#arv’s personal life

[arvandus]

guess what.

GUESS WHAT.

I made my own therapy business!

AND I got my first client!

[y-rhywbeth2]

Naming Systems

For the humans and tieflings of Baldur's Gate (and half-orcs and half-elves who follow human naming systems rather than that of their non-human culture) Dwarves, elves and others will be done another time to save space.

Obviously I imagine you've all named your Tavs and Durges by now, but idk, I felt like doing this and maybe you've got random background OCs to name.

Sometimes people like to name their kids after gods. Like "Helm" and "Torm".

Chondathan

By far the most common names and surnames in Baldur's Gate (including non-human names).

Quite often people have no official surnames and use locations and vocations as surnames, like in real life (Blackgate, Cliffgate, Tumbledown, Tailor, Gardner)

Families of Cormyrean descent usually favour portmanteau surnames: Evenwood, Breakwood, Ironwinter, Summergate, Amblecrown, etc.

Residents of the Dalelands who move abroad often use the name of their Dale and shorten it. For example, Barantra from Tasseldale upon moving to Baldur's Gate would call herself "Barantra Tassel" and her descendants might continue to use that as a surname.

Dales: Archen, Scar, Tassel, Deeping, Harrow, Battle, Feather, High, Mistle, Shadow, Moon*, Sessren*, Tarkhal*, Teshen*, Dagger, Merry* *These dales have fallen to history. In the case of Merrydale, the name was changed to Daggerdale after an incident involving a brutal vampire infestation that led to a lot of violence and made everybody suspicious and hostile, so these surnames would indicate it's been a long time since your ancestors left the Dalelands.

Sembian families like to invent newer and grander surnames, in an attempt to make themselves look rich and important. This is less likely to be seen in the Western Heartlands, but I suppose it still may occur. Families often hyphenate their names so you might meet "Shandri Clarandal-Tarlroyal", or "Roakyn Dauncrown-Sardar"

-

Canon common given names: Masculine: Darvin, Dorn, Evendur, Gorstag, Grim, Helm, Malark, Morn, Randal, Stedd. Feminine: Arveene, Esvele, Jhessail, Kerri, Lureene, Miri, Rowan, Shandri, Tessele. (Plus a few dozen more I'm not typing out)

While the following isn't exactly canon I feel like you can get a name that "sounds about right" by breaking the syllables down and shoving on a syllable that goes on the end.

Like with the names "Lureene" and "Arveene", the ending is "eene" and you get the syllables "Lur" and "Arv". Then you could get new names by taking, idk, "Kerri" and "Miri". Ker+ri, Mi+ri = Lurri and Kereene and Arvri. Mieene doesn't really sound right, but idk.

Syllables Dar, Dor, D, Even, Gor, Gors, Gr, Mal, M, Rand, Ran, St, S, Arv, Esv, Jhes, Ker, Shand, Bev, Tes, Al, Ald, Alvae, And, Gal, Galag, Cath, Coran, Bold, Bol, Elbas, Ind, Jath, Ont, Prend, Baran, Coel, Dar, Em, Shar, Galiy, Hael, Saldv, Dal, Torv, Varan, Joy, Sar, Pip, Nan, Zor, Nok, Rorn, Far, Soor, Mi

Endings Masculine: -in, -vin, -orn, -dur, -ur, -tag, -stag, -im, -ark, -al, -dal, -edd, -arl, -rel, -rus, -us, -or, -ion, -stion, -ond, -dor, -yn, -dyn, -yk, -ryk, -ke, -il

Gorion, Darvin, Malryk, Tesor, Jathstag...

Feminine: -eene, -ele, -sail, -ri, -dra, -tra, -ra, -la, -ria, -ara, -arra, -one, -ue, -due, -syl, -ala, -ys, -ae, -naem, -ice, -e

Shandra, Miele, Darla, Arvone, Sarice, Cathtra, Bevra...

-

Alzhedo

The second most common group of names heard in the Gate, although early in the city's history I suspect Calishite and Illuskan names were more common. I note that "Jaheira" is likely an Alzhedo name (which makes sense, she's from Tethyr).

So, Calishite filial piety and subsequent naming standards are very detailed and specific: "A person is worthless without the identity gained by his name and that of his family."

A slave will have their given name and the name of the family that "owns" them. A large part of the population of Baldur's Gate are descended from former slaves, exiles and dissidents of the Calishite Shoon Empire, and would likely have originally borne names under that system.

In this case it's [name] adh [master's surname] So for example, Hamlil adh Tahandral. It's possible that it Hamlil had migrated northwards with her family that one of her descendants might be Miri Tahandral or something.

A freeman would list their title/s, their given name, their matronym or patronym, their family name, and their home town.

So if your name is Aseid, your father is Haseir, you're of House Dumein and you live in Baldur's Gate then: your full name, in the traditional manner, is "Aseid yn Haseir el Dumein yi Baldur's Gate," while if you have a sister, Ceidil daughter of Atala is called "Ceidil yr Atala el Dumein yi Baldur's Gate."

Adding your hometown onto the end is usually not necessary, and using it all the time is a sign of civic pride.

Diaspora, such as the Baldurians, usually drop the articles. Aseid Haseir Dumein Ceidil Atala Dumein.

Aseid may chose to use a matronym, Aseid Atala. This deliberately draws attention to her identity over her husband's which is unusual. It implies that his mother is particularly high ranking or infamous. Likewise Cidil may name herself Ceidil Haseir.

Clergy traditionally replace their family with their god, so if Aseid decides to go to the Rose Portal shrine and take up life in service to Lathander, he will be "Aseid el Lathander" or "Aseid Lathander".

Syllables As, Am, And, Bard, Has, Khem, Khe, Meh, Sud, Sudei, Zash, At, Ceid, Cei, Ha, Ham, Jah, Jas, Mei, Meil, Seip, Sei, Yash, Bash, Dum, Jas, Khal, Kha, Most, Mos, Pash, Amj, Tah, Tahan, Bhal, Mjo

Endings: M: -eid, -eir, -ed, -med, -en, -men, -man, -ad, -id, -al, -ein, -an, -ar, -ein, -san, -ir

Amen, Mehsan, Khemad, Zashein...

F: -ala, -edia, -eira, -eda, -il, -a, -ma, -al, -lil, -ida, -eina, -ana, -ara, -eina, -sana, -ira

Jaheira, Bhalil, Yashana, Tahma...

