sir. Social life has always had a great attraction for me and I for it. It comes out in my ways. I notice it myself when I am dealing with others. It is something in myself. I have no control over it. By that I mean that I do not try to prevent myself from exercising this quality, because I see that it is a desirable thing that when such feelings exist they should be encouraged. My family have often commented on the difference between me and them. For example they always call me the Duke.' Da Costa laughed. He did not answer or turn round. The mark of steam on the inner window became wider than before. Lushington shuffled with his feet. Pope began to smile quietly to himself and set about brushing the crumbs from the table with a rolled-up copy of _The Gazette._ Then he patted a cushion and moved it from the place where it had been thrown. 'You see, my family think a great deal of me,' he said. 'I often tell them that they flatter me too much.' Outside, the fading evening, giving no warning, had become night. The dark steeples could still be seen among the dim lights. Pope went towards the window and began to draw the blinds. He said: 'I took the liberty of borrowing Freud's _Psychopathology of Life_ from your bookcase, sir. It is my free night tomorrow and should like to spend it reading. I often read lying on my bed. I hope you have no objection, sir.' Da Costa came to with a jerk. He said: 'No, no. Read it anywhere you like. And in any position.' 'Is there anything more this evening, sir?' 'No, that's all.' 'Good-night, sir. Good-night, sir.' 'Good-night, Pope.' 'Good-night.' Pope went away. Da Costa said: 'That was Pope. I've arranged for him to valet you. He doesn't have much to do and he said he'd like to take the job on. I inherited him from the last man who was here. He's a curious fellow, as you see. Rather a character.' 'But I don't like characters.' 'I know you don't. Neither do I. But we can't always have what we like. You had better take Pope on. I should perhaps warn you that he is sometimes rather inquisitive. Still, he is a good valet.' 'I can't possibly afford a valet.' 'You need not pay him much. You must have someone to look after your clothes. The hotel servants won't touch them. Anyway, I've arranged it with Pope and he is going to call you tomorrow. He's a man with a lot of personality.' 'Why didn't you tell me all this when he was here?' Da Costa laughed again, but without reference to any particular matter. He changed his weight from his right foot to his left and began to whistle through his teeth. Lushington said: 'And how are the Communists?' 'Splendid. They blew up the new gas-works the other day. At least that is supposed. Either they or the works manager, who was, it appears, a very erratic man. As everything is blown up it is hard to say. It is a pity, because architecturally they were of considerable beauty.' 'Do you ever come in contact with the Soviet legation?' 'Not as a rule. But you ought to. I met one of their secretaries the other day at a tea-party. We were both lodged in a corner and he thought I was an American engineer on his way out to some mines in Russia and I thought he was a French author on his way back. They have invented an entirely new form of boredom, like the worst moments of being in the boy scouts at one's preparatory school. He was a fine example of it.' 'Do you think I shall be able to get any stuff about communism for the paper?' 'Oh, yes. Plenty of stuff. There might easily be a revolution. There have been several outbreaks in countries next door. But a political assassination is about the best thing you can really rely on. There hasn't been one for some time and everyone is getting heartily sick of everyone else.' 'What's it like, being here?' 'An amusing town. I enjoy it. There is Maxim's and the Cafe Weber and the Station Restaurant and if you've been to all those you can listen to the wireless. You can pick up all sorts of peculiar places from here.' He laughed again, deafeningly, as if he were going to go off his head at any moment. Lushington lit a cigarette. Da Costa said: 'Fortunately you have come out here in time for the annual ball given by the nobility. You will be able to write something about that for your beastly paper.' 'Is it a good show?' 'Yes. Excellent. If you like that sort of thing.' 'Where are we going tonight?' 'To the Café Weber and then Maxim's. Maxim's is the night-club. To tell the truth, I have only been there once myself, and that was the night after I arrived for the first time. Two others are coming to dinner. Curtis Cortney, who is third secretary at the American legation, and a fellow called Waldemar.' 'Tell me about them.' 'Waldemar is a soldier. A captain in one of the two cavalry regiments. The 2nd Uhlans, I think. Or perhaps it is the 1st. He isn't really a captain, but he had an appointment at the Ministry of Defence, cleaning out the ink-pots or something of the sort, and everybody calls him Captain.' 'And Cortney?' 'He is a fine chap too. I believe he's a Southerner, but I can't really remember. Perhaps he isn't. I wish their Minister was, though. I like Southerners.' 'What's he?' 'He's whatever you are when you are not a Southerner. He is not a professional diplomat, of course, so that one should not expect too much. That's their system.' 'What is?' 'They give their best diplomatic posts to business men who need a rest or lawyers who have flown a bit near the wind in their own country. They send publishers to the more important capitals, but the people here have to put up with smaller fry. But you'd be surprised to see how soon most of them pick it up. Still, poor Cortney, who is, of course, in their permanent service, used to go through agonies with the last Minister, who could not tie his white tie. It once came undone during a Presidential reception.' 'By the way, Lucy sent her love,' said Lushington, who was not greatly interested in the administration of the United States' diplomatic service. 'Lucy? Oh, did she? How is she? Why doesn't she come out here for a bit?' said Da Costa. He laughed again vacantly and, to prevent Lushington going on about Lucy, began to hum. But his presence, slowly getting to work like the warming up of an engine, had begun to condition in Lushington renewed thoughts of Lucy and, although Da Costa was not the person with whom from preference he would have discussed her, he was the only one available, being almost certainly the sole human being in the country who had ever heard her name. Lushington said, above the humming: 'I thought she was looking better when I came away.' He was considering other remarks to make with which to follow up this one when the door-bell rang. Da Costa said: 'This must be Waldemar. I will let him in.' He went out into the hall and returned almost at once with a young man in uniform who still had his fur cap on his head. The young man looked nervous. He was clean-shaved and wore pince-nez. His double-breasted military overcoat had a high waist and broad sheepskin collar. He clicked his heels, saluted, and said: 'Waldemar!' Da Costa said: 'He is introducing himself. This is Captain Waldemar. Captain Waldemar—Mr. Lushington.' Waldemar said in quite good English: 'Pleased to meet you, Mr. Lushington.' Da Costa said: 'Take your coat and sword off, Waldemar, and we'll have a drink.' Waldemar unhooked his sword and propped it up in the corner of the room among Da Costa's shooting-sticks and golf clubs. Underneath his overcoat he wore a khaki tunic, well cut but very tight, and a pair of blood-red riding breeches with a yellow stripe down each leg. He seemed rather bothered and passed his hand once or twice round the inside of his cruelly high collar. Then he sat down and said to Lushington: 'You have been playing rugby in England, yes?' Da Costa, pulling the cork out of a bottle, said: 'No, no. Of course he hasn't. I've told you about that before, Waldemar. You read too many of the wrong sort of English books.' Waldemar laughed a little and adjusted his pince-nez, but he seemed relieved. Lushington said to him: 'I hear we are going to Maxim's tonight.' 'You like dancing?' Waldemar said. 'There is dancing there. And there are girls.' 'I expect you go there often?' 'No. Not often. Two years ago I was there. It was Christmas time. It was very jocose.' Da Costa said: 'It's an amusing place. I remember it well. The girls are very good-looking. They are mostly Russian, I believe. You don't have to dance with them if you don't want to. I expect that bell is Cortney arriving.' He went out into the hall again and came back this time with an American dressed in the English manner and wearing a small fair moustache, trimmed so that it appeared to be false. Da Costa, who was evidently embarrassed by this new arrival as much as he himself embarrassed Waldemar, took the American by the arm and shouted to the others: 'This is Mr. Curtis Cortney. This is a compatriot of mine, Curtis. You know Captain Waldemar already, I think.' Lushington shook hands with Cortney, who said with a conversational burr as sweet and low as the _vox humana_ of some mighty cinema organ: 'Mr. Lushington, I hope that we shall be great friends.' Da Costa began laughing again and, standing on one leg, yelled: 'Well, Curtis, what's it to be? A high-ball?' Lushington said to Waldemar: 'How well you talk English.' Da Costa said: 'Don't sit there paying each other compliments. Come and help mix these drinks.' Cortney said: 'So we're going to Maxim's tonight. It's strange that I never seem to go there. Only been there once in all the months I've been here.' 'Lovely girls,' said Waldemar, rather unconvincingly, and there was a pause. Waldemar patted his soft black leather riding-boots that wrinkled round his ankles. Lushington said to Cortney: 'Have you been posted here long?' 'Since last fall.' 'How do you like it?' Cortney said: 'Mr. Lushington, for two years I was at Buenos Aires. Do you know that I just couldn't stop there. I used to wake up in the morning and tell myself that I couldn't stand for those modern boulevards any longer. I used to say why can't I get away to somewhere where there is some history, some romance. And then I got my transfer. Hell, what a day that was, the day I got my transfer. Why, there wasn't a happier man in all B.A. And now when I run my tub each morning I can look through the window and see those ancient grey walls of stone and I think of the old-time knights— _ritters_ , they call them here—who caused them to be raised and my heart beats maybe a trifle faster and sometimes I can almost hear the clash of swords on breastplates, and I tell myself no, no, all that was in the days gone by. Ah, Captain Waldemar, it's a great heritage, this little old land of yours. No wonder you're proud of your independence.' Waldemar said: 'Yes, yes, Mr. Cortney. You love romance. Like you I too love romance. When I was young also I would think how romantic to go to the Wild West. To fight Indians. Or to be English. To have colonies. Always it was childish dream of mine that I should go out to the English colonies. You understand me? It was not a practical thought. It was schoolboy imagining of mine. The dream of a schoolboy not yet grown up.' Cortney said: 'Captain Waldemar, that's a great idea of yours, but it's not just what I intended to convey. It's a fine viewpoint for a young man, though it may not be my own, if you understand me.' Waldemar said: 'Nevertheless the English are an elegant race. A nation of dandies. It was a great surprise to me when I saw English officers carrying walking-sticks. Here we may not carry sticks when we are in uniform. It is forbidden. We may not carry sticks unless we are lame.' Da Costa said: 'Here, drink this, Waldemar, and don't talk so much.' Cortney turned to Lushington and said: 'I expect I'm just naturally romantic. But that's how the place gets me. And I'll swear it will get you that way too.' They dined that evening at the Cafe Weber in a wide room done up in a modern German style. Da Costa, whose nerves were bad, talked most of the time and laughed at all his own jokes. Waldemar and Cortney were evidently used to him. Both seemed to like him, although Waldemar, regarding him as a typical Englishman and as such prepared for the worst, was a little afraid of him. Waldemar himself was a quiet, studious young man whom circumstances rather than taste seemed to have brought to the high calling of arms. He was shy and his tunic was a great deal too tight, and whenever Da Costa asked him whether or not he would eat a certain dish he always said 'Perhaps' as a polite method of throwing the onus of choosing on Da Costa. This had the combined effect of annoying Da Costa and holding up the progress of the meal. At moments even Cortney would say: 'Now then, Captain, show some military decision.' Cortney at times seemed unnerved by Da Costa's general appearance and manner, but most of all by his clothes, which, as always, looked as if they had been made by a good tailor for someone of quite different shape. Lushington saw him give sidelong glances at Da Costa's waistcoat, which continually worked up above the top of his trousers. The food and wine in the restaurant were like the decorations, heavy and pretentious. As the meal advanced Waldemar became more confident and told them about himself and his life: 'For a year I was in France. At the military school of St. Cyr. One would have to get up at four o'clock in the morning. There was no breakfast. Only very strong black coffee. Sometimes it was too strong for me to drink. There was an English officer there with me. Always he would say that he could not become accustomed to there being no breakfast. He was called Macgregor. It was always that. Macgregor could not become accustomed to that.' 'Ah,' said Cortney, 'you English. You're a great race, but you have your limitations.' ## 11 MAXIM'S was a small and undistinguished night-club with a gallery running round it and, instead of being done-up in modern German, it had been treated freely in the later manner of French second-empire style. The band, who were called _Bristol Mondial Boys_ , sat at the end of the room. Their name was written on the drum and they were playing _O Katerina_ while a few couples danced. Waldemar said: 'You see they have a telephone on every table. Very modern, you see?' Cortney said: 'If anyone calls us up you'll have to answer them, Captain. I've done all my telephoning for today at the office.' At the next table two conscripts in baggy uniforms with pinched, intellectual faces stood up to attention and one of them upset his drink. Waldemar inclined his head and they sat down again. Two girls were at the table on the other side. One of them was dark and wore the approximation of a riding-habit, an indeterminate affair in bottle-green, and the other, a sulky-looking blonde with hair _à la pompadour_ , was in black evening dress. They were drinking coffee and lost no time in indicating that they would be prepared to accept an invitation to supper. 'Shall we get them over?' said Da Costa, rather threateningly, in case any of the others might say yes, but everyone was opposed to the suggestion. Da Costa, who had now become something of the school bully, a nervous state engendered by finding himself in a night-club, said: 'Come on, Waldemar, pull yourself together and tell all these waiters that we're not going to drink champagne, but they're to get some brandy at once and mind it has a recognisable label on the bottle.' They sat down and watched the dancers, a mixed party, Waldemar explained, mostly business men with their wives, except a major in the artillery dancing with his fiancée, who played Ibsen heroine parts at the National Theatre, and a long way off the American Minister, who was giving supper to the leading lady from the touring German production of _Gräfin Maritza._ It was some time before Lushington noticed Count Bobel dancing with an elderly woman, who showed by her demeanour that she was paying for the evening's entertainment. The Count bowed to Lushington as he danced past their table. Da Costa said: 'What curious friends you always seem to have.' 'Not at all. Why should you think so?' 'Who is he?' 'A beauty specialist. A count. I met him on the boat coming over here.' 'A typical acquaintance of yours.' 'Do you think so? In any case I see nothing out of the ordinary in my knowing him. He seemed a very normal sort of person.' The manager of the place stood near the table, moving round it at intervals to examine Lushington, Da Costa and Cortney at different angles. He was not interested in Waldemar. The girls at the next table were not interested in Waldemar either, as they and the manager were equally familiar with the rates of army pay. The manager had a moustache, side-whiskers and a frock-coat. When he had inspected the table from all sides he came very close and said: 'English?' Da Costa said: 'Yes. Of course I am English. Why do you ask?' The manager said: 'Very well. Yes, please.' Da Costa bowed to show that the conversation was at an end, but the manager lingered by the table. He seemed to have something on his mind. He said: 'I was officer in Russian Army. I was major. I was on General Staff.' Cortney said: 'Well, Major, you've got a nice little place here.' 'Revolution came. All was gone. Now am here.' Lushington said: 'Rather a change.' The manager said: 'You want to meet girls. I can arrange it. Good girls. One speak English.' 'Not at the moment.' This reply appeared so far-fetched that the manager was for the moment at a loss for words. He therefore retreated and consolidated his position. He said: 'I was on General Staff. I pass examination staff-school and was breveted General Staff.' Da Costa, whose nerves were showing no sign of abating, said: 'Was it fun being on the General Staff.' The manager said: 'Often when in a new place you feel lonely. Want company. One girl speak English. I present you. Good girl. _Everyone_ say good girl.' 'Not yet.' The manager seemed perplexed. Someone had made a false move. He showed his teeth again. 'Good girls,' he said, but with lessening conviction. This conversation might have continued indefinitely, but at that point in its development somebody in the band struck a gong and all the lights went out. A mauve spotlight was switched on to the dancing floor and a fat girl in trousers and a Spanish hat came to the centre of the room and with castanets began to sing: > _'... for I'm one of de nuts from Barcelona_ , > > _I pliquety-plonque_ , > > _My casa-bionque...'_ As she sang she danced round the room snapping her castanets in front of each table. The audience received these representations stoically, with the exception of one of the business men who had had too much to drink and who made faces at her while she was executing these movements for his benefit. After a time the lights went on again and the manager was found to be far away, He was ushering in a new party of clients: two women, a man in a white tie and an officer of some rank with a decoration hanging at his throat. At the next table the two conscripts stood rigid. And then Lushington saw that one of the two women was Ortrud. She came across the room, moving rather superbly. When she saw them she stopped at the table and held out her hand. As they got up she said: 'I told you we should meet quickly again in so little a city. You remember that I said that?' 'I am glad it has been so soon.' 'I present to you,' she said, 'Major-General of Infantry Kuno and Frau Major-General of Infantry Kuno. And this is Herr Legation-Secretary Diaz.' The General beamed. He was rather more than five feet high and he wore white kid gloves. His wife was dressed in a tippet. Mr. Diaz had a hooked nose and a blue chin and was the unathletic sort of Latin-American. The General jingled his spurs, clanked his sword a little so that the sword-knot swung backwards and forwards, and bowed. Ortrud said: 'The Herr Major-General of Infantry speaks only our language.' General Kuno nodded and showed his teeth in friendship at Lushington, who nodded and grinned fiercely in return. Lushington said: 'How is Baroness Puckler?' 'Come and speak to me at my table before you go away from here tonight. I will tell you about her. And besides I should myself like to see you again.' She put her head a little on one side and smiled. Her party moved on towards their table. The arrival of General Kuno had thrown Waldemar into a great state of nerves. Da Costa said: 'You seem to have more friends here than I have. How did you meet Frau Mavrin?' 'On the boat.' 'Do you make all your friends on boats?' 'Some on trains. But who exactly is she?' 'Who is she? Don't you know who she is? What an extraordinary fellow you are. Her husband is Professor of Psychology at the University here. Didn't she tell you? He's a very clever man. An international reputation, almost.' 'What is she like?' 'What's she like? Well, I imagine you know more about her than I do. You were almost alone with her in an open boat for several days. For all the privacy there is on those boats coming out here one might as well be on a raft.' Cortney, who had been occupied during the past few minutes in glancing furtively at the American Minister, who with the help of the German leading lady was energetically lowering his country's prestige at the far end of the room, began to listen to the conversation again and said: 'If it's Frau Mavrin that you're talking of, I'll tell you Frau Mavrin is a great little lady. She's got poise, she's got dignity, she's got sense of position. She's a sophisticate who knows the worth of simplicity. She's a girl any country should be proud of. She's Frau Mavrin and we all of us love her for it.' Da Costa said: 'Your chief was talking about her the other day and said she was a tough baby, whatever that may mean. He said she was the sort of dame who if she'd been taken in adultery would have caught the first stone and thrown it back.' 'I'll say he sometimes seems to lack a proper reverence for women although he is my chief. But he doesn't mean it. It's just his hard-boiled way of expressing himself.' Da Costa said: 'Well, we all of us have our disillusioned moments. I expect your chief does just like the rest of us. In spite of the fun he seems to be having tonight. Come on, Waldemar. Have some more of this. Don't mope.' Lushington said: 'She's an Austrian, isn't she?' 'Viennese. I fancy she got rather mixed up in some of the gay life there at some point. _Tales from the Vienna Woods_ and so on.' The band, after playing _O Katerina_ faster and faster, had now switched over to _Komm mit nach Varasdin._ The girl in the riding-habit and the one with the hair _à la pompadour_ got up and began to dance together. They gravitated to the centre of the room, where, hovering, they attempted a charleston. Once when they passed the table the cross-looking one said 'Hullo, mister,' to Cortney. Da Costa said: 'Of course they don't really like one coming here much at the legation. In fact when the Old Man was here he once warned me against the place. However, Bellamy won't bother even if he hears of it and the new Minister is bound to get rid of me anyway.' 'What will you do if he does?' Lushington said. 'I don't know. I may go and dig in Crete or somewhere like that. I've always wanted to do that.' Cortney said: 'Fortunately our Service does not enforce such a rigid code of personal behaviour. The American People wouldn't think any the worse of us for coming to a dump like this. In fact they'd think we were crazy if we didn't throw a wild party once in a while. Look at the life we lead. What sort of a week have you got ahead of you? I take it you're going to the d'Almeidas' on Tuesday?' 'And dining with the new Japanese that night.' 'I'm not in on that, but there's the Danish _thé dansant_ the day after and dinner at the Castellinis' for the Gomez reception, and they're burying Parapapadoukos on Thursday and I'm going to play bridge with the Zadeks that night.' 'I'm going to all those, so that we shall meet several times. Then I shall see you on Friday night at the Bellamys', I hope, and are you going to the Ninitch lunch at the Café Weber?' 'Naturally, and the Jakobsens' that afternoon.' 'That's fine,' Da Costa said, 'because I must have a word with you in the near future about something Bellamy wants to know with regard to imported textiles. I expect some opportunity will turn up for discussing the matter.' Lushington, who had not been listening because he was watching Ortrud and her party, said: 'Who is General Kuno?' Waldemar said: 'For the time he commands the police. He is a very strong man. Some do not like him. During the Civil War he executed many people. But he is not so important now as then. Not so important as some of the colonels. Some of the colonels are very important men.' Count Bobel, who was seated some way off at a table in the gallery, appeared to be having an uninteresting evening with his partner, who wore a chignon. He continually turned round and smiled at Lushington and pointed below the gallery to indicate where Ortrud was sitting. Lushington smiled back wanly, hoping that others would not see him. They watched the dancing. Ortrud went round the room once, doing a tango with the South American Diaz, but as she passed her own table she said something to him and they stopped and sat down. The fat girl appeared again several times, variously dressed in man's evening clothes, peasant costume, and as Columbine. There was also a man who did step-dancing and held knives in his mouth. The atmosphere was warm and some ladies were fanning themselves with the paper fans that had been handed round. The manager threw a few coloured streamers, but after a time he became tired of doing this and sat at a table near the band and had some tea. It was getting late. Waldemar yawned once or twice behind his hand. Da Costa said: 'Is it bedtime, do you think?' Lushington said: 'Before we go I must speak to Frau Mavrin. I should like to see her again.' As he said this he saw that Ortrud and her party had paid their bill and were coming across the room. General Kuno clattered across the dance floor and once more the two conscripts stood up. Ortrud came to the table and said: 'Will not you and your friends come to my apartment for a few minutes before you go home? Mr. Da Costa and Mr. Cortney and you, Herr Hauptmann, whom I have not met yet? You will come?' She smiled at the others. She watched them from under her absurdly arched eyebrows. Waldemar excused himself on the ground of an early parade he had unexpectedly to attend the following morning, but Da Costa and Cortney said that they would like to come. Ortrud said: 'Then it will be only you three and Mr. Legation-Secretary Diaz. The General and Madame have decided to go home.' Everyone bowed to everyone else and after a slight disturbance about the bill in which Waldemar had to act as interpreter they left the table. As they went the girl with hair _à la pompadour_ said: 'Hey, hey, mister, you come with us, isn't it?' Da Costa said: 'No, madam, it is nothing of the sort,' and they passed on through the bar towards the door. In the outer room of the premises the tired, hunched-up man sitting on one of the high stools at the bar turned out to be Count Scherbatcheff, who said: 'Good-night, Lushington. I suppose the manager of this place told you that he was a Russian?' 'Yes.' 'I supposed that he would.' Count Scherbatcheff shook his head gloomily. Lushington said: 'How did you find your grandmother?' 'She was obstinate. She is an old woman and she likes her own way. You are English. In England you do not make scenes. But my grandmother does not try to control herself. She screams. She throws herself on the floor.' Seeing Ortrud, Count Scherbatcheff jumped off his stool and kissed her hand. Lushington introduced Da Costa and Cortney. Waiters hung round expectantly, hoping that the festivities were going to begin all over again. Cortney said: ' _Enchanté_ , Count. A good friend of mine called Vanoppen married a Princess Alexandrovna Scherbatcheff in Boston the other day. The Princess is a relative of yours, no doubt?' Count Scherbatcheff said: 'No, no. No relation. I know of whom you speak. Nor is she a princess. My grandmother was complaining about her only this evening.' He leaned against the bar and patted his chest. 'I still suffer a great deal from the stomach,' he said. They commiserated and left him leaning against the bar. 'Poor man,' said Ortrud. 'But my husband would never allow me to bring a Russian into the house.' Cortney said: 'Count Scherbatcheff seems a splendid fellow. One of the best. But I guess he made an error about Princess Alexandrovna Scherbatcheff. Why, she came from one of the best families in Russia. Vanoppen wouldn't have made a mistake about a thing like that. I know him too well to think he'd done that. But they're strange, these old-world aristocrats, sometimes in the things they say about each other.' They managed to get into one drosky. Diaz, who was good-looking but of weak character, was elbowed away from Ortrud by Lushington and Cortney. Lushington held one of her hands under the rug and wondered whether Cortney was holding the other one. Da Costa from choice sat opposite them. Lushington was relieved to find that Ortrud seemed to know neither Da Costa nor Cortney too well. His own relief surprised him and he speculated upon her friendship with Diaz. ## 12 THE drosky stopped in front of a block of flats in the University quarter. They entered a cramped lift which they worked themselves by pressing a button. At one point it showed signs of stopping between two floors, but it recovered and ascended the rest of the way in short jerks. They reached one of the higher floors at last, where the lift came to rest. The Mavrins' flat was unnecessarily full of furniture and pictures of all sorts, including an oleograph of the Emperor Franz-Josef and a cuckoo clock. Ortrud turned on the light and said: 'A moment and I will make tea. I know that Englishmen always like tea. Am I not right?' They sat down. Ortrud fetched some cups and saucers. Diaz tried to help her, but she told him not to interfere and he retired to sit down with the others. They waited. Then the inner door of the room opened and a tall elderly man with a shaggy moustache and wearing a dressing-gown stood on the threshold. Slowly he came into the room. He was clearly surprised to see so many guests at this hour. He said: 'Ach, Ortrud—' 'Speak English, Panteleimon, these gentlemen are English and do not understand our language.' 'Ach, _so_?" 'Mr. Lushington, this is my husband.' Professor Mavrin stood there for a few moments collecting himself, rubbing his eyes with one hand and smoothing down his hair with the other. He seemed sleepy. Then he bowed and shook everyone by the hand, and said: 'Gentlemen, I am delighted to see you all.' Ortrud said: 'Panteleimon, do not you think that your clothes are a little incorrect now that we have friends to see us? A little informal?' 'My dear, I have but now come from bed.' 'But, my dear husband, would it not be right to wear something more in keeping? That is my thought.' 'My dear, you suggest that I put on my clothes again?' 'Mr. Legation-Secretary Diaz has full evening dress. These gentlemen wear the smoking. Should we, their hosts, appear in less?' 'You wish that I put on evening dress again, my dear wife?' 'Would it not be becoming, Panteleimon?' 'Very well, my dear wife. What you think is no doubt best.' The Professor turned to the others. He said: 'You will excuse me for a few moments, gentlemen. I fear that I have appeared in unsuitable attire. It is my hope that you will perhaps forgive me.' He drew his dressing-gown around him and went through the door by which he had come in. He looked rather noble in his simple dressing-gown, like a medieval abbot or one of the Burghers of Calais. Ortrud continued to prepare tea. Cortney said: 'Frau Mavrin, what I marvel at in this little country of yours is your home life. Now in America, I hope not too late, we are realising what a sacred institution the home is and how it is threatened by the stress of modern life. It is in the home that the children are being raised that the nation of the future will be proud of, and it's in the home that the finest flower of our womanhood should find its true place. Now that's a lesson it seems to me that this country will never have to learn.' 'Oh, Mr. Cortney, you are so kind.' 'It's just the truth, Frau Mavrin.' 'But then I am really Austrian.' Cortney made a few passes in the air as if he were conducting an imaginary orchestra of great size and through his teeth he hummed a few bars of the second strain from _The Blue Danube._ 'That's just it, Frau Mavrin,' he said. 'That's just it.' Diaz, who saw the party developing along lines that no South American could tolerate, made some excuse about never drinking tea and, after spending what seemed to Lushington an age kissing Ortrud's hand, went away. Ortrud said: 'I am not sorry that he has gone. When he first came out here I thought that he was such a nice young man. You understand? He dances well. He is always so attentive. But then I find that I do not like him so much.' Cortney said: 'Frau Mavrin, you can't be too careful. You must always bear in mind that the attitude of a Latin to a woman is not the one that we Nordic peoples have been brought up to. They do not think along the same lines as we do. They sometimes fail to appreciate that conception of chivalry that is instilled into the Anglo-Saxon from his birth up. Is not that so, Mr. Lushington?' 'Absolutely.' Da Costa said: 'Come, come, don't forget the hot Portuguese blood that flows in my own veins.' Ortrud said: 'Ah, I think you are right. I am certainly glad that he has gone. I feel more safe.' She poured out tea for them and gave them sweet biscuits from a tin box. In this room she looked not at all different from what she had been at Maxim's or on the sea. She was nearly beautiful. Lushington was surprised, because he had expected her to change when he had become accustomed to her appearance and when he had seen her in her own surroundings. He watched her while Da Costa, all legs and arms, sitting in an arm-chair, as if his limbs had been thrown there without arrangement, and Cortney, very upright on an embroidered stool, talked of the bridge tournament that someone was organising and about which they wanted Ortrud to give advice. At last she handed both of them a pencil and some paper and said: 'Come. Write down the names, each of you, and then compare.' Lushington was standing apart, examining some of the bric-à-brac that hung about the room. She turned from the others, leaving them writing, and came across the room to him. She spoke to him quickly so that they could not hear. Lushington said: 'Yes. Come to tea tomorrow. To the hotel. I have a sitting-room.' 'You want me to?' 'Of course I want you to.' 'You have thought of me, yes?' 'Yes.' From the other end of the room Cortney said: 'Frau Mavrin, you'll have to help us with this little problem. The two best players in town have both been divorced from the third best. How is this going to affect the tourney?' They discussed the problem. The wooden clock on the mantelpiece struck and the cuckoo appeared noisily. Da Costa and Cortney both looked at their watches and began to get up. Ortrud said: 'But you must not go yet.' 'You forget, Frau Mavrin, the affairs of state. The councils of Europe.' 'Then I must see all of you again soon.' Cortney kissed her hand. Da Costa did not; so Lushington did not do so either. She opened the door of the flat. 'You can work the lift?' she said. 'We will walk,' said Da Costa. 'It is only a few flights.' 'It is easy to work.' 'No, no,' said Cortney. 'We will walk.' Just as they were leaving the flat the other door of the room they had been in opened and the Professor appeared. He was wearing full evening dress, and when he saw that the guests were going home he threw up his hands. 'Ach, gentlemen—' 'Panteleimon, you are too late. What could have kept you so long?' 'My dear wife—' 'My poor Panteleimon, you have had this trouble and now our guests are departing. I have been the cause of all your trouble.' 'It is no trouble, my dear Ortrud. Only I am sorry that we lose our guests. But wait, I will take them down in the lift.' 'No, no, Professor Mavrin,' said Da Costa. 