Technology Cold Ing Ebook


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Cold Ing Ebook

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A level teaspoonful of ascorbic acid is 4. It is, of course, essential that everyone consult his physician in case of serious illness. An improved diet should improve your general health; but you cannot hope that it will protect you completely from ''the rotten diseases of the south, the guts-griping, ruptures, catarrhs, loads o' gravel i' the back, lethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of imposthume, sciaticas, limekilns i' the palm, incurable boneache, and the riveled fee-simple of the tetter" Shakespeare, Troilus and Cressida.

It is caused by a deficiency of a certain food, vitamin C, in the diet. People who receive no vitamin C become sick and die. Scurvy has been known for hundreds of years, but it was not until that its cause was clearly recognized to be a dietary deficiency. Until about a century ago the disease was very common among sailors on board ships taking long voyages.

It also frequently broke out among soldiers in an army on campaign, in communities in times of scarcity of food, in cities under siege, and in prisons and workhouses. Scurvy plagued the California gold miners years ago, and the Alaskan gold miners 70 years ago. The skin becomes sallow or dusky. The patient complains of pains in the muscles. He is mentally depressed. Later, his face looks haggard. His gums ulcerate, his teeth drop out, and his breath is fetid.

Hemorrhages of large size penetrate the muscles and other tissues, giving him the appearance of being exten- sively bruised. The later stages of the disease are marked by profound exhaustion, diarrhea, and pulmonary and kidney trou- bles, leading to death.

The ravages of scurvy among the early sea voyagers were terrible. On a long voyage the sailors lived largely on biscuits, salt beef, and salt pork, which contain very little vitamin C. During this voyage one hundred of his crew of died of scurvy.

In the year a Spanish galleon was found adrift in the Sargasso Sea, with everyone on board dead of scurvy. Late in the British Admiral George Anson set out with a squadron of six ships manned by By June , sailors. The idea that scurvy could be prevented by a proper diet developed only slowly. In the French explorer Jacques Cartier discovered the St. Lawrence River, and sailed up the river to the site of the present city of Quebec, where Cartier and his men spent the winter.

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Twenty-five of the men died of scurvy, and many others were very sick. A friendly Indian advised them to make a tea with use of the leaves and bark of the arbor vitae tree. Thuja occidentalis. The leaves or needles of this tree have now been shown to contain about 50 mg of vitamin C per g. In , while in the British naval service, the Scottish physician James Lind carried out a now famous experiment with twelve patients severely ill with scurvy.

He placed them all on the same diet, except for one item, one of the reputed remedies that he was testing. To each of two patients he gave two oranges and one lemon per day; to two others, cider; to the others, dilute sulfuric acid, or vinegar, or sea water, or a mixture of drugs. At the end of six days the two who had received the citrus fruits were well, while the other ten re- mained ill.

There followed a period of controversy about the value of the juice of citrus fruits in preventing scurvy. Some of the unsuccessful trials involved the use of orange, lemon, and lime juice that had been boiled down to a syrup.

We know now that most of the ascorbic acid in the juice was destroyed by this process. The spirit of free enterprise remained dominant in the British Board of Trade, however, and scurvy continued to ravage the British merchant marine for seventy years longer. In the Board of Trade finally passed a similar lime-juice regulation for the merchant marine. Perry, a member of the crew of Captain Cook's flagship H.

The air in the house shifted. Someone was in the kitchen. She recognized the creak of the tiles near the dishwasher. She weighed her options. There was still a chance this was a trick.

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A joke gone bad. The house felt wrong. They owned a gun. A Glock 17 or 19 or something. It was a badass, se- cret agent—level gun. The Glock was upstairs. In their bedroom. In the nightstand. She could take six long steps back and be at the main staircase.

Or take three steps forward and get a view into the kitchen. She took two steps forward. Cut half an hour off his travel time to not be waiting on luggage. The noise of stressed wood. The spot by her studio, close to the door.

Neither of them had stepped on it in over a year because it was so damned loud. Whoever was upstairs had stepped on it. They were upstairs! She could almost see the footsteps through the plas- ter. They were near the bedroom. Near the gun. Had someone grabbed him at the airport? Did he get car- jacked? There was a panic number she was supposed to call. It was in the desk in her studio. Of course. Becky stepped into the kitchen and grabbed her cell phone from the counter.

Then she grabbed a knife from the big block. It was a great set. The blade of the butcher knife was almost fourteen inches long and sharp as hell. And the handle sat well in her hand. She held off pressing call. There was still a chance this was a bad joke. It had a thick carpet, almost silent to walk across. Just make it through the house, give Ben one last time to admit he was an idiot, and then out the door.

She was halfway across the living room when she heard the sound of metal sliding across metal. It was a fast, back-and-forth with a hard snap at the end. She swallowed.

Becky looked down at her phone. Could she raise her voice enough to talk? What did do when they got a silent call? Did they trace it and send a car? Did they hang up? She had to get out of the house now. And with her darting down the street ahead of him and calling out encouragement, Cold Cuthbert struggled on towards his goal.

He crawled over his bed to check: Eagerly he reached inside and pulled out a chocolate reindeer. Biting off an antler, he stuffed it in his mouth while he unwrapped the next present - a tub of gel pens and a notebook.