?: -sha

Canon common names: Masculine: Aseir, Bardeid, Haseid, Khemed, Mehmen, Sudeiman, Zashtir. Feminine: Atala, Сеidil, Hama, Jasmal, Meilil, Seipora, Yasheira, Zasheida. Common house names: Dumein, Jasan, Khalid, Mostana, Pashar, Rein.

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Illuskan

Third most common group.

I can't find much of anything about how naming systems are supposed to work for Illuskans.

Some don't use them at all.

Some go for patronyms and matronyms: -sson and -sdottir, so you get like, Malcersson and Cefreysdottir. These do not seem to be common. Some surnames are: "Kurth", "Helder", "Rethnor", "Stornar", "Rhuul"... This is entirely headcanon/guessing, but maybe they're patronyms and matronyms with the suffix removed? Luthin Cefreysdottir -> Luthin Cefrey?

Some gain names for themselves, self-bestowed or bestowed by reputation, based on aspects of themselves or their deeds that they're proud of or that give them fame: Nimoar "the Reaver", Ornar "of the Claw".

Most have surnames of some kind, some are portmanteaus: "Tenfeather", "Hornraven", "Windrivver", "Hathwinter", "Brightwood", "Lackman", "Stormwind", "Gnarlybone." This seems to be the most common form of surname. I'm entirely hypothesising, but Illuskan cultures value bravery and strength (particularly in battle) so I'd assume those are deed-names, possibly inherited from a famous ancestor?

Syllables: And, Bla, Bl, Br, Fr, G, Lan, Land, L, Mal, Malc, Sto, Tam, Am, Ama, Be, Beth, Ce, Keth, Mar, Ol, Sili, West, Wes, Or, Alas, Aga, Jaun, Von, Oj, Ost. Uth, Nash

Endings: M: -er, -ath, -ran, -eth, -uth, -der, -or, -an, -nar, -gar

Nasher, Oruth, Landgar, Ander, Vonor, Westran...

F: -frey, -tha, -ra, -ga, -tra, -da, -in, -ya

Agatha, Ojya, Malda, Stoya, Ceda, Luthin...

Canon common names: Masculine: Ander, Blath, Bran, Frath, Geth, Lander, Luth, Maler, Stor, Taman, Urth. Feminine: Amafrey, Betha, Cefrey, Kethra, Mara, Olga, Silifrey, Westra.

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Rashemi (Gur)

The Gur still speak a variant of the proto-Rashemi tongue amongst themselves in private, so depending on how much they assimilate or not I imagine at least some of the names might be similar?

I can find even less about Rashemaar surnames than I can anyone else right now.

Surnames used by Rashemi are: Chergoba, Dyernina, Itazyara, Murnyethara, Stayanoga and Ulmokina. Names like that might be Gur tribe names?

Syllables: Fyev, Bori, Bor, Faur, Hulm, Hul, Jand, Jan, Im, Kanith, Kani, Kan, Madi, Mad, Nav, Madis, Ralm, Shau, Shaum, Vladis, Vlad, Dyna, Min, Tam, Yul

Endings: M: -vik, -gar, -ik, -ar, -islak, -ak, -evik, -insk

F: -arra, -mith, -ith, -zel, -el, -dra, -ra, -heir

Canon common names: Masculine: Borivik, Faurgar, Jandar, Kanithar, Madislak, Ralmevik, Shaumar, Vladislak. Feminine: Fyevarra, Hulmarra, Immith, Imzel, Navarra, Shevarra, Tammith, Yuldra,

[cookieek]

So, like many others I sat down to watch the recent hbomberguy video, and watching it has made me think back to about how I’ve handled my folklore inspiration for wayward.

Notably that I ended up taking heavily inspiration from the illustrations by Katarina Strömgård in Per Gustavssons (2006) ”Sägenresan” when it came to the designs for the skogsrå, Snurra, and the sjörå. (Pictured bellow, Strömgårds illustrations to the left, my sketches to the right)

I did not do this with the intent of plagiarism, I know that I mentioned getting inspired by illustrations from a folk lore book in one of my authors notes for Wayward and that I did share Strömgårds illustrations of the troll drawing that inspired snurra and the sjörå on the red shoes discord and mentioning that I used them as inspiration (I could only find me mentioning the illustration for the skogsrå on the discord server when I went looking, I had to find the actual picture from the dms with another person in the server). However I do feel that I might not have been clear enough about this inspiration, and that looking back I, possibly out of some form of laziness, did at the very least not do enough with the characters in my sketches to visually distinguish them from the designs pictured in Strömgårds work, especially when it comes to the Skogsrå.

I doubt that Strömgård will ever see this, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad about it, and I’m planning to edit the posts that features the characters to link to this post in order to give proper credits to the artist who was at the heart of those designs. Sägenresan and it’s illustrations has been with me since I was a child, it’s hard not to feel disappointed in myself, and I am sorry.

If you’re curious about Strömgårds work, then I recommend looking at her website (where she’s got coloured versions of some of the books illustrations for a recent web project under the same name as the book by Gustavsson!):

She also has an instagram under the handle strmgrd!

I should at this point also note that unless I was taking inspiration from stories told by my mom or just general ideas of folklore that I’ve heard while growing up, a big source for the folklore bits in wayward which I talk about in the authors notes for the chapters is Per Gustavssons (2006) “Sägenresan”, though I did not always reread the stories from it in question. And though I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned that the herbal magic in wayward was inspired by stories from a childrens flora book, I figure I should be more clear and reference to it as Bissa Falk och Lena Kallenbergs ”Barnens flora” and ”Barnens flora 2” (both of my copies of these books are missing their copyright page so I can’t say their specific release date for sure, but I do know the original editions seemed to have been published 1982 and 1983 as those are the dates given to the first editions of the work on Libris, Alex.se and worldcat (though worldcat only seemed to have the first book of the two and the edition which collects the books into one)). When I get the time I’ll try to go through the authors notes for Wayward to make sure these are given their proper credit, and I’m sorry for not doing that before. Also, when I’m already on the topic, please don’t take Edda using real life herbs in for the healing magic as health advice, and if you decide to get into herbal medicine then I beg you to be safe about it, understand it’s limits and just go to the doctor of you’re dealing with something serious. There are many quacks out there, many dangerous ideas and ‘cure-alls’ that at best doesn’t work and at worst are actively harmful. Saint john’s wort will not cure your cancer.

Finally, when I’m already here I should also mention that an notable inspiration for even considering the regency au that eventually became “A Lord and Lace” was sboochi’s Bridgerton inspired Regency au drawings. I realised I was never really open about that and that made me feel a bit scummy, I’m sorry.