'We couldn't allow that. Not for one moment. We will certainly walk.' Cortney said: 'Professor, we have abused your hospitality enough for one night. You go right back to bed. Don't you go near that elevator.' 'I insist, gentlemen, I insist,' said the Professor and, herding them into the lift, pressed the button. They reached the hall in safety, although the lift stopped about a foot from the floor and they had to open the gates and jump the rest of the way to the ground. As this position seemed final the Professor shook them by the hand and returned to his home by the stairs. Cortney said: 'Well, here I leave you, as my own apartment is just two blocks from this spot.' They said good-night to him. It was snowing a little. As they walked towards a drosky Da Costa said to Lushington: 'I thought you were rather offhand with Frau Mavrin. Did you have a quarrel with her on the boat? Or is that just your way with women?' ## 13 LYING in bed in his room at the hotel in a dry blackness of heavy curtains and radiators and with a bulk of untucked-in bedclothes continually slipping off him, Lushington considered, through his trance of early morning dozing, whether or not he had behaved wisely the night before. He had come to no conclusions when someone opened the door and turned on the electric light. The glare of the lamp was an agony, so that he shut his eyes again, but not before he had seen that it was a fair wizened man who had come into the room. 'Who are you?' said Lushington, still with his eyes shut. 'I'm Pope, sir. Mr. Da Costa's man. I expect Mr. Da Costa mentioned I was going to call you.' He coughed behind his hand. Lushington tried to adjust his memory. The man's face was certainly familiar, so he said: 'Oh, yes, he did. But you have called me rather early, haven't you? What is the time?' 'Mr. Da Costa told me to call you first, sir. Mr. Da Costa goes to the chancellery rather late sometimes. He said that he thought it would be better if I called you first. Those were his orders.' 'By all means call me first. Very likely Mr. Da Costa does not get up until lunch. But is it necessary to be as early as this? This is an unearthly hour.' 'I'm afraid it would be _very inconvenient_ to call you at any other time, sir. I am sorry.' Pope's eyes narrowed. He looked for a moment, rather wistfully, at Lushington lying in bed, as if he were sorry for anyone who had fallen so low. Then he turned away and drew up the blinds. It was still dark outside. Central heating pervaded the room and Lushington's skin felt parched. He lay in bed wondering how expensive the employment of Pope was going to be. He said: 'I suppose it would be dangerous to sleep with one of the windows open?' 'Very dangerous. I did it once myself when I first came out here and they thought I was going to die. The doctors despaired of me. There were three doctors and they all despaired of me. One of them was a very famous specialist out here. A man with a big reputation. Which suit will you wear, sir?' 'The blue one.' 'The one you wore yesterday?' 'Yes.' Pope hesitated. He said: 'If you did not wear the suit you wore yesterday, sir, I could brush it.' 'All right; I'll wear the other one.' 'The brown one?' 'Yes.' 'The brown one needs pressing terribly, sir.' 'I know.' 'Shall I press it for you, sir?' 'Will you?' Uneasily Pope watched Lushington in bed. He said: 'Would it be better if you wore the blue suit today and then I can press the brown one? Would that be convenient?' 'Yes, yes, I'll do that.' Lushington turned over with his face towards the wall and thought about Ortrud. He felt certain that he was getting into a mess. He tried to will Pope to go out of the room and leave him in peace. From behind him he heard Pope clear gently his throat and say: 'I believe I saw you at Maxim's last night, sir?' 'I was there. I did not see you.' 'I was in the gallery, sir. I do not go there often. To speak the truth, I do not find it a very good entertainment. But I am afraid I am very pleasure-loving by nature. Any gaiety has always appealed to me.' 'Has it?' 'They have a curious custom here,' Pope said. 'In a public place you may ask a lady to dance with you before you have been introduced to her. It took me a long time to get used to that. What tie will you wear, sir?' 'Any tie.' 'The grey one?' 'Yes. The grey one.' 'Or this one, sir?' 'The grey one.' 'Would this one go better with the brown suit?' 'All right, that one.' 'Of course it's a custom that widens your acquaintance a great deal,' Pope said. 'There's no doubt about that, whatever one may feel about the etiquette. But then I like society. I only feel at ease when I am with people. My own family have often remarked on it.' 'Have they?' 'They call me the Duke. Jokingly, of course.' Lushington said nothing because he was still feeling sleepy and could at that moment think of nothing apposite to say. Pope made a clicking noise with his tongue. He said: 'I'm sorry, sir. You said that you would wear the blue suit and not the brown one. In that case you will like to wear the grey tie after all. They would go together better.' 'Yes, if you think so.' 'And what shirt, sir?' 'The same shirt.' 'It is rather soiled, sir.' Lushington said: 'I know it is. I like it like that.' He turned over again and began to doze, abandoning all effort to wake up. He had begun to dream when he felt Pope touch his shoulder and shake him slightly. Not hard, but enough to make him feel a little sick. 'What is it?' 'You won't go to sleep again, sir, will you?' ## 14 ALTHOUGH the snow had come the cold was not excessive. The snow lay on the spires and the red railway station and on the timber warehouses down by the harbour. Lushington used to sit in his room in the hotel and write articles in the morning, going out before lunch to send telegrams to the paper. He found the atmosphere congenial to writing articles about London as if he were still living there. The telegrams were for the most part about communist organisations or anti-communist organisations, according to his mood. These people were having trouble with the Communists and also with the Agrarians and the National Party and the Social-Democrats and the Fascists and more recently with the Jews and Jesuits, so that there was always plenty to telegraph home about and Lushington used to send long expensive cables to the paper which subsequently appeared in two lines, low on the page opposite the sporting news. In the afternoon he collected information. Everyone he met was anxious to give him as much information as possible in order that matters should be reported from their point of view, except Da Costa, who, suddenly seized with a fear that he appeared unimportant, assumed an air of secrecy about affairs of state as soon as he and Lushington were alone together, which happened usually for not less than two hours every day. In public, however, when thinking of other things, he would divulge any information that might be required of him. When Da Costa became secretive Lushington as a reprisal talked about Lucy, and also to work off his own feelings about her, which, as he now saw Ortrud several times a week, had become quite complex. One or two letters arrived from Lucy telling him what to tell Da Costa about herself. So the days passed. In the evening there were usually dinner-parties given by members of the Diplomatic Corps or persons connected in some way with the Government. When there were no dinner-parties Lushington went to the cinema with Ortrud or played piquet with Da Costa. But there were invitations to dinner most nights and dances or parties quite often as well. The dinner-parties began early and ended late, but it was possible to feel ready for them when the evening came by spending some of the afternoon walking among the pine forests along the shore. ## 15 BARONESS PUCKLER'S parties were in no way different from those given by members of the Diplomatic Corps. Her husband as a young man had in fact been in the Service (of which country no one seemed to remember) although he was retired when, a few years before the War, he had been killed motor-racing in France. Baroness Puckler continued to keep up her foreign connections when she returned home, and the circumstance that the province in which she lived had now become a sovereign state was some consolation for the confiscation by its Government of most of her money and all her land, because it provided her at the same time with diplomats to entertain. She lived a quiet life, existing on the memories of dinner conversations she had had twenty years before with Bülow or de Soveral, and she kept even her affection for Ortrud within disciplined bounds. The society to which she had been brought up had been taken away from her and destroyed, but in its place she had constructed a neat miniature world from which she had found it possible to exclude some of the more glaring defects of the great capitals. That night Lushington found that he was sitting between Madame Theviot, the wife of the French Minister, and a woman whose name he had been unable to catch who was one of the female members of the House of Deputies. Professor Mavrin had been placed opposite and immediately facing him. Out of the corner of his eye he could sec Ortrud at the other end of the table. The female Deputy was talking: 'We are only a little country. A little new country. You must not be surprised if sometimes we do not seem to do things so well as you big countries who have been big countries for so long. You big countries do not know what it is like to be a little country. We are not used to being even a little country yet. You big countries do all the things so well that we little countries do not so well do yet.' 'Oh, but I am sure that you do. You seem to me to do everything so much better than in the big countries. That is why I enjoy being here so much.' 'Ah, you are too kind. You flatter.' 'Not a bit. Not a bit.' 'Yet it is indeed true that here people are interested in culture and education. We are, I am afraid, what in England you would call highbrows. We must always be modern. Up-to-date. We read Shaw and Wilde. Barrie we find too sentimental.' 'Quite.' 'You see I tell you that you may understand our point of view. We must always, as you say, go ahead. We cannot remain inactive. We must move.' 'Exactly.' On the other side of him Madame Theviot was examining with her fork the food that had been put in front of her. She was a woman of great height, who was accustomed to wear a turban which hinted of Madame Tallien and hot moments under the _Directoire_ , while at the same time it diminished in no way the dignity inherent in French official life. She came from Rennes and almost all the fun she got out of life was being rude to the German Minister, whose surname happened to be of some international significance. She also enjoyed bullying her husband. The female Deputy continued: 'You have seen that they play the _Loyalties_ of Galsworthy at the National Theatre?' She leaned across Lushington and said to Madame Theviot: _'Vous en avez vu, Madame? Le_ Loyalties _de Galsworthy au Théâtre National?'_ Madame Theviot paused, the fork at her lips. She looked suspiciously at the female Deputy and said: _'Eh bien, qu'est-ce que c'est que ça, Madame?'_ The female Deputy said: _'Dites à Madame de quoi il s'agit.'_ Lushington said: _'C'est un officier anglais qui est très brave et qui volait cinq cents livres d'un juif qui reste à la même maison dans la campagne. L'officier a sauté dans la chambre à coucher du juif par la fenêtre quand celui-là est au salle de bain. Il est découvert parce que la veille il a sauté également sur la bibliothèque du fumoir.'_ _'Hein?'_ _'Et puis le juif est chassé de son cercle par les anciens camarades de l'école du capitaine, qui se tue lui-même.'_ _'Aaah,'_ said Madame Theviot, nodding her head with recollections of the Dreyfus case. _'En effet,'_ said the female Deputy. _'C'est une spectacle magnifique. Voilà six fois que je fai vue.'_ She turned again to Lushington and said: 'And what in England are they thinking about the Expressionism?' 'They find it much too subjective,' Lushington said firmly. Professor Mavrin from his chair opposite said: 'I look forward to talking to you of English literature at some time more than hitherto we have had the opportunity, Mr. Lushington. I tell my wife to invite you. Always it seems that she forgets or you cannot come. It is my wish to discuss with you the novels of Thomas Hardy and his belief in the inevitability of circumstances. We will have a long talk one day on that subject. We will choose a time when we have many hours before us.' The Professor stroked his moustache and repeated the words 'many hours' to himself. He had a sallow face with several lines across the forehead. During the Revolution he had been frequently shot at, and in the end had almost starved to death. He was deflected from Thomas Hardy by the girl on his left, the daughter of one of the judges of the Supreme Court, who began a conversation with him on the subject of proportional representation. Baroness Puckler said: 'You must stay, Mr. Lushington, for the ball at the House of the Knights. It is next month and is a great occasion.' 'I shall certainly stay for it. I have heard so much about it that I shall stay even if I am ordered to go back before it takes place.' Baroness Puckler said: 'And this year, Colonel, will you join in the mazurka?' The British military attaché, an obese sapper, who had left his wife and large family in rooms at Camberley, said coquettishly: 'I hope that at least I shall have the pleasure of a waltz with you, Baroness.' 'We shall see. Perhaps I shall dance with General Kuno all the evening.' Da Costa, who was sitting on the other side of Madame Theviot and who had been engaged in telling her a long story about his experiences at a spiritualist séance at Dresden, where he had once lived with a German family, now turned his attention to the rest of the conversation and said at the top of his voice: 'Haven't you heard that Madame Mavrin and I are going to give an exhibition dance at the ball this year—a new form of the tango—in Argentine national dress? I'm having my spurs specially sharpened for it.' Professor Mavrin said: 'Mr. Da Costa, my wife has told me nothing of this. My dear Ortrud, have you made arrangements to hire the suitable costume? You must not leave it too late, because you know how difficult it is sometimes to procure in this small city such things as fancy dress.' Ortrud, who was sitting at the other end of the table next to the female Deputy's husband, who was a dentist and said to be very talented, said: 'But, Panteleimon, Mr. Da Costa is not serious—' 'But, my dear Ortrud, I should be delighted for you to take part in such a display. I should not mind at all. It would please me very much and I am sure that you would sustain such a role with great distinction.' 'After that,' said Da Costa, who was laughing convulsively to himself at his own humour, 'after that, General Kuno and I are going to give an exhibition of step-dancing, only each of us will wear the other's clothes.' 'Impossible!' said Professor Mavrin. 'Impossible! No, no! Mr. Da Costa, we cannot believe that—' 'Speaking of General Kuno,' said the military attaché, who disliked Da Costa and considered that he had already gone too far, 'I hear that two men were arrested last night in his house. They had broken in and it is thought that they were assassins.' Professor Mavrin said: 'And only a few months ago such a thing happened before. In the end someone will murder him.' Baroness Puckler said: 'No. Now, I do not think so. So often they have tried in the past and always they have failed. They have derailed trains he was travelling in. They have thrown bombs at him. They have shot at him from behind walls. But always he escapes. I think he will die quietly in his bed at a great age.' 'Why do they try to kill General Kuno?' Lushington said. Baroness Puckler said: 'During the troubles he shot many Bolsheviks. Many, many Bolsheviks. Once he made a mistake and shot a great lot of men who were not Bolsheviks. There were many hundreds of them. In those days it was hard to tell. Therefore he has enemies. He is head of the police too. That may cause him to be disliked by some persons.' ## 16 POPE always found difficulty in leaving a room expeditiously. Undisciplined, he gave out vitality in such wrong directions as Da Costa with enormous force. But this electric activity was instantly dissipated on reaching its goal because, strangely, Da Costa possessed against it some effortless resisting power. It was a process comparable to the pouring of liquid on to an inverted vessel. The whole room would be messed up with Pope's personality and Da Costa alone would remain untouched. A certain awareness of this made Da Costa prefer Pope to any other subordinate that he had ever known, because through him he became conscious of a sense of power that was rare to him. By Pope his own life was made fuller. At the moment Pope was making preparations for leaving the flat, delaying the final exit, hovering, toying with the past. He said: 'For example, an amusing thing happened to my grandparents. When they were driving to their wedding the bottom of the cab—one of those old-fashioned growlers, I suppose it was—fell out and they had to run all the way to the church. The cabman was deaf, you see. They couldn't make him hear. They had to run all the way. It was a ridiculous thing to happen. The story is often told in my family. We often laugh over it. It's funny, don't you think?' Lushington and Da Costa agreed that it was funny. Pope shook his head and laughed. There was a silence. The noise of the trams, clanging along ringing their bells, came up from the street below. 'Funny things like that are always happening in my family,' Pope said. He watched them for a few moments and then backed with reluctance through the door. They heard him fiddling about with the coats in the hall. Da Costa lit a cigarette. He said: 'He's an amusing fellow—Pope—don't you think?" 'Oh, yes, he is.' 'I don't think he talks too much, do you?' 'Not a bit.' They looked down at the town's jutting-out pieces of grey masonry and the steeples which Pope, when speaking to Da Costa or anyone else with whom the simile would be likely to bear weight, was accustomed to compare to the dreaming spires of Oxford. There was in fact a distinct resemblance. Lushington said: 'Well, I must be going. I have an appointment.' 'Something nice?' 'Yes.' 'You're lucky. I suppose you've got hold of some woman. Don't get involved in a scandal or everybody will blame me.' 'All right. I'll be careful.' 'And don't forget that we are both dining with Cortney tomorrow night. Black tie. If you forget he'll think I never gave you the message.' 'I won't forget.' 'Oh, and I meant to ask you. Have you heard from Lucy lately? How is she?' 'I had a postcard a couple of days ago. She seemed well. Sent her love.' 'I must write to her,' Da Costa said. ## 17 THEY used to lunch together at a little Hungarian restaurant down by the quays where the plat de jour was either _goulash esterhazy_ or _bœuf stroganoff_ , though it was always possible, as a change, to eat _wiener schnitzel._ They sat in one of the cramped wooden partitions into which the room was divided. It was customary to begin the meal with _bouillon._ Ortrud sat next to the wall. Lushington said: 'Where does your husband lunch?' 'At the Café Weber.' 'Every day?' 'Yes.' 'Does he never come here?' 'Of course not.' 'Why not?' 'Because he always lunches at the Café Weber.' Then one day the Professor arrived. They had just finished their _boullion._ The Professor, who was short-sighted, sat down at the next table without noticing them and began to order his food. Ortrud leaned across: 'Why, Panteleimon, whatever are you doing here?' 'Ach, Ortrud—' 'Remember to talk English. Mr. Lushington does not understand our language.' The Professor said: 'It is a great pleasure to see you both here. But, my dear wife, today you said you were taking the midday meal with Frau Koski. You have not by chance forgotten your engagement with Frau Koski?' 'Frau Koski telephoned to put off that engagement. I met Mr. Lushington in the street.' 'Your wife was kind enough to accept an invitation to lunch.' 'Too kind, too kind,' said the Professor. 'But now you must both lunch with me. Yes, yes, I insist. Not one word. Mr. Lushington, I invite you to lunch with me and I insist that you accept.' 'Panteleimon, why do you take lunch here today?' 'The Café Weber was so crowded when I entered it.' 'Indeed?' 'And then I have a slight _migraine._ I could not tolerate the noise.' Lushington ate his _goulash_ and said: 'Well, it's very nice that you have decided to come here instead.' The Professor had a light lunch of ham and gherkins. He seemed tired, but he was in splendid form otherwise and questioned Lushington about the history of the sonnet sequence in English literature. It was one of the Professor's outstanding merits that he rarely spoke of his own subject, psychology. He had some coffee after the ham and then said that he must go back to the University to work. Ortrud said: 'This afternoon, my dear husband, I shall spend shopping.' The Professor went away and Lushington and Ortrud continued their lunch. When they had finished they went to a cinema and watched a neatly-put-together film dealing with American lower middle-class life. The story, which was credible without being convincing, described the difficulties of a man, a super-excellent dancer, who knew that he could not win the local dancing competition if he danced with his wife, because she was so pure that, as a girl, she had never been taught to dance at all and had evidently been unable to pick up the knack in later life. Since it was imperative that he should win the prize in order to pay for the baby she was about to give birth to he entered for the competition with a blonde girl of indifferent morals. The plot hinged on the arrival of his wife at the critical point of the competition and her swooning away at the degrading sight. A certain air of mystery was added to this drama of domestic relationships by the fact that it had been written as a talkie and was now being played as a silent film with a few captions. When this entertainment was at an end Lushington walked back with Ortrud towards her home. On the way there, turning the corner of some government buildings, they met the Professor again. Ortrud said: 'Panteleimon, are you going home so soon?' 'My headache. I go home to lie down for a little. Remember that we have an invitation to dinner tonight.' 'Mr. Lushington was kind and took me to the films.' 'He is too good to you. Mr. Lushington, you are too kind to my wife.' Lushington walked with them as far as their flat. Then he went back to the hotel to change for dinner. He found Pope sitting at his table writing letters. He dislodged him and began to change. He was dining that night with the Danish first secretary. He arrived a few minutes too early for dinner, although Cortney was already standing in front of the fire, fingering a new sort of white tie which had arrived for him from London the day before. Their hostess, a little Danish countess, who looked like a squirrel, said: 'The Mavrins are coming tonight, Mr. Lushington. You have met them?' 'Yes, I have met them. As it happens, I saw them this afternoon.' 'She is so charming, do not you think?' 'Yes, indeed.' Cortney said: 'Mr. Lushington was fortunate enough to travel here on the same boat as Madame Mavrin.' ' _So?_ And he fell in love with her, of course? I am sure you did. Is not that true?' 'But of course.' 'Now, Countess,' said Cortney, 'remember you mustn't make jokes like that in the presence of someone who comes from the New World, where we still try to retain our homely code of morals. In the first place we don't understand them.' 'And then Mr. Da Costa is coming from your legation. I expect you see him sometimes?' 'Yes,' said Lushington, 'I do see him quite often as a matter of fact.' 'To speak of morals,' said their host, 'have you heard the latest story about Madame Gomez?' It was a good one. Later the Mavrins arrived and the Swedish naval attaché and the daughters of the German Minister, and Da Costa, rather late. After dinner they danced to the wireless, except Professor Mavrin, who talked with their host about the economics of farming, the collectivist system in Russia, and the methods that obtained in Denmark. Da Costa was in one of his noisy moods and he danced most of the time with Ortrud. Lushington watched her, thin and exotic in one of her exaggerated dresses. He wondered if she was a serious person. ## 18 LUSHINGTON had been lunching at Da Costa's flat and they were sitting there drinking coffee. As usual the room was too hot. Lunch, cooked by Pope, had been good and, while eating it, they had talked about their friends in London and both had now been left with an inevitable sense of being cut off, outposts of a mighty empire, pleasant in a way but melancholy, and now they sat in silence smoking. Da Costa said: 'I don't think Bellamy ought to call me a bloody fool. It is not so much that I care whether or not he should think that I am one, as the appalling want of dignity it argues in a man of his age and rank in the service. I mean, if he can't learn to control his temper how on earth can he hope to control the fate of nations?' 'Of course his repressions are something awful,' Lushington said. 'That may be. But if he represses his evil desires he ought to repress his temper as well. After all, from the point of view of working with him in the legation, it would be much better if it were the other way about. And by the same token I thought it very impertinent of old Mavrin to tell Bellamy that Madame Mavrin was free for dinner on Tuesday without consulting you first.' 'What on earth do you mean?' 'Nothing.' 'Anyway,' said Lushington, 'she's not going to dine with the Bellamys on Tuesday. She is going to dine with me.' 'In that case you have supplied the answer to your own question. And now I must go away and do some work.' 'May I stay here and write?' 'Of course.' Da Costa went away and Lushington settled down to writing articles. He opened one of the windows so that an icy shaft of air blew across one side of the room. He had worked for some time before he noticed that Pope was in the room too. Pope made his presence known by shutting the window and bolting it. After becoming aware of Pope's arrival Lushington continued to write for a little time although he knew that it would be no good. With Pope in the room he could not hope to compose a sentence. Pope crept round by the walls, touching everything. Lushington listened to his movements and at last gave up all effort to work. He pushed back his chair and said to Pope: 'It seems a pity to stay in on a lovely day like this, although it is a bit cold, and so I think I shall go out for a walk.' He said this although he knew that he was going back to his hotel as quickly as possible so that he might be able to go on writing there. Pope put himself in an attitude of conversation. He said: 'When it is warmer, sir, I always get into shorts after finishing my work and run in the outlying districts of the town. I find it is absolutely necessary for my health. I am not by any means a strong man. I have to take care of my health, and exercise is an absolute necessity. It used to give rise to a great deal of comment when I first came out here. Now, however, people seem to have become more accustomed to it. I once suggested to Mr. Da Costa that he should do the same when he complained to me of a heavy feeling.' 'Did he take your advice?' 'No, sir. He did not.' 'I'm not surprised to hear that he did not.' 'Mr. Da Costa is a strange gentleman, if you don't mind my saying so, sir.' 'Why?' said Lushington. He disliked the idea of prolonging the conversation with Pope but at the same time felt himself unable to resist possible intimate revelations about so old a friend. 'He spends all his time reading,' Pope said. He shuddered. Expectantly, Lushington said: 'He has always read a good deal. Ever since I have known him.' 'Curious books, sir.' 'Are they?' 'I'm a great reader myself,' Pope said. 'I always have been. But it doesn't _do_ to read too much. Otherwise you don't have a healthy mind in a healthy body.' 'I suppose not.' 'I like reading serious books, sir. Books that really teach you something. Books on economics especially. Science. Statistics. Nature study.' 'Yes, yes,' said Lushington. A straight talk on Pope's literary tastes had been just what he had wanted to avoid, but self-respect prevented him from returning of his own accord to the subject of Da Costa's vagaries. Pope stood, resting his hands on the table, staring in front of him with his eyes-that-look-beyond-the-grave expression. He had got started. He rapidly sketched in the plots of a few books he had enjoyed during the previous eighteen months. 'Yes...' said Lushington, '... yes... yes... yes... yes... yes....' Art and letters exhausted, Pope began to roam among the litter of his personal reminiscence, exploring the cramped furtive lanes of memory, winding this way and that through the tinsel by-ways of his past, petting and cosseting his ego, warming it at the glow of innumerable self-congratulatory episodes that had, it seemed, lighted the road. Lushington, realising now that he would hear nothing of Da Costa's secret life, contented himself with the thought that anyway it was probably _The Golden Bough_ , merely, that Da Costa spent most of his time reading, and he no longer paid attention to the humming cadences of Pope's saga. Instead he listened to the roll of drums that was sounding from the President's palace, where they were changing the guard. Pope pursued his course: '... during the War when I was in the Army, attached, as it happened, to the Dental Department, one of the officers had remarked that I was good with my hands, he used to say that no one was any use to him after he had employed me, somehow it had spoiled him, he used to say, for other orderlies with their coarse ways, clumsy blighters, jokingly, he used to call them.... I can remember that at one time I went into the canteen wearing a mackintosh over my uniform and as soon as I spoke two privates who were sitting there sprang to attention. They literally _sprang_ to attention. Curious, wasn't it? Don't you think that it was curious, sir?' 'Yes... yes,' said Lushington, lost in speculations of his own. 'There it was,' said Pope, "there it was. You know, sir, at that time my cheeks used to be as red as cherries. Someone once said that I looked the healthiest man in the battalion. He said it wouldn't be going too far to say so. That was during the War, sir. Later when I came out here...' Led by his train of thought to more immediate problems, Lushington waited for an appropriate break in the cascade of anamnesis and then, like the boy thrusting his hand into the hole in the dyke, stemmed the flood by saying: 'And by the way I must not forget to mention to you about those evening shirts of mine. They are ruined. All frayed. Isn't there anywhere here where they can wash stiff shirts?' 'Nowhere, sir, nowhere. Curiously enough, I was just about to tell you that. When I first came out here I thought that I should be forced to wear a false front. You won't believe, but I did indeed. A _dickey_ , I think it is called. But then, of course, I find that the majority of my friends here, being foreigners, do not change for dinner every night, so that in the end I found that by constant complaint the laundry managed a little better. That is the only way, I fear, sir. Positively the only way.' Lushington gathered up his belongings and began to put on his overcoat. Pope helped him on with this with such energy that he was almost pushed off his balance. 'The usual time tomorrow morning, sir?' 'The usual time.' 'Good-afternoon, sir.' 'Good-afternoon.' As Lushington left the room he saw that Pope was beginning to rearrange the invitation cards on the mantelpiece. He went downstairs and out into the square. A squadron of Waldemar's uhlans were passing, picking the way between the market stalls, most of which were stocked with holly and stunted Christmas trees. The soldiers were on cobby horses and wore short, heavy overcoats bordered with sheepskin. Lushington, standing on the pavement, watched them walk their horses through the slush and then disappear in the traffic at the end of the square. The pennons of their lances flickered above the tops of the trams. Then they were gone as the riders turned the corner into another street. He heard someone behind him say: 'I too might have ridden at the head of a troop of cavalry. But I have few regrets.' Turning, he found that Count Scherbatcheff was standing beside him. The Count was wearing an astrakhan cap instead of his _béret_ and he looked even more haggard than he had done on the voyage. His overcoat hung on him quite loosely as if it were suspended from a hook somewhere beneath his neck. His pale blue eyes were sunk far back into his head. 'Come with me a little way. I am going back to my apartment. I know that Englishmen like a walk.' 'Certainly.' 'You will do so?' 'I should like to very much.' ## 19 THEY went across the square and down steps towards the river, which they crossed by the Nikolai bridge, walking sharply because the air was cold. On the other side of the river was the poorer part of the town. They passed through this quarter and beyond it, while Count Scherbatcheff told Lushington about his cough and stomach trouble, both of which were worse. He had tried various remedies but none seemed to do him any good. He had hoped that in this climate he would feel better, but, on the contrary, he was worse here than he had been in Belgium. A nondescript outlying district was now reached. This end of the city, not yet completed, was full of tin huts and the shells of unfinished modern buildings. Sometimes they passed piles of empty petrol tins and stacks of bricks. All this was part of an ambitious town-planning scheme. Then they came to an immense block of flats only half of which had been built, the right-hand wing being nothing but girders, although work seemed to have been abandoned on it, for these were rusty and some of the masonry was already falling away. They seemed to be making their way among the ruins of another civilisation, now passed away, and of which there would soon be no trace. Count Scherbatcheff stopped in front of the completed wing of the flats and said: 'You will come up for a short time? I should be delighted if you would do so and then we could talk for a little longer.' They went into the hall, which was full of ladders and pails of whitewash and, as there was a notice on the lift saying that it was out of order, they walked up the stairs to the Scherbatcheff flat, which was on the top floor. Count Scherbatcheff took a key from under the doormat, opened the door and pushed Lushington in front of him into a room which opened directly on to the landing without any hall or passage. The room was in semi-darkness and several people were sitting in it. Lushington saw that there was an upright piano along one wall at which a girl of about twelve years old with two long plaits down her back was practising scales. She took no notice of their arrival and continued methodically. Two women were sewing in one corner of the room and a man with a yellow shaved head, wearing a grey military overcoat, turned back showing its red lining, was sitting on a kitchen chair and looking out of the window. He did not turn round at their entry, so that Lushington could not tell at all how old he was. In another corner a very old woman was propped up in a chair with a shawl over her knees. She was wearing spectacles and held a book in her hand, although there was not enough light to read by. The outstanding scent among the several odours of the room was that of musk. Count Scherbatcheff helped Lushington to take off his overcoat and hung it from a nail that was already supporting the picture of a saint. He pulled forward a settee and said: 'Sit down. Can you give me a cigarette? I cannot offer you one. There are never any cigarettes in this house. If I get any my uncle puts them in his pocket and becomes angry if any of us ask for one. Later we will have some tea.' He did not introduce Lushington to any of the people in the room. No one took any notice of them. The girl with the plaits changed from scales to five-finger exercises and then stopped and altered the height of the music stool, after which she went on again. Count Scherbatcheff said: 'You will agree that there come moments when a man feels that he can stand no more? I know that you are fortunate. You are English. You have at least a profession which is not too uncongenial. But you will understand how it is sometimes with me?' Lushington looked into the middle distance of the room where, through the shadows, he could still see a high-light on the glazed surface of the unknown man's head. He wondered whether or not this man was the uncle who always filled his pockets with cigarettes. And then remembering that Count Scherbatcheff required an answer he said something about Russians having lost so much. Count Scherbatcheff said: 'No. It is not that. I used to feel the same when I was in the Corps of Pages. If anything, worse. It is just depression, as you call it. And this damned cough.' 