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The author, Zygmunt Budge, was one of the most accomplished potioneers ever known.
Kitty McKane, Elizabeth Ryan, Jean Borotra, Henri Cochet, Helen Wills, Betty Nuthall, George Lott, Wilmer Allison, Sarah Palfrey, Fred Perry, Ellsworth Vines, Helen Jacobs, Alice Marble, Gene Mako, Don Budge, Harry Hopman, Bobby Riggs, Jack Kramer, Louise Brough, and Ted Schroeder.
3 T ab l eo fC on t en t s S i te M ap 3 2ExecutiveSummary 4 S t a f f ing 3 6 P robe lmS t a temen t7 4 0 P r o d u c t i o n S c h e d u l e 8NeedsAnalysis Budge t 4 3 M a r ke tAn a l y s i s 1 4 S ignOfShee t 4 4 P e r s o n a s 19 L im i t a t i o n s T re a tmen t2 1 47
The analysis of written texts produced by parties and in particular, party manifestos has been extremely useful in the study of party politics more broadly (Budge 2001, Gabel and Huber 2000, Slapin and Proksch 2008), and the literature on political brands stands to benefit by making greater use of this resource.
‗What would have been my life like had I obeyed my instinct and refused to budge.‘ she tried to envision her life in a fresh light but as the clouds of despair, cast on her psyche, rendered that impossible, she gave up with a sigh.
The stranger's frog jumps away while Dan'l does not budge, and the surprised and disgusted Jim pays the $40 wager.
Over my shoulder the lock snaps closed like before, but this time when I peek back the clerks do not budge.
Before even pursuing a loan modification you should first know that the most important thing you need is a fulltime job or a very strong and permanent source of income or the bank will not budge.
Chapter 1 Dimensions Tristan suppressed the urge to vomit as he watched the girl exit the bathroom and sit down at her desk, facing her laptop. The pounding of his heart resonated in his ears; adrenaline temporarily alleviated his flourishing headache. After surviving the last two days without food or water, he knew that she would be his only hope if he wished to continue living. The email was simple enough: Hi Raine, My name is Tristan and I’m an alien. Please try not to be surprised by this email. I’m currently living in your room and desperately need water. I know that sounds strange, but please don’t be afraid. Do not try to search for me. Do not call the police. If you do anything other than provide water, I’ll be dead by tomorrow. I’m sorry to burden you with this. It is not a permanent situation, just for a few weeks. Please leave water under the nightstand beside your bed. Thank you. Tristan Lying on his stomach under the bed, Tristan watched from the shadows as the girl leaned back in her office chair. Dark chestnut colored hair spilled across her thin shoulders revealing a porcelain face devoid of any makeup. A silver ring attached to her lower lip reflected the light of a nearby lamp while her sky blue eyes stared intensely at the screen. A long sleeve black tshirt and ripped blue jeans hid the rest of her body. Suddenly the girl stood, peering around the room. Tristan’s heart leapt into his throat and he withdrew further under the bed. The edges of the yellow bed frame dipped low, making it impossible for the girl to see him without a flashlight. He watched as her feet, wearing a pair of black socks, quickly stepped toward the purple shag rug and stopped beside a rectangular phone. Earlier, Tristan disabled the ringtone and attempted to push the phone under the bed. However, he couldn’t budge it, estimating that it must weigh in excess of three hundred pounds. Instead, he constructed the email right there in the middle of the room before she returned from the bathroom. Raine’s hand appeared and picked up the phone. Tristan held his breath, listening for her to call 911 or whatever emergency service existed in this world. So far everything else he’d seen matched his own universe, except for the size differences of course. Even after two days, he still could barely grasp the unreal nature of his circumstances. Only thirst and hunger emboldened him enough to overcome his instinctual desire to hide. He waited for what seemed an eternity. To his surprise, she didn’t appear to be talking or moving. He wasn’t sure what she was doing. Finally, she did move to the door of her bedroom and exited. Tristan released a breath that he didn’t realize he’d been holding and the tension drained from his shoulders. As the adrenaline in his system dissipated, he felt light headed with exhaustion. Tristan crawled further under the bed to a large piece of cloth, he assumed a shirt of some sort, and rested on his back, staring up into the near darkness. He allowed his eyelids to drift shut for a moment, but that was all it took for his subconscious to win the battle, and carry him into a dreamless sleep. *** Tristan awoke, sitting up straight as if he’d just received a powerful electric shock. How had he fallen asleep during such a critical moment? He couldn’t afford such carelessness. A wave of dizziness nearly toppled him. Tristan tried to swallow, feeling his dry mouth and swollen