Tone Is Very Important To Me Quotes

And yet here he was, looking at Jem Carstairs, a boy so fragile-looking that he appeared to be made out of glass, with the hardness of his expression slowly dissolving into tentative uncertainty. "You are not really dying," he said, the oddest tone to his voice, "are you?" Jem nodded. "So they tell me." "I am sorry," Will said. "No", Jem said softly. He drew his jacket aside and took a knife from the belt at his waist. "Don't be ordinary like that. Don't say you're sorry. Say you'll train with me." He held the knife to Will, hilt first. Charlotte held her breath, afraid to move. She felt as if she were watching something very important happen, though she could not have said what. Will reached out and took the knife, his eyes never leaving Jem's face. His fingers brushed the other boy's as he took the weapon from him. It was the first time, Charlotte thought that she had ever seen him touch any other person willingly. "I'll train with you," he said.

You are not really dying,” he said, the oddest tone to his voice, “are you?”Jem nodded. “So they tell me.”“I am sorry,” Will said.“No,” Jem said softly. He drew his jacket aside and took a knife from the belt at his waist.“Don’t be ordinary like that. Don’t say you’re sorry. Say you’ll train with me.” He held out the knife to Will, hilt rst. Charlotte held her breath, afraid to move. She feltas if she were watching something very important happen, though she could not have saidwhat.Will reached out and took the knife, his eyes never leaving Jem’s face. His fingers brushedthe other boy’s as he took the weapon from him. It was the rst time, Charlotte thought,that she had ever seen him touch any other person willingly.“I’ll train with you,” he said. Jem, Will’s parabatai, treated her with the distant sweet kindness reserved for the littlesisters of one’s friends, but he would always side with Will. Kindly, but rmly, he put Willabove everything else in the world.Well, nearly everything. She had been most struck by Jem when she rst came to theInstitute—he had an unearthly, unusual beauty, with his silvery hair and eyes and delicate features. He looked like a prince in a fairy-tale book, and she might have considered developing an attachment to him, were it not so absolutely clear that he was entirely inlove with Tessa Gray. His eyes followed her where she went, and his voice changed when hespoke to her. Cecily had once heard her mother say in amusement that one of theirneighbors’ boys looked at a girl as if she were “the only star in the sky” and that was theway Jem looked at Tessa.Cecily didn’t resent it: Tessa was pleasant and kind to her, if a little shy, and with herface always stuck in a book, like Will. If that was the sort of girl Jem wanted, she and henever would have suited—and the longer she remained at the Institute, the more sherealized how awkward it would have made things with Will. He was ferociously protectiveof Jem, and he would have watched her constantly in case she ever distressed or hurt him inany way. No—she was far better out of the whole thing.

My prolonged study of these photographs led me to appreciate the importance of preserving certain moments for prosperity, and as time moved forwards I also came to see what a powerful influence these framed scenes exerted over us as we went about our daily lives. To watch my uncle pose my brother a maths problem, and at the same time to see him in a picture taken thirty-two years earlier; to watch my father scanning the newspaper and trying, with a half-smile, to catch the tail of a joke rippling across the crowded room, and at that very same moment to see a picture of him to me that my grandmother had framed and frozen these memories so that we could weave them into the present.When, in the tones ordinarily preserved for discussing the founding of a nation, my grandmother spoke of my grandfather who had died so young, and pointed at the frames on the tables and the walls, it seemed that she, like me, was pulled in two direction , wanting to get on with life but also longing to capture the moment of perfection, savouring the ordinary life but still honouring the ideal. But even as I pondered these dilemmas-if you plucked a special moment from life and framed it, were you defying death, decay and the passage of time, or were you submitting to them? - I grew very bored with them.

