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it is now: the Nine he has gathered to himself; the Seven also, or else they are destroyed. The Three are hidden still. But that no longer troubles him. He only needs the One; for he made that Ring himself, it is his, and he let a great part of his own former power pass into it, so that he could rule all the others. If he recovers it, then he will command them all again, wherever they be, even the Three, and all that has been wrought with them will saw already dark fingers stretching out to seize it.‘It was taken from him,’ said Gandalf. ‘The strength of the Elves to resist him was greater long ago; and not all Men were estranged from them. The Men of Westernesse came to their aid. That is a Chapter of ancient history which it might be good to recall; for there was sorrow then too, and gathering dark, but great valour, and great deeds that were not wholly vain. One day, perhaps, I will tell you all the tale, or you shall hear it told in full by one who knows it best.be laid bare, and he will be stronger than ever.‘And this is the dreadful chance, Frodo. He believed that the One had perished; that the Elves had destroyed it, as should have been done. But he knows now that it has not perished, that it has been found. So he is seeking it, seeking it, and all his thought is bent on it. It is his great hope and our great fear.’‘Why, why wasn’t it destroyed?’ cried Frodo. ‘And how did the Enemy ever come to lose it, if he was so strong, and it was so precious to him?’ He clutched the Ring in his hand, as if he

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Chapters that are to some a blemish are all by others specially approved. The most critical reader of all, myself, now finds many defects, minor and major, but being fortunately under no obligation either to review the book or to write it again, he will pass over these in silence, except one that has been noted by others: the things long before in mind, or in some cases already written, and little or nothing in it was modified by the war that began in 1939 or its sequels.The real war does not resemble the legendary war in its process or its conclusion. If it had inspired or directed the development of the legend, then certainly the Ring would have been seized and used against Sauron; he would not have been annihilated but enslaved, and Barad-dûr would not have been destroyed but occupied. Saruman, failing to get possession of the Ring, would m the confusion and treacheries of the time have found in Mordor the missing links in his own researches into Ring-lore, and before long he would have made a Great Ring of his own with which to challenge the selfbook is too short.As for any inner meaning or 'message', it has in the intention of the author none. It is neither allegorical nor topical. As the story grew it put down roots (into the past) and threw out unexpected branches: but its main theme was settled from the outset by the inevitable choice of the Ring as the link between it and The Hobbit. The crucial Chapter, "The Shadow of the Past', is one of the oldest parts of the tale. It was written long before the foreshadow of 1939 had yet become a threat of inevitable disaster, and from that point the story would have developed along essentially the same lines, if that disaster had been averted. Its sources are

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web were there still, but the swarms of descendants he had spawned had been driven out by the Death Eaters, to fight for their cause.

　　　A fire burned in the middle of the clearing, and its flickering light fell over a crowd of completely silent, watchful Death Eaters. Some of them were still masked and hooded; others showed their faces. Two giants sat on the outskirts of the group, casting massive shadows over the scene, their faces cruel, rough-hewn like rock. Harry saw Fenrir, skulking, chewing his long nails; the great blond Rowle was dabbing at his bleeding lip. He saw Lucius Malfoy, who looked defeated and terrified, and Narcissa, whose eyes were sunken and full of apprehension.

　　　Every eye was fixed upon Voldemort, who stood with his head bowed, and his white hands folded over the Elder Wand in front of him. He might have been praying, or else counting silently in of hide-and-seek. Behind his head, still swirling and coiling, the great snake Nagini floated in her glittering, charmed cage, like a monstrous halo.

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Let's move, NOW!"

Pushing Hermione ahead of him with ron, Harry stooped to seize Fred's body under the armpit. Percy, realizing what Harry was trying to do, stopped clinging to the body and helped: together, crouching low to avoid the curses flying at them from the grounds, they hauled Fred out of the way.
whether friends or foes he could not tell. Rounding the corner, Percy let out a bull-like roar: "ROOKWOOD!" and sprinted off in the direction of a tall man, who was pursuing a couple of students. "Harry, in here!" Hermione screamed.
"Here," said Harry, and they placed him in a niche where a suit of armor had stood earlier. He could not bear to look at Fred a second longer than he had to, and after making sure that the body was well-hidden, he took off after ron and Hermione. Malfoy and Goyle had vanished but at the end of the corridor, which was now full of dust and falling masonry, glass long gone from windows, he saw many people running backward and forward,

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galloped past on horses, their heads screaming with bloodlust under their arms. Harry staggered to his feet when the Headless Hunt had passed and looked around: The battle was still going on all around him. He could hear more scream than those of the retreating ghosts. Panic flared within him.