'I can sympathise.' 'And then relations—relations—relations.' 'Yes?' 'You see what I mean?' One of the reasons why the room was so hot was because brown paper had been pasted over the cracks of the windows. In addition to the main stove of the room a small oil-stove had been placed in the corner near the very old woman. This smaller stove smoked menacingly. The very old woman now shut her book with a snap and, throwing down her rug almost on top of the oil-stove, began to move across the room. Lushington got up to let her pass. Count Scherbatcheff said: 'That is my grandmother about whom I have spoken to you. You remember? Her obstinacy. But do not be alarmed. She speaks little English and besides she is deaf. There is no need for discretion. As I was saying to you, at times matters are indeed impossible.' 'Can I help?' 'As you know, I am an engineer. But what have I to look forward to as an engineer? Shall I live for ever with these people in this room? Yet when I was young and was to enter the Chevalier Guards I was the same. I thought always of the interminable round of tiresome social engagements and the tedious duties of regimental life that were before me. I could see no way out. I tell you this that you may understand that it is not merely my adversity that causes these sentiments.' 'Anything special at the moment?' 'Yes,' said Count Scherbatcheff. 'Perhaps it is something special. I have been feeling it more than usual. For a longer time. I will tell you. It is Madame Mavrin.' 'What about her?' 'I have thought of her ever since we were together on board the ship. It is impossible for me to see her. What can I do if I did see her? It is clear that she does not like me. That is one of the reasons why I feel as I do.' 'Certainly that makes things difficult.' Now that his eyes had become accustomed to the half-light Lushington saw that a young man was lying at full length on the ground immediately under the window and in front of the man with the shaved head. This young man was writing in an exercise book by the light thrown by the oil-stove. He was writing lethargically with a stumpy pencil. The girl at the piano still played her five-finger exercises. Count Scherbatcheff said: 'I am aware that in England there exists a somewhat rigid code of morals. But we Russians cannot be bound by convention. It may seem shocking to you that I speak thus of a lady who is already married to another. But at least you will sympathise with me in my despair.' 'Of course.' 'May I ask, do you often meet Madame Mavrin in society? That society from which you know we Russians are, for political reasons, excluded?' 'Quite often.' 'You will perhaps remind her of my existence? That is all I ask.' 'I will certainly tell her that I have seen you.' 'A thousand thanks,' Count Scherbatcheff said, 'a thousand thanks, my dear Lushington. And now I will weary you no more with my troubles. After all, how much more fortunate we are than many. At least we have comfortable quarters. _Enfin_ , it is not the Scherbatcheff Palace in Petersburg, but that house was more draughty than any other that I have known and its rooms were for ever full of relations whom I disliked. Here at least are only those whom I can tolerate and even feel affection for.' The very old woman now returned leading with her by the hand two small children. These she put between the oil-stove and the wall and opening a cupboard brought out some toys, a tin trumpet and a drum which she gave them. Suddenly the young man who was lying on the floor raised himself to his knees. He banged on his exercise book and shouted at the very old woman. She turned towards him and an altercation began. One of the other women stopped her sewing and in a drawling, metallic voice joined the discussion. The children took no notice and began to play in an appropriate manner with their toys. Count Scherbatcheff shrugged his shoulders and looked at Lushington. He said: 'I can only apologise to you as my guest for this disturbance. It is my cousin. He always complains that he cannot work when the children play. Like all the rest of my family he will not listen to the voice of reason. He provokes all of us. Work indeed! He is only learning shorthand. He seems to think that a sufficient reason for imposing his will on all of us.' The controversy ended at last, the student of shorthand worn down in the last resort by the girl with the plaits, who had now returned to scales. The young man lay down once more on the floor, breathing heavily, sometimes staring and pointing in the direction of the children. Count Scherbatcheff took a bottle of something that he said was good for his cough and poured a few drops on his handkerchief. It smelt potent and Lushington refused it when it was offered to him. Count Scherbatcheff said: 'You will accept a little refreshment? We have no cigarettes, but at least you will join us in a little refreshment. No, you must not refuse. I insist. My grandmother will prepare something. I will ask her to do so at once.' He went across the room to where his grandmother was sitting and shouted in her ear. She shook her head and he shouted again. Once more she shook her head. The noise of the Count's shouting was broken at intervals by the piano and more fitfully by the trumpet. The child with the drum had at last succeeded in forcing one of the drumsticks through the parchment and was laboriously enlarging by hand the hole. Count Scherbatcheff came back to the settee. He said: 'She is hopeless. Hopeless. I ask her to prepare a simple meal for my guest and she at once makes difficulties. We have not got this, we have not got that, we have not got the other. _Toujours les histoires de cuisine_.' 'But—' 'Please. Please, my dear Lushington, that is enough. We may be exiles and in difficult circumstances, but at least we have not forgotten the name of hospitality. Ah, why do we live in this accursed country? How could such a situation as this arise in a civilised capital like Paris, London or New York? You will agree that matters have gone a little far when this happens?' 'Really—' Count Scherbatcheff pushed aside the table so that it came into contact with the end of the piano and knocked some of the books of music from the top of it. This rearrangement of the furniture gave him access to a small door with panels of frosted glass. He opened this door and shouted: 'Katya! Katya!' Through the door there was a room, a little larger than a telephone box, with a sink at one end of it. In front of the sink an old woman, less old than Count Scherbatcheff's grandmother, but at the same time quite old, was asleep in an upright chair. She wore large carpet slippers and had a handkerchief tied round her head. Count Scherbatcheff took her arm, waking her. She listened to what he said to her, standing in front of him with her eyes upon the ground and her arms hanging limply on either side of her body. Then she spoke at some length and pointed to a pile of unwashed dishes on the edge of the sink. Count Scherbatcheff said nothing. He held out his hands in an attitude of resignation. Then the old woman began to open the cupboards that were all round her and to take things out of them. Count Scherbatcheff returned. He said: 'Now all will be well. If I cannot rely on my relatives, at least one who has been so long in our service as Katya respects my wishes.' 'But I assure you—' 'Not another word. Besides, I myself am hungry.' Katya moved the table away from the piano again and pushed it against the settee. Then she cleared a space at one end of it. There were objects of every description on the table and these she put on the top of the piano, that was already piled high with books and music. On the space she cleared she put a plate of chocolate biscuits, some ham, a few pieces of beetroot, a decanter half-full of cherry brandy and a wooden box with a design lacquered on it and with assorted jujubes inside. The grandmother, who had been watching these preparations from her chair, now got up and, again throwing the rug on the floor by the oil-stove, she moved across the room. Lushington wondered if she were about to throw him out neck and crop and if so whether or not the rest of the family would help her. But she spoke quite quietly to Count Scherbatcheff. Again her grandson shouted in her ear. And then she began to smile. Count Scherbatcheff himself laughed. He leaned towards his grandmother and kissed her on the chin. After doing this he turned to Lushington and said: 'It is I who must apologise. My grandmother was not at fault. It is all a ridiculous mistake. My grandmother misunderstood me. She is deaf, as I told you. She supposed that I wished that you should stay with us for several days, sleeping on the chaise-longue. She says that no one may sleep on the chaise-longue until it has been mended. Otherwise it will be broken so that it can never be repaired.' 'But how could she think that I could trespass—' 'Also she supposed that you were a Pole. The Polish consul. She has this prejudice against Poles. But now I have explained clearly who you are. All difficulties are at an end. Indeed if you would like to stay with us for a day or two I have no doubt that the difficulty about the chaise-longue could easily be surmounted.' Lushington was presented to the grandmother, who joined them in a glass of cherry brandy. Count Scherbatcheff said: 'It sometimes makes me sad to think that her death was foretold in the cards. But that is mortal fate. We must learn to face bereavement. Much is given that much may be taken away.' Later on in the evening they played ragtimes on the portable gramophone and Lushington and Count Scherbatcheff danced in turn with the girl with the plaits, who was persuaded by the rest of the family to conclude her practising for that day. Even the young man lying on the floor gave up his shorthand notes and listened to the music for a while. ## 20 DINNER that night at the Mavrins' had not been entirely successful. The Professor was undoubtedly prolix in telling an anecdote which Lushington had heard more than once before and Ortrud was in a bad mood. By a mischance Lushington upset a glass of wine over her dress. It was a night when things were not going well. Professor Mavrin did his best, but clearly he was too used to Ortrud's ways to be more than a little disturbed. They had left the dining-room. The Professor said: 'It seemed to me that of all the ladies last night the Countess Arnhfeldt was the most beautiful.' Ortrud said: 'My dear Panteleimon, but how absurd! _Chic_ , perhaps, but not beautiful. Her face is like that of a rat. She is well dressed like all Danes. That is a national characteristic. But she has no features.' She stood there, waiting to be contradicted. Lushington said: 'Not at all. I disagree. I think Professor Mavrin is quite right. She seemed to me to be looking lovely.' 'I suppose you find her very attractive?' 'Yes, I do.' 'What a ridiculous thing to say!' 'My dear Ortrud, Mr. Lushington is our guest.' 'But if he says such ridiculous things—' 'It is not ridiculous at all. I entirely agree with the Professor. Surely you are not jealous of her?' 'Jealous of Countess Arnhfeldt—' 'No, of course I know you aren't really. I was only joking. But to the Professor and myself she seemed clearly to be so beautiful.' 'Certainly, my dear Ortrud, Mr. Lushington is right. You must be jealous. But how silly you are, because you yourself are far more beautiful even than Countess Arnhfeldt.' 'You may think so. Mr. Lushington does not.' 'But indeed I do. Why should you think that I do not?' 'At least, my dear, Mr. Lushington has a right to his own opinions on such matters. You will grant me that?' 'A perfect right to such bad taste.' 'Bad taste! To think that you are a more beautiful woman than Countess Arnhfeldt?' 'He does not think it. He only says it. I see by his face that he considers her the more beautiful. What a pity that we did not invite her here tonight.' 'But, my dear Ortrud, you said especially when I suggested that we should invite Frau Koski, whom I knew to be disengaged tonight, that you would prefer to have no other guests. I cannot understand why you should now wish that we had invited Countess Arnhfeldt.' 'I say so only because Mr. Lushington seems to find her so attractive.' 'My wife, you are exaggerating in the most absurd manner. There is no reason to suppose that Mr. Lushington has any particular wish to see Countess Arnhfeldt at this moment, although I have no doubt that he admires her as much as we all do.' 'As a matter of fact I should have enjoyed her presence very much indeed,' Lushington said. 'What did I tell you, Panteleimon?' 'My dear Ortrud, moderate your tone.' ' _Sei doch endlich still!_ Be silent!' The Professor rose. He said: 'I shall go to my study and complete my work until you are in a better mood. Alone with our guest you will perhaps be able to control yourself with more decorum than in my presence. Mr. Lushington, you will excuse me?' He left the room with dignity. When he had gone Lushington said: 'Let one thing be clearly understood. I will not have you speaking to your husband in that way.' 'And why not?' 'Because you should show him some respect. He is a very clever man indeed and you speak to him as if he were a schoolboy.' 'He was in the wrong.' 'He was not in the wrong. And even if he had been, that would have been no excuse.' 'After all he is my husband and not yours.' 'It is because he is your husband that you should treat him with some consideration.' Ortrud began to dab her eyes with a handkerchief. She said: 'I know that you do not love me. But do not be so unkind. It was all on your account that I was so silly.' 'Well, really?' 'Yes, yes, you know it. Why do you never consider how I feel?' 'Well, don't cry anyway.' 'I am unhappy.' 'Why?' 'Because you don't love me.' 'But I do. I do.' 'Yes? A little?' 'Yes. A lot.' When the Professor returned everyone was in a better temper. ## 21 IT was snowing. The flakes were small and those that fell close to the window seemed, as they drifted past, almost black. Flags were flying all over the town because it was Independence Day and that morning there had been a review and the President, standing under the statue of the national poet, had taken the salute of several infantry battalions, a cavalry regiment, some gunner batteries, a few signallers on motor-bicycles, and a tank. Great precautions had been taken to prevent a demonstration on the part of dissatisfied minorities or disgruntled individuals who might be expected to shout rude words or to throw bombs. In the end the President himself was entirely hidden by his suite and plain-clothes men, a fact that was unfavourably commented upon by Baroness Puckler, who said that in the days before the War, when anarchists were an adjunct to any public function of any importance, no royalty would have dreamed of taking so much trouble to remain alive. But she added that she knew that the men of today were of a different mould. Lushington watched the review with her and then came home to write up an account of it. Now he was working while Pope, wearing a tartan tie, stood by the door with one hand on his hip, which protruded as if dislocation had taken place. Pope said: 'I had the privilege of meeting a friend of yours last night, sir. A very nice gentleman. A count.' 'Indeed?' 'Count Bobel his name was.' 'Bobel? Bobel?' 'Bobel, sir.' As it would be useless at this stage to deny that he had ever heard of such a person, Lushington put down his pen and said: 'Yes. I remember that there was someone of that name on the boat.' 'A very nice gentleman, sir.' 'I did not have the opportunity of seeing much of him.' 'Oh, but he said that he knew you very well indeed, sir.' 'He did? Perhaps he was confusing me with someone else.' 'Oh, no, I don't think so, sir. As it happened, I was able to do him a small service. In the place I met him, it was a species of tavern, and I was there with my fiancée, the Count had forgotten to bring his pocket-book. Both he and the four ladies with him would have been in a very awkward predicament if I had not been enabled to lend the Count a small sum.' 'Much?' 'No, sir. A very trivial amount. But the Count said that, should it happen that he was called away on business unexpectedly, he knew you well enough to be able to say that you would repay me at any time and get the money back from him later, as you would be bound to be seeing him again soon in the not very distant future.' 'He said that, did he?' 'Being a count, sir,' Pope said, 'I took his word. After all, I thought, you can't beat _noblesse oblige._ Not that I myself believe in a system of hereditary titles. I think it a vicious one from start to finish. As a matter of fact I'm a socialist. After all, socialism is bound to come. Bound to. Look at Russia, look at Germany, look at France, look at Italy even—' Lushington said: 'Before looking at any of these I must make it clear that in the future and as long as I am in this country I refuse to be held responsible for any debts incurred by anyone whatsoever. Anyone. Not even Mr. Da Costa.' 'Exactly, sir. Exactly. I quite understand. But as I was with my fiancée, who also knows you, I felt that I ought to take the Count's word.' 'But I don't know your fiancée. I didn't know that you possessed one.' 'Miss Flosshilde, sir. The young lady at the reception desk of this hotel. With the auburn hair, sir.' 'Oh.' 'You may know to whom I refer, sir.' 'Yes.' 'We hope to get married next year, sir.' 'Next year? Indeed?' Pope said: 'When my great-aunt died she expressed a wish that I should take the name of my mother in addition to my own. My mother was a Malpas. It was a wish that I hope will be fulfilled when I get married.' 'Then you will be Malpas-Pope?' 'No, sir. Pope-Malpas. Is there anything else, sir?' Lushington got up from the table. He said: 'Yes. There is. What have the laundry done to the stiff shirt of mine that came back yesterday? What have they done to it? Or rather I can see what they have done to it, but how have they done it? Why was it ever sent there? Can I get any compensation? Have any more clothes been sent there this week? Is that the only laundry? Or have I got to give up changing for dinner?' Pope made a gesture with his hands indicative of despair. He shook his head despondently at the same time and, by this movement, dismissed the subject from the sphere of serious discussion. He said: 'You must often have thought it odd that I am not married already, sir. I don't mind telling you it has not been for the want of being asked. You wouldn't believe it, sir, if I were to tell you some of the things that women have said to me. Terrible things. Things that I couldn't speak out loud. Not even to you, sir. But Miss Flosshilde is different. She isn't like that.' 'I'm glad to hear it.' 'When I was last in England,' Pope said, 'I used to take my little nephew, my sister's child, about with me a great deal. You never saw such a fine child. Everyone noticed him. Everyone. They used to stop me in the street or in the park or on buses and trams and say what a lucky man I was to be the father of such a child. Do you know, sir, I used to blush so hotly that they didn't know what they had said to make me go like that? I used to blush all up here.' 'I don't wonder.' 'It was terrible,' Pope said. 'And by the way, sir, I forgot to tell you that Madame Mavrin rang up this afternoon before you had come in.' 'Did she leave a message?' 'No, sir, but I rather think that she was at first under the impression that it was you answering the telephone, because she did not ask to speak to you by name. She just began speaking, thinking, I suppose, sir, that I was you.' 'Did she leave a message?' 'No, sir.' Pope coughed very discreetly behind his hand. Then he left the room. Lushington sat down again at his writing table and watched the snow driving past the windows while he tried to compose a letter to Lucy. From the bedroom he could hear Pope humming an individual rendering of _Stenka Razin._ ## 22 THEY had walked out of the town by the road which led along the shore. Where this road ended there were pines and beyond them birch trees and among these stood a small palace, built in temperate baroque. This place, used at present for nothing in particular, was spoken of as a potential state institution for mental defectives. Meanwhile it was deserted, though waste paper had been left about on one of the terraces and someone had taken the trouble to overturn and to dismember a colossal imperial statue in bronze which had formerly stood at the end of a vista of trees. Anatomical remains of this were sinking into the turf of the lawn or lying about among the flower beds. The steps of the terrace in front had been broken in places and not yet repaired. From the top of the steps there was a good view of the town, where wisps of smoke hung round the shapeless citadel. Out to sea a few boats paused or turned, manoeuvring to enter the docks. Beyond were the islands where fishermen and professional smugglers lived. The afternoon was sharp and sunny. Ortrud, who was standing at the top of the steps, said: 'The Deputy-Chief of the Air Service is under arrest.' Lushington was examining the head of the statue, which lay with its heavy Roman nose buried in the grey brittle grass. Contact with the earth had given the potentate's face an agreeable patina. Beside it was an arm and a hand holding an orb. Farther off, an immense top-boot. 'Why?' 'He found a man in his wife's bedroom when he came back last night.' 'Did they put him under arrest for that?' 'He shot the man with his revolver.' 'With his revolver? Did he? That was hasty of him.' 'Honour demanded it.' 'Is the man dead?' 'They say he may recover.' 'I always said that it was dangerous to allow people to walk about in fancy dress armed to the teeth. Now you see what happens.' 'Did you?' She ran lightly down the steps of the terrace and took his arm. Then, leaning against him, she put one foot on the statue's ear under its wig and tried to rock the head backwards and forwards. It moved slightly, nuzzling into the frozen grass. The broad three-cornered hat had kept the snow from the ground immediately beneath the face. 'Are you in love with me?' she said. 'Of course I am. I'm always telling you I am.' 'More than with the girl you left in England?' 'In a different way.' 'Horrible man.' She turned away, still holding his arm, leading him up the steps towards the upper terrace. They began to walk round the palace, which was the size of a small English manor house and had been built as a place of retirement from the bustle of court life. There were nymphs holding flower-pots at intervals round the colonnade, but the pots were empty and the glass in most of the windows had been broken. She said: 'I have had other lovers.' 'Have you?' 'Some of them were quite unimportant.' 'I am glad to hear it. Do you count your husband?' 'He is one of the important ones. And you are the most important one of all. Did you know that? That you are the most important one of all?' The breeze from the sea blew across the gardens and carried some few remnants of leaves, scraps and odds and ends of twigs across the lawn so that they dashed against the tritons and cornucopia of the fountain. Although snow was lying on the roofs of the town, here it was half melted from the grass. Among the beds without flowers and the chipped cupids, the gnawing of actuality seemed for the moment silenced. In this place which had been left without meaning it seemed easier to feel meaning where there was perhaps none. All was very quiet except for an occasional crackling made now and then as birds flew through the trees, or by the bark or branches of the trees themselves. 'What shall I do when I have to go away and leave you?' 'You must not go. I shall come with you. I cannot allow you to go. But why should we talk about that now? Here England is so far away. And you are not going to leave me yet. You are not going to leave me yet, are you?' 'No. Not yet.' They went up into the woods beyond the garden and along the paths that led inland and upwards, because the palace was in a hollow. The chilly avenues were deserted. Once a peasant passed dragging some wood on a sledge and, with some obscure remembrance of another epoch, touched his cap. The trees swayed about uncertainly. She said: 'You do love me, don't you?' 'Yes. I love you.' 'And I love you?' 'Yes. You love me.' They walked on between the birch trees. 'And now I must go back,' she said. 'Why?' 'Domestic duties. You forget that I am a wife. I must go back to my home.' 'So soon? Can't we stay here for a bit?' 'No. I must go back.' They turned down one of the paths which led back towards the sea and brought them to the embankment promenade, a walk that had been fashionable before the Independence. But now that the town had been rebuilt no one came here. Instead the people walked up and down the main boulevard. Only a few soldiers were wandering two-and-two along the embankment, their sheepskin caps and long overcoats making them like the accepted representations of Noah and his children. Ortrud said: 'When you are gone I shall come back to the Little Palace and then I shall be able to remember you.' 'Will you have to go there before you can do that?' 'Of course.' 'And how shall I remember you?' 'I do not know,' she said. 'Perhaps you will remember me when you see your English girl again.' 'But you are coming back with me to England.' 'Oh yes. I forgot.' He went with her past the barracks as far as the house in the University quarter. When they reached the door he was going to leave her, but she said: 'Come upstairs with me. I cannot say good-bye to you properly in the street.' The lift was in almost perfect order on that day and they reached their landing in safety. Ortrud opened the door of the flat and Lushington followed her into the hall. From the sitting-room there came a noise of droning, a sort of sing-song, interspersed with high squeaks. The sound was a disagreeable one. 'What is that?' 'Little Panteleimon.' 'Oh?' 'You have not seen him before?' 'No.' A child of about five years old stood in the middle of the floor of the room, twisting pieces of his clothes in his hands. Little Panteleimon's face was large and round and he stood there, leaning with all his weight on one leg, gazing in front of him with an expression of convinced and dogged cynicism. He watched them as if he were looking through them at something else in the passage beyond. 'Hullo,' said Lushington. Ortrud spoke to the child in German. Little Panteleimon fixed her with his fishy wide eyes and moved away slightly, crossing one leg behind the other and pointing his toe in the First Position. He was an elderly, world-weary child dressed in the travesty of a sailor suit. He stood there gazing out at them as if through field-glasses. Ortrud said: 'He is shy. Like his father.' 'He looks like his father, curiously enough.' Ortrud laughed. She went across the room and, taking the child by the hand, kissed him on the forehead. 'Come,' she said. 'Play with this.' She took Lushington's hat from him and threw it across towards the child. Little Panteleimon did not catch the hat. He stood uncertainly, watching it lying on the floor. Then he moved towards the hat and, pausing for a moment before he picked it up, he began to examine it. Suddenly, very deliberately, he tore off the ribbon that was round it. 'Panteleimon!' 'No, no,' said Lushington. 'It doesn't matter. It's all right. No one will notice that the ribbon is not sewn on if I put it round the hat to go home in. I can easily wear it like that as far as the hotel.' Little Panteleimon's face began to quiver. It screwed up. He yelled. Ortrud rang and he was removed by the nurse, a square middle-aged woman wearing peasant costume. Soon through the wall between the rooms they heard him stop yelling. The sounds sank slowly down the scale until they had reached the theme that he had been improvising when they had arrived in the flat and here he remained, keening resolutely. Ortrud said: 'You see I have a family.' 'Yes.' 'So I shall not be able to come with you after all. To come back with you to England. You will have to leave me and go back alone.' 'Yes.' 'Good-bye,' she said, in his arms. 'Good-bye.' _'Mein liebling!'_ ## 23 HE walked back through the streets that skirted the University, down past the Institute of Scientific Research, into the central boulevard, crowded at this hour with students in their parti-coloured caps, pacing up and down, seeing life. Some of these were strolling arm-in-arm, making progress difficult. A drosky passed containing Pope and Flosshilde and, seeing Lushington, Pope raised his hat a little way from his head like a royalty and kept it in this position as they drove by. Flosshilde smirked and the sun flashed blindingly on her diamond ring. She was certainly too fat for her age. Lushington, gaping after them, got caught up in a chain of students and was carried some little way in the wrong direction. He reached the hotel at last and went through the swing doors. The lounge was full of people having tea or _aperitifs._ Da Costa and Waldemar were sitting at one of the tables, smoking. When he saw Lushington, Da Costa said: 'Come and join us. No, don't get up, Waldemar. But, my dear chap, what on earth has happened to your hat? The ribbon is all coming off. I wish you'd remember that you have to keep up appearances if you are seen about with me. On account of the legation, you know. British prestige and so on. Do make an effort. And have you heard the latest? The funniest thing you ever heard in your life. The Deputy-Chief of the Air Service found the third secretary from the French legation in his wife's room and loosed off a revolver at him and the shot broke a window in the house opposite and smashed a picture of Mussolini, as it happened to be the Italian consulate. There's going to be the hell of a row.' 'Quite right.' 'You don't seem a bit excited by the news. I shan't tell you my secrets in future.' 'I heard something about it all earlier in the afternoon.' 'You can't have people going about breaking windows, even if they are important public figures. Especially if the windows are extra-territorial ones. I must say all my sympathy is with the outraged husband. Not to mention Mussolini.' Waldemar said: 'Nevertheless it was an unseemly occurrence. He should have challenged the delinquent to a duel in spite of the heavy penalties that attach to duelling for those convicted of that breach of the civil code.' 'What are the penalties?' Lushington said. 'For killing a man in a duel there is sentence of three years' forced labour. The law is very strictly maintained. Sometimes in very exceptional cases of provocation, as in this instance of which we speak when one party's honour has indeed been tarnished, it might be reduced to half that period. But not often.' Lushington said: 'In that case, should the situation arise, I shall refuse to run the risk of prison. Everyone at home would be sure to hear of it and no one would ever believe that I had been put there for duelling.' Da Costa said: 'I hope to goodness Pope does not get himself into trouble of that sort one of these days. I hear that he is a very susceptible man and he is such a snob that it would be bound to be no one less than a Minister's wife.' 'I found Pope reading my letters this morning.' 'The man lives on his nerves. Obviously you have got to put up with something from a man as nervy as that. He's an excellent valet. You expect too much.' 'I don't mind his living on his own nerves. I object to his living on mine.' Waldemar said: 'This Mr. Pope? I often hear you speak of him. He is by chance a secretary at your legation?' Da Costa said: 'Well, he's not exactly that; but you can take it from me that without Pope our legation would not keep open for five minutes. It would just cease to exist.' 'Impossible!' 'My dear Waldemar,' Da Costa said, 'it's nothing more than the truth. And now I must leave you because I have a heavy evening before me with the Hedevarys. I believe, by the way, your pretty friend Madame Mavrin is going to be there. Shall I give her your love? And before I go you must congratulate Waldemar. He has been appointed aide-de-camp to General Kuno.' 'You have? Congratulations.' Waldemar said: 'I thank you both for your congratulations, gentlemen. It is indeed for me a high honour. May I prove myself worthy of it. And only yesterday I was thinking that General Kuno was displeased with me because not long ago he saw me at a late hour with you in a house of amusement. But now I go no more to such places. They are not for those who would make a career.' Da Costa: 'You're right, Waldemar. They are not. That is one of the reasons why you see me in that sort of place so seldom. I am ambitious.' He laughed piercingly and, getting up, took his hat and coat and scarf from the chair beside him. He spent some time in dressing up in all his clothes and then, waving his hand, he made his way between the tables and the palms. Lushington and Waldemar sat on in silence. Several business men were arguing gutturally in other corners of the lounge and one had put his feet up on a chair and had gone to sleep. Waldemar blinked and moved his feet about. Then he moistened his lips and said: 'You will take dinner with me, Mr. Lushington? It would be a great pleasure. I invite you.' Lushington said that he would like very much to take dinner, and Waldemar suggested that they should go first to where he lived so that he could change from top-boots. After that they would dine in the mess of his regiment. He said: 'But first we will go back and you may meet my brothers.' 'How many?' 'They are two.' As they went along the central boulevard and through the public gardens Waldemar began to speak of his fiancée. She worked in a travel agency and they had not yet enough money to get married, but in two years he would have become a real captain and she would be at the head of her department at the office, so that by then, with their combined incomes, they would have enough to live on. In answer to Lushington's question, Waldemar said he did not mind waiting. 'With such good prospects,' he said, 'we cannot complain at a small delay. You agree that we are very lucky?' 'Very.' 'For few is life so easy.' The Waldemar brothers lived on the outskirts of the town, so that when they reached the end of the public gardens Waldemar decided to take a tram. He sat very upright when they were inside it with his sword held between his legs so that it did not trip up the conductor. He said: 'But it is unsuitable in a young officer to think of marriage. Women should not be allowed to interfere with the affairs. You agree?' 'With what affairs?' 'The duty.' 'Of course.' 