There you are.” Roshar beamed. “I need your help, Arin.” “For the preparation of meat?” “It’s very important. You must impress this importance upon your cook here. The fate of political relations between my country and yours hangs in the balance.” “Because of meat.” “It’s for his tiger,” said the cook. Arin palmed his face, eyes squeezed shut. “Your tiger.” “He’s very particular,” said Roshar. “You can’t bring the tiger to the banquet.” “Little Arin has missed me. I will not be parted from him.” “Would you consider changing his name?” “No.” “What if I begged?” “Not a chance.” “Roshar, the tiger has grown.” “And what a sweet big boy he is.” “You can’t bring him into a dining hall filled with hundreds of people.” “He’ll behave. He has the mien and manners of a prince.” “Oh, like you?” “I resent your tone.” “I’m not sure you can control him.” “Has he ever been aught but the gentlest of creatures? Would you deny your namesake the chance to bear witness to our victorious celebration? And, of course, to the vision of you and Kestrel: side by side, Herrani and Valorian, a love for the ages. The stuff of songs, Arin! How you’ll get married, and make babies--” “Gods, Roshar, shut up.

Oh, stop talking," I cried, in a hunted tone. "I can't bear it. If you are going to arrest me, get it over." "I'd rather NOT arrest you, if we can find a way out. You look so young, so new to Crime! Even your excuse for being here is so naive, that I—won't you tell me why you wrote a love letter, if you are not in love? And whom you sent it to? That's important, you see, as it bears on the case. I intend," he said, "to be judgdicial[sic], unimpassioned, and quite fair." "I wrote a love letter" I explained, feeling rather cheered, "but it was not intended for any one, Do you see? It was just a love letter." "Oh," he said. "Of course. It is often done. And after that?" "Well, it had to go somewhere. At least I felt that way about it. So I made up a name from some malted milk tablets——" "Malted milk tablets!" he said, looking bewildered. "Just as I was thinking up a name to send it to," I explained, "Hannah—that's mother's maid, you know—brought in some hot milk and some malted milk tablets, and I took the name from them." "Look here," he said, "I'm unpredjudiced and quite calm, but isn't the `mother's maid' rather piling it on?" "Hannah is mother's maid, and she brought in the milk and the tablets, I should think," I said, growing sarcastic, "that so far it is clear to the dullest mind." "Go on," he said, leaning back and closing his eyes. "You named the letter for your mother's maid—I mean for the malted milk. Although you have not yet stated the name you chose; I never heard of any one named Milk, and as to the other, while I have known some rather thoroughly malted people—however, let that go." "Valentine's tablets," I said. "Of Course, you understand," I said, bending forward, "there was no such Person. I made him up. The Harold was made up too—Harold Valentine." "I see. Not clearly, perhaps, but I have a gleam of intellagence[sic]." "But, after all, there was such a person. That's clear, isn't it? And now he considers that we are engaged, and—and he insists on marrying me." "That," he said, "is realy[sic] easy to understand. I don't blame him at all. He is clearly a person of diszernment[sic]." "Of course," I said bitterly, "you would be on HIS side. Every one is." "But the point is this," he went on. "If you made him up out of the whole cloth, as it were, and there was no such Person, how can there be such a Person? I am merely asking to get it all clear in my head. It sounds so reasonable when you say it, but there seems to be something left out." "I don't know how he can be, but he is," I said, hopelessly. "And he is exactly like his picture." "Well, that's not unusual, you know." "It is in this case. Because I bought the picture in a shop, and just pretended it was him. (He?) And it WAS." He got up and paced the floor. "It's a very strange case," he said. "Do you mind if I light a cigarette? It helps to clear my brain. What was the name you gave him?" "Harold Valentine. But he is here under another name, because of my Familey. They think I am a mere child, you see, and so of course he took a NOM DE PLUME." "A NOM DE PLUME? Oh I see! What is it?" "Grosvenor," I said. "The same as yours.