I’m sorry that this isn’t the fun superhero au synopsis, but when this landed in my mind I really felt like I had to say something about it. I’ll try to get the synopsis out soon, I am still sick, but it seems to be on it’s way out, I hope, either way I hopefully will have that post out sometime next week. And again, I’m sorry for my sloppy work.

I hope everyone nonetheless have a good day.

[porphyriosao3]

#7 Scary Stories

"You call that a scary story?"  Bilbo snickered, sitting propped up on the couch in the Royal receiving rooms with his pipe and teacup, braced halfway in Thorin's lap where he sat reading... or at least pretending to do so.  Fili and Kili were flopped on the floor in front of the fire, glaring at him, as Thorin snickered and hid his face.

"Bilbo!"  Fili said disparagingly.  "What do hobbits know about scary stories, anyway!"  A motion in the corner of his vision made Bilbo glance over as Thorin quietly put his face in his hands.  What he had just heard sank in, though, and that was all the distraction he needed.  He could barely believe his ears!  Did this dwarf just...?!

"Exactly," Kili huffed, dark brows drawn down in a rarely-seen scowl, rolling his eyes at Bilbo's scandalized expression.  "I don't think you understand just how scary the deep caves can be."

"What do...?"  Bilbo spluttered, setting his teacup on the floor and then lurching upright to glare at the two.  "I beg your pardon?!  What do hobbits know of scary stories?"  A wicked smile crossed his face.  "Have you ever heard of the Witch-King of Angmar?"  The young dwarves glanced at each other, blue eyes meeting black with identical looks of confusion, then they shook their heads.

"Good heavens," Bilbo sighed.  "I suppose I should speak to Balin.  What is he teaching you, anyway?  You clearly need more history lessons."  Both of the youngsters looked ready to flee at this.

"No fair," Kili whined, "you can't make this scary like that!  It's the story that has to be scary, not the threats!"  Fili grimaced but nodded, a certain cast to his face making it obvious he hoped Bilbo was joking.

"Alright, I suppose I will have to tell the whole thing.  Angmar, as you ought to know but clearly don't, started out as a tiny part of the kingdom of Arnor, the northern kingdom of the Island Men of Numenor.  It was the sister kingdom to Gondor in the south; only Gondor is still there, whereas Arnor isn't.  And this is the story of what happened to it."  He cleared his throat and took a sip of tea.  "Long ago, there was a king of Numenorean blood who was deceived and enslaved by a wicked spirit named Sauron, and oh!  The stories I could tell you about Sauron would freeze your blood in your veins!  He was one of the only survivors of the War of Wrath, when the Valar destroyed half the world to kill his master whose name we don't speak even today."  The two boys had gotten quiet but nodded; this part they knew, if only vaguely.  "Now the Valar thought that Sauron was destroyed.  He had been lord of a mighty fortress full of dark things," his voice dropped a bit.  "Terrible things.  Werewolves and vampires, balrogs and dead things.  Sauron was also a necromancer, you see, able to raise the spirits of the dead and make them do... things."  Bilbo noticed that the boys were subtly inching towards each other; apparently they were aware of at least some things from the past, even if only the exciting bits.  "But when the War of Wrath was over... what nobody had expected was that he survived."

"But... how?"  Fili asked, scowling as though Sauron's survival was a personal affront.  "That doesn't make any sense!  I mean, not only Mahal but all his brothers and sisters too went to war, destroyed all the evil things and changed the world and everything else, stepped on Gabilgathol and Tumunzahar like anthills, and he still survived?"

"Well, he was a powerful sorcerer, you see..." And as Bilbo went on to weave the tale of how Sauron deceived the king of a small kingdom into extending his life and learning sorcery, leading him down a dark road until he was only an immortal, invisible shade, the two young dwarves - seeming much younger than their years at this point - were practically huddled into each other.  On and on the tale went, of the rise of Angmar and its now-terrible king.  Crowned with iron like his master, he rode on a horse that breathed fire, wielding a giant flail that could crush a grown man.  By the time Bilbo told of the death of Arvedui and how the Witch-King ruled over the lands with a mailed fist, Fili and Kili were shivering on the floor despite the roaring fire behind them.  Even Thorin had put down his book and given up all pretense of reading, listening spellbound to his husband. "Worst of all," Bilbo went on, waving his pipe dramatically, "even after his victory was complete, the Witch-King worried about treason and persecuted the people who still dared live there himself.  Men who dwelled in that land would sometimes hear a knock at the door, always late at night.  They would ask who it was, but there was only a voice 'Who is the king?'"  Kili groaned, then looked around as if to see who made the noise.  "If they looked out the window, there was nobody there, only blackness.  But if they said anything other than 'Angmar is King', the door would open..." his voice had dropped to a whisper, and even the fire seemed darker.  "And in the morning, they would be gone.  Nothing left but their clothes."

"T-That's r-r-ridiculous," Fili said, his show of bravado ruined by his shivering and the whites of his eyes.  "He's dead an-anyway."  He stopped and looked pleadingly at Bilbo.  "Right?"

"Well, most think he died in the Last Alliance," Bilbo said heavily, making a show of cleaning out his pipe and packing it with fresh pipeweed.  "But it's quite difficult to kill a spirit.  The barrows east of Bree are still full of dead things set there by the Witch-King, and they're not a place to be at night, that's certain."  He sighed.  "Tales come out of Fornost-way down the Greenway that say people still vanish from time to time... but I'm sure it's fine.  That's all ancient history now anyway.  It's late... you two should get to bed now."  The two dwarves got up and stumbled out after saying their goodnights, looking more like worried pebbles than the strong young warriors they were, and Thorin sighed as the two closed the door behind themselves.

"You are a terrible person," the king murmured into the hobbit's hair, grinning.  "They'll be up the whole night, and spend it in the same bed besides."  Bilbo sniffed dismissively.

"If I were truly a terrible person, I'd go knock on their door in an hour or so asking 'Who is the king?'"  Bilbo said, one brow raised.  "That's what we'd do in the Shire.  Besides, they challenged me."  Thorin paused for a moment at the idea, then snorted with laughter.

"You've overlooked one thing, my heart."  Thorin was smiling softly but Bilbo scoffed at his words.

"And what is that, pray tell?"