'And then the life of a soldier is difficult. There is so much gaiety. Last week our Colonel's wife gave an evening festival. All the officers had to be present. Only a fortnight before that the artillery corps organised a dance. Soon there will be preparations for the ball at the House of the Knights. In such an atmosphere of pleasure it is hard to think always of the work that is to be done. And besides, one does not readily give up one's bachelor freedom.' Waldemar pursed his lips. He became lost in thought. Later he said: 'But I am fortunate. Many young officers in my regiment have debts. One I know owes as much as a whole half-year's pay. At least I have not that to reproach myself with.' They arrived at the Waldemar flat and went into a narrow hall. In this hall there were three pegs and a uniform cap and overcoat and sword hung on two of them. On the shelf above the pegs were three steel helmets and three revolver holsters. Waldemar put his cap and coat and sword on the third peg. Then he led the way along the passage and opened the door at the end of it. They came into a small room with a table in the middle of it at which two young men in uniform were sitting reading. They wore blue breeches instead of crimson ones like Waldemar. When they saw Lushington they stood up, brought their heels together, and bowed. Waldemar said: 'These are my brothers. This one speaks English, but not well. Always he studies it, but he is not yet proficient. He can read, but he cannot speak well. The other one is not clever. He can speak only his own language and German. He is backward. A slow boy.' Lushington shook hands. He shook hands with the slow boy first, for humanitarian reasons. Everyone stood more or less at attention facing everybody else. It was like an amateur two-minutes' silence. At the end of it Lushington said: 'I see that they are not in the same regiment as yourself.' 'This one is in the Corps of Engineers. He that is backward in the 8th Regiment of the Line.' 'Very nice.' After a while everyone sat down. The brothers were young men on the same lines as Waldemar, but both of them were larger in build and had redder faces. They said that they had just come back from barracks and, as for some reason neither of them were dining in mess that night, they had been putting in some serious reading before going out to the evening meal. Waldemar said: 'See, this brother reads an English book.' He took the English book from the brother who was reading it and gave it to Lushington for his inspection. Lushington looked at the title. It was _The Ordeal of Richard Feverel._ Waldemar said: 'And now you will excuse? I go to take off my breeches.' Lushington handed back the book to the English-speaking brother. He said: 'A bit of an ordeal for you too, I expect?' 'Please?' 'I say it must have been a bit of an ordeal for you too—to plough through all that?' 'To plough?' 'To get through it.' 'Please?' 'I mean it's not at all an easy book to read, that's all. It's the kind of book that an Englishman might find it difficult to finish. It's a bit diffuse. Not easy to follow. Some of the ideas are rather out of date and all that.' _'So?'_ 'I never got to the end of it myself. Somehow I seemed to lose interest. I don't quite know why, because it's a good book in its way. Mental laziness, I suppose.' _'So?'_ Waldemar, who had appeared again in the room with some crimson overall trousers which he was engaged in fitting over and buttoning under the soles of his wellingtons, preparatory to putting on both at once, made a shot at possible puritanical motives that might cause Englishmen to fight shy of Meredith and said: 'It is a shocking story, yes?' 'No, no. Not at all. All I say is that some people, myself for example, find it rather an ordeal to get through. Ordeal is too strong a word. I only used it because it was one of the words in the title of the book. I was not speaking seriously.' 'You joke?' 'Yes. I joke.' Waldemar said: 'It is that which I like so much in you Englishmen. The jokes you have. Always it is the jokes. It is very nice.' He explained matters to the English-speaking brother and then to the dull one who spoke only two languages. He said to the English-speaking brother: 'It is plain that you do not yet understand the English tongue. Be not so slow. Apply your mind to the study of that most useful language.' When Waldemar had managed at last to get into his wellingtons he and Lushington left the two brothers, after shaking hands again all round, and walked to the barracks, which were only a few streets away. They had dinner in the mess, a long low room with two tables running down it at which rows of stolid uhlans were seated. Waldemar said: 'I will present to you but the Colonel and the Adjutant. The rest who speak only German would anger you. Later I wish to consult your opinion on the subject of marriage and the relative position of the husband and the wife. I wish to hear your view on so serious a topic. I am glad that we have the night before us so that each can put forward the convictions he may hold on the much discussed perplexities of the married state.' ## 24 ULTIMATELY it was Da Costa who decided that it would be a good thing to go inland for a week-end's ski-ing. He had said that Lushington must certainly ski at some time before he went back to England and that he himself wished to do something of the sort in the near future because he considered that this might send up his shares with Bellamy, who approved of outdoor sports. Lushington, whose mind was seldom free from ruminations as to subjects for newspaper articles, was easily persuaded. Cortney agreed to go with them. In the end all the arrangements for the journey were left in Cortney's hands and were carried out by him with moderate success. They arrived at the place with all their luggage and, although at one stage of the journey Lushington mislaid one of the skis he had hired, this was found later in the dining-car. This part of the country was more hilly than the land along the coast. There were unending downs covered in snow and clumps of pine trees that stood beside frozen water. In the middle of the day the sun was bright and threw up a dazzling glare from the white slopes and the stretches of ice. Later the wind would get up as the sun began to lose its strength and the surface snow would be blown like dust across the tracks of the skis. There were no houses. As far as the horizon there seemed to be not even a peasant's hut. Below was the hotel and the station with the few outbuildings that belonged to them. The railway line ran as far as a signal-box and then that too seemed to disappear in the snow. At certain seasons the hotel was full of people, but this was the wrong time of year. All that day they had been out on skis and now they were returning to the hotel. They came down the last incline at full speed and both Da Costa and Lushington fell where the ground rose slightly and then slanted away again suddenly. Cortney at the end of the descent did a christiania and, turning, watched them get up. Da Costa with his long eccentric face and darkened spectacles was the English milord of almost any French dramatic production. This effect was heightened by his hat, bought in the Tyrol, and the short square mackintosh coat with big buttons on it that covered the upper half of his body. Da Costa picked up his Tyrolese hat and began to brush the snow off it. Lushington rose from the ground and said, not for the first time that day: 'Why on earth aren't one's feet fixed into these skis as they are in the Swiss ones?' 'It is the custom in this part of Europe. It is easier when you are used to it. You can see whole battalions of troops going through evolutions on these skis. It's a wonderful sight.' 'I can believe you.' 'All dressed in white for camouflage.' 'Touching it must be.' Cortney was some way ahead of them now. He moved easily on his skis and sometimes burst into snatches of song that lasted for several minutes. His medium was a hollow baritone. If the words were at all familiar Da Costa would join in with a stentorian and toneless lament, like some dreadful manifestation of African grief. These cacophonies echoed across the foot-hills and the wastes of snow and pine trees. At the end of them Da Costa would roar with laughter and try to yodel. The snow was beginning to descend again now in small flakes that blew sharply across their faces and into their eyes. The dusk, the tragic northern shadows of late afternoon, had begun to fall. The sun was already making bright stains on the snow between the stems of the pine trees and across the ice of the lake. Da Costa said: 'We must press on. We want to get back to the hotel before dark. If one is too late there is often no food left.' 'Do you make a habit of spending your week-ends here?' 'Why are you so bad-tempered? What has happened? Has it come off again?' 'The strap has broken.' 'Can't you fix it so that it lasts as far as the hotel?' 'No.' 'Curtis! Curtis! Cur-tis! Have you got some string? Some stri-ing?' But Cortney was far away and he could not hear them because he was singing. The throaty words were carried back on the wind and past them: > _'... Oh my name is Samuel Hall...._ > > _Samuel Hall...._ > > _And I hate you one and all...._ > > _You're a bunch of...'_ 'It's no good, I'm afraid.' 'No, I'll carry them.' 'It isn't far.' 'Oh, no.' By the time they had come to the hotel the snow was falling heavily. The hotel was a wooden chalet-like structure standing on a slight eminence and dominating the only other building, the railway station which gave the place its name and which was made for the most part of corrugated iron and barbed wire. As they passed the platform they saw waiting there for the train, due in a few hours time for the capital, a peasant family. Steaming, the peasants stood about or sat on their wooden boxes, so encased in clothes that it was difficult to tell which were women and which men. One of the smaller children raised its arm in surprise as Da Costa passed, but the others were impassive, too far from reality or too near to it to know or care whether this was a human being like themselves who looked so strange. Cortney, who had waited for the other two, had taken off his skis and was carrying them over his shoulder. He nodded in the direction of the peasants and said: 'See them. The children of the soil. The patient toilers now the day is done. Don't they make you think—' Lushington and Da Costa walked towards the yard and stacked their skis in the shed. Then they went into the hotel, which was almost empty at this time of year. It was very warm inside but none of the doors fitted, so that any sounds that were made reverberated along the wooden corridors. They ordered supper at once and went up to change from their ski-ing clothes. It was sometimes possible to obtain water to wash in before the evening meal. When he came downstairs again Lushington was surprised to find Cortney in front of the fire talking to Count Scherbatcheff. The Count was wearing his overcoat, although the room was stifling, and he explained that he had come up to this part of the country for a few days for the sake of his health. Here the ground was higher and the air was better and the doctor had suggested that a week's ski-ing might do him good. 'My health has been bad,' he said, 'and my relations do not understand me. But I am glad that all of vou are here. In the evenings we can talk as we are doing now and it will be less dull than when I was here alone.' The others had their meal, but Count Scherbatcheff refused to eat because he said that he did not feel well. He sat there in his overcoat and drank a little beer and joined in the conversation. The food in the hotel was plain, but not bad, although there was a chronic danger that owing to the difficulties of transport there might be nothing to eat at all. This eventuality was harped on by Da Costa, who used it as a sort of weapon with which to bully the others and the proprietor of the hotel himself. That evening, however, there was plenty to eat and after dinner they pushed back the table and sat in the dining-room in front of the fire. In answer to a remark made by Da Costa, Cortney said: 'Cute? I'll say they are cute. Why, there isn't a town from Maine to California that can't produce a year's debs to rival those of any other city in any other country that you may like to name.' Count Scherbatcheff said: 'There are times when women seem to me no more than the illusions that the camera throws on the shaking screen. The shadow of life. In the mythology of the Scandinavians they tell of creatures who present to the eye the appearance of flesh and blood and beauty. And yet, going behind them, they are discovered to be flat. They have no substance. They are like pictures hung on an easel that have no thickness.' 'Why, Count, you wouldn't say that if I took you around. And one of these days I will. We three and the Count will throw a wild party. And we'll throw it somewhere the right side of Mason-Dixon. You won't think the girls are illusions there. I'll see to that.' Da Costa said: 'Personally I absolutely agree with Scherbatcheff. I would rather not. But I do. I should like to have a temperament like that new Spanish secretary. I never saw anything like the success he was having at the Arnhfeldts' the other night.' Cortney said: 'You've said it. All the pretty women in the place at his heels. Madame Mavrin, Countess Arnhfeldt, Mrs. Mitsu, the whole lot of them.' Lushington said: 'Countess Arnhfeldt certainly. But I don't know why you mention Madame Mavrin. I didn't notice that she seemed particularly keen on him.' 'You know, Lushington, those dagos have a way with them. We just can't compete. It's one of the things I have had to learn and which you will have to learn too.' 'But just because Madame Mavrin may have danced with him a couple of times I see no reason why you should spread scandals about her.' 'Scandal? Why, I should say I wouldn't spread scandals about her, Lushington. Why, there isn't a lady in the whole town whom I hold in greater respect than Frau Mavrin. I should say not. All I said was that she and a good many more of them seemed to like the looks of that young Spaniard more than I did myself.' 'Well, that's just what I said.' 'What are you disagreeing with me for, then?' 'I mean that I said that that was what you said before and now you are denying it. I didn't say anything of the sort myself. I don't think it.' 'Don't think what?' 'That Madame Mavrin was getting off with that Spaniard.' 'Neither do I. All I said was that she seemed to like him.' 'You didn't. You inferred that she liked him in a way that she should not do. It's a perfect disgrace. It's fellows like you who start these stories and then trouble follows.' 'But see here, Lushington—' Count Scherbatcheff said: 'Mr. Lushington is quite right, Mr. Cortney. You spoke no doubt unintentionally but at the same time most improperly of Madame Mavrin. Men have had to fight duels for less. I do not blame you because I feel sure that you were not thinking about what you were saying, but at the same time I should counsel that you speak with greater prudence in future.' Da Costa said: 'I can't imagine what has come over you and Scherbatcheff, unless you have eaten too much and he has eaten too little. Cortney never said a word against Madame Mavrin. Anyway I expect the Spaniard preferred Countess Arnhfeldt. In my opinion there is no doubt at all that she is the better-looking of the two.' Lushington said: 'To say that is merely silly. In the first place she does not look nearly so interesting. Anyway the Spaniard obviously did not think that Countess Arnhfeldt was the more attractive. That was clear from his behaviour.' 'But I thought you said that he only danced with Madame Mavrin twice all the evening?' 'What I said was that neither of them had behaved in a way to provoke the scandal which I thought Cortney was spreading. However, as I see that you are bent on circulating a tissue of inventions yourself, I will say no more and you can broadcast what you like.' 'But see here, Lushington—and you, Count—you must understand that I never meant a word against Madame Mavrin. I can't see how you can have thought that I did. And Da Costa is quite right. It was Countess Arnhfeldt that he had his eye on and I don't blame him. Much as I admire Madame Mavrin I hold the Countess the greater beauty of the two.' 'Well, if you think that, nothing surprises me.' Count Scherbatcheff, who was having a bad fit of coughing at that moment, moved his head from side to side to show that he too found these words incredible, but he was unable to speak the protests that he evidently wanted to make. Da Costa said: 'Come on, let's play bridge. I have some cards here. I can't imagine how all this started. Or why.' ## 25 EVERYONE felt better after the week-end spent ski-ing, except Count Scherbatcheff, who felt worse. The Count decided that to be left alone in the hotel after the others were gone would depress him too much and so he travelled back with them, sleeping on the floor of the wagon-lit shared by Lushington and Cortney. The journey was not long, but the best train went after midnight and Da Costa insisted that they must have sleepers. In the morning Cortney forgot that Count Scherbatcheff was on the floor and put his bare foot on the Count's face when he got out of his bunk, but Count Scherbatcheff took this in very good part and said that much worse things had happened to him during the Revolution. Da Costa shared a compartment with a priest who wore a square Assyrian beard. They kept the rest of the train awake all night by arguing about religion in bad French. Both of them looked very pale and bad-tempered the next morning and the priest got up early and stood for the rest of the journey in the corridor and ate something which he had brought with him in a paper bag. When they arrived at the capital Count Scherbatcheff refused all offers of a lift and he was last seen hurrying away, carrying his wicker suitcase, which was the size and shape of a coffin and had several straps round it. The others went to their respective homes and all of them met again that evening at a party given by Madame Bitulescu. ## 26 LUSHINGTON, who had been spending the previous two or three days writing up accounts of the ski-ing expedition for various periodicals, was standing in front of the looking-glass in his sitting-room, tying his white tie, and because when someone knocked at the door he thought that the Bellamys might have arrived unexpectedly early, he slipped on his dressing-gown before opening it. It was not the Bellamys, however. It was Ortrud. She said: 'I came straight up. You do not mind?' 'Of course not. But I shall have to go out in a minute. The Bellamys are picking up Cortney and me in the legation car as we are all going to the same place for dinner.' 'You are going out tonight?' 'I have to.' 'But I am free tonight and we can go out together. You must put them off. You can leave a message at the hotel desk to say that you are ill.' 'No, I can't possibly. Besides, they may be here at any moment. I told them to come here for a cocktail before we went on.' 'But surely you can put them off? We have not met for so long. You go away to the country and leave me. Would you not prefer to have dinner with me? But perhaps you would not?' 'You know I should. How silly you are. But surely you understand that I cannot do so at this moment. It must be obvious.' 'Not at all. If you were really fond of me you would have suggested it yourself. But I understand. You would rather go out with the Bellamys. Naturally I see that they are more important people than I am.' 'Really, please. Do not be so ridiculous. What has happened to you? This is most unlike you.' 'It is unlike me to want to see you? Do you think that is true? I can remember the time when you wanted to see me.' 'But you know that I want to see you now. I would much rather go out with you than with the Bellamys. But I can't put them off when they may arrive in my room at any moment.' 'No, no. I understand.' 'But how can I?' 'No, of course not. Naturally not.' 'Ortrud?' 'Good-bye, then.' 'Please?' 'Perhaps we may meet again some time before you leave.' 'When you are in a less ridiculous mood, I hope.' 'And you less rude.' She slammed the door a little. Lushington went on with his dressing. Pope, who for some reason had put out his dinner-jacket to wear that night, had also hidden his white waistcoat, but Lushington found it at last in a box on the top of the wardrobe. This was reached by putting a suitcase on a chair, and then stepping on to it from the table. As he was climbing down, precariously, from this edifice there was another knock on the sitting-room door. 'Come in.' It was Da Costa this time, who said: 'I was passing and saw a light in your sitting-room so I thought I'd look in. You don't mind my coming straight up, I hope.' 'Have a cigarette. Take your goloshes off. The Bellamys are coming at any moment. They are giving me a lift in the Rolls and are having a cocktail here first.' 'In that case I don't think I'll stop.' 'Why not?' 'It's not that I dislike Bellamy. On the contrary. I think that in many ways he's a very good fellow. And I like Mrs. Bellamy as well. On occasions she can be charming. But since if I stay I shall inevitably be drawn into talking shop I shall instead go to my own home and read a little before dinner.' 'All right. Then we shall meet to-morrow at the Koskis'?' Da Costa nodded. He lit a cigarette and went away. Lushington examined the white waistcoat. It had several black marks across the front. He understood now why Pope had put out his dinner-jacket to wear that night. It would now be necessary to find another waistcoat. He went into the bedroom and began to go through the drawers. There were no white waistcoats. Then he pulled a box from under the bed and began to throw its contents on the floor. He was lucky, and in a few minutes found a garment that was not too crumpled to wear. While he was putting the buttons in, the telephone bell rang. 'Hullo?' It was Flosshilde from the desk in the hotel lounge. She said in her slow English: 'A gentleman to see you. And two ladies.' 'Ask them to come up.' Lushington fumbled with the last button of the waistcoat. He wondered who the other lady was. He said: 'It is Mr. Bellamy, of course, of the British legation?' 'Please?' 'It is Mr. and Mrs. Bellamy? The English _chargé d'affaires?_ The gentleman who often walks about without an overcoat?' 'The gentleman said that his name was Count Bobel. He did not tell me the names of the ladies.' 'Count Bobel! Tell them to wait for a moment. Tell them that I am engaged and can see no one for the time being.' 'For the time being? Please I do not understand.' 'Now! Now! Stop them!' 'They have started on their way up.' 'Prevent them quickly.' 'They have already ascended in the lift.' The knock came at the sitting-room door at the exact moment at which Lushington was turning the handle to get out into the passage and send down his visitors in the lift from which they had emerged. The door opened inwards and Count Bobel entered holding out his hand and beaming. He was followed by two women. Count Bobel said: 'Mr. Lushington, _mon cher_ , how splendid to see you again.' To gain time Lushington took the hand and shook it. Count Bobel said: 'Mr. Lushington, I was about to make a little trip into the country with these two ladies. There is a small hotel along the coast that we could reach in time for dinner. Outside I have a sleigh. It occurred to me that with a fourth there would be more pleasure for all concerned. Will you not therefore join us? In that way we shall be _une partie carrée_.' Glancing at the girls, Lushington saw that they were the ones who had sat near his table the night he had gone to Maxim's with Da Costa, Waldemar and Cortney. The one who had worn riding costume on that occasion was evidently dressed at this moment in something of the sort under her coat, because she wore top-boots and a three-cornered hat that spoke of stag hunts in Normandy and the meet on St. Hubert's day. The other, the blonde, was so encased in furs that he could barely see her face at all, but the features that were visible showed that she still looked cross. The faces of both ladies were made up for the savage glare of night-club illuminations. Lushington, remembering that he was in his shirt sleeves, took up his tail-coat and began to struggle into it. Count Bobel was looking round the room with interest. He said: 'This lady speaks English.' Outside, the clock above the National Theatre struck the half-hour. Lushington remembered that Da Costa had once reported an observation made by Bellamy to the effect that unpunctuality in a diplomatist spelled ruin. The Bellamys would therefore arrive at the hotel at any moment now. It would be necessary to take action. Count Bobel said: 'I will introduce. This is the Marquise Clothilde de Madragore. And this is the Princess Varvara.' Lushington shook hands. The Marquise said: 'Yes, please. Speak English, mister.' Count Bobel, who had sat down on the sofa and was lighting one of his amber cigarettes, said: 'You understand that it is not so much English that she speaks and thus it will not matter if I mention in front of her a little matter which I do not wish to forget. The young girl at the desk downstairs. She has been here long?' 'I don't know at all.' 'You have noticed her?' 'I have seen her, of course. What do you mean? I do not understand you.' 'You would not mind if I were to ask her out?' 'Why in the world should I?' 'You have not approached her, no?' 'Only for my letters.' Count Bobel threw up his hands. He said: 'Ah, your English stiffness! When shall I become accustomed to it? But I must tell you how I met the young lady who is at the desk downstairs. It was at a little cabaret on the river bank. She was with an Englishman, a good fellow, a Mr. Pope who said he knew you. He is perhaps a secretary at your legation, yes?' 'No.' 'Never mind, then. Later I won a little money from him doing tricks with matches. The young lady was with him. I am not a vain man but I could not help seeing that she had taken a fancy to me.' 'Indeed?' The smell from Count Bobel's cigarette was filling the room. Certainly the moment to act was approaching. The Princess Varvara had begun to repair her face and patchouli was added to the scent of amber. The Marquise produced a lipstick from her vanity bag. Lushington took Count Bobel by the lapel of his coat and led him into the corner of the room. 'Count Bobel, I must speak to you plainly. It was a misunderstanding that they showed you up here. I am busy. I must inform you that the door opposite leads to my bedroom.' 'Ah-ha?' 'You are disturbing me. I cannot come on this trip. I am not alone. I am occupied. This is an important moment in my life.' 'You mean, Mr. Lushington—' 'Exactly.' _'Une femme—?'_ 'Must I put it more bluntly?' 'But—' 'Have I said enough?' Count Bobel fell into an arm-chair and began to roar with falsetto laughter. He said: 'You English! You English! When shall I become accustomed to your way? But why did you not say so at once? And I myself was so slow that I thought you were putting your clothes on. Never for one moment did I guess that you were taking them off. You are cunning, _mon cher_ ' Still laughing he began to explain the situation to the ladies in a language that was unfamiliar to Lushington. They agreed with the Count that it was a good joke. Even the blonde relaxed a little. They were still enjoying it when the telephone bell rang. Lushington took up the receiver. 'Hullo?' 'Mr. and Mrs. Bellamy,' Flosshilde said. 'Will you ask them to wait for one moment?' 'They said that you expected them and that they would make their way up.' Lushington snapped down the receiver. He took Count Bobel by the arm. 'And now, Count Bobel—' The Count could hardly speak, he was laughing so much; but he managed to get up and to say: 'One moment, Mr. Lushington. I have here some postcards which I had intended to show you. I feel certain that they will amuse you. They are free, but for that reason they are none the less funny. I brought them specially with me tonight that you might see them because I forgot to show them to you on the voyage. They are here. One moment—' 'Count Bobel, some other time. I must insist.' 'But look just at this one.' 'Not now!' Lushington put him through the door and the Marquise and the Princess after him. As he shut the door behind him he heard the clang of the lift as it arrived at his landing. He had time hardly to stamp out the cigarette that Count Bobel in his amusement had left lying on the edge of the table and to throw the stub of it into the waste-paper basket when he found that the Bellamys had arrived. Later in the evening Mrs. Bellamy said: 'Of course, some people prefer the Bristol to this hotel. It may not be so comfortable, but it is certainly quieter. You see some very impossible people in here at times.' 'I have noticed some odd people in the lounge on occasions.' Mrs. Bellamy said: 'We passed three very extraordinary people in the corridor just outside this room when we arrived. A man and two women. Did you notice them, Trevor?' 'Well, I hope they won't any of them decide to come in here,' Lushington said. 'As a matter of fact I had thought of moving to the Bristol. It would be, as you say, quieter. But then I shan't be staying here so very much longer.' ## 27 AND then one day Count Scherbatcheff died. For a long time he had looked more and more ill and the troubles with his stomach had become increasingly serious. He could be seen in the streets, hunched up and wearing his astrakhan cap, as he hurried along, returning from a visit to some other member of the Russian colony. This was his occupation, although he also sat sometimes in bars or sipped tea in the lounge of the hotel. He never appeared at diplomatic gatherings and all his friends were Russian. His grandmother sent Lushington an invitation to the funeral, which took place in the Orthodox cathedral. Ortrud sent a wreath but did not attend the ceremony because of what her husband felt about Russians. After the service they followed the coffin to a cemetery in a distant part of the town, farther even than the Scherbatcheff flat, and they passed by the stacks of empty petrol tins and the big shells of uncompleted buildings with cranes on top of them. Da Costa and Cortney came too and wore top-hats. Pope offered to lend Lushington a top-hat for the funeral, but, as the weather was cold, Lushington said that he would prefer to wear his own fur cap. He walked in the procession next to Count Scherbatcheff's uncle, the man with the shaved head who wore a grey military overcoat and the cross of St. George. On the way home Lushington saw him put his hand in the pocket of the overcoat and take out some cigarettes which he evidently carried loose there, instead of in a case. Count Scherbatcheff's grandmother walked in the procession too and wept into a small lace handkerchief. Later that week there were political disturbances and someone hit someone else in the House of Deputies. There was also a riot at one of the timber yards up the river and the mounted gendarmes were called out. Some people said that there was going to be a revolution, but this was considered to be unlikely because General Kuno was known to have such matters well in hand, and more often the topic of conversation was the ball at the House of the Knights which was to take place soon and which it was intended to make more of a success than ever before, although Baroness Puckler had pointed out that, whatever they did, nothing could rival what these entertainments had been like when she was a girl. Sometimes it occurred to Lushington that soon he would be going back to England. He found that he talked less to Da Costa about Lucy. In fact on several occasions Da Costa himself had brought her into their conversations. He often saw Ortrud. ## 28 COMING down the stairs of the hotel into the lounge, Lushington was surprised to see Professor Mavrin standing at the desk talking to Flosshilde. Lushington touched him on the arm and said good-morning. The Professor turned and said: 'Mr. Lushington, I am so delighted to find you at home. I am free this afternoon. I have no lectures. I hoped that perhaps you would accompany me on a walk.' 'I should like nothing better.' Flosshilde said: 'Herr Lushington, here are three letters and a postcard for you. There is additional tax to pay on them. They have not enough stamps.' Lushington glanced at the letters. All were from Lucy. He paid Flosshilde, put the letters in his pocket, and said to the Professor: 'That is the sort of thing that women never remember. To put enough stamps on a letter going abroad.' The Professor laughed and stroked his tattered moustache, which gave him something of the air of a sea-lion. He said: 'They are from your fiancée perhaps and therefore you do not mind?' 'Well, no. Not exactly. Just a friend, you know.' They went out into the streets and walked down the steps that led to the river. It was a sunny afternoon with a sharp wind blowing inland from the islands. The Professor said: 'It is interesting to me what you said, that your letters came from a woman who was a friend. That is something that only England enjoys. The friendship between the sexes when the more deep relationship remains in the background. With all our advances in the sphere of modern thought we have not yet achieved such in this country. And you yourself, Mr. Lushington, do you never feel that a friendship of this sort may not become disturbing?' 'Of course one hears of instances where it may be said to have done so.' 'In this country it would seem impossible that such frankness can exist. The women themselves are not yet prepared for it. The men, too, hardly wish for it. And this brings me to a subject which I would discuss with you because I believe you to be a man of understanding. I wish to speak to you about my wife.' Lushington assumed an expression of interest. He wondered whether the Professor was anything of a shot and if combatants were allowed to wear glasses in a duel. The snow in the early morning would be very dazzling to the eyes. Swords were clearly out of the question. The Professor continued: 'For some time I have noticed that she has not been herself. She is absent-minded. She weeps easily. Sometimes she is unnecessarily high-spirited. At other times she is sunk into deep despondency. Have you remarked these things? Indeed you cannot fail to have remarked them.' 'I thought that perhaps her temperament made her act as you describe. I have, of course, noticed that she has moods. But then I have known her for comparatively so short a time.' 'What do you think such behaviour signifies?' 'I cannot imagine.' 'But is it not only too clear?' 'Not to me, Professor.' 'Come, come, Mr. Lushington,' said the Professor, almost testily, 'you are a journalist. A man of the world. When do women behave in such a way? Is it not when they are in love?' 'Yes, I suppose it is, now that I come to think of it.' 'Of course it is. And I will tell you. I think that such is the case with my wife.' 'But that is quite right surely? That she should be in love?' 'You misunderstand me. I cannot flatter myself that I am the cause of these manifestations. On the contrary.' 'No?' 'No,' said the Professor. 'And what is more than that, I believe that I know the man whom she loves.' 'Really?' They were crossing the Nikolai Bridge now. An apprehension was raised in Lushington's mind that the Professor might have hired a gang to throw him into the river from this point. Single-handed, he supposed, he could tackle the Professor himself, who could not be strong after the hardships he had undergone during the Revolution. When they were half-way across the Professor stopped, and for several minutes pointed out places of interest in the town which could be seen best from the bridge. Several suspicious-looking characters passed while he was doing this, but the farther bank was reached without incident. The Professor said: 'But to return to the problem of domestic life: I will not ask you to guess who it is that I have in my mind, but I feel sure that you would guess correctly.' 'Oh but, on the contrary, I feel sure that I should not.' 'No, Mr. Lushington, you do not give your imagination due justice. But we leave that for the moment. For it is of the theory of the matter that I would speak to you and not of personalities. I wish to know from you how in England the situation would be considered.' 'Well, of course, situations of that kind have, to a great degree, to be judged on their own merits.' 'You think that?' 'Most certainly.' 'And such is the accepted English view?' 'It is and it isn't.' 'Exactly,' said the Professor. 'That is precisely what I myself feel. Sometimes I think this. Sometimes that. We must, for example, recognise that the economic position of women has altered in the last few years in a way which it is impossible to estimate. Woman has become her own master.' 