tongue. He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep, but he couldn’t survive another day without water. If she caught him now, it wouldn’t matter. At this point remaining hidden held far more risk. He moved slowly toward the edge of the bed where the nightstand resided and crawled out onto the open hardwood floor. Moonlight filtered in through the window granting him enough light to see his surroundings. In general, the floor looked cleaner; random piles of clothing had been picked up. Large yellow cabinets lined one wall adjacent to tall bookshelves filled with books and boxes of various sizes. Two white pillowy squares — perhaps chairs of some sort — sat on the purple rug in the center of the room. A well worn bean bag slanted such that it faced the wide screen television on the wall opposite of the bed. In the days since Tristan’s arrival, he had not once seen or heard the television being used. The sleek metallic nightstand loomed above his head, standing at least twentyfive feet or so. The middle of the nightstand consisted of an open cabinetlike enclosure with the base almost resting on the floor. When Tristan saw the glass of water resting in the cabinet, he almost cried, only just suppressing the temptation of breaking out into a sprint. However, after stepping into the cabinet, he realized the edge of the glass extended slightly above his head. Surely the girl must be sleeping and he didn’t want to make more noise than necessary. However he couldn’t hold back any longer. Grasping the edge, he pulled his head up enough to dip it into the water and drank deeply. Nothing in his life had ever tasted so delicious. Reluctantly, he stopped himself from drinking too much for fear of vomiting. At that moment, he noticed the phone on the floor just a few feet from him. How could that be possible? Did she place it near the nightstand for a reason? Overcome by curiosity, he turned on the phone and saw the email application already open to an email Raine sent to herself: Are you hungry? A chill ran down Tristan’s spine; he felt as if he were being watched. He looked up to the edge of the bed but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. He couldn’t determine if the girl slept in the bed and he certainly wasn’t about to climb it to find out. However he could see enough in the moonlight to confirm she wasn’t watching him. Tristan closed the email and decided to risk a response. He immediately noticed her other emails no longer appeared in the inbox. She must have deleted them; he felt guilty for violating her privacy. He’d only seen some of the subject lines and her name of course. An email from last month had read ‘Happy 18th!’ so she must be eighteen years old, a year younger than himself. Tristan selected ‘Compose’ and formulated his response: Raine, thank you for the water! Yes, I’m very hungry. Anything you can spare would be great. Also I only need very small portions of water and food. Tristan He’d hesitated before writing that last sentence, afraid to reveal too much about himself. Then again, she probably suspected he wasn’t a huge monster given the fact that the room only contained so many hiding places. Tristan quickly made his way back under the bed, wincing as his stomach growled. Hopefully the sound wouldn’t be audible to the girl. Sleep didn’t come easy. Something about Raine’s response nagged at him. Thoughts swirled in his head. How could she seem so accepting? If an alien landed in my room is that how I would respond? Probably not, I’d be freaking out. At the very least I’d be curious, not concerned for the alien’s state of hunger. This girl, she seems a bit odd… Finally sleep did arrive and the night passed uneventfully. This time Tristan did dream. He dreamt of the book, the portal and the day that changed his life forever. *** It was Monday, March 12th 2012. The day started off like any other. As usual, Griffin’s alarm woke him at seven in the morning, nearly two hours before his first class. He’d given up complaining about the situation. Even though Griffin slept in a separate room of their three bedroom apartment, the alarm penetrated the thin walls with ease. Griffin would turn it off after about twenty minutes. Cooper, their other roommate, didn’t seem to mind so Tristan decided to just roll with it. As with most mornings, he ran a few miles in the neighborhood. Last semester, he ran on the cross country team. At five foot ten inches, he didn’t set any land speed records, but he usually kept up with the leading pack. He did not participate with the team this year, though they politely said he could rejoin at any time. He had no plans of doing so, yet he still ran to help keep his mind off last year’s events. He attended his classes — biology, physics and philosophy — but struggled to remain attentive during the lectures. As a biology major, he wanted to learn the material, but he lacked the drive since returning late to start the semester in February. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to continue with that major or if his dreams of becoming a doctor really meant anything anymore. Today the weight of his decisions seemed heavier than usual. He’d returned to college after last year’s tragedy even though he could have easily skipped the remainder of the year. He did it to keep moving forward, to engage in something that would help at least maintain his sanity and pull him out of depression. For the first few weeks, it helped but he wasn’t the same person. His friends noticed the difference; he couldn’t bear the pity in their eyes. They weren’t his real friends. He’d been invited to a party that night but chose to skip it and visit the campus library instead. The building never closed and even though he rarely used the books, he enjoyed the peace it offered. Tristan took the stairs to the fifth floor and found an empty desk along the wall with a window that looked out onto the campus grounds. The setting sun painted the clouds with shades of gold and magenta. He popped open his laptop and checked email. One unread message from Caleb: Hey Tristan, can you go over the most recent pull requests for monkeystomp? I’m drowning at work and don’t have time. If not, no big deal. Thanks! Caleb did not attend the same college but he’d been Tristan’s friend since grade school. They grew up together in Nashville and he was the one person Tristan could always count on for anything. Recently, he spent time assisting Caleb with some opensource software. Though he suspected Caleb only involved him as a distraction, Tristan appreciated the offer and actually enjoyed learning the process. Tristan spent the next hour reviewing the code changes that the community recommended for their project. He merged some of the recommendations to the master branch and left others for Caleb to review. He also spent time reading through a few of the issues. The project in question, monkeystomp, helped other developers by finding bugs in code. However, the algorithm needed constant attention to handle the latest updates to the languages it supported. After a couple of hours, Tristan gazed upon the full moon that shone through the trees. Even though the floor lights remained on, the musty silence magnified his isolation. He rose and proceeded to walk down the corridors. Something in the pathway to his left caught his eye. Tristan maneuvered between the tall shelves, drawn to a pale light emanating from the bottom shelf of a central rack. Upon closer inspection, he saw no book at the location, only an empty space. Where could the light be coming from? Tristan knelt; a stark white book came into view. Strange, perhaps he overlooked it. He pulled the hardback from the shelf and examined the cover. The title read Splinter’s Edge — no author. He returned to his desk and opened the book only to find the first few pages blank. He flipped through the book. Every single page was empty. As he examined its contents, the lights flickered before shutting off entirely. Tristan prepared to turn the floor lights back on as he’d done in the past. He started to stand only to realize that he was already standing. Or was he? Darkness enveloped him like thick a cloud of ink, feeling heavy and almost liquid. How could the library possibly be this dark? He’d never experienced such absolute...nothingness. He couldn’t tell if he was sitting or standing. He couldn’t determine if his eyes were open or closed, if he was breathing or not. All sensory information seemed to be lost. Then the moon appeared before him. No, not the moon. Something appeared before him, something that projected light. Desperate to escape the darkness that threatened to consume him, he approached the light... *** Tristan awoke to pain, both in his head and his bladder. Momentarily disoriented, he sat up; his stomach tightened as recent memories returned. Unfortunately nature called and he didn’t have time to wallow in selfpity. Looking out from under the bed, he studied the surroundings. Sunlight illuminated the room and the bedroom door stood ajar. Raine must be at school or wherever she went during the day. At least he hoped she wasn’t still in bed. Tristan set his eyes on the white piece of furniture in the far corner of the room — a wooden cabinet with a curved rectangularshaped hole in the lower center of the door. Two days ago,
“Which the next d reforms to retiremen “Reform making th federation for where years’ tim Like Jen profession the Budge the fiscal c “Whilst as beige, i measures growth by and suppo “This bu women to remain in investmen “Encou children b improves gender div creates di “Whilst in the righ the trajec a ballooni generatio “We en to lean int future for “We mu re-embrac MAY 2015 EDITOR’S PICKS EDITOR’S PICKS New National VOLUNTEERING Standards Revealed + Significant changes to national volunteering standards have been introduced to coincide with National Volunteer Week, and include a strong focus on reporting and measuring volunteer involvement.
Mr Lewis Williams; William Fairbrother; Edward Fairbrother; Oliver Jeffrey Smith; FRANCIS BUDGE; MICHAEL JAMES THOMPSON; THOMAS ADAM HEWITT; Joe Bastone; Mr Chukwudi Ugbomah; Colin Donoghue; Matthew Bendall; Jeremy Townsend; MULTI DESIGN &