　　　"Where's Ginny?" he said sharply. "She was here. She was supposed to be going back into the Room of Requirement."
　　　"No," said Hermione, getting to her feet too. Malfoy and Goyle remained slumped hopelessly on the corridor floor; neither of them had wands. "Let's stick together. I say we go – Harry, what's that on your arm?"
　　　"Blimey, d'you reckon it'll still work after that fire?" asked Ron, but he too got to his feet, rubbing his chest and looking left and right. "Shall we split up and look – ?"


"What? Oh yeah –"

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dragon did not seem to have noticed anything; it was already fifty feet away, swooping low over the lake to scoop up water in its scarred snout. As Ron and Hermione emerged, spluttering and gasping, from the depths of the lake, the dragon flew on, its wings beating hard, and landed at last on a distant bank.
　Hermione collapsed, coughing and shuddering. Though Harry could have happily lain down and slept, he staggered to his feet, drew out his wand, and started casting the usual protective spells around them. 　When he had finished, he joined the others. It was the first time that he had seen them properly since escaping from the vault. Both had angry red burns all over their faces and arms, and their clothing was singed
　Harry, Ron and Hermione struck out for the opposite shore. The lake did not seem to be deep. Soon it was more a question of fighting their way through reeds and mud than swimming, and at last they flopped, sodden, panting, and exhausted, onto slippery grass.

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enough room to move, they started to eat. The fire crackled and popped in the grate

beside them. Fleur, Harry noticed, was merely playing with her food; she glanced at the

window every few minutes; however, Bill returned before they had finished their first

course, his long hair tangled by the wind.

"Everything's fine," he told Fleur. "Ollivander settled in, Mum and Dad say hello. Ginny

sends you all her love, Fred and George are driving Muriel up the wall, they're still

operating an Owl-her back room. It cheered her up to have her tiara

back, though. She said she thought we'd stolen it."

"Ah, she eez charmant, your aunt," said Fleur crossly, waving her wand and causing the

dirty plates to rise and form a stack in midair. She caught them and marched out of the

room.

"Daddy's made a tiara," piped up Luna, "Well, more of a crown, really."

Ron caught Harry's eye and grinned; Harry knew that he was remembering the ludicrous

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don't know," he said, and he walked away toward the fireplace where his mother stood watching.

　　　"We had better be certain, Lucius," Narcissa called to her husband in her cold, clear voice. "Completely sure that it is Potter, before we summon the Dark Lord . . . They say this is his" – she was looking closely at the blackthorn wand – "but it does not resemble Ollivander's description. . . . If we are mistaken, if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing . . . Remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?"
"I . . . maybe . . . yeah." 　　　"But then, that's the Weasley boy!" shouted Lucius, striding around the bound prisoners to face Ron. "It's them, Potter's friends – Draco, look at hi
　　　"What about the Mudblood, then?" growled Greyback. Harry was nearly thrown off his feet as the Snatchers forced the prisoners to swivel around again, so that the light fell on Hermione instead.

　　　"Wait," said Narcissa sharply. "Yes – yes, she was in Madam Malkin's with Potter! I saw her picture in the Prophet! Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"

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was the first time he had felt fully connected to the outside world for a long time.

　　　"Thank you," said Lee's voice. "And now we can return to regular contributor Royal, for an update on how the new Wizarding order is affecting the Muggle world."

"Thanks, River," said an unmistakable voice, deep, measured, reassuring.
own safety to protect Muggle friends and neighbors, often without the Muggles' knowledge. I'd like to appeal to all our listeners to emulate their example
"Kingsley!" burst out Ron.

"We know!" said Hermione, hushing him.

　　　"Muggles remain ignorant of the source of their suffering as they continue to sustain heavy casualties," said Kingsley. "However, we continue to hear truly inspirational stories of wizards and witches risking their

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Do you mind if I talk to you?"