We take so much of the universe on trust. You tell me: “In 1950 I lived on the north side of Beacon Street in Somerville.” You tell me: “She and I were lovers, but for months now we have only been good friends.” You tell me: “It is seventy degrees outside and the sun is shining.” Because I love you, because there is not even a question of lying between us, I take these accounts of the universe on trust: your address twenty-five years ago, your relationship with someone I know only by sight, this morning’s weather. I fling unconscious tendrils of belief, like slender green threads, across statements such as these, statements made so unequivocally, which have no tone or shadow of tentativeness. I build them into the mosaic of my world. I allow my universe to change in minute, significant ways, on the basis of things you have said to me, of my trust in you. I also have faith that you are telling me things it is important I should know; that you do not conceal facts from me in an effort to spare me, or yourself, pain. Or, at the very least, that you will say, “There are things I am not telling you.” When we discover that someone we trusted can be trusted no longer, it forces us to reexamine the universe, to question the whole instinct and concept of trust. For a while, we are thrust back onto some bleak, jutting ledge, in a dark pierced by sheets of fire, swept by sheets of rain, in a world before kinship, or naming, or tenderness exist; we are brought close to formlessness.

His hands crept down to the bodice of her gown and he began to untie the laces. She gasped at the feel of his hands on such an intimate part of her body. She struggled and tried to shove him away. “What are you doing?” He stepped back and blinked. “What exactly did your mother tell you about what goes on between married couples behind closed doors?” She shuddered and pulled the fabric of the gown tight around her bodice. “She said you would hurt me very badly and that I would bleed.” Her eyes narrowed and her tone grew laced with hostility at such a horrific concept. “She said I must submit to you without complaint.” He cursed and Angelica flinched. “I suppose that explains why you’re an only child. Damn, I hate some of the traditions of this century. To keep a young woman in ignorance of one of the most important facts of life is… is a goddamned outrage!” He ran a hand through his hair and sat on the bed. “Sit down with me, Angel. You’re shaking so hard that I am afraid you will topple over to the floor.

I said. “I’m fine. I have a little bit of a head ache, but I’m not dizzy or nauseous. I can walk and talk just fine, and I can remember everything.” “Everything, huh? Don’t self-diagnose, Doctor Fisher. Do you remember when the Battle of Bunker Hill was fought?” “The what?” “The Battle of Bunker Hill. We covered it in World Civ.” “No, we did not.” “We did, too. The unit on the American Revolution.” “Davin, that was like, two years ago! I don’t remember stuff like that!” “So, not everything.” “Everything important.” “That happens to have been a very significant battle,” Davin reminded me, in a smug tone.

Bree crossed her arms over her protruding belly. “I’m fine. No one has shot at me in the last twenty four hours, and my family is talking to me again. Things are looking up.” He grimaced at the mention of her family. “How fortunate for you.” Bree narrowed her eyes at him, picking up on the derogatory tone. “Well, you should know all about the importance of family. You’d do anything for yours, right? Bernardo says jump, you ask ‘how high?’ “ Alessandro felt a sick twist of guilt in his chest, “Well, congratulations, Brianna. You’ve worked very hard for the title of O’Reiley doormat. I hope it’s all you’ve ever wanted. I hope you’re happy.” “Blissfully,” Bree shot back and turned on her heel, leaving him there filled with anger and regret.

Sorry about that,” Xaden says, his tone implying otherwise. “I was blocking a potentially lethal blow to the first-year and seem to have knocked the wind right out of you.” I arch an eyebrow and slowly look over my shoulder at him. “Seriously?” “He was going to touch you.” The glacial rage in his eyes has mine widening. “Right, because that’s the mature response.” Halden sucks in a breath, then another. “Quite. All. Right.” “It wasn’t a response, it was… It simply was.” Xaden crouches behind me as Halden pushes himself to sit upright. “Let’s get three things straight, Your Highness. First, I have remarkable hearing thanks to the shadows at your very feet. Second, I don’t control Violet. Never have. Never will. But third, and most importantly—” He lowers his voice. “She really, honestly hasn’t thought about you. At least not since the second she set eyes on me.” I’m going to fucking kill him.