"Fili and Kili may act like children still, but they are trained dwarven warriors.  The 'Witch King' in the hallway might be in serious danger, even if the boys pissed themselves while bursting through the door."  Bilbo opened his mouth and sat for a moment, then closed it again and turned away from Thorin's grin with a huff.  How dare his husband be right like that?

[scalamore]

YM idioms/phrases Pt 2

More KR --> ENG phrases/idioms that can't be translated by MTL

Hangul: longshoe, longcheue Direct translation: the long choux looked delicious. Localised translation: The eclair looked delicious. The nuance/author’s intent lost here, is that the author name dropped herself in the series. Eclair-nim’s nickname is of the dessert “Eclair” which can be described as a long choux pastry.

MTL: You're part of my circle (doesn't specify shape or group) Direct translation: You’re part of my circle (shape). Localised translation: You’re part of my world See my previous post on the nuance/author’s intent, but basically a direct translation would not register that the circle doesn’t mean a group, but rather of a shape -> a circle —> round/sphere —> world. The nuance is that Rupert is admitting that Lari is part of his world now, and not just recognizing she’s his ally.

Direct translation: Occasionally, he would eat honey chestnuts, but that was nowhere near violent by his standards. Actual meaning: Honey chestnut means to "lightly strike someone's head". The nuance: Occasionally, he would bop (Lari) on the head as a 'punishment' when she defied him, and both him and Lari don't actually consider it an actual punishment. Direct translation: I don’t know what kind of stone you rolled in from, but I won’t let you interfere with my romance with Lehan. Actual meaning: It’s a Korean idiom that not only is an idiom, but has multiple different meanings depending on the context., but one of them meant “i don’t know why you’re so confident”, and the other is “I don’t care who you are/where you’re from/what you’ll do”. The nuance: In the end, given the context and nuances, the localized translation would be “I don’t know where you get your confidence, but I don’t care who you are or what you plan to do, I won’t let you interfere with my romance with Lehan. Direct translation: I would remember a raw gem (Madame Arve). Better translation: I would remember an unpolished gem (Madam Arve). Initially one would think the “raw gem” is the ton of jewels Rupert paid her to make Lari look nice, but the context is that Madame Arve sees Lari as the perfect blank canvas model to doll up and promote her designs. Essentially, Lari’s hidden, untapped beautify. If you also recall, Lari’s also been called a “jewel/gem” two other times in the series: by her father, and LeMille. Because she’s worth so much more than she appears at first glance. Direct translation: Rupert showed no blood or tears at Eva's death. Actual meaning: "no blood or tears" means merciless The nuance: Lari explains that because Rupert was so expressionless at Eva's death during the public funeral, some argued that he's a cruel, merciless person because of his lack of tears/response. This contrasts to the start of the series, where she called him a complete merciless tyrant, but now she understands he just has overwhelming indifference because to him, Eva had died many many years ago

Direct translation: Nelly says she has a light mouth Actual meaning: "light mouth" means someone who can't hold a secret/will gossip ASAP The nuance: Lari can tell right away that Nelly is a gossip, and even says she's a "heavy" mouth = can't hold a secret at all lol Direct translation: Honey dripping from one's eyes Actual meaning: Used when someone is looking at another lovingly The Nuance: Rupelali lol

Direct translation: Sprinkle dirt on him (his eyes) Actual meaning: Not an idiom, but a KR custom: During a funeral, dirt is sprinkled on the coffin as a way to "complete" the life cycle and provide closure. The nuance: After the Count betrays Lari AGAIN, and Lari is clear she is no longer of House Belois and chooses to be with Rupert, Rupert is serious when he tells her to sprinkle dirt on trash dad, who is passed out on the floor cuz Lari attacked him. This means that by doing so, Lari is FINALLY letting go of the shackles that House Belois placed on her, and getting the closure she needed against her father Direct translation: that’s my ho (yes that's it, that's what MTL gives you when look it up) Actual meaning: this is actually an onomatopoeia? an action of blowing on a wound on kids to make them stop crying. The nuance: During a flirting session, Lari was a little rough and scratched Rupert. She's apologetic and blows on his wound to soothe him, but he's like "that's it?" cuz he was hoping for her to apologize with a (passionate) kiss. ^^;

Another idiom:

Direct translation: light butt

Actual meaning: easily convinced/swayed

[hoghtastic]

Why do you think that Fanny might have had a crush on Alex? I've heard that many times but no one has been able to substantiate their assumptions. In fact it could be a logical reason why Fanny was the only one who didn't follow the redhead on Instagram despite her games.The difficulty of getting close to the daughter of a famous director must be a huge blow for her.

Well, it's more like a feeling based on their chemistry when they were together. They did look more like boyfriend and girlfriend than he does whenever he's with Johanne. 😅 Here are some examples:

[ 𝖦𝗂𝖿'𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗋𝖼𝖾 ]

Plus, around the pandemic (2020-2021), she used to play the "post & delete" game whenever they hung out, meaning she would post stories to let everyone know they were together, but delete them shortly after. (So maybe Alex wouldn't see/know about it? As he was always so adamant on keeping his private life private and seemingly not a huge fan of social media?)

Then there was the "Skyggen i mit øje" movie, written and directed by Fanny's dad, where she not only played one of the main characters, but also had Alex's character as her love interest. His role was pretty small and not very relevant to the plot at all, as the story would have progressed exactly the same way, whether he'd been there or not. And of course this is nothing but speculation, but it felt almost like she asked her dad to give Alex this role, just so she could kiss him. 😅 (And even if it didn't happen like this, it's still the impression it gives.) Then, when this movie's premiere took place, her choice of attire was somewhat interesting and different from what she usually wears. Looking at the top right picture, they ended up looking like bride and groom. (And I do think the dress was very pretty and they both look adorable, but the vibe leans much more towards romance than friendship...)

Now there's the upcoming movie "Nattevagten - Dæmoner går I arv" ("Nightwatch: Demons Are Forever"), again written and directed by Fanny's dad and where she will again play one of the lead characters, having Alex as a co-star. Are we seeing a pattern here? 🤷‍♀️

Of course these are only assumptions and I might be reading too much into it, but these are the reasons that led me (and maybe others) to speculate about Fanny having had a crush on Alex. So I agree with you, anon. Maybe this was the reason why she didn't follow Johanne, or maybe she just didn't like her as a person. Either way, I also agree that it must have been hard for her, that one of Alex's closest friends didn't seem interested in befriending her and giving her a little more fame/attention.