"No," he said because he did not want to hurt her feelings.

　　　"Harry, you wanted to know who that man in the picture was. Well . . . I've got the book."

　　　Timidly she pushed it onto his lap, a of Albus Dumbledore.

"Where --- how --- ?"

　　　"It was in Bathilda's sitting room, just lying there. . . . This note was sticking out of the top of it."

Hermione read the few lines of spiky, acid-.

　　　" ‘Dear Bally, Thanks for your help. Here's a copy of the book, hope you like it. You said everything, even if you don't remember it. Rita.' I think it must have arrived while the real Bathilda was alive, but perhaps she wasn't in any fit state to read it?"

"No, she probably wasn't."

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Slightly crestfallen, Harry watched Phineas redouble his attempts to leave his frame.

　　　"Professor Black," said Hermione, "couldn't you just tell us, please, when was the last time the sword was taken out of its case? Before Ginny took it out, I mean?"

Phineas snorted impatiently.
edge of his hat brim remained in view when Harry gave a sudden shout. "Wait! Have you told Snape you saw this?" Phineas Nigellus stuck his blindfolded head back into the picture.
　　　"I believe that the last time I saw the sword of Gryffindor leave its case was when Professor Dumbledore used it to break open a ring."

　　　Hermione whipped around to look at Harry. Neither of them dared say more in front of Phineas Nigellus, who had at least managed to locate the exit.

　　　"Well, good night to you," he said a little waspishly, and he began to move out of sight again. Only the

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scribbling on a trail of parchment.
realized what he was watching was the creation of pamphlets – that the paper squares were pages, which, when assembled, folded and magicked into place, fell into neat stacks beside each witch or wizard. 　　　Harry crept closer, although the workers were so intent on what they were doing that he doubted they would notice a carpet-muffled footstep, and he slid a completed
　　　Now paying attention to the names on the doors, Harry turned a corner. Halfway along the next corridor he emerged into a wide, open space where a dozen witches and wizards sat in rows at small desks not unlike school desks, though much more highly polished and free from graffiti. Harry paused to watch them, for the effect was quite mesmerizing. They were all waving and twiddling their wands in unison, and squares of colored paper were flying in every direction like little pink kites. After a few seconds, Harry realized that there was a rhythm to the proceedings, that the papers all formed the same pattern and after a few more seconds he

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Harry do you really think you'll get the truth from a malicious old woman like Muriel, or from Rita Skeeter? How can you believe them? You knew Dumbledore!"

"I thought I did," he muttered.

　　　"But you know how much truth there was in everything Rita wrote about you! Doge is right, how can you let these people tarnish your memories of Dumbledore?"

　　　He looked away, trying not to betray the resentment he felt. There it was again: Choose what to believe. He wanted the truth. Why was everybody so determined that he should not get it?

　　　"Shall we go down to the kitchen?" Hermione suggested after a little pause. "Find something for breakfast?"

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Hermione, have you got Muggle money to pay for this?"

　　　"Yes, I took out all my Building Society savings before I came to the Burrow. I'll bet all the change is at the bottom," sighed Hermione, reaching for her beaded bag.

　　　The two workmen made identical movements, and Harry mirrored them without conscious thought: All three of them drew their wands. Ron, a few seconds late in realizing what was going on, lunged across the table, pushing Hermione sideways onto her bench. The force of the Death Eaters' spells shattered the tiled wall where Ron's head had just been, as Harry, still invisible, yelled, "Stupefy!"

　　　The great blond Death Eater was hit in the face by a jet of red light: He slumped sideways, unconscious. His companion, unable to see who had cast the spell, fired another at Ron: Shining black ropes flew from his wand-tip and bound Ron head to foot – the waitress screamed and ran for

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. Weasley was suspending with her wand, rather than risk carrying it over the uneven ground. When the cake had finally landed in the middle of the table, Harry said,

"That looks amazing, Mrs. Weasley."

　　　"Oh, it's nothing, dear," she said fondly. Over her shoulder, Ron gave Harry the thumbs-up and mouthed, Good one.