Under that, he could feel something with wheels. But before he could investigate, there was a wail from Lily. His presents forgotten, Owen ran to the window. Gasping at the sight of the empty field below, he ran helter-skelter down the stairs and out into the snow in his bare feet and pyjamas. Owen, go and put your boots on. She shook her head. Flattened him. That's the only answer I can think of. It was the only answer that Owen could think of too. Once his boots were on, he inspected the ground where the snowman had stood, trying to work out which were his family's footprints and which might belong to a stranger.

It was impossible. He noticed lots of little prints made by some animal, and a series of strange, rounded dents in a line that led towards the wood; but they did not look like footprints. None the less, somebody must have crept into the field and knocked Cold Cuthbert down - for snowmen did not walk.

Even Lily could not be convinced that Cold Cuthbert had just strolled away. Since the mystery could not be solved, after a while they went inside and spent a happier hour sharing out their gifts over their porridge, until it was time to go to church.

Owen didn't want to go to church; he wanted to stay at home and open presents. Dad didn't want to go; he said that he had too much work to do.

Cold Cole Heart

And he doesn't understand children very well, because he has no family. Anyway, it's nice to go to church, to remember what Christmas is about. So in the end Dad drove them down the snowy lane towards the village, and along the crooked street to the old church at the end. There was a small crowd gathering around Saint Cuthbert's statue. And there was a big brown bundle at the statue's wooden feet. He glared at Lily and at Owen.

Just at that moment, the parcel of bracken began to rustle. Then it bleated. A black nose stuck itself out and sneezed. Mr Gilpin looked astounded. He reached into the bracken and picked up the lamb. At first it lay still in his arms; then it began to wriggle. The minister's face had a very strange expression. Owen thought that he looked dazed and dazzled as he stared down at the lamb.

He gently stroked it, and it tried to suck his finger. It's cold, but with a bit of milk in its stomach, by a warm fire, it'll be as right as rain," Dad assured him.

Carefully he took the lamb into his own strong hands. Mr Gilpin still looked dazed and dazzled. How did it get here?

Owen looked down. In the excitement, he had not noticed the pool of water that spread across the flagstones. A minute later, Mum was mopping it all up.

He spotted its partner; and then saw Lily holding out two shells. A huge smile spread across her face.

Mr Gilpin shook his head. But he did not frown or shout. Instead, he smiled. Lily bellowed out the words with an enormous grin on her face. Then she paused to whisper to Owen. Owen doubted this. Yet it occurred to him that Mr Gilpin might like to have the lamb, once it was well.

He had looked so dazed and dazzled when he held it, as if he had never seen a new-born lamb before. Mum was happy, because she had persuaded them to come to church. Dad was happy, because he had gone home again with a lamb to look after. As he looked round the church, he was working it all out.

He thought about what must have happened during that long night. He understood what Cold Cuthbert must have done. He tried to guess how Cuthbert had felt, walking through the snow with the lamb; laying it down by the statue and then, in the warmth of the church, feeling himself grow weak - weaker even than the lamb that he had saved As Owen stared at the wet floor, the last trace of Cold Cuthbert, his eyes were wet too. His throat hurt so that he could not sing.

He sniffed and looked up at the wooden statue. While Saint Cuthbert did not look exactly happy, he did not look quite so severe as usual.

Bracken suited him. His eyes seemed to be fixed on the window, and Owen, sadly following his gaze, beheld a small stoat crouching on the windowsill. Although Saint Cuthbert did not care for crowds, possibly he did like animals. He seemed quite interested by the stoat, which was nibbling on a Brussels sprout. That made Owen think of Christmas dinner, and his presents back at home, although they hardly seemed to matter now.

He wished he could give a present to Cold Cuthbert. The snowman had given the lamb its life.

What could he give Cold Cuthbert? Then he knew. He could give him his own story. There were twenty coloured gel pens back at home, just waiting to be used. So while he listened to the joyful singing, Owen began to work out the first sentence he would write in his new notebook.

Print off a snowy crossword here! Would you like another Christmas story? For a printable snowy crossword, click here pdf file. Wait a minute! Owen could see Dad now, trudging slowly across the field towards him. He was snowy up to his waist. Where's his face?

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With his shiny chestnut eyes, the snowman suddenly looked much more like a person. Shall I get him an old hat and scarf? He's meant to be chilly. He mustn't get too warm! We don't want him to melt! Owen pulled a face. He's a I don't think Mr Gilpin would be too pleased," said Mum. And when they both decorated him with tinsel just last week, Mr Gilpin shouted.

Owen knew that he was worrying about his sheep. He'll be Colder Cuthbert by the morning. He won't melt, that's for sure. He might walk away, like the one in the cartoon! Chapter Two As soon as Owen pressed the conkers into Cold Cuthbert's snowy face, the snowman found that he could see. And as soon as Lily fixed the shells on to his round white head, he found that he could hear.

He knew that if he got too warm, he might melt. He knew that Mr Gilpin - whoever he was- would not like him. Now he was growing colder. He felt the strength of ice hardening within his body. Was he cold enough yet to move?

He tried to stretch a leg- and failed, again. The something stopped and looked up at the snowman with black beady eyes. And Ermine tired of playing on her own and curled up in a furry ball to take a nap. Surely now it was still enough?Behold, the Cold Brew on Tap 2.

They were on the stairs. Amazon Restaurants Food delivery from local restaurants. Hannibal Travis. We seek comfort in times of worry. Had Cold Cuthbert begun to walk yet? Born too early: dearie me! Owen, go and put your boots on. I promise you that! That's a lamb," said Ermine, lolloping lightly over the snowdrift.