'And very often someone else's mistress.' 'Very good!' said the Professor. 'Very good! Excellent! I must remember that and write it down. Will you repeat it once more? The modern woman is not only becoming her own master, she has already become another's mistress. I shall say that when I have to attend the dinner of the senior professors which takes place next week. It is a most true and profound saying. It will entertain them greatly and no doubt add in some measure to my popularity. But to return to a more serious view of the question, do you hold with me that women should be allowed considerable liberty?' 'Naturally I agree with you.' 'I am glad that you agree on that point. Yet this liberty must not be allowed to develop into licence. You agree there too? Not licence.' 'Oh, most certainly not.' 'But who is to tell where liberty may end and licence begin?' 'That must surely remain a question for each individual to settle for him or for herself?' 'But is it not possible in the case of a husband and a wife that what may appear a necessary relaxation to the one, bears to the other all the marks of unjustifiable conduct?' 'Do you think so?' 'It would appear most apparent.' 'I had not thought of that. Perhaps you are right.' 'And yet I do not wish, Mr. Lushington, that for one moment you should think that I am out of touch with the ideas of the present day. On the contrary I have myself always been a steadfast upholder of advanced thought. But it is impossible to disregard the intricacies, the compromises, which must accompany any reconciliation of the teachings of the doctrinaire who may content himself with hypothetical cases of comparative simplicity, with the more complicated and personal problems of the individual world in which we live. You yourself will surely be with me in admitting the considerable range of obstacles which are on the road to a better understanding?' 'I quite agree with you there. I think that you are quite right.' 'Very well then. We may proceed. But first you will not mind my telling you why I choose you for these confidences. It is this. I have noticed that my wife speaks always of you and to you, Mr. Lushington, with considerable asperity. I feel sure that she likes you, but I cannot blind myself to the fact that there is at the same time something about you that affects adversely her nerves. You do not, I hope, mind my telling you these things? You do not mind, Mr. Lushington?' 'Not in the least.' 'I am glad. It is for this reason that I said those words. You know my wife and yet, because she is always so brusque with you, she cannot fail to have caused you annoyance and therefore there is less breach of confidence on your part if you tell me what you think of her. You comprehend my meaning?' 'But—' 'One moment, please. I believe that the reason of her attitude towards you is this. You are a friend of Mr. Da Costa. It appears to me that she is _jealous_ of your friendship with Mr. Da Costa. I do not think that she herself even is aware of this. It is all in the realm of the subconscious. I do not know indeed whether she is even aware of her own feelings for Mr. Da Costa, but I am confident that it is towards him that she feels a strong attachment.' 'Da Costa!' 'You are surprised. You cannot accustom yourself to the idea of a married woman feeling drawn towards a man who is not her husband. That is in many ways the right point of view for you to take. I admire it, but I cannot say that I share it. My reading and my experience have taught me otherwise. But having told you so much you will not perhaps mind my asking you a question about your friend? Do you think, Mr. Lushington, that the feelings of which I speak are in any way reciprocated by him?' 'I feel sure that they are not. There is nothing of which I feel more certain. You can set your mind at rest on that point.' 'You can really assure me?' 'I am confident of it.' The Professor said: 'In that case I feel greatly relieved. Because although I am a student of advanced thought I cannot conceal from myself that I still retain many unprogressive prejudices.' 'But even were anything so unlikely, so distasteful, the case as that my friend Da Costa and your wife possessed the feelings for each other that you suggest, I cannot see why my friendship for him should make your wife jealous?' 'My dear Mr. Lushington, you do not understand. In the realm of the sub-conscious there are dark and secret places, strange emotions that do not distinguish, as does our waking consciousness, between such kindred feelings as love and friendship. These have power over the actions of the individual of which he himself or she herself is wholly unaware. I tell you this from the depths of my experience.' 'But, my dear Professor, I cannot allow the implications of what you have said to pass without protest. I feel justified in objecting most strongly to your suggestion that your wife is jealous of me on account of my friendship.' 'My dear Mr. Lushington, jealousy is far too definite a word. I used it only to indicate the general tendency of her attitude to give support to what I had already told you about her. Perhaps I expressed what I mean in a way that was not good. You must remember that I have but a limited knowledge of your language.' 'No, you are wrong. You speak English excellently. I am astonished at the degree of excellence with which everyone in this country speaks English.' 'You are too kind. But you understand that we must learn the language of the larger countries. It is necessary. As I was—' 'At the same time, Professor, I feel a little vexed that you should have made the remarks which you did. I think I am right.' 'My dear Mr. Lushington, I cannot imagine why you should think that. That indeed was the very last impression that I should like to give. Why, often people have asked me if I am not jealous of Baroness Puckler. In jest, naturally. And that was the spirit in which I took their remarks. Nevertheless, if you understand me—' 'Exactly, Professor. You have said enough. But do not let us discuss the matter further. I would rather not.' 'Perhaps you are right, Mr. Lushington. Perhaps I was going too far in what I said. Although I must assure you that I intended to convey nothing of what I fear may have been in your mind. I can only apologise—' 'No, no. Please do not apologise. We have said enough about the matter. Let us talk of something more pleasant. On such a lovely day as this, is it not a pity to discuss psychology? A little morbid, do not you think?' 'You are indeed right, Mr. Lushington, and again—' 'Please, my dear Professor, please say no more about it.' They walked on for some time in silence. The wind was blowing the powdered snow off the parapets of the river's embankment. There was a fresh scent in the air of wood smoke. Lushington said: 'You have always promised to take me to the National Museum. Shall we go there now as we are about to pass it?' 'An excellent idea. Excellent. And besides, the wind is becoming cold.' ## 29 THEY went up the steps of the museum and worked systematically through the halls of national costume, folk lore, pottery, agriculture, industries, and fossils. In this last room they found Da Costa. He was leaning heavily on one of the glass cases, which creaked under his weight so that at any moment it seemed possible that he might fall through it. He looked up when Lushington and the Professor entered and laughed so loudly that an attendant hurried in from the next room to see what had happened. Da Costa said: 'Fancy meeting here! How are you, Herr Professor? And how is Frau Mavrin? It is quite a long time since I have seen you both.' Lushington said: 'Professor Mavrin and I have been for a walk and as he has always promised to show me round here I thought it would be a good opportunity as we were passing. But I didn't know you were in the habit of coming here.' 'I'm not,' Da Costa said. 'To tell the truth, I have hardly ever been here before. But since Scherbatcheff's funeral I have become interested in death. I can't tell you why exactly, but there it is. It occurred to me that this would be a good place to consider it in.' He laughed again and the whole of his face worked up and down. The Professor said: 'You are too young a man to think about death, Mr. Da Costa. You should think about life, love, your career. Death you should leave to old gentlemen like myself.' Da Costa said: 'I think about those things too sometimes. But on the whole I find thinking about death a better mental exercise. For one thing, one knows less about it than the other three.' Lushington said: 'I was very sorry about Scherbatcheff myself. I don't think you knew him, did you, Professor? He was a Russian who travelled out here with me on the same boat.' The Professor said: 'As a Russian I should not have known him. I know no Russians. But for your sake I am sorry that he is dead.' Da Costa said: 'He was a nice man and, whatever people may say about it, one does not want to die. Anyway not just yet. At least that is the conclusion that I have just come to.' The Professor said: 'You are right, Mr. Da Costa. The instinct of self-preservation remains with us in spite of all melancholies and discomforts. Only yesterday I was speaking to General Kuno, who, as you must know, has many times been threatened with death, about this very subject.' Da Costa said: 'Well, fortunately, no one dislikes me enough yet actually to assassinate me, although I must say I caught Bellamy looking at me in a very funny way the other day. Perhaps he will bribe Pope to poison me.' Lushington said: 'I suppose they will get General Kuno in the end?' Da Costa said: 'Nonsense. People like that bear charmed lives. Tons of dynamite get thrown at them every year and only the public standing round get damaged.' The Professor said: 'I repeat, Mr. Da Costa, that you should not think of such things. You are too young. You have much time yet. Rather let us examine these fine specimens of the rare chromate of lead which come from Siberia and this meteorite which fell near this very town in the middle years of the last century. After that you will perhaps permit me to invite you to tea, for I feel sure that my wife will be delighted to see both of you.' Da Costa said: 'That is very kind of you, Professor. I have some things I particularly want to talk over with Frau Mavrin.' ## 30 THE façade of the House of the Knights was ornamented with wooden carvings and gargoyles. Inside, it had not been redecorated for many years and it was a pleasing mixture of tastes. The ballroom was large and long, not unlike a drill-hall, and along two sides of it were alcoves in each of which a figure in armour had been placed. Most of the suits were seventeenth century in style. A few had casques with long tails and projecting visors and one or two, of Russian or Polish origin, curved up to points like Persian helmets. On the capitals of each of the pillars of the hall the arms of a noble family had been carved and painted and gilded. These also were late in date and some of the coats florid in design. At one end of the room the band from the Café Weber was playing Strauss and at the other the President sat, a small man wearing too short evening trousers. He had been given a high Spanish chair so that his feet were just off the ground, but he sat there looking happy and interested in everything that was taking place. A group of cavalrymen stood behind him, leaning romantically on their sabres, mopping and mowing at their friends in other parts of the hall and assisting the room's chiaroscuro with a solid background of red breeches. Everyone of any importance seemed to be present, although Ortrud had not yet arrived. Lushington was standing next to the British military attaché, who had manoeuvred himself behind a high-backed chair, under cover of which he was undoing the top button of his trousers, which were, he explained, the ones he had bought at the time when he had first joined his regiment. Lushington, who had been extending his sympathy, said: 'Is there anyone in the town who hasn't come tonight?' 'Only one that I know of,' said the military attaché absorbedly. Lushington heard the button unfasten with a click. The Major gave a sigh of deep relief, straightened his tunic, and emerged from behind the chair. Lushington said: 'Who is that? Who hasn't come?' 'A fellow I got into conversation with in the lounge of your hotel. He seemed not to have had an invitation. In fact he asked me if he could come with me and get in on mine. He said he was a count. Bobel or some such name. Ever heard of him? He seemed a bit of an outsider.' 'I seem to have heard the name.' 'You have?' 'Somewhere or other. I don't know.' 'Well, I mean socially he may be an AI lad and all that, but you just can't go about doing that sort of thing. I mean it's all wrong. You'd think a fellow would see that.' 'Absolutely wrong. A fellow like that needs snubbing.' 'I snubbed him all right. Don't you worry. He got his snub.' 'I'm delighted to hear it.' At that moment a diversion was caused by the belated entry of the French diplomatic representatives, a remarkable quartette consisting of the Minister, a Charley Chaplin-like little man with the pointed beard of the stage Frenchman, round-shouldered with the weight of the légion _d'honneur_ round his neck, and glancing nervously at his wife, whose immense proportions seemed as if they might at any moment evade the neo-classic creation she was wearing. Behind her came the secretary, the second-empire Baron who had recently had so narrow an escape at the hands of the Deputy-Chief of the Air Force, and beside him their military attaché in a uniform of remarkable shape and elastic-sided boots on to the heel of which spurs had been screwed. Ushers shepherded this cortège to the President's throne, and when Lushington turned round again he found that the Major was now talking to the American and Japanese Ministers. The former of these plenipotentiaries was saying: 'No, sir, I do not. The tongue of Shakespeare and _The Saturday Evening Post_ is good enough for us and you can take it from me, Colonel—and you, Viscount, you bear this in mind too—if people are worth talking to they talk _English_.' Lushington moved away through the crowd. He wondered why he had not yet seen Ortrud, because it was late in the evening and he knew that she was coming to the ball. That night in his bath he had begun to realise that he was going away and would never see her again. The thought of this disturbed and frightened him. He was going away. He would not see her again. Passing the buffet he saw General Kuno, very spick and span, wearing the riband of a recently conferred order across his chest. He and Lushington bowed to each other and as conversation was impossible went through some amicable dumb-show, beginning by Lushington offering the General a cigarette, which was accepted, and ending with the General offering Lushington a sandwich from the buffet, which was refused. Waldemar was fussing about behind the General and, in his capacity of A.D.C., wore heavy gold aiguillettes which he continually trailed into the ices and drinks of those standing anywhere near him. He kept on adjusting his pince-nez and bowing to people who came up to speak to the General. Lushington said to him: 'How are you enjoying your new job?' 'I am worried. Worried. I will tell you a secret. It is a great shame. It is no joke. Almost I am ashamed to tell you.' 'I must know the worst.' 'The armour round the room. It comes from the National Theatre. It is not genuine armour.' 'Why not?' 'It is false. A mere trick. I would tell no other stranger but you. I am angry with my country. But the committee insisted that it should be so. They were very adamant.' 'But this is the invariable practice in all countries. The use of stage properties on such occasions as these.' 'You astonish me!' 'I assure you.' 'I am much relieved.' 'But don't tell Cortney. He had better not know.' 'You are right. Above all not Mr. Cortney. It must at all costs be kept from him.' The waltz ended and Lushington saw Da Costa hand back Mrs. Bellamy, with whom he had been dancing, to her husband. There was some clapping, but the band did not play an encore. Instead there was a pause and some picked dancers began to form up for the mazurka. Da Costa stood talking to the Bellamys for a few seconds and then made his way round the wall to the place where Lushington was. He looked hot. 'Very exhausting, this sort of thing,' he said. 'How long will it go on?' 'Until about breakfast time tomorrow. It gets more amusing later in the evening when the diplomats from the larger countries have gone away. Last year the Bulgarian consul-general did some awfully clever conjuring tricks in the Hall of the Grand Masters. Unfortunately he broke one of the clocks on the mantelpiece and there was rather a row because it turned out to be valuable.' 'Was he the man who said, "May I join this little circle of rose-buds?" when he sat on the sofa between Mrs. Bellamy, Madame Theviot and Baroness Puckler the other night?' 'That's the one. He hasn't been asked this year. It's rather a shame really. But he has no sense of proportion.' The band had begun to play again and the dancers moved towards each other in the opening movements of the mazurka. This dance was the high-water mark of the evening. As soon as it had taken place people would begin to slip away to bed, unless they had decided to make a night of it. General Kuno was watching the mazurka beside the President, and Waldemar, left to himself for a few moments, came up to them, leading a girl by the arm. He said: 'Let me present my fiancée or, as you say in English, my sweetheart. This English gentleman is Mr. Da Costa and this English gentleman is Mr. Lushington, Hedwig.' Hedwig was a sensible-looking girl dressed in brown velvet and like Waldemar she wore pince-nez. Lushington shook hands and was about to ask her for the first dance after the mazurka was over when, seeing Ortrud across the room, he slipped away and left this duty to Da Costa. He moved with difficulty round the crowded floor, getting caught up in evening dresses and tripping over spurs. Once he nearly upset one of the suits of armour. As he made his way round he watched her, still thinking how he would soon see her for the last time. Ortrud was talking to two men, one of them a Swedish officer who held tucked under his arm a cocked hat with yellow plumes and the other the German first secretary, an ex-flying ace, whose evening clothes were plastered with crosses in black and white enamel. These men stood by her in the clockwork, angular attitudes required of Teutonic gallantry. Lushington watched her. She was dressed in black, too dramatically, but suiting her style and figure. Once again, as on the boat when he had first seen her, he thought of Lucy. But Ortrud was taller, thinner, and her features were less subtle. Now as he looked at her she seemed like a sleek cat. He saw her straighten the gold lace that had become disarranged on the Swede's epaulette. As she did this her face did not alter, but he felt angry that she should touch another man in this way. He pushed on through the crowd. She saw him and nodded, still talking to the Swede. Lushington waited by the wall, glancing at the mazurka, which was becoming now more complicated and breathless as its leader shouted aloud the sequence of its movements. Then he felt her touch his arm. He turned—she was standing beside him. She was in black with a white flower fastened to her dress. 'My husband is not here tonight. He said that he had a _migraine_ and would not come.' 'When will you dance with me? After this?' 'Two after this.' 'Two? Why not at once? After all, this is almost the last time I shall see you.' 'I know; but I have two duty dances. You understand?' 'No.' 'Is it to be one of the nights when we quarrel.' 'I hope not.' She smiled at him, making him think that perhaps he would give up his job on the paper and try to find a post on the spot, a waiter's or something of the sort where it would not be necessary to learn much of the language. Anything so long as he could stay with her. They moved towards the doors of the ballroom. The mazurka clattered and stamped behind them. Its leader had allowed the dancers to get more than a little out of control and he himself began to shout more shrilly than ever. He was an old man with white dundreary whiskers and he was so thin and shrunken that if any of the dancers had collided with him he might have cracked in half. Ortrud and Lushington went up the stairs. On one of the landings they turned into an alcove and sat down under the picture of a Swedish king, some benefactor of the knights, in a wig and with Roman armour fitting into the contours of his highly developed figure and wearing round his neck the Order of the Seraphim. They sat there and watched people passing up and down the stairs. Da Costa appeared, half-running, behind the daughters of the Dutch Minister. He was taking these girls towards the buffet and all three of them were laughing a good deal. As he went by he shouted: 'Let me warn you that someone has poured vodka into one of the jugs of claret cup.' He went off in pursuit of his two yellow-haired debutantes, shaking with laughter. Ortrud said: 'So you are going to leave me and go back to England?' 'We talked of that before. Don't let's talk about it again. What else can I do?' 'Will you be sorry that you are not going to see me any more?' 'Don't be silly.' 'You will go back to your English miss.' 'She is not a miss and hasn't been for some time.' In the ballroom the mazurka came to an end and there was a great deal of clapping. They heard the Master of the Ceremonies making a short speech. People began to come through the doors in a stream. The American Minister passed the alcove and, pausing for a moment to point his finger in the shape of a revolver at Ortrud, said: 'Bang!' and walked with great deliberation down the stairs. Baroness Puckler went by with Countess Arnhfeldt and, smiling at them, went up towards the Hall of the Grand Masters. Ortrud said: 'Will you ever come back?' 'Of course I shall.' 'My lover, you are going away. You are going to leave me. What shall I do? I have only been happy with you. And now you are going away.' 'Why don't you come with me?' 'You know that I cannot. And you know that you do not want me to. It is you who are to blame for going away. You are treating me shamefully. I shall be annoying tonight. I shall annoy you. There will be time to make it up before you go. I shall come down then to the ship and wish you good-bye very nicely.' 'All right.' 'The girl you are going back to? Are you in love with her?' 'You will annoy me if you start all that again.' 'You are in love with her, then?' 'Must we have all this over again?' 'You mean that it does not matter? Because you are going away from me in any case? Do you mean that?' 'If you like.' 'I shall take another lover.' 'Oh?' 'That nice young Spaniard.' 'Yes?' 'Spaniards are better lovers than Englishmen. Did you know that?' 'I feel sure they are.' 'Am I annoying you?' 'Yes.' The American Minister came up the stairs again, slowly, and with one hand on the banisters. He pointed his finger at Ortrud and saying 'Pop!' disappeared into the ballroom. Waldemar passed them with his fiancée on his arm. In the distance Lushington could hear Da Costa's neighing laugh. In the ballroom the band began to play _Weine nicht, mein liebe, weine nicht_ in a sudden burst of sound, a musical caucus race, the result of refreshments, in which each player began where he wished and went as far as he judged suitable. Ortrud rested her hand on his knee. 'What are you thinking?' she said. 'Let's go and try some of this famous claret cup?' 'No. I have to dance with General Kuno.' 'At once?' 'Yes.' 'Blast General Kuno to hell. I hope he is blown up by some of those old school chums of his who are always trying to get him. Why should he want to dance with you at this moment? Get rid of him as soon as you can.' More and yet more curious sounds echoed through the building from the direction of the band. Lushington went down with her as far as the ballroom, where they found General Kuno twisting his moustache and grinning fiercely like the villain in a melodrama. Lushington watched them dance away together into the middle of the crowd and then turned again towards the refreshment room. He found Cortney and Da Costa standing by the table, smoking. Cortney held out his cigarette case: 'Have a Lucky?' he said. 'Isn't this party great? It takes you back somehow. The pictures, the armour, the old panelling. Even the dresses and the uniforms. Why, we might be at the court of Catherine the Great or the _Roi Soleil._ Don't you get me, Lushington? See how I mean?' 'This sandwich takes me back even farther than the armour.' Da Costa said: 'You've done nothing but grumble ever since you came out here. Besides, that joke is in very poor taste and not really at all funny. All the sandwiches I have eaten seemed to me very good, though I don't know why they had put caraway seeds in one of them. But with you nothing is ever right. Either Pope is annoying you or it is too hot indoors, or too cold out of doors, or your skis have come off, or the food has upset you. I should think you will be thankful to get back to England. As a matter of fact I shan't be sorry to get back there myself soon. I'm getting rather tired of this sort of thing. After all, life must have something more to offer than a series of waltzes with Mrs. Bellamy, Frau Kuno and Waldemar's fiancée. I couldn't have been sent into the world for that.' 'Oh, I don't know. I should think probably you were.' Cortney said: 'Well, I think you are a pair of grouchers and I'm off to find Frau Mavrin and take a dance with her.' Lushington said: 'You won't manage it, because she's booked up for the rest of the evening.' But Cortney did not hear this and he went away from the refreshments. Lushington and Da Costa followed behind him to the ballroom. The floor was clearer now. Waldemar and his fiancée were among the couples dancing. They saw Waldemar's lips moving as he passed, counting to himself: ' _One_ -two-three, _two_ -two-three, _three_ -two-three, _four_ -two-three.' Da Costa said: 'I am serious this time. I have done as much of this sort of thing as I can stand. I am going to resign and arrange to go out on an archaeological expedition. Anyway it would be a change.' 'I should.' 'There's an oppressive feeling in the air tonight. I am tired of all these people. I shall be glad to get home to bed.' 'So shall I,' said Lushington. But he knew that he was not speaking the truth. The dance seemed to go on for ever with endless encores and the one that followed it was equally drawn out, while Ortrud danced with the Chancellor of the University, a fat old man, who held her at arm's length while he walked round the room. Lushington danced with Baroness Puckler, who was enjoying herself a good deal and was full of stories of what the British Ambassador had said in 1903 when he had met one of the secretaries walking down Unter den Linden in brown boots. She said: 'But it is so sad that you are leaving us. I do not know what Ortrud will do. It is very necessary for a young married woman to have someone to take her about. More especially when her husband is a clever man who has important national work to perform. It is very necessary for his sake that she should be kept contented. Cannot you stay for that reason?' 'I wish that I could.' 'You must stay. We all wish it. Cannot it be arranged?' The band boomed on aimlessly and it was late before he managed to see Ortrud again. They danced once round the room and then went upstairs to the alcove where they had sat before. That night she was in one of her moods. They sat there in silence watching the people passing up and down the stairs. The air was heavy with the scent of women's make-up and the animal smell of the men, sweating into their thick uniforms. Soon the ball would be finished and they would be going back to their homes again and another of the times when he was with her would be over, the few times that still remained to him. People had been leaving steadily since the mazurka and now the House of the Knights was becoming quite deserted. All around him was the used-up atmosphere of the end of a party. Then the band began to pack up. Da Costa came up the stairs. He saw Lushington and Ortrud and said: 'I'm off now. Can I take you back?' Ortrud said: 'Yes, it would be nice.' 'I'll get my coat, then, and find a drosky,' Da Costa said. He went away down the stairs. Lushington said: 'Why am I not to take you back tonight?' 'No. Not tonight. I am in bad mood tonight. We will meet again before you go.' 'You certainly are in bad mood tonight.' 'You must not mind. I just do not want you to come back with me tonight. I would rather go with him. He will talk all the time and I shall not have to answer. I am tired and I want to get away from here soon.' 'All right.' 'Wait a moment,' she said. Very quickly she took the flower from where it was pinned to her dress and put it into his hand. He took it, not knowing at first what she had given him. 'For me?' 'Yes,' she said. 'For you.' Da Costa reappeared. He said: 'I have got a cab. Can I take you too? Or do you want more gaiety?' 'No, I go in the opposite direction. Anyway, I would like to walk some of the way, I think.' Da Costa said: 'The cloakroom here is a disgrace. I handed in my ticket and the attendant gave me a plumed helmet and a sky-blue cloak. I have got my own hat and coat at last, but my goloshes seem gone for good, so we may be delayed a few minutes in getting away because goloshes are things that you cannot buy more than once in a lifetime.' Lushington said: 'I shall go now, then. Good-night. Good-night.' 'Good-night,' they said. He went down the stairs. Putting his hand in his trouser pocket he felt the flower that she had given him. ## 31 THE hard blue night, dissolving now patchily in the sky behind banks of cloud, was clear under the street-lamps and Lushington went through the snow, piled up on either side of the steps and archways of the High Town. There had been a light fall less than an hour before so that some of the steps were slippery and the snow balled on the soles of his shoes. Two or three soldiers staggered past, drunk early or returning from drinking late, and one of them shouted after him and half-heartedly threw some snow. In the distance he heard the noise of firing, carried through the empty streets across the town from the barracks, or perhaps from among the islands along the shore where a gunboat might be scuffling with smugglers. But he did not trouble to make up his mind which of these it was most likely to be because he was thinking of Ortrud, and how it would feel to see her no more when he was back in England, and what he would say to her when he saw her soon again to say good-bye. A few lorries had already begun to appear in the streets and one or two of the shops were beginning to take down their shutters, but the town was still very silent. The lorries churned up the slush and made a noise with their gears as they came up the steep streets. Somewhere near-by men were shouting in a confused way as if they were calling papers. A few cars and droskies passed and the street-lamps caught the decorations and polished buttons of guests returning from the ball. The walk back seemed interminable, or rather it took place in the course of one of those passages of time that seem indefinitely extended and during which the destination approaches no nearer although more and more ground is covered. At last Lushington reached the hotel. With a great effort he pushed open the outside door. In the lounge the servants had begun to appear and some of them with handkerchiefs tied over their heads were sweeping the floor with handleless brooms and talking to each other in shrill voices that jarred against the thin atmosphere of morning. Flosshilde had not yet arrived at her desk in the hall. Nor had the lift boy appeared, and for some reason the gates of the lift were locked, so Lushington walked up the stairs slowly and across the landings lit only by nightlights. He reached his room, took off his overcoat, and began to undress, throwing all his clothes on the floor. He was tired but with all the uneasy wakefulness of what he had come from, so that when he fell asleep, which was immediately, it was into a hagridden trance like sitting up at night in a railway carriage when burning pains run suddenly through the body and cold alternates with stifling heat. His clothes lay in a heap beside the bed. He embarked at once on to a scene of nightmare, as if he had walked into a room not before entered that evening. It was a complicated, noisy affair, all bright colours and people moving quickly about and talking a great deal. Once he felt that he was falling through space. Through the conversations and strident musical instruments of his dream he could still hear the gurglings and detonations made by the room's radiators, hydraulic disturbances which always took place at this time in the morning. ## 32 IT seemed almost at once that the telephone bell rang, at first in his nightmare, and then, becoming more conscious of the dryness in his throat and actuality, he got out of bed and went into the sitting-room, falling over the great-coat lying on the floor and banging into chairs. He did not turn on the light but, groping, blundered about the room until he found the receiver. 'Hullo?' 'It's Pope, sir. Pope.' 'What do you want? When is it? Why haven't I been called?' 'There's been an accident, sir. Mr. Da Costa.' 'An accident?' 'Yes, sir. An accident. It is very serious. Can you come round at once?' 'Come round? Now? Where? What accident?' 'Mr. Da Costa's flat, sir. It is serious. If you could come round at once, sir? 'But I am in bed. What is the time? When did this happen? Is it today or tomorrow?' At the other end of the line Pope gobbled in a kind of ecstasy of fright and refinement, at intervals making a sort of clucking noise as he poured strings of unconnected, ingratiating words into the transmitter. Lushington could hear that Pope had his mouth pressed against the instrument as he gasped into it, hectic with melodrama: 'I take it I can count on you to come round, sir. The matter is most urgent.' His voice faded away before Lushington could say any more. Lushington stood in the middle of the room and wondered what had happened to Da Costa. He felt his way to the wall and round to the electric light switch. The glare dazed him and he sat down in an arm-chair and rubbed his eyes for a few seconds. The whole room seemed to be throbbing as if the band from the House of the Knights was playing in the bedroom but with muted instruments. Then he looked at his watch. He had been in bed less than an hour. Still feeling stupid with sleep he began to put on his clothes, aimlessly dressing once more in the stiff shirt and white tie which he found on the floor. He noticed that the white waistcoat had stains of claret cup on it. Only when he was fully dressed again it occurred to him that these were not the clothes in which to begin the day, but he was too heavy-eyed to take them off and dress in something else. He picked up the overcoat from the floor and put it on as he went down the stairs. When he arrived in the lounge the hotel had been given its usual appearance. The signs of early morning had been withdrawn. Flosshilde was now at her desk. She expressed surprise at seeing him so early and was about to begin a conversation as he passed, but, smiling discouragingly, he moved on into the street and beckoned a drosky. He got into it and gave Da Costa's address. It was not yet light. There were more people in the streets now and twice a detachment of soldiers tramped past with fixed bayonets and wearing steel helmets. The drosky crossed the railway square and drove by the immoderate, Germanic nymphs straining on their plinths under the station's architrave. There were two gendarmes at the entrance to the block of flats. These, stage policemen out of a knock-about farce, stopped him, shaking their heads. They stood in front of the door, grunting and intransigent, making signs that he could not go in, their expressions that of highland cattle. Lushington showed them his passport, but he had to add to it a press card and the membership voucher of a defunct London night-club before they would let him pass. He went up in the lift, working it himself, and rang the bell of the flat. There was a long wait and then Pope opened the door. 