　　　By seven o'clock all the guests had arrived, led into the house by Fred and George, who had waited for them at the end of the lane. Hagrid had honored the occasion by wearing his best, and horrible, hairy brown suit. Although Lupin smiled as he shook Harry's hand, Harry thought he looked rather unhappy. It was all very odd; Tonks, beside him, looked simply radiant.

"Happy birthday, Harry," she said, hugging him tightly.

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Though we doubt shock-haired auteur David Lynch actually got kickbacks from Marlboro, there's no doubt that Sailor's brand of smokes are as important to him as his snakeskin jacket. Sailor (Nicolas Cage) and his girlfriend Lula (Laura Dern), who are on the run from a variety of wackos hired by Lula's mom to kill her, are constantly smoking (especially after their sweaty hotel romps) — sometimes more than one cigarette at a time. Sailor even tells Lula he began smoking when he was four! Fire and smoking are a recurring theme in this wild and weird love story, as is The Wizard of Oz. But it probably won't make you want to reach for a munchkin.what is easily Wes Anderson's best portrait of utter family dysfunction, Gwyneth Paltrow's mopey Margot Tenenbaum has us waiting to exhale. Margot, a playwright prodigy with half a finger missing, spends her days secretly smoking and smoking and smoking — be it in the bathtub, watching TV, or hiding out on the roof. Like the rest of the Tenenbaums (an eccentric group played by Luke Wilson, Ben Stiller, Gene Hackman, and

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wait! Before you start munching your way to stronger bones you need to ask: How much calcium do I need, anyway?
Though experts haven't yet agreed on the ideal amount for people with osteoporosis, your doctor may advise up to 1,500 milligrams of calcium a day. "With osteoporosis, the general advice is to take three doses of 500 milligrams of elemental calcium a day," says Paul Mystkowski, MD, an endocrinologist at Virginia Mason Medical Center in Seattle, and clinical faculty member at the University of Washington in Seattle.
Why three separate doses? Because 500 milligrams is all your body can absorb at one time. So for strong bones, get your calcium throughout the day via your meals, then, if necessary, add a calcium supplement to
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make up the difference.
And remember: Calcium-rich foods do more than build strong bones. Calcium can boost the effects of osteoporosis drugs you may be taking to reduce bone loss, such as estrogen and bisphosphonates. And calcium also amplifies the benefits of weight-bearing exercise in building strong bones.
Breakfasts for Strong Bones

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Ayesha had begun to walk towards the water, and Mishal was being dragged along by her two helpers. Saeed ran to her and began to struggle with the village men. "Let go of my wife. At once! Damn you! I am your zamindar. Release her; remove your filthy hands!" But Mishal whispered: "They won't. Go away, Saeed. You are closed. The sea only opens for those who are open." water, splashing about, falling over, getting up, moving steadily forwards, towards the horizon, never looking back to shore. Mirza Saeed was in the water, too. "Come back," he beseeched his wife. "Nothing is happening; come back."
"Mishal!" he screamed, but her feet were already wet.
Once Ayesha had entered the water the villagers began to run. Those who could not leapt upon the backs of those who could. Holding their babies, the mothers of Titlipur rushed into the sea; grandsons bore their grandmothers on their shoulders and rushed into the waves. Within minutes the entire village was in the

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Saturday night, with the clubs and dance-halls beginning to yield up their excited, highly charged populations, that the divisional superintendent of police, in consultation with higher authority, declared that riot conditions now existed in central Brickhall, and unleashed the full might of the Metropolitan Police against the "rioters".
Also at this point, Saladin Chamcha, who had been dining with Allie Cone at her apartment overlooking Brickhall Fields, keeping up appearances, sympathizing, murmuring encouraging insincerities, emerged into the night; found a _testudo_ of helmeted men with plastic shields at the ready moving towards him across the Fields at a steady, inexorable trot; witnessed the arrival overhead of giant, locust-swarming helicopters from which light was falling like heavy rain; saw the advance of the water cannons; and, obeying an irresistible primal reflex, turned tail and ran, not knowing that he was going the wrong way, running full speed in the direction of the Shaandaar.