[kevinszabojrplumbing]

How to House Flip Your Way to College

House flipping can be an incredibly profitable business. Going by Statista findings, an average house flip can net you about $62,000 in profits. If you’re an adult looking for a way to fund your higher-educational aspirations, house flipping could be it. In this mini-guide, Kevin Szabo Jr Plumbing offers some tips on how you could house flip your way to a college degree:

Run the numbers first

Before you take on a fixer-upper, consider doing a quick ROI check first. Buying a house is expensive, as is fixing it up. Essentially, you shouldn’t proceed with the flip until the numbers align in your favor. Tessa shows you how to calculate potential flip profits with the ARV rule. Other factors that could affect the profit include the local market conditions, the property itself, and your flipping skills.

Have professionals in your corner

House flipping is complicated and involves a great deal of work, from construction to marketing and everything in between. Teaming up with various professionals (in whatever capacity) can help you get work done, not to mention receive valuable insight into local market conditions. Some professionals you may need to team up with include contractors, designers, real estate agents, and handymen. Rehab Financial offers a reference list.

Update the kitchen

Upgrading the fixer-upper in various ways can make it much more attractive to buyers. For example, everyone likes a modern, aesthetically appealing kitchen. Consider adding a range hood to vent grease, smoke, and odors from the kitchen and to keep the air clean. Having a kitchen island in the center for extra seating can be a nice touch. Painting the kitchen in bright, beautiful colors may also work well. 

Make plumbing improvements

Many fixer-uppers have old plumbing desperately in need of attention. Updating the plumbing makes the property far more attractive. Some examples of plumbing-related upgrades you could take on are insulating the piping, adding new faucets, adding new fixtures, installing a water heater, and putting in a dishwasher.  You can team up with Kevin Szabo Jr Plumbing for any plumbing-related work – we’re reliable and affordable.

Prepare for challenges

House flipping is rarely smooth sailing. It’s running a business, which comes with all the usual challenges – market fluctuations, employee turnovers, financial crunches, legal issues, and more. If you’re serious about becoming successful, you will have to work hard and put your nose to the grindstone initially. It will take time for you to learn the ropes, and you will have to navigate risk.

Consider forming an LLC

Forming an LLC can help you limit some of the risks involved in house flipping. An LLC separates your personal assets from your business ones and so protects the former from litigation. To form an LLC, you can hire a lawyer or use a formation service (which is considerably less expensive). States have different regulations around LLCs. Be sure to check the local rules before moving forward.

You could learn while concentrating on your business

Online degrees are a good, widely accepted alternative to traditional in-person education. Online degree programs are typically more affordable than in-person learning. They are also flexible enough to allow you to work on your house-flipping business while you study. The most useful business degrees teach you skills in accounting, business, communications, and management. These are valuable skills you could apply to your business right now (or later if you get a different job). 

Conclusion

Your house flipping may or may not turn into a six-figure income stream, but even a single successful flip will net you enough to pay for college. Forming an LLC for your budding business can make your life easier as an up-and-coming business owner, as can earning an online degree.

Guest Contributor: Bob Shannon

[theageofthemovies]

DODEN ER ET KJARTEGN” - (in English: "Death Is a Caress", Edith Carlmar, 1949)

Love that kills.

Just watched yesterday a beautiful Norwegian love drama (be careful: not a melodrama): "Doden er et kjartegn" that tells the story of an "amour fou" between a married wealthy uninhibited woman and a car mechanic; between the two lovers a strange and dangerous story begins in which both are increasingly both sexually attracted and in competition one another. As each of them wants the other's love if maintaining the place acquired in their respective social class, a particular affective behavior based on a dangerous relation in which love and hate can't stand together slowly increases till the unavoidable fate.... (I stop here).The movie was the directorial debut of female director Edith Carlmar and I found quite surprising how a "newcomer" filmmaker is able here to treat, adjoining her feminine sensibility, the not simple literary material by which the film is adapted (a novel by Arve Moen) so creating a personal well visible style, one that recalls, according the great nordic tradition, the motives of both Dreyer and Sjöberg if remaining, undoubtely, hers. The film can be read as a psychologic essay about the life of a couple, the sacrifices it demands, the excesses of jealousy (the woman decides to have an abortion in order to punish her husband she presumed, wrongly, a traitor), the inescapability of a murder that the victim, more than the killer, seems to look for. 

r.m.

R.M.

[fashioninbg]

The brilliant azure color of the Bosphorus

Our little caique went with wonderful speed. These boats are singularly light, and admirably built to cut through the water.

The ordinary ones hold two persons comfortably, but the passengers must sit at the bottom, and be as careful in getting into them as if they were wager-boats, or they will upset. The oars are, I think, an improvement on our own. Above the spot where the “button” would be, they swell into a large bulb, and this serves to counterbalance the blade, which is straight. They work with a thong, slipped over a peg, instead of rowlocks; and are managed with great dexterity by the caiquejees, as the watermen are called.

The brilliant azure color of the Bosphorus does not depend upon reflection. It is still blue, even on a cloudy day, that would make our own seas and rivers leaden. The tint is, to an extent, in the fater, as it may be seen nearer home in the Rhone, -where it issues from the lake of Geneva, under the bridge, before it is polluted by the Arve.

Nobody could read

We landed on the other side of the Golden Horn, near a picturosque and thoroughly oriental Mosque, to which I was told the Sultan retired on the day of the murder of the Janissaries; and then had a long, tiring walk, skirting the Mosque of St. Sophia, into the first court of the Seraglio, which is public, and conducts to certain government offices. We went under some of the buildings private ephesus tours, supported on pillars, where there was great hustle — horses waiting for men in power, with elaborate trappings, rickety carriages, slaves, soldiers, porters, and eunuchs — with attendants to make everybody take off their shoes, as they went up to the different apartments. Here the luckless letter gave rise to the same difficulties.

Nobody could read, but they took the note and handed it round from one to the other, stared at us, and then returned it. At last, a learned man, whom we attacked, told one of the servants whom it was for, and he said if I would give him baksheesh be would take it in, but not without. A few paras were accordingly put in his hand, and he kicked off his slippers, and disappeared. In a few minutes ho returned, and said that the effendi had gone ‘ away, nobody knew where, but that he would be back again to-morrow. At all events, we had received the first confirmation of his actual existence, which, for the last hour or two, I had altogether doubted; but as the day was now advanced, and as I felt that if I continued the research any longer, I might get cross from fatigue and disappointment, I gave up the pursuit for this day, at least.