'Well?' said Lushington. 'What is wrong?' Pope could hardly speak. He was only half dressed, and Lushington noticed that he was wearing Da Costa's dressing-gown over his shirt and trousers. He had no collar and his hair was not brushed. He fluttered with his hands. 'Mr. Da Costa, sir,' he said, 'Mr. Da Costa has been shot.' And then Lushington saw that two more gendarmes were standing in the hall behind Pope fingering their belts and the holsters of their revolvers, dimly aware that they too were of dramatic importance in the setting of something that had taken place not long before. Lushington said: 'What do you mean?' 'Come here, sir. This way.' They went into the sitting-room, where a lot of people were standing about and almost all of whom were talking. Waldemar, very white in the face, was there and a police captain. There was a faint smell of antiseptic like a nursing home. When Lushington came in everyone stood up and clicked their heels. Waldemar came forward and, taking Lushington by the arm, introduced him to several people, some of whom were doctors. Lushington shook hands all round. Pope stood behind, shuffling with his feet and swallowing. The blinds of the room were drawn and the electric light was on. The bedroom door was open. Pope shuffled. Waldemar made a movement with his hands. Lushington saw that they intended him to go into the bedroom. He went towards the doorway and looked through it. The people in the sitting-room went on talking, but less loudly. The blinds were drawn in the bedroom as in the sitting-room and the lights were on. Lushington stood on the threshold of the bedroom and looked into the room. Then he said: 'Is he dead?' 'He's dead, sir. Dead.' Pope swallowed. 'But what happened?' 'He was shot, sir. Shot.' Pope clasped the dressing-gown round him. He was very upset. Lushington stared into the room. Waldemar moved forward. He said: 'This is a grave and tragic episode. The men who have done this thing have committed an act of murder. Under the new code abolishing the death penalty they render themselves liable to a sentence of fifteen years' forced labour. When they are apprehended the law will most surely exert its full rigour.' Lushington stood and looked through the doorway of the bedroom. Here then was that rather astonishing mystery about which so much had been said that, when the fact itself was there, no further comment was possible. For the moment no near-at-hand formula seemed at all adequate. This was something well-defined and at the same time not easy to believe in. It seemed absurd, overdone. Lacking in proportion, like other people's love affairs. Here were all the signs of a loss of control. A breakdown of the essential machinery. The sort of thing no one could be expected to be on the look-out for. He rested one of his hands on the side of the door. He did not turn to hear what Waldemar was saying. The smell of disinfectant, he noticed, came from the bedroom. In the room behind him the hum of enquiring talk continued. Pope said: 'That was the only covering I could find that was extensive enough in size.' 'I see.' 'I was about to search for something else when you rang the bell, sir.' 'How did this happen?' It took some time to find out the answer to this question. Waldemar told most of the story, with interruptions from Pope, who had not been present, and from one of the doctors, who understood but did not speak English. The other people in the room talked to each other in their own language or made noisy telephone calls. The atmosphere, the fumes of sweat and disinfectant, was midway between an operating theatre and a corner of the monkey house. The mauve and Venetian red cushions were all crumpled up at one end of the sofa. One of the shelves of the bookcase had collapsed and some heavy books had slid on to the floor, where they had remained in a heap. There was no blood. The story came out by degrees. Da Costa, they said, had left the House of the Knights in a drosky. Crossing the square in front of the University a car driving away from the ball had drawn level. In this car were General Kuno, Waldemar, and two detectives. As the car was passing the drosky two men had run out from a side street and had begun to fire revolvers at General Kuno. General Kuno and his civilian bodyguard had replied with their automatics and Waldemar had drawn his sword. The gendarme on duty at the corner of the square blew his whistle and also opened fire. The two gendarmes who patrolled the street at right-angles to the square were near the operative end of it and were soon able to join in with the others. The horses drawing the drosky had run away. That was how it had happened. When they stopped the drosky they had found Da Costa dead. Waldemar said: 'Also a drunk man was seen brandishing a revolver, but after his arrest it was found to be but a cardboard pistol that they distribute at Maxim's on the nights of gala. Nevertheless he has been detained for further interrogation by the police. It is said that he is a count.' Lushington thought about it all and while he thought about it he remembered something that up till then he had forgotten. He said: 'Was anyone else killed?' Waldemar said: 'Alas, the lady—' 'The lady? What lady?' 'Frau Mavrin—' 'What happened to Frau Mavrin?' Waldemar stammered. He said: 'She too is dead. She lived for a few minutes. But she died as they were taking her away.' 'Do you mean she was shot?' 'Yes, she was shot.' 'By these men?' 'Indeed.' One of the fat men in black coats who crowded the room could not get the number he wanted on the telephone and he kept on tapping the instrument so that the bell gave out a number of little tinkling rings. Another of these men had taken down a book from the bookcase and was looking at the pictures in it. Lushington fingered his white tie, wondering dimly why he had come in evening dress to what seemed to be an inquest. The police captain had sent for the two gendarmes and was giving them instructions which he made them repeat after him, like children learning a lesson. The faces of everyone in the room were shiny and looked like badly made models in wax. Pope said: 'Two peasant women on their way to the fruit market were wounded by the shots of these men, who are believed to have been Communists. The porter from the flats opposite came out to watch and was grazed by a bullet. That was from the guns of the General's plain-clothes men.' Waldemar said: 'It is of great credit to the police that they were the cause of no grave casualties. None of their shots caused anyone a serious injury. They are in pursuit of the murderers and have high hopes of apprehending them.' 'Have they?' 'It is indeed certain.' The heaviness of the room was almost insupportable. There seemed to be no air in it at all. Several of the men had not taken off their overcoats, which were damp from the fall of snow. The fat man at last had been put through to the number he wanted on the telephone and he was now giving a complicated message, spelling out most of the words. When he had finished he gave the message again, but in a different language. Waldemar was very upset. He took off his pince-nez and wiped them. He said: 'What must you think of my poor country, you with your English sense of constructive and far-sighted political philosophy. But here it is not understood to compromise. General Kuno had enemies. In England never have I heard that the chief of police is shot at. No matter how much the discontent with existing laws. But here of compromise little is known among the parties of the Left.' Reviewing momentarily the situation, Lushington found that he was not thinking of Ortrud as dead. He was surprised to find that at present he did not think of her as that. And in the same way it hardly seemed that Da Costa, too, was dead, in spite of what he had seen and what he could see at any moment again if he went back to the doorway of the bedroom. He himself felt a little dazed and rather sick and he could only think that he had missed an eye-witness account of the thing for the paper and that now he had been given orders to come back to England things were beginning to happen out here. Besides, everyone was talking so much that it seemed useless to attempt to take in what they were saying. He tried to pull himself together and to decide upon something efficacious to say or to do. The first flush of excitement was dying down among the others and Waldemar was returning to his normal state of mild embarrassment. Lushington said to him: 'I am so sorry. I haven't congratulated you on your own escape yet.' Thank you, thank you.' 'And General Kuno.' 'I will bear your congratulations to him. It shall be done at once.' 'And the legation? Do they know there yet?' Pope said: 'Mr. Bellamy is on his way here. I communicated with him by telephone.' One of the men in the room, perhaps the fat one who had been doing so much telephoning, came across to Lushington and began to talk to him in a language that Lushington did not understand. He talked for a long time and Lushington nodded at appropriate intervals. When the man had finished and had gone away to talk to someone else Lushington said: 'Is it light outside yet?' He seemed to have been in the room so long that he wondered if it was late afternoon. Pope heard him and walked quickly across the room holding the dressing-gown round him like a mannequin displaying a dress. With one hand he held the dressing-gown round him and with the other he pulled the curtains aside from the window, but the door-bell rang before he had time to put out the lamps and he went to open the door while the sunlight came in through the double panes, into the room which was already filled with a yellow glow. Outside, although the sun had scarcely risen, some rays of its light caught the gilt domes of the Russian cathedral and with their coruscations accentuated the chill that was in the morning air. There were splashes of light now all over the harbour. A lot of people were moving about among the docks and several of the smaller boats were puffing up clouds of black smoke. In the streets officers carrying black portfolios under their arms were walking along to the Ministry of Defence, and boy and girl students in peaked caps were starting off for the University. Lushington thought that although he was tired it would be no good going to bed again that day. He would soon have to get some fresh air, he thought. He took a handkerchief from his pocket to blow his nose and some petals of a flower dropped on to the carpet. He sat down on a chair and began to pick them up one by one. ## 33 LUSHINGTON was doing his packing. The sitting-room was filled with his clothes and objects of little value acquired during his visit, none of which would fit into the available boxes. Cortney, who was helping with advice, pushed away the larger suitcase from the arm-chair and sat down. He fingered his moustache thoughtfully. The Baltic sunlight streamed in through the window. Cortney said: "Well, you'll be glad to get back. Away from all this trouble and turmoil. Back to quiet old England where the trees will soon be getting green again. I know how you'll be feeling about it.' 'Do you?' 'You bet I do. We've all of us had to face a deal of trouble out here and you most of all. There were two persons, young, promising, handsome, socially exclusive, aristocrats in the best sense. And now they are gone. Did you ever know either of them say an unkind word, do a dishonest action, or behave in any way meanly, pettily or so that you might be ashamed of them? I think, Lushington, that you did not. It's the passing of such as these that makes me think "See here, Cortney, what will you have to say for yourself the day you come to hand in your checks? How will it feel when the Recording Angel calls your bluff for the last time?" How many of us will make the grade? It's a question that I am not man enough to answer, and I think, Lushington, that you'll say with me that you are not man enough to face up to that question either.' Lushington, who had been straining to shut the fastenings of the bag he had been packing, gave it up, took some of the things out and began to pack another one. Litter of all kinds covered the floor. There was just room for him to kneel down while he packed. He said: 'Do you mind getting up for a moment? I think you are sitting on my stiff shirts. Or rather, what the laundry have left of them.' 'Scherbatcheff, he's gone too. The poor old Count. He's gone to rest with his ancestors. Well, perhaps he's better where he is. He's gone where count and commoner are all the same.' 'I shall miss him on the voyage back.' 'What is it, Lushington, that makes you travel by sea when you could do the journey in half the time and three times the comfort by land?' 'I thought the sea journey might make a story for my paper.' 'I daresay you're right. I love the sea myself. We Anglo-Saxon races have it just naturally in our blood. I often think I should like to be buried at sea when I have to make my reckoning with the Old Man with the Scythe. That strange old guy who gets us all in the end.' Pope, who was in the deepest black, appeared silently in the room. He watched Lushington kneeling before the suitcase. He looked more wistful than ever. He said: 'If you wish, sir, I can complete your packing.' 'No, thanks. I prefer to do it myself.' 'I think you would be wiser to allow me to complete it, sir. I have great experience of packing. My late master, sir, poor Mr. Da Costa, often used to compliment me on my packing. He used to say that he knew no one like me. He didn't really. I hope that now that I am going to Mr. Cortney he will find me equally satisfactory.' Cortney said: 'Pope, I am a reserved man. I come of a reserved family. We don't let our tongues run away with us. We leave most of the talking to our women folk. But at least I'll say this. If I can rely on you to serve me with the respect, the rectitude, the integrity, and the devotion that you were accustomed to accord to Mr. Da Costa I think that neither of us will have any cause for regrets.' Cortney rose and taking his hat and stick from the bedroom, where they had been put in case Lushington should pack them, went towards the door. Pope inclined his head. Cortney said: 'So long, Lushington. I shall next see you on the quayside.' 'So long.' Pope said: 'I was in the next room, sir, and I could not help overhearing that Mr. Cortney was speaking about death. When I was in the War, sir, of course one had to be prepared for it at any moment. My duty often took me within a few miles of the front line and a stray shell might easily have got me. But then we soldiers knew that such things were all in the day's work. We got used to it. We even used to joke about such things. I often look back on those days almost with regret. But then I was popular in the Army. I don't know how it was. The men seemed to look up to me, somehow. There are one or two experiences I should especially like to tell you, sir, as you'll be leaving this country soon and I may not have another opportunity.' ## 34 THE boat sailed late, after dinner, and it was dark and cold down by the docks. Lushington leaned over the side and talked to Waldemar and Cortney, who had come to see him off. Pope was there too, carrying a walking-stick with a heavy coloured-glass knob and he wore an unusually wide-brimmed black hat. He had been running about quickly, giving orders to porters, and for a few minutes he confused everybody so much that all Lushington's heavier luggage was taken on to a cargo boat bound for Stettin. However, it was recovered without much difficulty. Now Pope stood in the background leaning on his stick. When Lushington tipped him he had said, ' _A bientôt_ , sir,' which made Lushington wonder whether he had given him enough. The quayside was deserted except for a few loafers and some soldiers and gendarmes, watching to prevent anyone from committing a nuisance or blowing up the docks. A strong wind was blowing inland from the sea. They talked to each other awkwardly as they had been dining together and topics for conversation had run out earlier in the evening. At last a party of nondescript characters, supers from a tableau of haulers on the Volga, removed the gangway laboriously. The steam hooter sounded and a minor official in a peaked cap wound a hunting horn. 'Cheerioh, Mr. Lushington!' Waldemar shouted and saluted. Cortney took off his hat and raised his arm in the fascist salute. In the background Pope brandished his stick. The boat began to move away from the side, and down the watercourse. Lushington took off his hat and waved it. Waldemar and Cortney remained at their respective salutes. It was so dark that they and Pope were soon out of sight and the boat, zigzagging, passed on through the wharfs. There were cranes and low warehouses on either side and lighted flares at intervals which showed up the red and yellow wood of the buildings. On one of the quays three drunk night-watchmen were dancing hand in hand round a fire. The boat went on past a fort and from here the harbour widened into open sea. This was the last outpost of the unreal city and, prodigally dramatic, a soldier was standing on one of the bastions of the central tower leaning on his rifle, humped out by his helmet and pack into a gargoyle against the snowy castellations and pale stars. It was the final and rather masterly shot of the reel. The night air was very cold. This ship was smaller than the one on which Lushington had come out. It was little more than a cargo boat, but there were half a dozen cabins that opened on to the dining-saloon. Lushington decided to go below and have another look at the poky smoking-room. He wondered if his brain would ever work again or if he would be obsessed for ever by the thoughts that he was thinking then. In the smoking-room a fat man was sitting with his back to the door, sorting packages which he had taken from a gladstone bag. When Lushington came in the man turned round. It was Count Bobel. 'Hullo,' Lushington said. Count Bobel did not get up nor remove the cigarette from his mouth. He continued to arrange his samples. He said: 'Mr. Lushington, _mon cher_ , I was delighted to see your name on the list of passengers and I have persuaded the Captain, who is a self-willed and somewhat disagreeable man, to allow you to share my cabin. He made difficulties, but at last he consented and your effects have been removed there. In that way we can converse and thereby the voyage will have less _ennui_.' 'Are we the only passengers?' 'We are the only two. How fortunate that we should be already acquainted.' Lushington stood and watched Count Bobel arranging his brown-paper parcels. The smoke from the amber cigarette swept upwards and into his left eye. He said: 'Are you going to England this time?' 'Yes, yes. I begin with the towns of the North. Sheffield, Halifax, Bradford. Later you must give me all the _addresses_ that you know in these towns. But there will be time for you to do that when we come nearer to England. My friend, what tragedies we have been through in the past weeks! What escapes! Do you know that for three hours or more I was in the hands of the police? They questioned me, _ces sales types là_ , and all because I happened to be passing by when the tragedy took place. It is scarcely believable. And indeed you can well imagine how shaken were my nerves by the firing alone, without any of the police interrogation that followed. But these small nations are always _comme ça._ They find a man of the world like myself and immediately suppose that he is a revolutionary. _C'est rigolo._ And poor Madame Mavrin! Do you remember how she was our companion on the outwards voyage?' 'Yes.' 'You must know that I always thought that Madame Mavrin was attracted to you. A little _béguini_? No? Perhaps not then. But such is a thing that we men must always be on the look-out for, because how much easier it is if a woman is already half won. You especially should be on the look-out, Mr. Lushington. You have a way with women. The Princess Varvara often spoke of you after our visit to your hotel. Ah, what a humorous occasion that was. How much I have laughed over it since. You are a lucky man. I myself must not grumble. I had my share of romance. _Une jeune fille très comme il faut._ But I forget. You know her. The little reception clerk at your big hotel. And she was called Flosshilde, which is so pretty a name, more especially for me for whom Wagner will always be the supreme _maestro._ You remember her, yes? At the desk of your hotel?' 'Yes.' 'Alas,' said Count Bobel. 'Alas, the poor girl finds herself in a very difficult position. Very difficult. But she is a clever girl and no doubt she will find a way out. For my part I put such difficulties from my mind. A good friend of mine, a Brazilian, once told me that the rich men in his country, when they smoke a cigar, take only the first two or three puffs. Then they throw the cigar away. Those puffs are the best and when they want more they can buy another cigar. Sometimes I think that it is good to be with girls as my friend was with his cigars. It is the sentimental who do most harm in this world of ours. You are no doubt familiar with the works of Nietzsche? You are? I thought so. And besides, I did not forget that this girl of whom I speak was fiancée to that charming compatriot of yours whose name I cannot recall.' ## 35 WHEN they looked through the port-holes the next morning the snow was drifting down on to the sea. It was rough all the time on the voyage home. Lushington lay on his face in his bunk with one arm hanging down at the side and his hand touching the floor of the cabin. When he thought at all he thought about Ortrud who had been shot and Da Costa who had been shot and Lucy who had not been shot and whom, if he did not die of sea-sickness, he was soon to see again. Count Bobel, who was at that moment smoking one of his amber cigarettes, said: 'I should like some day to go to Corsica. I have seen some of the women of Corsica. They are splendid women. I should like to go to a public house in Corsica.' 'There are no public-houses in Corsica. It is like France in that respect. No public-houses and no Virginian cigarettes.' 'A public house. _Une maison close._ You understand me, yes? It is in the women of that island that I am interested.' The boat heaved very slowly, climbing with great deliberation up one side of a wave. When it came to the top of the wave it paused and for a few seconds it seemed that it would remain suspended permanently on the crest of the swell. Then it came down again suddenly, moving more quickly as it began to rise once more and to approach another apex. The beams creaked. Count Bobel nearly lost his balance and, steadying himself by clutching Lushington's ankle, said: 'If one had enough money, that is to say if one was successful enough at one's business, which is really the same thing, it would be pleasant to make a trip with the object of ascertaining the relative beauty of the women of Europe. For my part I like young girls. _Les jeunes filles en fleur._ To me they seem more fresh. There are others who think differently. I know men who will speak only of the mature woman as a possible mate. They wish for experience, sophistication, in a word the _femme du monde._ But to me there is but slight beauty in such a one. Little romance.' Lushington, musing on those fields of asphodel through which he felt that he might soon be wandering, turned over on his back and swallowed. Very slowly the waters beneath raised his bunk at an angle so that he could watch through the port-hole the greenness of the sea and the creamy foam driving along the crest of the waves. Drops of water coursed interminably down the thick glass of the port-hole. The boat's engines sounded only faintly, like the distant buzzing of bees. Here too there was a smell of cocoanut oil. Count Bobel said: 'There is one method and one alone of avoiding seasickness. Always I employ it. You wind this material round the waist. There is a great deal of this material and always you wind it round the waist. It has the effect of keeping the internal organs of the body in a position of constancy. The more tight you can bear it, the more effective is this remedy. Can I draw your attention to this method of avoiding sea-sickness, Mr. Lushington? I would be glad indeed to wind it round for you myself. Sea-sickness is a most distressing malady. Once I can remember many years ago it happened that I was _en touriste_ at Nice and I had invited a young lady to accompany me on a trip in a motorboat. She had one of those very full figures that have in these days gone out of fashion to some extent. Her very fair hair went well with her style of dress. She was a remarkable girl in her way and very attached to me. I remember for example how much she was looking forward to the trip. Then as soon as she got out to sea she began to complain that she was feeling unwell. It was no use my telling her that the whole thing was her imagination. She insisted that she felt faint. I recall how sorry I was that I had not warned her beforehand that all would have been satisfactory if she had taken the the very simple precaution of wrapping round her just a few yards of the material that I have here. In that way all would have been well. The delicate machinery of the body would have been kept in place. There would have been none of the unpleasantness that followed. I was sorry because the girl was genuinely attached to me. I tell you this story about myself only because it occurs to me that you might profit by this simple contrivance.' Count Bobel dropped the stub of his amber cigarette on the floor and stamped on it with his foot. He wore shoes made of imitation snake skin and with patent-leather toecaps. The wind passed quickly along the sides of the ship and made a whistling noise through the cracks of the porthole. The beam in the cabin next door creaked continuously. Lushington sat up in the bunk, supporting himself by holding on to the curtain at the side. Count Bobel retreated slightly. He said: 'In Russia we have an expression— _nitchevo._ It is difficult to render into another language. It is in reality untranslatable. It means _nothing_ or, more freely, _what does it matter_? It is a very popular expression, characteristic, in a way, of our people. I tell you this because I think this is a moment when such a philosophy of life might be of value to you. Say to yourself— _nitchevo_.' It was rough all that day and all the next one too. Owing to bad weather they were almost twelve hours longer on the sea than the scheduled time. ## 36 LUSHINGTON went along the stone passages into which the sun never penetrated. They had told him downstairs that there was a new literary editor. He waited, talking to Miss Arnold in the outer office, while the new literary editor finished some stuff. Then he went in. The new literary editor, who looked if possible more shifty than the last one, said: 'Who did you say you were? Yes, I remember your name. Didn't you go off somewhere? I can believe you it was cold. Wasn't there a row? Someone got shot or something? Booth was talking about it. Were you in on that? No, you missed it. Well, these things will happen, but all the same an eye-witness account is the only thing that cuts any ice when it's a small affair like that. It brings it home to the public, you know. People feel that they can get their teeth into it. Of course, in the old days there'd have been a terrible to-do about that young chap. _Civis Romanus sum_ and so on. But all that's done with now, and a good thing too, I expect. I suppose you knew him well, being English and about the same age, in a small place. They shot a lady at the same time, didn't they? They did? Yes, I thought so. I saw something about it. Was she a friend of his?' 'Yes.' 'I expect you knew her too. That's the thing about a small place. You know everybody. What was she like? A nice girl?' 'Yes, she was.' 'Sad,' the literary editor said, making some marks in blue pencil on a typescript. 'Hanging's too good for fellows like that who massacre women and children. And by the way, Miss Arnold, you will find that I shall be shooting you or something of the sort if I catch you muddling up those files again. It took me half an hour yesterday to collate the material for the historical competition. It just isn't good enough. You must get that into your head. It's all a question of having a system and sticking to it. After all, it's not much to ask.' Lushington said: 'The envelope in that pigeon-hole? It looks like my writing. May I—?' 'Anything you like, old man. It was all there when I took over. Found a treasure trove?' 'No, no. Just some stories of mine. I don't know how they can have got there. I've mislaid them for some time. I'll look through them and then perhaps you might be able to use them. Anyway, I'd like you to see them. They might do for the feature page.' ## 37 GOING eastwards there was a place beyond the Tower where they could sit and overlook the river. It had been Lucy's idea that they should go there. Lushington had once proposed to her on that veranda and after she had met Da Costa the three of them had been there together on several occasions. Perhaps as a sort of mourning for Da Costa she was wearing country clothes, tweeds and low heels. The place was reached with some difficulty because she had made up her mind that the way there should be an expedition, a pilgrimage, and they arrived later than they had intended. They walked through the bar and beyond it on the wooden platform. It was too cold to sit out in the open, but that was what Lucy had decided that she wanted to do. The evening was drawing in and lights were appearing along the river and on the few boats that passed by them. The water below the veranda had the slimy, viscous quality of the Thames and it seemed a denser liquid as it sucked and swelled beneath the boards. The rows of warehouses opposite, simplified by dusk, took on coherent, almost intellectual forms. In each direction these shapes ended among the mists that were drifting up from the marshes. Sometimes fog signals sounded. A Scandinavian ship, done up in cream and green paint, had been moored to the right of them. The fog signals went off three at a time. Lushington said: 'It is much too cold to have come here.' Down-stream, on one of the larger buildings, there were cranes jutting out with a cloud behind them that caught and held for a moment the ochre-coloured light, across which dark flights of gulls sometimes passed. A ridiculous boat like a coracle with a triangular red sail passed them and floated on with the current. There was no sign of life on the big cream-and-green Scandinavian, but three men in a dinghy with set expressions on their faces were rowing against the tide towards her. Lushington pointed to them and said: 'Look. Treasure Island.' Lucy said: 'This woman who was killed at the same time. Was there anything between them?' 'No.' 'Are you absolutely sure?' 'Absolutely.' 'Did you know her well?' 'Quite well.' 'Was she attractive?' 'Yes.' 'You're sure he wasn't in love with her?' 'Yes.' 'What was she like?' 'Oh, I don't know. Rather sweet. She was the wife of a professor. They had only been married a few years.' 'How wretched.' For some reason the situation seemed suddenly to have become easier. He did not know why he felt that. Before now he had not made up his mind about Ortrud. He had known what he had thought when he was on the sea, but there such feelings might have had their origin in being on the sea. But now it all seemed very clear. Lucy said: 'Now there are only us.' And at once, not leaving any time for him to answer, she said: 'From what you say it must all have looked rather like this?' 'Do you remember when we saw the ships through the trees as if they were growing in the field?' 'Was it like that?' 'Only less real.' 'How do you mean real?' 'I don't know exactly.' 'The people or the places?' 'Both.' The damp came up in a strong gust from the bed of the river. More gulls dipped across the cloud. The men in the dinghy had reached the ship and one of them was making passes at a rope ladder with his boat-hook. Lushington shivered. He said: 'Have another?' 'Yes.' There were a few more people now in the saloon bar. Among them was the man who asked people their names when they came to the office and who controlled the house telephone without much success. This man saw Lushington at once and said: 'Back to the army again, sergeant?' 'That's it.' 'Seen you before down here.' 'Have you?' 'It's a nice little place. We get all sorts down here. You wouldn't believe. Artists. One of them got fifty pounds for a picture he did. I remember him well. He was down here at the time of the lightermen's strike. Used to sit out there all day. An artist, you know. Did some pictures. He got fifty pounds for one of them. That was time of the lightermen's strike. All sorts we get.' 'What will you have?' The man stroked his face in meditation and said: 'Thanks, mine's a bitter with a drop of old in it.' Lushington handed the man with the birthmark his drink and took his own and Lucy's. When he went outside again she was standing up and leaning her hand against one of the posts that supported the wooden roof of the veranda. She was looking across to the other side of the river where the warehouses were now almost hidden by the sallow mist. She said: 'I suppose I am more or less yours now.' 'Yes.' 'If you still want me.' The mist was thickening and carried with it the acrid scent of fog and brought a smarting to the eyes. The cold had become intense. One of the men from the dinghy had at last succeeded in getting on board by way of the rope ladder. The other two remained in the boat, gloomily watching him. Lucy said: 'Who were you talking to in the bar?' 'The porter from my office.' 'The paper?' 'Yes.' 'Does he always come here?' 'I don't know. He said he had seen me here before.' 'I expect he thinks I'm a tart.' 'I was just wondering.' This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Epub ISBN 9781473535473 Version 1.0 1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2 Arrow Books 20 Vauxhall Bridge Road London SW1V 2SA Arrow Books is part of the Penguin Random House Group of companies, whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com Copyright © Anthony Powell 1932 Anthony Powell has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. First published by Gerald Duckworth and Company in Great Britain 1932 This edition published by Arrow Books 2015 www.randomhouse.co.uk A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library ISBN 9781784750619 ### Contents 1. Cover 2. Contents 3. About the Book 4. About the Author 5. Also by Anthony Powell 6. Title Page 7. Epigraph 8. Chapter 1 9. Chapter 2 10. Chapter 3 11. Chapter 4 12. Chapter 5 13. Chapter 6 14. Chapter 7 15. Chapter 8 16. Chapter 9 17. Chapter 10 18. Chapter 11 19. Chapter 12 20. Chapter 13 21. Chapter 14 22. Chapter 15 23. Chapter 16 24. Chapter 17 25. Chapter 18 26. Chapter 19 27. Chapter 20 28. Chapter 21 29. Chapter 22 30. Chapter 23 31. Chapter 24 32. Chapter 25 33. Chapter 26 34. Chapter 27 35. Chapter 28 36. Chapter 29 37. Chapter 30 38. Chapter 31 39. Chapter 32 40. Chapter 33 41. Chapter 34 42. Chapter 35 43. Chapter 36 44. Chapter 37 45. Copyright
Advances in Quality Control of Intraoperative Radiotherapy Intraoperative radiotherapy is the kind of radiotherapy where the remains of a surgically not completely removed tumour are irradiated at the open situ of the patient. The current main drawback of this radiotherapy is the insufficient documentation of the applied radiation and the lack of a possibility for an individual treatment planning. This work presents a system that is a common development of Fraunhofer IGD, Stadtische Klinik Offenbach and MedCom GmbH which offers a possibility for supervision of the placement of the irradiation flabs through interactive navigation in CT data acquired from the patient, the creation of a documentation of the applied isodose as well as the possibility for an individual treatment planning....