I understand that you have an urgent task for me." "I do." "What is it?" "I want you to go to the coffee shop and get me something to eat." "That-" Lauren choked. "That's your idea of urgent?" "Very urgent," Nick replied imperturbably. "I happen to be starved." Lauren clenched her hands into fists. "To you I may mrely be some frivolous, amusing sexual object, but downstairs I have an important job to do, and Jim needs me." "I need you,honey.I've been here since-" "Don't you dare call me honey!" she burst out, reeling with unwanted joy at the casual endearment. "Why not?" he cajoled, a smile lighting his face. "You're sweet." "You won't think so if you call me honey again," Lauren promised. His brows drew together at her tone, and Lauren had to remind herself that he was still her boss. "Oh all right!" she capitulated ungraciously. "What do you eat for breakfast?" "Irritating secretaries," he mocked.

So I should probably just tell you I'm about as green as these pistachios when it comes to macaroons. I've never even eaten one, let alone made---" I begin self-consciously, but Benny cuts me off. "Macarrrons," he says, throwing his hands up emphatically and rolling the r for longer than seems necessary. Not macaroons. Important distinction, Reese's Pieces. Two different cookies." I shake my head on an exhale, trying hard to keep my composure. "Right, well. Painful as it was to admit it the first time, I'll repeat that I've still never had a macaron, so you've gotta, like, tell me what to do." Benny grins at me, then looks directly into the camera. "It would be my honor." He shuffles around more bowls and I mock-whisper to the imaginary audience, "Apologies in advance to, well, feminism as a whole." "Did you say something?" Benny teases, pushing the pistachios toward me with finality. "There are just so many recipes, so much knowledge in my head that sometimes it's hard to hear anything outside it, you know?" "Keep it up, Benjamin," I say in the warning tone that my mamaw would use to tell my papaw that he should very much not keep it up.

When I Know I Must Speak Pleasant Words Pleasant words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the bones. PROVERBS 16:24 WHAT ARE THE FIRST WORDS you speak to your spouse when you both get up in the morning? Are they pleasant and positive? Are they covered with the love and joy of the Lord? Or are they powered by yesterday’s resentments, disappointments, and unfulfilled expectations? It is of utmost importance that a wife sets the tone of the day for the entire family, but especially for her husband. It is easy for you as a wife to not be ahead of your emotions and thoughts before you talk to your husband in the morning, especially when you have a lot on your plate, too much to do, you don’t feel well, you’re upset at your husband, or you haven’t had enough time with the Lord to get your heart right. And if you have been up in the night, for whatever reason, and haven’t had enough sleep, your mind can be set on a negative track long before your husband wakes up. You may have already thought up many things you want to communicate to him that do not include pleasant words. If you dive in with these issues before he is ready to talk, it can set the day on the wrong course. The thing to do, right when you wake up in the morning, is ask God to give you pleasant words that bring “sweetness to the soul” of your husband when you first see him—even if you don’t think he deserves it at that moment. When God gives you the right attitude first thing in the morning, you’ll see what a difference it makes in your day and night. Your husband will respond differently than he would if your words were harsh. A soft word can turn away much suffering and bring great healing. It’s not worth it to start your day any other way. My Prayer to God LORD, I pray You would help me to pause every morning when I wake up to thank You for the day and ask You to fill me afresh with Your love and joy, so that the first words that come out of my mouth to my husband are pleasant. Help me to hesitate before I speak to him for the first time in order to plan how I can set a positive tone for the day. Make me to be a woman with a gentle and loving spirit so that uplifting words flow naturally from me. I pray that the next time I see or talk to my husband, my words will bring sweetness to his soul and health to his body. May they also bring sweetness and health to the very soul of our marriage. I know there are times when pleasant and sweet is not my first reaction. I realize I can sometimes worry and allow thoughts and words that are not glorifying to You. At those times I depend on You to transform me so that I can be a strong conduit for Your love to my husband and family. Help me to be a person he wants to be around. Break in me any bad habits of negative, faithless, or critical thinking. Help me to forgive anything he has done or said that is still in my mind. I release the past to You so I can do what is right today. Help me to always consider the state of my heart before I speak. In Jesus’ name I pray.