As I went home, up the steep Galata Hill, I saw a mad horse — an awkward customer to meet in such a narrow thoroughfare, lie had been suddenly taken so ; and was tearing along, kicking out wildly, and scattering, on cither side, the bricks with which his panniers were laden. It is impossible to describe the confusion be created, for the Galata Hill is always thronged. The women were screaming and flying in all directions, leaving their outer slippers behind them all about the street. One of them chanced to get her yashmak caught by a shutter as she retreated. The veil was pulled off, and, for the first and only time in my life, I saw the naked face of a Turkish female. She was, however, ugly enough to make any concealment of her features perfectly unnecessary. The unveiling frightened her far more than the mad horse, and she directly threw her coarse outer wrapper over her head, and bolted into a shop. The horse finished by falling down near the Galata gate, shattering his knees to pieces, and having his throat cut by one of the police. That night, I expect, the dogs of Pera and Galata held high and gory festival.

[vasilkaworld]

The brilliant azure color of the Bosphorus

Our little caique went with wonderful speed. These boats are singularly light, and admirably built to cut through the water.

The ordinary ones hold two persons comfortably, but the passengers must sit at the bottom, and be as careful in getting into them as if they were wager-boats, or they will upset. The oars are, I think, an improvement on our own. Above the spot where the “button” would be, they swell into a large bulb, and this serves to counterbalance the blade, which is straight. They work with a thong, slipped over a peg, instead of rowlocks; and are managed with great dexterity by the caiquejees, as the watermen are called.

The brilliant azure color of the Bosphorus does not depend upon reflection. It is still blue, even on a cloudy day, that would make our own seas and rivers leaden. The tint is, to an extent, in the fater, as it may be seen nearer home in the Rhone, -where it issues from the lake of Geneva, under the bridge, before it is polluted by the Arve.

Nobody could read

We landed on the other side of the Golden Horn, near a picturosque and thoroughly oriental Mosque, to which I was told the Sultan retired on the day of the murder of the Janissaries; and then had a long, tiring walk, skirting the Mosque of St. Sophia, into the first court of the Seraglio, which is public, and conducts to certain government offices. We went under some of the buildings private ephesus tours, supported on pillars, where there was great hustle — horses waiting for men in power, with elaborate trappings, rickety carriages, slaves, soldiers, porters, and eunuchs — with attendants to make everybody take off their shoes, as they went up to the different apartments. Here the luckless letter gave rise to the same difficulties.

Nobody could read, but they took the note and handed it round from one to the other, stared at us, and then returned it. At last, a learned man, whom we attacked, told one of the servants whom it was for, and he said if I would give him baksheesh be would take it in, but not without. A few paras were accordingly put in his hand, and he kicked off his slippers, and disappeared. In a few minutes ho returned, and said that the effendi had gone ‘ away, nobody knew where, but that he would be back again to-morrow. At all events, we had received the first confirmation of his actual existence, which, for the last hour or two, I had altogether doubted; but as the day was now advanced, and as I felt that if I continued the research any longer, I might get cross from fatigue and disappointment, I gave up the pursuit for this day, at least.

As I went home, up the steep Galata Hill, I saw a mad horse — an awkward customer to meet in such a narrow thoroughfare, lie had been suddenly taken so ; and was tearing along, kicking out wildly, and scattering, on cither side, the bricks with which his panniers were laden. It is impossible to describe the confusion be created, for the Galata Hill is always thronged. The women were screaming and flying in all directions, leaving their outer slippers behind them all about the street. One of them chanced to get her yashmak caught by a shutter as she retreated. The veil was pulled off, and, for the first and only time in my life, I saw the naked face of a Turkish female. She was, however, ugly enough to make any concealment of her features perfectly unnecessary. The unveiling frightened her far more than the mad horse, and she directly threw her coarse outer wrapper over her head, and bolted into a shop. The horse finished by falling down near the Galata gate, shattering his knees to pieces, and having his throat cut by one of the police. That night, I expect, the dogs of Pera and Galata held high and gory festival.

[arvandus]

I love my kid. He’s literally sitting here with me watching a silent hiking video with soothing music for an hour straight. Just some guy doing a hike from Inyo National forest to Kings Canyon National Park.

[mirelaste]

The brilliant azure color of the Bosphorus

Our little caique went with wonderful speed. These boats are singularly light, and admirably built to cut through the water.

The ordinary ones hold two persons comfortably, but the passengers must sit at the bottom, and be as careful in getting into them as if they were wager-boats, or they will upset. The oars are, I think, an improvement on our own. Above the spot where the “button” would be, they swell into a large bulb, and this serves to counterbalance the blade, which is straight. They work with a thong, slipped over a peg, instead of rowlocks; and are managed with great dexterity by the caiquejees, as the watermen are called.

The brilliant azure color of the Bosphorus does not depend upon reflection. It is still blue, even on a cloudy day, that would make our own seas and rivers leaden. The tint is, to an extent, in the fater, as it may be seen nearer home in the Rhone, -where it issues from the lake of Geneva, under the bridge, before it is polluted by the Arve.

Nobody could read

We landed on the other side of the Golden Horn, near a picturosque and thoroughly oriental Mosque, to which I was told the Sultan retired on the day of the murder of the Janissaries; and then had a long, tiring walk, skirting the Mosque of St. Sophia, into the first court of the Seraglio, which is public, and conducts to certain government offices. We went under some of the buildings private ephesus tours, supported on pillars, where there was great hustle — horses waiting for men in power, with elaborate trappings, rickety carriages, slaves, soldiers, porters, and eunuchs — with attendants to make everybody take off their shoes, as they went up to the different apartments. Here the luckless letter gave rise to the same difficulties.

Nobody could read, but they took the note and handed it round from one to the other, stared at us, and then returned it. At last, a learned man, whom we attacked, told one of the servants whom it was for, and he said if I would give him baksheesh be would take it in, but not without. A few paras were accordingly put in his hand, and he kicked off his slippers, and disappeared. In a few minutes ho returned, and said that the effendi had gone ‘ away, nobody knew where, but that he would be back again to-morrow. At all events, we had received the first confirmation of his actual existence, which, for the last hour or two, I had altogether doubted; but as the day was now advanced, and as I felt that if I continued the research any longer, I might get cross from fatigue and disappointment, I gave up the pursuit for this day, at least.