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least thrice; but he was as fumbling and abashed as she, so that they seemed to compete for the right to occupy the doghouse. The reason for Chamcha's discomfiture -- and he had not, let's recall, arrived in this awkward spirit, but in feisty, pugnacious mood -- was that he had realized, on seeing Pamela, with her too--bright brightness, her face like a saintly mask behind which who knows what worms feasted on rotting meat (he was alarmed by the hostile violence of the images arising from his unconscious), her shaven head under its absurd turban, her whisky breath, and the hard thing that had entered the little lines around her mouth, that he had quite simply fallen out of love, and would not want her back even should she want (which was improbable but not inconceivable) to return. The instant he became aware of this he commenced for some reason to feel guilty, and, as a result, at a conversational disadvantage. The white-haired dog was growling at him, too. He recalled that he'd never really cared for pets.
"I suppose," she addressed her glass, sitting at the old pine table in the spacious kitchen, "that what I did was unforgivable, huh?"

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night were inverted, the night being for business and the day for rest). No sooner had he embarked upon this arduous programme than they called a meeting at which he was told that he ought to start behaving a little more like the "real" husband, that is, Mahound. "Why can't you change your name like the rest of us?" bad-tempered "Hafsah" demanded, but at this Baal drew the line. "It may not be much to be proud of," he insisted, "but it's my name. What's more, I don't work with reason for such a change." "Well, anyhow," the voluptuous "Mary the Copt" shrugged, "name or no name, we want you to start acting like him."
"I don't know much about," Baal began to protest, but "Ayesha", who really was the most them all, or so he had commenced to feel of late, made a delightful moue. "Honestly, husband," she cajoled him. "It's not so tough. We just want you to, you know. Be the boss."
It turned out that the whores of The Curtain conventional women in Jahilia. Their work, which could so easily have made them cynical and disillusioned (and they were, of course, capable of

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standards of morality. At martial arts techniques to ever-- greater numbers of students, emphasizing the spiritual aspects of the disciplines, much to their amusement ("Ah so, Grasshopper," his star pupil Mishal Sufyan would tease him, "when honolable fascist swine jump at you flom dark alleyway, offer him teaching of Buddha before you kick him in honolable balls"), -- he began to display such _passionate intensity_ that his pupils, realizing that some inner anguish was being expressed, grew alarmed. When Mishal asked him about it at the end of a session that had left them both bruised and panting for breath, in which the two of them, teacher and star, had hurled themselves at one another like the hungriest of lovers, he threw her question back at her with an uncharacteristic lack of openness. "Talk about pot and kettle," he said. "Question of mote and beam." They were standing by the vending machines. She shrugged. "Okay," she said. "I confess, but keep the secret." He reached for his Coke: "What secret?" Innocent Jumpy. Mishal

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Then what a damn, shallow, tricksy and self-deceiving fellow I am," he sighed to himself, "to change so much, so fast. I deserve to be finished off without ceremony." But he was not the type to fall on his sword. Instead, he strolled a while around the corridors of Peristan, and pretty soon the house worked its magic and restored him to something like a good mood once again.
The house: in spite of its faery name, it was a solid, rather prosy building, rendered exotic only by being in the wrong country. It had been built seven generations ago by a certain Perowne, an English architect much favoured by the colonial authorities, whose only style was that of the neo--classical English country house. In those days the great zamindars were crazy for European architecture. Saeed's great--great--great--great--grand-father had hired the fellow five minutes after meeting him at the Viceroy's reception, to indicate

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bombs, "cause that's all right with me. You throw anything hard at him, sir, and my mate here'll get you with his gun." O days of innocence when the world was young . . . when the car arrived there was a surge in the crowd and Chamcha and Jumpy were separated. Then Jumpy appeared, climbed on to the bonnet of Harold Wilson's limousine, and began to jump up and down on the bonnet, creating large dents, leaping like a wild man to the rhythm of the crowd's chanting: _We shall fight, we shall win, long live Ho Chi Minh_.
"Saladin started yelling at me to get off, partly because the crowd was full of Special Branch types converging on the limo, but mainly because he was so damn embarrassed." But he kept leaping, up higher and down harder, drenched to the bone, long hair flying: Jumpy the jumper, leaping into the mythology of those antique years. And Wilson and Marcia cowered in the