A loud crash came from somewhere off screen. “Sorry, man. Hold on a second. I swear to me, don’t ever have children. They drive you up the wall.” God stood from his chair and stepped away off screen. “Jesus! Jesus Christ, you better not be making a mess in the kitchen. We just had it cleaned!” A surly response came crackling through the monitor. “I’m not! And don’t tell me what to do! You’re not even my real dad. Joseph is! When he and Mom get back from their vacation, I’m going to tell them you never let me do anything.” “You do that,” God said. “See how far it gets you. And you know I’m your real dad. Your mom was a virgin when I put my seed of light inside of—” “Gross! Stop it! And that’s not how pregnancy works. You made sure of that!” “Just…I’m making a very important call right now. Please keep it down. I promise when I finish, we’ll go ride unicorns or something. We’ll make a day of it.” “I hate unicorns!” “Jesus, I’m warning you. Lose the tone.” “Or what, you’ll send me to Earth and let me die for more sins again that aren’t even my own? Real original. Oh, hey, guys, of course you can nail me to a piece of wood. I’m here for you, after all!” “That’s it. You’re grounded!” “You can’t ground me! I’m calling Mom!” “Do it, then! And you tell her that you think she wasn’t a virgin. See how that goes.” “I’m going to hang out with my friends. At least beggars and whores understand me!” Somewhere deep inside the cloud castle God lived in, a door slammed. God sighed as he reappeared on screen, sitting back down in his chair. “Sorry about that, man. Sharing custody is hard. Joseph and Mary have been gone for a week. It feels like a year.

So what, then"-his voice deepened, softened, the suave tones sliding over her skin-"will it take to convince you that you should-indeed, ought to-marry me?" He let her look into his eyes, for once didn't keep his mask between them. Let her see he was in earnest, sincere in wanting to know. She drew in a long breath, then looked back at the river and let out a long, slow sigh. Wondered why she was bothering. If he truly didn't know... Perhaps she should tell him. "Very well. As you're so determined to hear them, these are my reasons." She'd never voiced them before, not all of them, yet if Catriona was right and he might be her hero...it behooved her to try to find the words. "I long ago decided that the one element I would never agree to marry without was true...affection." Recalling Catriona's views, she substituted the less specific, less, for men, frightening word. "An affection strong enough to last the years, powerful enough to guide and inform, deep and broad enough to be the foundation of a shared life. I want passion and laughter, interest and inclusion, a partnership at least on a practical level, and something even deeper on the personal. "I want...to be wanted, to feel necessary and needed, to know I feel a role that only I can fill." She paused, then forced herself to go on. "But even more that that, I want that depth of affection to be offered to me, Heather Cynster, not because I am Heather Cynster, well-connected heiress and"-she flicked a glance his way-"considered by some to be more than passably attractive, but because I'm me." She tapped her chest, felt the pendant beneath her bodice. "I want to be wanted, needed-and married-because of who I am, not what I am." Suddenly seeing the parallel, she caught his gaze. "In light of your query regarding your birth, you should understand how I feel-how important to me it is to be valued for myself, and to know it.