A survey: Software API and database for emotion recognition Emotions are fundamental to human lives and their decision-making. Understanding an expression of emotional feeling between people forms an intricate web. There are systems, been developed that attempt to recognize aspects of emotion related behaviors and to respond to these, for example systems designed to improve the user experience or to change user behavior. The emotion recognition through facial images in recent times have proved to be an interesting topic for the researchers. Since two decades, a big research has been addressed to enhance Human Computer Interaction (HCI). There are a lot of applications and API-accessible software online that parallels the human ability to discern emotional behavior. The visual detection market is expanding enormously that can be seen noted from various system developed and described in this paper. This paper discuss various attributes, methods and emotional labels that are considered by various emotion API system. This paper also gives an overview of the databases available for inferring emotion through human facial features. The paper.
"CEO" wasn't always a dirty word. There was a time not so long ago - when boy bands were atop the charts and Jeff Bezos topped out on the "edgy" meter - when CEOs were the closest thing America had to rock stars. Things might have changed, but it doesn't mean you should take the act off the road. CEOs are still, and always will be, expected to be public figures. The temptation to avoid the spotlight is understandable - it sometimes seems corporate executives should simply be read their Miranda rights before taking the podium ("Anything you say can and will be used against you ..."). So how do you write a speech for a CEO at a time like this? The consensus among those who did it then and do it now is to change the tone. No more bombast, no more big empty promises, no more hubris for the sake of getting press. Connect with your audience, reassure them, show some humanity, and, above all else, don't promise what you can't deliver. "In the late 1990s, when the economy was rolling, it was a time for grand visioning," says John Baldoni, a leadership communications consultant and author of books on the subject, including 180 Ways to Walk the Leadership Talk. "When the 2000s reintroduced us to the menace of corporate fraud, cooler heads prevailed, and the visioning became more focused and finite." That said, one must be careful not to let a reduction in rhetoric lead to a dearth of substance. Don't let caution turn your speech into a big gulp of NyQuil. "Grandiose rhetoric is no longer credible or tolerated," says David Pasquale, SVP with New York-based The Ruth Group, "[but] a balance must be achieved. Management teams must not take their written and verbal communications to the other extreme, where they do not disclose key information. Companies must articulate their growth and channel strategies and the results achieved." So the key - from a legal standpoint as much as a PR one - is sticking to concrete deliverables, not promises of growth or profit. "Facts: just enough, not too much, always accurate, always defensible," advises Tom Gahm, PR director, and Leigh McGivern, PR group account director at The Integer Group, via e-mail. "As you prepare speeches for executives and board members, make sure that the examples you use are real-world examples - no speculation, no composite situations. Ask yourselves, 'If the listener wants to check this out for himself, do we have any reservations about giving him the needed contact information?'" Indeed, it's vital to bear in mind the listener's needs, putting them before the needs of the speaker. "What I do is try to put myself in the mind of the listener," says Tim Hanlon, EVP of DVC Worldwide's PR division and a former speechwriter for Secretary of State Colin Powell when he was CEO of America's Promise. "I always think, 'What do they want to hear?' A lot of times [executives] will come back and say, 'Wow I got all my points across.' Well OK, but what about their points? "Michael Eisner will be a great case history for PR people," Hanlon continues. "Look at the speech that he gave in Philadelphia and you realize he is completely out of touch with what shareholders are thinking. If you approach it from the standpoint of the audience, you are more than halfway there." Humility is a running theme these days. With self-obsessed CEOs like Martha Stewart and Ken Lay getting so much attention, it's important for the good guys to assure the audience of their humanity. There are a number of ways to do that. "They need to show a concern for people, especially if they are speaking to a younger audience," explains Marcia Reynolds, president of leadership consultancy Covisioning and author of Outsmart Your Brain! Get Happy, Get Heard, and Get Your Way at Work. "The martketplace is finally accepting that most of what we think and do is based on how we feel. [Speakers] need to engage the audience in a way that creates an emotional experience." "I encourage CEOs to tell stories about their childhood that relate to the topic," says Susan Harrow, a media coach and marketing strategist. "This instantly humanizes them, takes their audience back to happy times sitting on their parent's or grandparent's knee, and creates a deep emotional connection." "You want to talk about at least some kind of challenges you've faced," advises Andy Tannen, director of MS&L Executive Forums. "Include real examples. It's not a bad thing to talk about cases where you did not succeed. The audience appreciates that you don't want to create this perception of how perfect I am and how great I am. That's way out of step with the tenor of the times." But perhaps the best way to connect with your audience is also the most standard: humor. "Humor is very bonding," says Cheri Kerr, president of presentation-skills training firm ExecuProv. "It's one of the most important things to do in communications, and those who use humor are people that everyone wants to see speak." Kerr should know. A founding member of world-renowned LA improv troupe The Groundlings, she now gets paid by high-powered execs to punch up their speeches with "entertainment value." "Not that CEOs need to sing or dance, but they need to have some interesting anecdotes or quotes so people don't sit there and go to sleep," she says. "Especially if they're doing a PowerPoint presentation." While the right humor can endear a speaker to his or her audience, it's important to remember that the wrong humor can alienate the speaker just as fast. Here, too, is where today's CEO speeches differ from those just a few years ago. So be certain not to offend: try your humor out on a wide swath of people first. "I think people have to be a lot more politically correct," says Kerr. "People like to take what executives say and blow it up into a big deal, so you have to be cautious about something that could come back to haunt you."
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You’ve likely seen all the fuss about the discovery of the true identity of the creator of Bitcoin – but it seems this has been a case of much ado about nothing. The mysterious Satoshi Nakamoto, the name attached to the creator of the virtual currency back in 2008, was supposedly identified by a Newsweek article, who pinned him down as a 64-year-old Japanese-American recluse. Here was the Bitcoin mastermind, they said, a model train enthusiast from LA. Newsweek seemed to have the word from the horse’s mouth. As we discussed in our earlier report, he allegedly acknowledged having a role in the project, and told Newsweek: "I am no longer involved in that and I cannot discuss it. It's been turned over to other people. They are in charge of it now. I no longer have any connection." But now, in an interview with the Associated Press, Nakamoto has said that this key quote, saying he was “no longer involved” and implying that was relating to Bitcoin, was actually misunderstood. Nakamoto, whose English isn’t perfect, told AP that he was actually saying he was no longer involved in engineering – not Bitcoin. Nakamoto stressed to the AP: “It sounded like I was involved before with Bitcoin and looked like I'm not involved now. That's not what I meant. I want to clarify that.” He also repeatedly told the AP: “I got nothing to do with it” (Bitcoin, that is). Nakamoto did admit that much of Newsweek’s article was correct in its digging and details – just not the rather crucial bit about Bitcoin. Jeff Garzik, one of Bitcoin’s core developers, also chimed in with a blog post stating that there was “zero conclusive evidence” that 64-year-old Nakamoto was in fact the creator of Bitcoin. Even the core devs have always been unaware of Nakamoto’s true identity, and have presumed that the name is a pseudonym – as would seem to be likely from a common sense point of view. Nakamoto’s final words in the AP article sum things up quite nicely. "How long is this media hoopla going to last?" he asked. Sadly, we doubt it’s close to blowing over yet, Mr Nakamoto.
Doruntine (novel) Plot Doruntine is a young Albanian woman from a noble family – the Vranachs – who is married into a family that lives far away from the family home. Her brother, Constantine, made an oath to his mother that he would fetch her back if needed. Having heard nothing for three years, Doruntine is one day suddenly awoken by Constantine and taken back on horseback to her mother. He leaves her at the door, saying that he has to go to the church beforehand. When her mother opens the door, both women fall into a state of shock, as Constantine has been dead for three years. Both tell their tale but both die soon after. Stres, the local police chief, is given the task of investigating. Reception The book received international positive reviews praising Kadare's writing style and story-telling abilities. "A master storyteller. He has a knack like Isak Dinesen's for creating a long-ago atmosphere for a story essentially timeless.'" (Chicago Tribune). Alain Bosquet wrote a positive review praising the book:"The great modern Albanian writer, Ismail Kadare, has given us a masterpiece, Doruntine, at once romantic and contemporary in spirit. Here is a spell-binding new literary mode, with its suspense, its alertness, its suggestiveness, its intensely local flavor—an age-old legend transformed into a splendid fable".
Google has made its streaming music service Google Play Music free to use, without a subscription. The catch is that you'll have to listen to ads, similar to the way free versions of Spotify and Pandora (P) work. Google (GOOGL) launched the new version for U.S. desktop users Tuesday, and will roll out updates to its Android and iOS app later this week. If you still want to pay the $9.99 a month fee to skip the ads, listen to songs on demand, and create playlists, you can. Just like Spotify and Pandora, Google Play Music lets people stream preset compilations that Google thinks you would want to listen to during certain activities. Launching a free version of Google Play Music comes as no surprise. Streaming media companies have struggled to find enough people willing to pay monthly subscriptions, and have increasingly turned back to selling ads to buoy their businesses. For example, Spotify recently started letting people listen to music ad-free for 30 minutes in exchange for showing them a video ad. It sounds like a strange mix, but video ads make more money than other types of advertising on the Internet. Only about 30% of Spotify's user base pay for the monthly service. Meanwhile, Apple (AAPL) is bucking the trend. Its new Apple Music service is available by subscription-only for $9.99 a month. Correction: An earlier version of this story incorrectly stated what users could access with Google's free service and misidentified Rhapsody as having a free version.
1. Field of the Invention The present invention relates to a focus detection system for a camera or the like, and more particularly to a focus detection system which detects a focus position of an object lens by the relative positional relation of a plurality of secondary object images formed by light fluxes passing through a plurality of areas in a pupil of the object lens of the camera. 2. Description of the Prior Art A focus detection system which uses a refocusing system arranged on an image plane side of a focusing lens to detect a focus state of the focusing lens by detecting a relative positional relation of a plurality of secondary object images formed from a primary object image which is formed by the focusing lens based on light fluxes from a plurality of areas in a pupil of the focusing lens, has been proposed such as by Japanees Patent Application Laid-Open No. 95221/1977. FIG. 1 shows a prior art optical system for the focus detection systems which uses the refocusing system. A problem encountered in this system is discussed below. Numeral 1 denotes a focusing lens which corresponds to an object lens of a camera, numeral 2 denotes a view field mask arranged on or near a predetermined focusing plane of the object lens 1, numeral 4 denotes a pupil division prism including two prisms 4a and 4b having opposite angles of inclination, numeral 4' denotes a pupil division mask, numeral 5 denotes a refocusing lens having the pupil division mask 4' as a pupil thereof, and numeral 6 denotes a field lens arranged near the predetermined focusing plane of the object lens 1 for focusing the pupil of the refocusing lens 5 near the pupil of the object lens 1. The pupil division prism 4, pupil division mask 4', refocusing lens 5 and the field lens 6 constitute a refocusing system. Numeral 7 denotes photo-electric conversion means having two photo-electric conversion device arrays 7a and 7b arranged near the image plane of the refocusing system in correspondence to the two prisms 4a and 4b. The pupil of the object lens 1 is divided into two pupil areas 8a and 8b by the refocusing system. A light flux passed through the pupil area 8a forms a primary object image near the view field mask 2 and then forms a secondary object image having a parallax near the photo-electric conversion device array 7a by the refocusing lens 5 through the field lens 6 and the prism 4a. A light flux passed through the pupil area 8b of the object lens 1 also forms a primary object image near the view field mask 2 and then forms a secondary object image near the photo-electric conversion device array 7b by the refocusing lens 5 through the prism 4b. Since a relative position of those two secondary object images varies with a focus status of the object lens 1, the focus status of the object lens 1 can be detected by detecting the relative position of two secondary object images. If for example, the focusing plane of the object lens 1 is on the predetermined focusing plane, the relative position of the two secondary object images respectively coincides with reference positions, but if the focusing plane of the focusing lens 1 is in front of the predetermined focusing plane, that is, in a near-focus state, the two secondary object images are shifted from the reference position in directions of arrows 9a and 9b, respectively. If the focusing plane of the object lens is behind the predetermined focusing plane, that is, in a far-focus state, the secondary object images are shifted in directions of arrows 10a and 10b, respectively. In the focus detection system shown in FIG. 1, the pupil division prism 4 plays an important role to divide the pupil of the object lens 1 but it creates a unique distortion in the secondary object image by a prism function. For example, when a square grid pattern 12 shown in FIG. 2 is viewed through a prism 13, an image 11' being distorted relative to an ideal image 11 shown in FIG. 3 appears. Even if aberrations of the refocusing lens 5 are compensated for, the distortion still appears in the secondary object image. When the images of the view field mask 2 on the photo-electric conversion device arrays 7a and 7b in the focus detection system 1 of FIG. 1 are viewed from the image plane side, they appear as shown in FIG. 4. The aperture images 14a and 14b of the view field mask 2 include arcuate distortions created by the prisms 4a and 4b. Those distortions cause the reduction of focus detection accuracy. This is explained in connection with FIG. 5. It is assumed in FIG. 5 that the object has a dark and light edge pattern and boundaries of dark and light edges are inclined with respect to the direction of the photo-electric conversion device arrays 7a and 7b. It is also assumed that the focusing lens 1 is in an in-focus state to the object and secondary object images are focused around the photo-electric conversion device arrays 7a and 7b. Numerals 15 and 16 respectively denote a light area and a dark area of the secondary object images of the edge pattern. Since the object lens 1 is in the in-focus state, the two secondary object images are formed at essentially same positions with respect to those of the distored aperture images 14a and 14b of the view mask and the border lines of the dark and light areas of the secondary object images coincide with positions 17 and 18 at which the secondary object images cross the aperture images 14a and 14b of the view field mask. However, the position at which the photoelectric conversion device arrays 7a and 7b cross the dark-light border lines are positions 19 and 20 for the upper image shown in FIG. 5 and positions 19' and 20' for the lower image shown in FIG. 5. Accordingly, the two secondarly object images are laterally spaced by distances d and d', respectively. As a result, the signals from the photoelectric conversion device arrays 7a and 7b indicating that two secondary object images respectively deviated from the reference positions are produced. Consequently, an out-of-focus state is detected although the focusing lens 1 is inthe in-focus state. Such an error is created not only when the object has an oblique edge pattern but also when the object has a dark-light distribution which is normal to direction of the photo-electric conversion device array.
A local nontexture image inpainting and denoising based on nonlinear PDEs Image inpainting is an interpolation which guesses and fills in an information-losing portion according to its surroundings. Image inpainting belongs to the category of image restoration and reconstruction. The Total Variation model for image inpainting is an effective approach, however, it fails to process the images damaged by a big noise and choosing its regular parameters is also difficult. We have made some improvements on it, which can simultaneously denoise and preserve edges effectively filling in the missing area. This has been indicated theoretically and experimentally.
The Senate has just voted in favour of a Greens motion to launch an inquiry into corporate tax evasion, in the lead-up to the G20 summit. "On the same day that Labor has facilitated some of Joe Hockey's cruel budget cuts, the Greens have launched an inquiry to end the age of entitlement for the big end of town," said Greens Leader Christine Milne. "Instead of pulling safety nets out from under people in our community who most need support, the Abbott government should look for ways to raise revenue from those who can afford to pay. "The Greens will not soften our opposition to Tony Abbott's cruel budget, but we will find ways to fund a caring Australia. "The Abbott government could afford to look after families, the elderly, the sick and the unemployed, if they weren't so busy protecting their mates at the big end of town," said Senator Milne. The inquiry was opposed by the Abbott government. The terms of reference are as follows: Leader of the Australian Greens (Senator Milne): I move-That the following matter be referred to the Economics References Committee for inquiry and report by the first sitting day of June 2015: Tax avoidance and aggressive minimisation by corporations registered in Australia and multinational corporations operating in Australia, with specific reference to: (a) the adequacy of Australia‘s current laws; (b) any need for greater transparency to deter tax avoidance and provide assurance that all companies are complying fully with Australia‘s tax laws; (c) The broader economic impacts of this behaviour, beyond the direct effect on government revenue; (d) the opportunities to collaborate internationally and/or act unilaterally to address the problem; (e) the performance and capability of the Australian Taxation Office (ATO) to investigate and launch litigation, in the wake of drastic budget cuts to staffing numbers; (f) the role and performance of the Australian Securities and Investments Commission in working with corporations and supporting the ATO to protect public revenue; (g) any relevant recommendations or issues arising from the Government‘s White Paper process on the ‘Reform of Australia‘s Tax System‘; and (h) any other related matters.