As I went home, up the steep Galata Hill, I saw a mad horse — an awkward customer to meet in such a narrow thoroughfare, lie had been suddenly taken so ; and was tearing along, kicking out wildly, and scattering, on cither side, the bricks with which his panniers were laden. It is impossible to describe the confusion be created, for the Galata Hill is always thronged. The women were screaming and flying in all directions, leaving their outer slippers behind them all about the street. One of them chanced to get her yashmak caught by a shutter as she retreated. The veil was pulled off, and, for the first and only time in my life, I saw the naked face of a Turkish female. She was, however, ugly enough to make any concealment of her features perfectly unnecessary. The unveiling frightened her far more than the mad horse, and she directly threw her coarse outer wrapper over her head, and bolted into a shop. The horse finished by falling down near the Galata gate, shattering his knees to pieces, and having his throat cut by one of the police. That night, I expect, the dogs of Pera and Galata held high and gory festival.

[hasyes]

The brilliant azure color of the Bosphorus

Our little caique went with wonderful speed. These boats are singularly light, and admirably built to cut through the water.

The ordinary ones hold two persons comfortably, but the passengers must sit at the bottom, and be as careful in getting into them as if they were wager-boats, or they will upset. The oars are, I think, an improvement on our own. Above the spot where the “button” would be, they swell into a large bulb, and this serves to counterbalance the blade, which is straight. They work with a thong, slipped over a peg, instead of rowlocks; and are managed with great dexterity by the caiquejees, as the watermen are called.

The brilliant azure color of the Bosphorus does not depend upon reflection. It is still blue, even on a cloudy day, that would make our own seas and rivers leaden. The tint is, to an extent, in the fater, as it may be seen nearer home in the Rhone, -where it issues from the lake of Geneva, under the bridge, before it is polluted by the Arve.

Nobody could read

We landed on the other side of the Golden Horn, near a picturosque and thoroughly oriental Mosque, to which I was told the Sultan retired on the day of the murder of the Janissaries; and then had a long, tiring walk, skirting the Mosque of St. Sophia, into the first court of the Seraglio, which is public, and conducts to certain government offices. We went under some of the buildings private ephesus tours, supported on pillars, where there was great hustle — horses waiting for men in power, with elaborate trappings, rickety carriages, slaves, soldiers, porters, and eunuchs — with attendants to make everybody take off their shoes, as they went up to the different apartments. Here the luckless letter gave rise to the same difficulties.

Nobody could read, but they took the note and handed it round from one to the other, stared at us, and then returned it. At last, a learned man, whom we attacked, told one of the servants whom it was for, and he said if I would give him baksheesh be would take it in, but not without. A few paras were accordingly put in his hand, and he kicked off his slippers, and disappeared. In a few minutes ho returned, and said that the effendi had gone ‘ away, nobody knew where, but that he would be back again to-morrow. At all events, we had received the first confirmation of his actual existence, which, for the last hour or two, I had altogether doubted; but as the day was now advanced, and as I felt that if I continued the research any longer, I might get cross from fatigue and disappointment, I gave up the pursuit for this day, at least.

As I went home, up the steep Galata Hill, I saw a mad horse — an awkward customer to meet in such a narrow thoroughfare, lie had been suddenly taken so ; and was tearing along, kicking out wildly, and scattering, on cither side, the bricks with which his panniers were laden. It is impossible to describe the confusion be created, for the Galata Hill is always thronged. The women were screaming and flying in all directions, leaving their outer slippers behind them all about the street. One of them chanced to get her yashmak caught by a shutter as she retreated. The veil was pulled off, and, for the first and only time in my life, I saw the naked face of a Turkish female. She was, however, ugly enough to make any concealment of her features perfectly unnecessary. The unveiling frightened her far more than the mad horse, and she directly threw her coarse outer wrapper over her head, and bolted into a shop. The horse finished by falling down near the Galata gate, shattering his knees to pieces, and having his throat cut by one of the police. That night, I expect, the dogs of Pera and Galata held high and gory festival.

[alllifebg]

The brilliant azure color of the Bosphorus

Our little caique went with wonderful speed. These boats are singularly light, and admirably built to cut through the water.

The ordinary ones hold two persons comfortably, but the passengers must sit at the bottom, and be as careful in getting into them as if they were wager-boats, or they will upset. The oars are, I think, an improvement on our own. Above the spot where the “button” would be, they swell into a large bulb, and this serves to counterbalance the blade, which is straight. They work with a thong, slipped over a peg, instead of rowlocks; and are managed with great dexterity by the caiquejees, as the watermen are called.

The brilliant azure color of the Bosphorus does not depend upon reflection. It is still blue, even on a cloudy day, that would make our own seas and rivers leaden. The tint is, to an extent, in the fater, as it may be seen nearer home in the Rhone, -where it issues from the lake of Geneva, under the bridge, before it is polluted by the Arve.

Nobody could read

We landed on the other side of the Golden Horn, near a picturosque and thoroughly oriental Mosque, to which I was told the Sultan retired on the day of the murder of the Janissaries; and then had a long, tiring walk, skirting the Mosque of St. Sophia, into the first court of the Seraglio, which is public, and conducts to certain government offices. We went under some of the buildings private ephesus tours, supported on pillars, where there was great hustle — horses waiting for men in power, with elaborate trappings, rickety carriages, slaves, soldiers, porters, and eunuchs — with attendants to make everybody take off their shoes, as they went up to the different apartments. Here the luckless letter gave rise to the same difficulties.

Nobody could read, but they took the note and handed it round from one to the other, stared at us, and then returned it. At last, a learned man, whom we attacked, told one of the servants whom it was for, and he said if I would give him baksheesh be would take it in, but not without. A few paras were accordingly put in his hand, and he kicked off his slippers, and disappeared. In a few minutes ho returned, and said that the effendi had gone ‘ away, nobody knew where, but that he would be back again to-morrow. At all events, we had received the first confirmation of his actual existence, which, for the last hour or two, I had altogether doubted; but as the day was now advanced, and as I felt that if I continued the research any longer, I might get cross from fatigue and disappointment, I gave up the pursuit for this day, at least.

As I went home, up the steep Galata Hill, I saw a mad horse — an awkward customer to meet in such a narrow thoroughfare, lie had been suddenly taken so ; and was tearing along, kicking out wildly, and scattering, on cither side, the bricks with which his panniers were laden. It is impossible to describe the confusion be created, for the Galata Hill is always thronged. The women were screaming and flying in all directions, leaving their outer slippers behind them all about the street. One of them chanced to get her yashmak caught by a shutter as she retreated. The veil was pulled off, and, for the first and only time in my life, I saw the naked face of a Turkish female. She was, however, ugly enough to make any concealment of her features perfectly unnecessary. The unveiling frightened her far more than the mad horse, and she directly threw her coarse outer wrapper over her head, and bolted into a shop. The horse finished by falling down near the Galata gate, shattering his knees to pieces, and having his throat cut by one of the police. That night, I expect, the dogs of Pera and Galata held high and gory festival.