Handling Abusive or Disrespectful Behavior Decide what you want to say before the interaction. What are your goals? Are there particular points that you want to make sure you make? Write out the two or three most important things you want to say. If you’re particularly nervous, practice saying them out loud. Have an exit plan. How will you get off the phone or away from the interaction if it starts to head south? Consider prefacing the conversation with some ground rules if prior interactions have gone poorly. Say something like “I know these conversations haven’t gone very well when we’ve had them in the past, so let’s both make a good effort to keep it calm and reasonable, okay? Maybe you should tell me what you’d like to get out of the conversation and I’ll tell you what I’d like to get. How does that sound?” Express good intentions. “I really do want to understand what you’re saying. I would like to have a closer relationship with you.” Or “I’m sure these interactions haven’t felt very good to you in the past, either.” Start by expressing a belief in the child’s good intentions even if you don’t like how he or she is saying it. “I think that you’re telling me something that you really want me to understand. Something that you think is very important.” Describe your perception of your child’s dilemma that is causing them to talk to you in a disrespectful manner. “You must feel like I’m not going to understand unless you beat me over the head with it.” Describe your dilemma. “While I want to understand what you’re saying, it’s hard to focus on it when you’re yelling at me or calling me names. I’m sure you can understand that.” Ask for different behavior. “Do you think you could try to tell that to me in a calmer way so I can focus on what you’re telling me? It’s actually hard for me to hear what you want me to hear when you talk to me like that.” Give an example of appropriate behavior. “You can tell me you’re furious with me or even tell me that you hate my guts if you like, but you can’t scream at me and you can’t call me names.” Stay calm. Take deep breaths. Count to ten. Set limits. “If you can’t talk to me in a more respectful tone, I’m getting off the phone.

Arin was in the still room, trying to soothe the anxiety of a woman who was saying that she had just preserved the jams, and must all of them be used for the banquet, every last one? She didn’t think the Dacrans appreciated ilea fruit. Why serve something they wouldn’t love as much as the Herrani did? It would be best, surely, to keep at least those jars for winter. Trying to explain the politics of such lavish consumption tangled Arin up in frustrated half sentences, because it didn’t make much sense to him, either, to consume every edible thing in one night. And then he heard Roshar’s accented voice in Herrani drifting down the hall from the ktichens. “…you don’t understand. The piece of meat must be the finest, cut from the loin, seasoned with this spice, not that one…” Arin excused himself, told the woman he’d discuss jams later, and followed the prince’s voice. “…and it must be well roasted on the outside, almost charred, yet bloody inside. Bright pink. Listen. This is crucial. If anything goes wrong, the banquet will be ruined.” Arin entered the main kitchen to find the prince haranguing the head cook, who slid a half-lidded look of annoyed sufferance at Arin. “There you are.” Roshar beamed. “I need your help, Arin.” “For the preparation of meat?” “It’s very important. You must impress this importance upon your cook here. The fate of political relations between my country and yours hangs in the balance.” “Because of meat.” “It’s for his tiger,” said the cook. Arin palmed his face, eyes squeezed shut. “Your tiger.” “He’s very particular,” said Roshar. “You can’t bring the tiger to the banquet.” “Little Arin has missed me. I will not be parted from him.” “Would you consider changing his name?” “No.” “What if I begged?” “Not a chance.” “Roshar, the tiger has grown.” “And what a sweet big boy he is.” “You can’t bring him into a dining hall filled with hundreds of people.” “He’ll behave. He has the mien and manners of a prince.” “Oh, like you?” “I resent your tone.” “I’m not sure you can control him.” “Has he ever been aught but the gentlest of creatures? Would you deny your namesake the chance to bear witness to our victorious celebration? And, of course, to the vision of you and Kestrel: side by side, Herrani and Valorian, a love for the ages. The stuff of songs, Arin! How you’ll get married, and make babies--” “Gods, Roshar, shut up.

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fireplace poker—to one of the servants. The messenger stood up in a smooth motion. His refinement seemed a shield that rebuffed Father’s temper. Shallan envied him. “It appears I will get nowhere with this conversation,” the messenger said loudly. He looked at Father, but his tone seemed to imply that his words were for them all. “I came prepared for that inevitability. The highprince has given me authority, and I would very much like to know the truth of what happened in this household. Any lighteyes of birth who can provide witness will be welcomed.” “They need the testimony of a lighteyes,” Jushu said softly to his siblings. “Father is important enough that they can’t just remove him.” “There was one,” the messenger said loudly, “who was willing to speak to us of the truth. He has since made himself unavailable. Do any of you have his courage? Will you come with me and testify to the highprince of the crimes committed on these lands?” He looked toward

