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Inspirasi Kediri Bertutur


                                  After some hesitation I have decided to give generally the names in full of those Missionaries, with whom she was most closely associated. I have also decided not to give the names of Indian Christians, with very few[vi] exceptions,—as of the Head Master of the Native Boys’ School at Batala, whom she counted a personal friend; also of one or two Ordained Native Clergymen, and one or two contributors of slight material towards this Life. In many instances it would be very difficult to decide wisely at so great a distance, and without a knowledge of the individuals themselves. It is therefore best to be on the safe side. Many of the initials are the true initials; but many are not even that,—especially in the case of those who are still Heathen or Muhammadan.



                                                                  When he spoke he was forthright.
                                                                  Branch, and they were real detectives, not just people that Phillips Oppenheim had dreamed up with fast cars and special cigarettes with gold bands on them and shoulder-holsters. Oh, she had spotted that all right and had even brushed against him to make sure. Ah well, she supposed she would have to make some sort of show of working along with him, though in what direction heaven only knew. If she had been down there ever since the place had been built without spotting anything, what could this Bond man hope to discover in a couple of days? And what was there to find out? Of course there were one or two things she couldn't understand. Should she tell him about Krebs, for instance? The first thing was to see that he didn't blow her cover by doing something stupid. She would have to be cool and firm and extremely careful. But that didn't mean, she decided, as the buzzer went and she collected her letters and her shorthand book, that she couldn't be friendly. Entirely on her own terms, of course.

                                                                   

                                                                  I dare say no words she could have uttered would have affected me so much, then, as her calling me her child. I hid my tears in the bedclothes, and pressed her from me with my hand, when she would have raised me up.
                                                                  "Thank you, Mister Bond," said the tinkling voice. "I hope you'll enjoy…"
                                                                  "Oh Pussy, my Pussy, this is the last meal you'll get."
                                                                  body will signal to your brain by mixing up a chemicalcocktail that corresponds to the discomfort that theother person is feeling. Then you will both be uncomfortable,and rapport will be that much harder toachieve. When they notice a discrepancy between yourwords and gestures, other people will believe the gesturesand react accordingly.


                                                                                                                                  Oh! shake not thus my soul, Comala!”

                                                                                                                                                                  This was addressed to the waiter, who had been very attentive to our recognition, at a distance, and now came forward deferentially.

                                                                                                                                                                                                  '"Biological Warfare,' he read, 'is often referred to as bacteriological, bacterial, or germ warfare but it is preferred over those terms because it includes all micro-organisms, insects and other pests, and toxic products of plant and animal life. The Army lists five groups of BW agents, including certain chemical compounds used to inhibit or destroy plant growth:

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Unhurriedly he pocketed the inhaler, then his hand came quickly back above the level of the table and gave the shoe its usual hard, sharp slap.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  `Good show,' said Bend carelessly. `But don't be frightened. You've got my gun. Remember? Get on with your story.'

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  I soon went home. ‘She is in love,’ my lips unconsciously repeated. . . . ‘But with whom?’