[fashionringsbg]

The brilliant azure color of the Bosphorus

Our little caique went with wonderful speed. These boats are singularly light, and admirably built to cut through the water.

The ordinary ones hold two persons comfortably, but the passengers must sit at the bottom, and be as careful in getting into them as if they were wager-boats, or they will upset. The oars are, I think, an improvement on our own. Above the spot where the “button” would be, they swell into a large bulb, and this serves to counterbalance the blade, which is straight. They work with a thong, slipped over a peg, instead of rowlocks; and are managed with great dexterity by the caiquejees, as the watermen are called.

The brilliant azure color of the Bosphorus does not depend upon reflection. It is still blue, even on a cloudy day, that would make our own seas and rivers leaden. The tint is, to an extent, in the fater, as it may be seen nearer home in the Rhone, -where it issues from the lake of Geneva, under the bridge, before it is polluted by the Arve.

Nobody could read

We landed on the other side of the Golden Horn, near a picturosque and thoroughly oriental Mosque, to which I was told the Sultan retired on the day of the murder of the Janissaries; and then had a long, tiring walk, skirting the Mosque of St. Sophia, into the first court of the Seraglio, which is public, and conducts to certain government offices. We went under some of the buildings private ephesus tours, supported on pillars, where there was great hustle — horses waiting for men in power, with elaborate trappings, rickety carriages, slaves, soldiers, porters, and eunuchs — with attendants to make everybody take off their shoes, as they went up to the different apartments. Here the luckless letter gave rise to the same difficulties.

Nobody could read, but they took the note and handed it round from one to the other, stared at us, and then returned it. At last, a learned man, whom we attacked, told one of the servants whom it was for, and he said if I would give him baksheesh be would take it in, but not without. A few paras were accordingly put in his hand, and he kicked off his slippers, and disappeared. In a few minutes ho returned, and said that the effendi had gone ‘ away, nobody knew where, but that he would be back again to-morrow. At all events, we had received the first confirmation of his actual existence, which, for the last hour or two, I had altogether doubted; but as the day was now advanced, and as I felt that if I continued the research any longer, I might get cross from fatigue and disappointment, I gave up the pursuit for this day, at least.

As I went home, up the steep Galata Hill, I saw a mad horse — an awkward customer to meet in such a narrow thoroughfare, lie had been suddenly taken so ; and was tearing along, kicking out wildly, and scattering, on cither side, the bricks with which his panniers were laden. It is impossible to describe the confusion be created, for the Galata Hill is always thronged. The women were screaming and flying in all directions, leaving their outer slippers behind them all about the street. One of them chanced to get her yashmak caught by a shutter as she retreated. The veil was pulled off, and, for the first and only time in my life, I saw the naked face of a Turkish female. She was, however, ugly enough to make any concealment of her features perfectly unnecessary. The unveiling frightened her far more than the mad horse, and she directly threw her coarse outer wrapper over her head, and bolted into a shop. The horse finished by falling down near the Galata gate, shattering his knees to pieces, and having his throat cut by one of the police. That night, I expect, the dogs of Pera and Galata held high and gory festival.

[mirelaistanbul]

The brilliant azure color of the Bosphorus

Our little caique went with wonderful speed. These boats are singularly light, and admirably built to cut through the water.

The ordinary ones hold two persons comfortably, but the passengers must sit at the bottom, and be as careful in getting into them as if they were wager-boats, or they will upset. The oars are, I think, an improvement on our own. Above the spot where the “button” would be, they swell into a large bulb, and this serves to counterbalance the blade, which is straight. They work with a thong, slipped over a peg, instead of rowlocks; and are managed with great dexterity by the caiquejees, as the watermen are called.

The brilliant azure color of the Bosphorus does not depend upon reflection. It is still blue, even on a cloudy day, that would make our own seas and rivers leaden. The tint is, to an extent, in the fater, as it may be seen nearer home in the Rhone, -where it issues from the lake of Geneva, under the bridge, before it is polluted by the Arve.

Nobody could read

We landed on the other side of the Golden Horn, near a picturosque and thoroughly oriental Mosque, to which I was told the Sultan retired on the day of the murder of the Janissaries; and then had a long, tiring walk, skirting the Mosque of St. Sophia, into the first court of the Seraglio, which is public, and conducts to certain government offices. We went under some of the buildings private ephesus tours, supported on pillars, where there was great hustle — horses waiting for men in power, with elaborate trappings, rickety carriages, slaves, soldiers, porters, and eunuchs — with attendants to make everybody take off their shoes, as they went up to the different apartments. Here the luckless letter gave rise to the same difficulties.

Nobody could read, but they took the note and handed it round from one to the other, stared at us, and then returned it. At last, a learned man, whom we attacked, told one of the servants whom it was for, and he said if I would give him baksheesh be would take it in, but not without. A few paras were accordingly put in his hand, and he kicked off his slippers, and disappeared. In a few minutes ho returned, and said that the effendi had gone ‘ away, nobody knew where, but that he would be back again to-morrow. At all events, we had received the first confirmation of his actual existence, which, for the last hour or two, I had altogether doubted; but as the day was now advanced, and as I felt that if I continued the research any longer, I might get cross from fatigue and disappointment, I gave up the pursuit for this day, at least.

As I went home, up the steep Galata Hill, I saw a mad horse — an awkward customer to meet in such a narrow thoroughfare, lie had been suddenly taken so ; and was tearing along, kicking out wildly, and scattering, on cither side, the bricks with which his panniers were laden. It is impossible to describe the confusion be created, for the Galata Hill is always thronged. The women were screaming and flying in all directions, leaving their outer slippers behind them all about the street. One of them chanced to get her yashmak caught by a shutter as she retreated. The veil was pulled off, and, for the first and only time in my life, I saw the naked face of a Turkish female. She was, however, ugly enough to make any concealment of her features perfectly unnecessary. The unveiling frightened her far more than the mad horse, and she directly threw her coarse outer wrapper over her head, and bolted into a shop. The horse finished by falling down near the Galata gate, shattering his knees to pieces, and having his throat cut by one of the police. That night, I expect, the dogs of Pera and Galata held high and gory festival.