What are you doing?” He stepped back and blinked. “What exactly did your mother tell you about what goes on between married couples behind closed doors?” She shuddered and pulled the fabric of the gown tight around her bodice. “She said you would hurt me very badly and that I would bleed.” Her eyes narrowed and her tone grew laced with hostility at such a horrific concept. “She said I must submit to you without complaint.” He cursed and Angelica flinched. “I suppose that explains why you’re an only child. Damn, I hate some of the traditions of this century. To keep a young woman in ignorance of one of the most important facts of life is… is a goddamned outrage!” He ran a hand through his hair and sat on the bed. “Sit down with me, Angel. You’re shaking so hard that I am afraid you will topple over to the floor.” Angelica

Server Automation This is very specific to a tech start-up, but server stability is a very important part of the product. Our customers relied on WebMerge in their business every day, and it could have a domino effect on their day if something went wrong. The easiest automation for server tracking is simple up-time tracking. This checks to make sure the app is loading every minute, every day. I set up alerts that if any downtime was detected, it would send a text message to my phone and also send me an email every minute. The text message was the most helpful, and I could often jump online in minutes to fix any issues. Over time, I started to run into server issues in the middle of the night. I had to set the alert tone on my phone to the emergency tone so it would wake me up. Well, often it took a few alerts to wake me or an elbow from my wife! I was waking up at 3:00 a.m. a few times per week to address issues. This couldn’t continue. To fix this, I created an internal system that would check the app uptime, and if there were issues, it would automatically restart services in the app that were most likely causing the problem. This auto-healing process worked like a charm, and I rarely had to wake up in the middle of the night again (or deal with many issues during the day). Is your product or service critical to your customers? If so, try to implement as many automated processes as you can to keep the service running at all hours. Your customers (and your sanity) will thank you.

Alex’s espresso; her name badge said… ‘Reenie’. Alex took a sip. Not bad. Slowly, Reenie came back carrying a red plate, as if the food were a highly important telegram. She lowered it onto the yellow tablecloth and Alex wrinkled her nose with a sense of nausea that she’d suffered from lately. On the plate lay a perfect circle of egg and neat runways of bacon. ‘I ordered fruit and porridge, not a cardiac arrest,’ Alex said in an abrupt tone. The parrot squawked again. ‘He’s very friendly,’ called barn owl man’s voice from across the room. ‘Never nipped anyone.’ Alex got to her feet and glowered at the cage, the staff and the manager too. ‘Why is bad service a joke here?’ she asked. ‘You do know what this café is called?’ asked Tom. Oh. As it turned out she didn’t. Alex had always cut Hope short when she’d tried to give any details, and had simply focused on the directions to get to the building. Then she’d been distracted by her phone outside, just as she was going to read its name. He picked up the menu and passed it over. Alex read the front. By now the whole room had fallen silent. Contact lenses gave her perfect vision and it wasn’t April Fool’s Day, so what sort of idiot would call their business Wrong Order Café? ‘A café that purposely delivers the wrong orders? Next, in this parallel universe, you’ll be telling me that the

When he becomes downright ornery and stubborn there’s only one way to straighten him out. Heaven protect me from the SPCA, but I’m going to say it. Thrash the dog. Do it with fervor, but with intelligence. I clip the dog with the folded leash until he cries out once. I talk angrily and make a big fuss while I swing and continue to speak in a firm tone after the outcry to be sure it registered. Then I switch over to a pleasant tone of voice and begin the lessons over again. It’s very important to get the situation back to normal as quickly as possible. Don’t nag. This clean-cut discipline isn’t cruel, as some think. It’s kind. Failure to discipline is crueler.

