If x is the logarithm of y, then y is the antilogarithm of x.
On the back of the sheet of paper on which he wrote this poem Hopkins scribbled one of his only poems about the sort of men he knew at Oxford: Denis, whose motionable, alert, most vaulting wit Caps occasion with an intellectual fit.
Franz recognized her immediately. It was the young girl of the picture, dressed like a dogess of the fifteenth century, and rendered still more beautiful by the magnificence of her costume.
Which may explain why we broke the news at the Café de Flore a semester beforehand, over cafés liégeois and éclairs au chocolat, the blackmailing parent's best friends.
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