Heterogeneous Drug Efficacy of an Antibody-Drug Conjugate Visualized Using Simultaneous Imaging of Its Delivery and Intracellular Damage in Living Tumor Tissues Anticancer drug efficacy varies because the delivery of drugs within tumors and tumor responses are heterogeneous; however, these features are often more homogenous in vitro. This difference makes it difficult to accurately determine drug efficacy. Therefore, it is important to use living tumor tissues in preclinical trials to observe the heterogeneity in drug distribution and cell characteristics in tumors. In the present study, to accurately evaluate the efficacy of an antibody-drug conjugate (ADC) containing a microtubule inhibitor, we established a cell line that expresses a fusion of end-binding protein 1 and enhanced green fluorescent protein that serves as a microtubule plus-end-tracking protein allowing the visualization of microtubule dynamics. This cell line was xenografted into mice to create a model of living tumor tissue. The tumor cells possessed a greater number of microtubules with plus-ends, a greater number of meandering microtubules, and a slower rate of microtubule polymerization than the in vitro cells. In tumor tissues treated with fluorescent dye-labeled ADCs, heterogeneity was observed in the delivery of the drug to tumor cells, and microtubule dynamics were inhibited in a concentration-dependent manner. Moreover, a difference in drug sensitivity was observed between in vitro cells and tumor cells; compared with in vitro cells, tumor cells were more sensitive to changes in the concentration of the ADC. This study is the first to simultaneously evaluate the delivery and intracellular efficacy of ADCs in living tumor tissue. Accurate evaluation of the efficacy of ADCs is important for the development of effective anticancer drugs. Introduction Recently, clinical trials for approximately 70 various antibody-drug conjugate (ADC) candidates have been conducted. ADCs are humanized monoclonal antibodies with a high affinity for the extracellular membrane proteins of their target tumor cells and are covalently bound to small molecular compounds with high cytotoxicity. Over 60% of the lowmolecular weight compounds used in ADCs are inhibitors of microtubule function. Microtubules elongate and shorten via tubulin polymerization and depolymerization and regulate a variety of cellular processes, including cell division, intracellular transport, and cell polarity. ADCs containing microtubule inhibitors exert two types of effects: antitumor effects induced by the binding of ADCs to target proteins on the tumor cell membrane after drug delivery and intracellular cytotoxic effects via microtubule inhibitors. During the former type, the binding of the antibody portion of the ADC to the target protein mediates functional inhibition of the target molecule(s) and/or antibody-dependent cell cytotoxicity. On the other hand, the cytotoxic effects during the latter type occur when the ADCs bound to target proteins are incorporated into the cell via endocytosis. After endocytosis, the ADC is broken down in the endosome or lysosome, and the microtubule inhibitor is released from the vesicles into the cytoplasm. This process results in inhibition of microtubule function, which induces tumor cell apoptosis. Thus, the important factors for the development of ADCs containing microtubule inhibitors are the specificity of the antibody used in the ADC, the extracellular stability of the linker used to bind the antibody to the low molecular weight drug, the timely breakdown of the conjugate once inside the cell, and the effectiveness of the drug in inhibiting microtubules. To evaluate the efficacy of ADCs containing microtubule inhibitors, it is important to quantitatively assess the delivery of ADCs to tumor cells and the effects Translational Oncology 13 100764 on microtubule inhibition by the drug once it is inside living tumor cells. However, during most ADC development processes, drug activity is usually analyzed via in vitro culture to investigate the ability of the drug to shrink tumors using tumor size measurements, to determine the accumulation of drugs in different organs, and to investigate drug retention in the blood. However, there have been no investigations that quantitatively evaluated the correlation between the effects of both ADC delivery and microtubule inhibition in living tumor tissues. Due to the inability to directly visualize drug efficacy in tumor cells during the ADC developmental process, the anticancer effect of ADCs varies for each case of cancer that shows expression of the target molecules of the ADCs. For example, an ADC called trastuzumab emtansine (T-DM1) is created by linking the humanized anti-human epidermal growth factor receptor type 2 (HER2) antibody trastuzumab to the microtubule inhibitor emtansine (DM1) via a thioether linker. This ADC was approved for use in HER2-positive and inoperable or relapsed breast cancer patients in 2013. However, even though T-DM1 showed high efficacy against HER2-positive breast cancer, the efficacy was not different from that of trastuzumab alone when used to treat a HER2-positive gastric cancer patient. In recent years, advances in fluorescence imaging technology have allowed the visualization of living tumor tissue in mice in vivo and ex vivo. Such quantitative research on pharmacokinetics and drug efficacy has the potential to improve clinical drug efficacy. Tuber et al. reported methods for measuring changes in the accumulation of fluorescent poly (ADP-ribose) polymerase inhibitors in individual tumor cells over time using the mammalian intravital window. To investigate the efficacy of photoswitchable microtubule inhibitors, Borowiak et al. administered the drug to mice, photoirradiated the mice, then excised tumor tissues, fixed the tissues in formalin, and visualized microtubules by immunostaining with an -tubulin antibody. Although both approaches are superior technologies, these methods can measure only either the effect of drug delivery to the tumor or its efficacy inside tumor cells. Furthermore, when evaluating the antitumor efficacy of microtubule inhibitor-containing ADCs, it is important to visualize microtubule dynamics to determine the true drug efficacy in living tumor cells, as microtubules can elongate and shorten due to polymerization and depolymerization. Additionally, tumor blood vessels, which are responsible for drug delivery to tumor tissue, are not uniformly distributed, and the availability of oxygen and nutrients is not homogenous throughout the tumor. Therefore, tumor cells have differing expression levels of the ADC target molecule, which result in a heterogeneous distribution of the drug. For the reasons stated above, to evaluate the efficacy of microtubule inhibitorcontaining ADCs, it is important to visualize tumor cells from multiple regions and to analyze the heterogeneity in the distribution of the drug in living tumors. However, previous research has not identified a method for evaluating the inhibitory effect of ADCs on microtubule dynamics in tumor cells from a wide variety of living tumor tissues, and therefore, it has been difficult to validate such a mechanism with high certainty. In this study, we introduced a gene that encodes end-binding protein 1 (EB1) fused to enhanced green fluorescent protein (EGFP) (EB1-EGFP) into human breast cancer cells with high HER2 expression. As EB1-EGFP is a protein that specifically accumulates at the plus-end of microtubules, EB1-EGFP and HER2-expressing cells are useful for visualizing and quantifying HER2-specific T-DM1 delivery and the microtubule inhibition caused by the DM1 contained in T-DM1. First, we analyzed the concentration-dependent microtubule inhibitory effect of T-DM1 by tracking EB1-EGFP kinetics in vitro ( Figure 1). Next, we tagged T-DM1 with Cy5, a fluorescent dye (Cy5-T-DM1), and then administered the Cy5-T-DM1 via the mouse tail vein to analyze its efficacy in living tumor tissue ( Figure 1). After delivery of the Cy5-T-DM1 to the tumor, a 200-m-thick section of the living tumor was prepared, and the Cy5-T-DM1 efficacy was determined ex vivo using fluorescence imaging ( Figure 1). For the control groups, to which Cy5-T-DM1 was not administered, the number of elongated microtubule ends was greater, and the microtubules elongated more slowly and meandered more in the living tumor tissues than in cells cultured in vitro; thus, the microtubules exhibited distinctive features associated with tumors. After observing these features of microtubules in living tumors, we visualized the delivery of T-DM1 to tumors and the microtubule dynamics in living tumor cells via fluorescence imaging, showing that we are the first group to successfully and simultaneously visualize the heterogeneity of T-DM1 drug delivery in a tumor and its effect on the inhibition of microtubule elongation inside single tumor cells (Figure 1). Construction and Culture of EB1-EGFP Gene-Expressing Cancer Cells To generate an EB1-EGFP gene construct, the open reading frame of human EB1 cDNA was amplified from a human cDNA pool and inserted into a pEGFP cloning vector (TaKaRa Bio Inc.). The excised EB1-EGFP cDNA sequence was inserted into a pLNCX2 retroviral vector (BD Bioscience). The human KPL-4 breast cancer cell line was kindly provided by Dr. J. Kurebayashi (Kawasaki Medical School, Japan). EB1-EGFP-expressing KPL-4 cells (EB1-EGFP-KPL cells) were created by transducing KPL-4 cells using the pLNCX2 retroviral vector system containing the EB1-EGFP gene as the insert, and the cells were then cloned. The cloned EB1-EGFP-KPL cells were cultured in Dulbecco's modified Eagle medium (DMEM) (Thermo Fisher Scientific) containing 10% fetal bovine serum and 400 g/ml G418 (Thermo Fisher Scientific) at 37°C with 5% CO 2. The Cy5 labeling of antibodies was performed using an amine biotin kit (DOJINDO, Japan), with Cy5 mono N-hydroxysuccinimide (NHS) ester (GE Healthcare) used in place of the NHS biotin included in the kit. A 10-l sample of Cy5 mono NHS ester diluted to a concentration of 8.5 mM was added to 100 g (1 mg/ml) of antibody drug in dimethyl sulfoxide and incubated at 37°C for 15 minutes. The concentrations of the labeled T-DM1 and trastuzumab, as well as the labeling efficiencies (moles of Cy5/moles of antibody), were determined using the NanoDrop spectrophotometer. Protein absorbance was measured at 280 nm, and Cy5 absorbance was measured at 640 nm to calculate their concentrations by using the molar absorption coefficients. We prepared a sample with a Cy5/antibody molar ratio of 3.0 ± 0.3 (mean ± SD). T-DM1 and trastuzumab labeled with Cy5 were named Cy5-T-DM1 and Cy5-trastuzumab, respectively. Effect of Antibody Drugs on Cell Viability The effect of T-DM1 and trastuzumab on EB1-EGFP-KPL cell viability was measured using the commercial methyl thiazolyl tetrazolium (MTT) assay (Thermo Fisher Scientific) performed according to the manufacturer's instructions. Briefly, 1.0 10 4 EB1-EGFP-KPL cells were seeded per well in 96-well plates. Purified T-DM1 or trastuzumab was diluted to an arbitrary concentration with FluoroBrite DMEM. Next, the cells in 96-well plates were treated with concentration gradients of the diluted T-DM1 or trastuzumab (10 −5 -10 2 g/ml) and allowed to grow for the next 72 hours prior to the measurement of cell viability using the MTT assay in a FlexStation 3 Multi-Mode Microplate Reader (Molecular Devices, Sunnyvale, CA). In Vitro Imaging The subcultured EB1-EGFP-KPL cells were seeded at a density of 2 10 4 cells/dish on No. 1. 5 culture medium suited to in vitro imaging, and the medium was then changed to FluoroBrite DMEM. EB1-EGFP-KPL cells were observed using an A1R confocal laser microscope system (Nikon). A 60 (NA = 1.40) apochromatic lens was used as the objective lens. A 488-nm laser set to 0.5% output was used as the excitation light source for the observation of EB1-EGFP comet movement. The laser-excited EGFP fluorescence was filtered with a 500-50-nm bandpass filter. A resonant scanner was used as the detector, with an HV of 75 arbitrary units (a.u.), resolution of 512 512, and a pixel size of 0.104 m. Time-lapse imaging was conducted at a scan speed of 1.07 s/frame continuously over 20 seconds. The effect of antibody drugs without Cy5 on microtubule elongation activity in EB1-EGFP-KPL cells was observed via time-lapse imaging using the optical conditions described above for in vitro imaging. When Cy5-T-DM1 and Cy5-trastuzumab were used to examine the effect of these drugs on the microtubule elongation activity in EB1-EGFP-KPL cells, imaging of EB1-EGFP was performed using the same optical method described above. In this case, the Cy5-labeled antibody drug was observed using a 640-nm laser. The laser-excited Cy5 fluorescence was filtered through a 633-738-nm bandpass filter. The resonant scanner was used as the detector for imaging, with an HV of 80 a.u., resolution of 512 512, and a pixel size of 0.104 m. The fluorescence intensity of Cy5 was analyzed using FIJI/ ImageJ. To analyze the Cy5 fluorescence intensity in individual cells, the average signal value from the autofluorescence of tumors that were not treated with the Cy5-labeled antibody drug was subtracted from the signal value obtained from the images. Analysis of EB1-EGFP Comet Movement To measure the movement of EB1-EGFP comets, the time-lapse images obtained using confocal microscopy were analyzed using Imaris Version 9.1 (Bitplane). The comet-recognition algorithm used was the "track spots (over time)" function. The parameters used were "diameter" of 0.5 m and "quality" of 10 a.u. "Autoregressive motion" was used for the tracking algorithm, with the "max distance" set to 0.8 m and the "max gap size" set to three time points. To avoid misrecognition due to image noise in the tracking data, only spots that could be tracked for three or more time points were analyzed. Animal Experiments Five-to 6-week-old female immunodeficient mice (BALB-c nu/nu) from Charles River (Japan) were used. To prepare the tumor-bearing mice, 2 10 7 EB1-EGFP-KPL cells were subcutaneously injected into the lumbus of mice. EB1-EGFP-KPL-xenografted mice were housed for 4-5 weeks until the tumor size was 5-10 mm, at which point the specimens were harvested. The animal experiment protocol used in this study was approved by the Tohoku University Animal Ethics Committee. Administration of Antibody Drugs to Mice and Ex Vivo Imaging A 200-l sample of Cy5-labeled antibody-drug diluted to 1.5 mg/ml with saline solution was injected into the tail vein of mice under anesthesia. The mice were euthanized 24 hours after the antibody-drug injection, and the subcutaneous tumors were excised. The excised tumors were washed with FluoroBrite DMEM and placed in a 37°C environment. Next, samples were embedded in low-melting point agarose (PrimeGel 1-20 K, TaKaRa Bio) diluted to 1.5% (w/v) in saline solution. Sections 200 m in size were prepared using the linear slicer PRO 7 (Dosaka EM, Japan) from the agarose blocks containing the embedded Figure 1. Summary of the research concept. Our research objective was to increase the precision with which the mechanisms of anticancer drug efficacy can be elucidated during preclinical trials, from drug development to clinical application, to increase the success rate of new drug development. To clarify the mechanisms contributing to the efficacy of ADC-containing microtubule inhibitors, it is important that the drug delivery and the effect of the drug on microtubule dynamics are investigated using living tumor tissues. In this study, we simultaneously visualized the effects of T-DM1 drug delivery and the inhibition of microtubule elongation in a living tumor environment, as opposed to an in vitro or fixed tissue environment. We then analyzed the data quantitatively and in an integrated manner. This method is hypothesized to demonstrate drug efficacy in a method that is unique to the tumor environment. We subcutaneously xenografted a cell line with high HER2 expression, transformed with an EB1-EGFP gene to visualize T-DM1 efficacy in cells, into immunodeficient mice to create a tumor-bearing mouse model. T-DM1 labeled with a fluorochrome was injected into the tail vein of these mice and delivered to the tumor due to enhanced permeability and retention effects. After tumor excision, we immediately generated 200-m-thick living tumor sections from each tumor using a Vibratome and observed the tissues at 37°C using fluorescence imaging. The amount of T-DM1 delivered to tumor cells and the amount of EB1-EGFP comet movement in cancer cells from different parts of the living tumor tissue were imaged simultaneously. Since anticancer drugs are delivered to tumor tissues in a nonhomogeneous manner and tumors are composed of heterogeneous groups of cancer cells, observing different areas of living cancer tissues is an effective method to elucidate the detailed mechanisms of ADC efficacy. tumors. The sections were washed using FluoroBrite DMEM and maintained at 37°C. Later, the living tumor tissue sections were placed on a No. 1.5 35-mm glass-bottomed dish with adequate FluoroBrite DMEM and covered with a circular coverslip. Ex vivo whole tumor tissue imaging of EB1-EGFP and Cy5-T-DM1 or Cy5-trastuzumab was basically performed under the same optical conditions used for the in vitro imaging. The pixel size was modified from 0.104 m to 0.416 m since we needed many images to obtain a tiling image of the whole tissues. The images for tiling were taken in moving steps, where the images overlapped with each other by 20%. After the images were obtained, they were connected into a single image of whole tumor tissue by using the A1R confocal laser microscope system. Enlarged tumor tissue imaging of EB1-EGFP and Cy5-T-DM1 or Cy5-trastuzumab was performed under identical optical conditions used for in vitro imaging. Statistical Analyses All data are presented as the mean ± SD. Statistical analyses were performed using Microsoft Excel software. Statistical significance was determined using two-tailed t tests or analysis of variance, where appropriate. P values of 0.05 were considered significant and are indicated by ""; P values of 0.01 are indicated by "*." The Inhibitory Effect of T-DM1 on Microtubule Dynamics In Vitro To visualize the efficacy of T-DM1, we used a retroviral vector to stably integrate the EB1-EGFP gene into KPL-4 cell chromosomal DNA. KPL-4 cells are human breast cancer cells with high expression of HER2, the antigen for trastuzumab. Multiple molecules of EB1-EGFP will bind directly to the plus-end of a microtubule and move in a comet-like fashion during microtubule elongation. As a control experiment, we incubated and observed cloned EB1-EGFP-expressing KPL-4 (EB1-EGFP-KPL) cells at 37°C in the absence of T-DM1. EB1-EGFP accumulated at the ends of elongating microtubules (Figure 2A, left image). Next, using an exposure time of 1.07 s/frame with no delay, we performed a 20-second time-lapse image sequence and then overlaid all imaging data. EB1-EGFP comets moving straight towards the cell membrane were observed (Figure 2A, middle image; Supplementary Movie S1; Figure 2B). The comets shown in the continuous images from the 20-second time-lapse sequence could be tracked for differing lengths of time. Using the analysis software (Imaris), we conducted a bright spot tracking analysis of EB1-EGFP comets and created an overlaid image using all the tracking data (Figure 2A, colored portion of the right image), which demonstrated the same results as the fluorescence images in the middle of Figure 2A. This finding indicated that our analysis accurately measured EB1-EGFP comets. In 15 arbitrary cells, measurement of the movements of EB1-EGFP comets, as determined using Imaris, demonstrated that for 20 seconds of continuous observation, the total number of comets was 1938.0 ± 557.5/cell (mean ± SD; Figure 2C). The comets that were visualized at a specific time point (t) were compared with those measured at t + 1. Upon joining comets that were within 0.8 m of each other, 280.7 ± 92.5 tracks/cell were observed for ≥2 seconds (mean ± SD; Figure 2D). Based on the tracking data, the average movement speed of all the comets that we tracked for ≥2 seconds was 0.19 ± 0.02 m/s (mean ± SD; Figure 2, B and E). These EB1-EGFP localization patterns and movement speeds were similar to those previously measured. Furthermore, for the comets that could be tracked for ≥2 seconds within the 15 arbitrary cells, the total distance traveled was 1.21 ± 0.18 m/ comet (mean ± SD; Figure 2F). The track linearity while moving was 0.83 ± 0.05/comet (mean ± SD; Figure 2G). The track linearity was calculated by dividing the total linear distance traveled by the distance actually moved; this measurement indicates the degree of meandering in the direction of microtubule elongation ( Figure 2B, right image). Additionally, the total track displacement over the 20 seconds was 332.3 ± 85.3 m/cell (mean ± SD; Figure 2H). Next, we treated EB1-EGFP-KPL cells with 1 g/ml T-DM1 for 8 or 24 hours and then captured 20 seconds of time-lapse images of the cells to evaluate the effect of T-DM1 on microtubule elongation activity in EB1-EGFP-KPL cells in vitro. Many EB1-EGFP comets were observed in the control experiment with no T-DM1 treatment ( Figure 3A; Supplementary Movie S2). However, after treatment with T-DM1 (8 hours, Figure 3B; 24 hours, Figure 3C), the number of EB1-EGFP comets decreased over time (left images in Figure 3, B and C), and movement halted (middle images in Figure 3, B and C; Supplementary Movie S3 and S4). Additionally, a bright spot tracking analysis of EB1-EGFP comets was conducted using Imaris (right images in Figure 3, B and C). To our knowledge, this is the first study to directly visualize microtubule elongation in cells in response to treatment with a microtubule inhibitor-containing ADC using a microtubule plus-end tracking protein. Furthermore, to analyze the effects of T-DM1 on microtubule elongation in detail, EB1-EGFP-KPL cells were cultured for 2, 8, or 24 hours in the presence of 0, 10 −2, 10 −1, 1, 10, or 10 2 g/ml T-DM1, and the EB1-EGFP comet movements in these cells were quantitatively analyzed. Five arbitrarily selected cells in each treatment group were continuously imaged with a 20second time-lapse image sequence, and the movement of EB1-EGFP comets In EB1-EGFP-KPL cells treated with 10 g/ml T-DM1 for 24 hours and 100 g/ml T-DM1 for 8 or 24 hours, EB1-EGFP comets that could be tracked for 2 seconds or more are rarely observed. Therefore, the data obtained during these conditions are not included in E-I. that could be tracked for ≥2 seconds was analyzed in a manner as shown in Figure 2. At all concentrations, the results revealed a time-dependent decrease in the number of comets ( Figure 3D), the number of tracks that could be tracked ( Figure 3E), the speed of comets ( Figure 3F), and the average track displacement ( Figure 3G) in each cell. Furthermore, the total track displacement over 20 seconds also decreased in a T-DM1 concentrationdependent fashion ( Figure 3H). However, the differing T-DM1 concentrations and reaction times did not significantly alter track linearity ( Figure 3I). These results indicated that T-DM1 decreased the appearance of microtubules with elongating ends and the elongation speed of these microtubules throughout the whole cell. To support the results of the T-DM1 inhibition experiments described above, we treated EB1-EGFP-KPL cells with DM1 alone; the cells exhibited a time-dependent decrease in the number of EB1-EGFP comets similar to that observed during T-DM1 treatment (Supplementary Figure 1). The disappearance of comets and the halting of movement were not observed after treatment with trastuzumab alone (Supplementary Figure 2). Additionally, to investigate these antibody drugs on cell viability, T-DM1 or trastuzumab was incubated in concentration gradients (10 −5 -10 2 g/ml) with EB1-EGFP-KPL cells at 37°C for 72 hours, and MTT assays were performed. The results demonstrated that T-DM1 affects the viability in a concentration-dependent manner; however, trastuzumab did not (Supplementary Figure 3). Therefore, these data suggested that the concentration-and time-dependent inhibition of microtubule elongation by T-DM1 observed in this study resulted due to the DM1 molecule in the T-DM1 complex. Next, to investigate the relationship between the amount of T-DM1 binding and internalized to the EB1-EGFP-KPL cells and inhibitory effect of T-DM1 on microtubule elongation in the cells, T-DM1was labeled with a fluorescent dye, Cy5 (Cy5-T-DM1), and incubated with the EB1-EGFP-KPL cells. When the cells were treated with 0.001 g/ml Cy5-T-DM1 for 24 hours, despite a weak fluorescence signal of Cy5-TDM1 detected in the cells, inhibition of microtubule elongation by T-DM1 was not observed ( Figure 4A, four left panels). On the other hand, during incubation with 0.01 g/ml ( Figure 4A, four center-left panels), 0.1 g/ml ( Figure 4A, four center-right panels), or 1 g/ml Cy5-T-DM1 ( Figure 4A, four right panels), the fluorescence signal of Cy5-TDM1 on and in the cells increased dependent on the Cy5-T-DM1concentration, and the appearance of microtubules with elongating ends decreased in a Cy5-T-DM1 concentrationdependent fashion. As these results ( Figure 4B) were comparable to the data using nonlabeled T-DM1 ( Figure 3H, red circles which show the conditions incubated for 24 hours), it was considered that the Cy5 label did not affect T-DM1 activity. Ex Vivo Imaging of Microtubule Dynamics in Living Tumor Cells Using EB1-EGFP-KPL Cells Transplanted into Tumor-Bearing Mice The in vitro data obtained on microtubule dynamics in the conditions without T-DM1 were consistent with data from previous studies regarding the number of microtubules with elongating ends, the speed of elongation, and the linearity of the direction of elongation in the absence of an ADC in vitro. However, the details of microtubule elongation activity in a living tumor environment have not yet been reported. Tumor vessels are irregularly arranged in tumors, resulting in an uneven localization of factors that migrate out of tumor vessels. Thus, tumors are composed of a heterogeneous group of cancer cells, and the expression levels of ADC target molecules on the cell membrane differ among tumor cells. Additionally, microtubule elongation activity may differ among tumor cells. Notably, it is difficult to fix tumor cells and then observe their microtubule dynamics; therefore, it is important to analyze Tumors, 5-10 mm in diameter, developed over a 4-to 5-week period after xenografting EB1-EGFP-KPL cells into mice. After tumor excision, we immediately cut the tumors into 200-m-thick sections using a Vibratome. Next, we observed the living tumor tissue sections at 37°C using fluorescence imaging with a confocal microscope. EB1-EGFP expression was observed in 50% or more of the whole tumors; however, there were regions with low EB1-EGFP expression and regions with no detectable EB1-EGFP expression due to internal necrosis ( Figure 5A). This finding demonstrated the heterogeneity among cancer cells in tumors. We arbitrarily selected 12 tumor cells in which the fluorescence intensity of the EB1-EGFP comets was comparable to that of the in vitro cells and captured 20-second timelapse images of EB1-EGFP comets in living tumor cells using the same methods described for the in vitro experiments. Accumulation of EB1-EGFP at the plus-ends of elongating microtubules was observed in the ex vivo conditions ( Figure 5B, left image). The comets moved at a consistent speed (Supplementary Movie S5). A comparison of the overlay image containing all 20-second time-lapse fluorescence images ( Figure 5B, middle image) and the image obtained from the bright spot tracking data of EB1-EGFP comets using Imaris ( Figure 5B, right image) demonstrated that these results were consistent, indicating that our analysis method was valid for ex vivo imaging. The ex vivo analysis of EB1-EGFP comet movements showed that the total number of EB1-EGFP comets per cell was 2630.5 ± 516.6 (mean ± SD) over 20 seconds of continuous observation ( Figure 5C). Of these visualized comets, the number of comets that could be tracked for ≥2 seconds was 382.2 ± 84.7 per cell (mean ± SD; Figure 5D). Moreover, for the comets that were tracked for ≥2 seconds, the average speed was 0.17 ± 0.01 m/s (mean ± SD; Figure 5E); the average track displacement, which indicates the distance that a comet traveled from its starting point, was 0.81 ± 0.09 m per comet (mean ± SD; Figure 5F); the track linearity was 0.69 ± 0.05 per comet (mean ± SD; Figure 5G); and the total track displacement over the 20-second tracking period was 309.3 ± 79.7 m per cell (mean ± SD; Figure 5H). An analysis of the significant differences between in vitro and ex vivo EB1-EGFP comet movements demonstrated no difference in the total track displacement per cell ( Figure 5H). However, cancer cells in living tumor tissues have unique characteristics in terms of their microtubule dynamics. Compared to cancer cells in an in vitro environment, the number of microtubules with elongating plus-ends was 1.36 times higher in living tumor cells ( Figure 5C), while the microtubule elongation speed was decreased by a factor of 0.84 ( Figure 5E), (caption on next page) K. Gonda et al. Translational Oncology 13 100764 and the linearity of the elongation was decreased by a factor of 0.90 ( Figure 5G). To our knowledge, this is the first to report these characteristics of microtubule elongation in living tumor cells. Ex Vivo Imaging of Cy5-T-DM1 Drug Delivery and Microtubule Inhibition in Living Tumor Cells To visualize T-DM1 delivery to tumors, a total of 200 l of Cy5-T-DM1 at a concentration of 1.35 mg/ml was injected into the tail vein of mice with EB1-EGFP-KPL cell xenografts; the ratio of T-DM1 to body weight in the mice was 15 mg/kg. Twenty-four hours after the T-DM1 injection, the tumors were enucleated, and 200-m-thick sections were prepared using a Vibratome; the sections were observed at 37°C under a confocal microscope for ex vivo imaging. Additionally, as a control, Cy5-labeled trastuzumab (Cy5-trastuzumab) was prepared, injected into tumor-bearing mice, and observed in the same way as the Cy5-T-DM1. Both Cy5-T-DM1 and Cy5trastuzumab showed unequal distributions during delivery to the tumor tissue (left images in Figure 6, A and B). The EB1-EGFP expression patterns were also heterogeneous (right images in Figure 6, A and B). We quantified drug delivery and microtubule elongation inhibition simultaneously in areas of dense and sparse drug distribution in the tumor tissue. Based on the fluorescence intensities, the areas with high drug concentrations ( Figure 6A, light blue square) had 2.2-fold higher levels of Cy5-T-DM1 in a 2500-m 2 area than the areas with low drug concentrations ( Figure 6A Figure 4). In Figure 6, the ratio of Cy5-T-DM1 to mouse body weight was 15 mg/kg. In tumor-bearing mice administered 3.0 mg/kg Cy5-T-DM1, which is one fifth of 15 mg/kg, low-density areas of Cy5-T-DM1 or areas without Cy5-T-DM1 expanded ( Supplementary Figure 4). Furthermore, in tumor-bearing mice administered 0.6 mg/kg Cy5-T-DM1, which is one fifth of 3.0 mg/kg, Cy5-T-DM1 was almost not delivered to most tumor cells (Supplementary Figure 4). The correlation between microtubule elongation based on measurements of EB1-EGFP comet movement and the intracellular concentration of Cy5-labeled T-DM1 in 10 arbitrarily selected cells was calculated in tumor-bearing mice administered 15 mg/kg Cy5-T-DM1; a high coefficient of correlation was observed ( Figure 6F; Supplementary Figure 5, R = −0.815). These data are the first to characterize the correlation between ADC delivery and cytotoxicity in living tumor cells. In the control experiment, an unequal distribution of Cy5-trastuzumab, similar to that of Cy5-T-DM1, was observed ( Figure 6B), and in regions of high drug concentration ( Figure 6B, orange square), most of the trastuzumab was localized within the tumor cells ( Figure 6E). However, the same analysis as that used in Figure 5, C and D showed that regardless of the intracellular concentration of trastuzumab, the microtubule elongation activity was comparable to that in the T-DM1-untreated group ( Figure 5; Figure 6, E and G; Supplementary Movie S8). These results demonstrated that the observed inhibition of microtubule elongation in living tumor cells induced by T-DM1 was due to the DM1 contained in the T-DM1 complex, and inhibition of microtubule elongation was due to T-DM1 uptake by cells. Discussion Previous studies have provided substantial information from measurements of EB1 comets in the absence of an ADC in vitro; however, no previous study has utilized the measurement of EB1 comet movement to evaluate microtubule elongation in living tumor cells. Therefore, the details of microtubule elongation activity in tumor cells are poorly understood. In this study, the results of microtubule elongation analysis in living tumor cells demonstrated that the total displacement over 20 seconds in one cell was similar between in vitro cells and tumor cells ( Figure 5H); however, large differences were observed in the characteristics of microtubule dynamics with regard to the total displacement in both cell types. Living tumor cells contained 1.36-fold more microtubules with an elongating plus-end than in vitro cells ( Figure 5C), while the microtubule elongation speed was decreased by a factor of 0.84 ( Figure 5E), and the linearity of elongation was decreased by a factor of 0.90 ( Figure 5G). For microtubules under in vitro cell culture conditions, the flat two-dimensional environment facilitates cellular processes such as cell division and intracellular transport, and such an environment may require less microtubule three-dimensional rearrangement than a three-dimensional tumor environment. Conversely, extracellular stimuli may exert greater control over cell division and intracellular transport in a three-dimensional in vivo environment than in an in vitro environment. Therefore, microtubules in living tumor cells are required to regulate their cell polarity in a three-dimensional environment, leading to microtubule elongation in a greater number of directions than in in vitro cells. This may contribute to an increased number of microtubules with elongating ends and a decreased linearity of microtubule tracks in living tumor cells compared to in vitro cells. The decreased microtubule elongation speed in living tumor cells compared to in vitro cells may be attributed to in vitro cells being present in nutrient-rich conditions and exposed to larger amounts of proteins that regulate microtubule structure and elongation speed than cells in a tumor environment, which is substantially less nutrient-rich. Therefore, in vitro and tumor cells measured under the same (37°C) conditions may demonstrate a difference in microtubule elongation speeds. In practice, even in cloned identical cells, cell proliferation is generally faster under in vitro conditions than in a tumor environment. Differences in oxygen and nutrient concentrations may lead to a difference in proliferative ability and microtubule elongation speed in the two different environments. Furthermore, we failed to observe a large change in the total track displacement, a unified metric for measuring microtubule elongation activity, which may be attributed to the complexity of the characteristics of microtubule elongation activity, as described above. There has been no previous study evaluating the in vitro ADC efficacy as measured by changes in the EB1 comet movement. In our in vitro studies, inhibition of microtubule elongation by T-DM1 increased in a concentration-and reaction time-dependent manner. For example, in case of in vitro cells that were treated with Cy5-T-DM1 for 24 hours, the distribution of Cy5-T-DM1 fluorescence intensity on and in the cell was approximately 0.1-15.3 a.u./cell and the total track displacement was approximately 223.6-366.8 m/cell for cells incubated with 0.001 g/ml Cy5-T-DM1 ( Figure 4B, blue dots). Similarly, Cy5-T-DM1 fluorescence intensity was approximately 13.6-59.6 a.u./cell and the total track displacement was approximately 83.7-162.6 m/cell ( Figure 4B Figure 5). In a comparison of coefficients of in vitro and ex vivo relational expression, the sensitivity of ex vivo EB1-EGFP-KPL cells to T-DM1 was 3.9-fold higher than the in vitro cells (−12.0/ − 3.1 ≌ 3.9), although EB1-EGFP-KPL cells in both environments were originally identical. In other words, these data indicate that microtubule elongation may be affected by a substantially smaller change in the amount of drug delivered to the living tumor cells than to cells in an in vitro environment, suggesting that tumor cells are more sensitive to changes in drug concentration than in vitro cells. These results show that it is important to evaluate drug efficacy in living tumor cells to accurately understand the anticancer efficacy of ADCs. The concepts and methods described in this study contribute to improving the accuracy of the preclinical process for developing ADCs. Conclusion We developed a quantitative evaluation method at the single tumor cell level in living tumor tissue considering the heterogeneous cellular delivery and inhibitory effects of an ADC-containing microtubule inhibitor. Furthermore, the results of this study suggest that the responsiveness of T-DM1 and the dynamics of microtubule elongation activity differ between in vitro and in vivo conditions. Therefore, this method is presumed to be an effective means to measure the efficacy of ADC in a heterologous tumor microenvironment and is expected to be useful for future ADC development.
Kurdish Peshmerga forces advancing toward ISIS positions on the Khazir front on Monday. ERBIL, Kurdistan Region – Kurdish Peshmerga forces successfully captured seven villages near Mosul from ISIS on Monday, the first day of the Mosul offensive, as the US-led coalition warned that the operation will likely last “for weeks.” By 10am local time on Monday morning the Peshmerga liberated a total of seven villages on the Khazir front, backed by US-led coalition air power which is bombarding ISIS positions ahead of their advances. Lt. Gen. Stephen Townsend, the commander of the Combined Joint Task Force Operation Inherent Resolve warned against expectations of a quick operation. “This may prove to be a long and tough battle, but the Iraqis have prepared for it and we will stand by them,” he said. Rudaw English’s front-line reporter Ayub Nuri said that in Badana village on the Khazir front ISIS tried to overrun Peshmerga positions with car bombs. Coalition airstrikes destroyed two of them but one managed to get near its target before detonating. There are no reports of casualties among the Peshmerga. “ISIS militants have lost the morale to fight and their situation is bad inside Mosul. Many militants have fled to Syria together with their families,” Saeed Mamuzini, a Kurdistan Democratic Party (KDP) official from Mosul told Rudaw. His comments came as Peshmerga forces advanced against ISIS in the Hamdaniya district to Mosul’s southeast. This operation is being overseen by Kurdish President Masoud Barzani personally, Aziz Waisi, the commander of the Kurdish Zeravani Special Forces, told Rudaw. The Peshmerga offensive began early in the morning when Kurdish troops broke through the dirt mounds which marked the front-line border between them and the territory held by the militants. Peshmerga Commander Sheikh Jaafar Mustafa said that the Peshmerga will advance and liberate certain areas around Mosul that will help pave the way for the Iraqi Army’s advance into the city itself. “We’ve an agreement with the Iraqis and coalition that the Peshmerga won’t be going to Mosul,” the Chief of General Staff of the Peshmerga forces, Jamal Iminiki, told Rudaw English. Following a United Nations Office for Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) press release earlier on Monday morning – which called upon the participating forces to ensure civilians in Mosul are not unnecessarily harmed under international humanitarian law – the commander of Iraq’s anti-terrorism forces said they are taking steps to help civilians escape. “We will open a corridor for civilians to escape Mosul as soon as security forces arrive on the outskirts of Mosul,” Abdulghani Assadi told reporters. “We also ask civilians to help security forces by providing them with intelligence information.” The OCHA statement warned that, “Tens of thousands of Iraqi girls, boys, women and men may be under siege or held as human shields,” in Mosul. “Children, women, the elderly and disabled will be particularly vulnerable. Depending on the intensity and scope of the fighting, as many as one million people may be forced to flee their homes in a worst-case scenario.” OCHA estimates that there are “up to 1.5 million people living in Mosul who may be impacted by military operations to retake the city.” Iminiki also advised Rudaw against making “any predictions about a city like Mosul.” “ISIS has a considerable force in Mosul,” he said. “Many militants who are defeated in Iraqi cities such as Ramadi, Tikrit and Baiji might be in Mosul now even though some of them might have gone to Syria.”