Already she felt the loss of him, of their unique closeness. Somehow she knew there would never be another man, another time in her life when she laughed and talked the way they had and was totally accepted and comfortable. “You don’t need to say anything else, Mikhail. I ‘saw’ your ‘little scratch’ firsthand. You were right; you weren’t alone out there--I was watching. Honesty in my language means truth.” Raven took a deep breath, tugged off the ring, and laid it carefully, regretfully, on the small table beside the bed. “I’m sorry, Mikhail, I really am. I know I’m letting you down, but I don’t fit into this world of yours. I don’t understand it, or the rules. Please do me the courtesy of staying away, of not trying to contact me. We both know I’m no real match for you. I’m leaving on the first available train.” She turned and started toward the door. It flew shut with a loud crash. She stared at it, not turning around. The air was thick with tension, with some dark feeling, one she couldn’t put a name to. “I don’t think it’s going to do any good to prolong this. You need help right now. Obviously however they intend to help you is some secret thing not to be shown to outsiders. I am just that--an outsider. Let me go home where I belong, Mikhail, and let them help you now.” “Leave us,” Mikhail ordered the others. “You need…,” Eric began, but broke off under Mikhail’s black scowl. With a sigh he followed the others out and closed the door. “Raven, come here to me, please. I am weak and it would take most of my strength to come to you.” There was gentleness in his voice, an honesty she found heartbreaking. She closed her eyes against the power in his voice, the soft caressing tone that rubbed sensuously like black velvet over her skin and crawled into her body, wrapping itself around her heart. “Not this time, Mikhail. We not only live in two different worlds, we have two separate value systems. We tried--I know you wanted to--but I can’t do this. Maybe I never could have. It happened too fast and we don’t really know one another.” “Raven.” Heat curled in her very name. “Come here to me.” She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “I can’t, Mikhail. If I let you get around me again, I’ll lose respect for myself.” “Then I have no choice but to come to you.” He shifted his weight, using his hands to move his injured leg. “No!” Alarmed, she whirled around. “Stop it, Mikhail. I’m calling the others back inside.” She pressed him back among the pillows. His hand caught the nape of her neck with unexpected strength. “You are the only reason I am living right now. I told you I would make mistakes. You cannot give up on me, on us. You do know me, everything important. You can look into my mind and know I need you. I would never hurt you.

White men never come to Jenuchshadego,” Rising Hawk had told her with some pride. “Not by themselves or in armies. The Genesee towns are surrounded by white settlers, but not us.” He grinned in satisfaction. “Not even the missionaries bother us.” Now he was saying, “This could be a very important dream. But why would a white dog choose you as a messenger?” Rising Hawk rested his chin in his hand and frowned. Livy wasn’t sure she liked his tone. “There wasn’t any message.” “And it doesn’t ask anything of you. This is curious. Perhaps I should tell my mother of your dream. It may mean more to another woman.” “It’s just a dream, Rising Hawk. Don’t make a fuss. It doesn’t mean anything.” There was a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. How could his brother allow such dangerous ignorance to fester in his own home? “Dreams are more important than anything that happens when you are awake,” he insisted. “You can cause yourself great harm if you do not listen. We must find out what it means for you to do. This dream could come from outside of you, from the spirits. To ignore the needs of either can mean sickness for yourself or danger to others, to us.” Exasperated by her blank look, he added, “I am really very surprised my brother has not taught you this.” “He keeps a Christian household, and Christians don’t hold with such things as dreams,” Livy said primly. “Did you know that the missionaries taught me from that book?” “I knew all along you had Christian leanings,” she said, pleased that Gideon had been wrong about his brother. Rising Hawk made an abrupt motion with his hand, dismissing her idea. “Is your white God so very difficult that one needs a book to understand him? Actually, I believe the priests wrote it themselves,” he confided. Speechless, Livy watched him roll onto his feet and disappear into the brush. She half expected lightning to strike him. She hated the way he was always thinking about white people and making comparisons and acting superior. Why, she hardly ever gave Indians a second thought. She wriggled out of her blankets and began bundling their bedrolls, squeezing them into the smallest possible packs, tidy and easy to manage. When Rising Hawk emerged from the trees, unscathed, a moment later, she was mildly disappointed.

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