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вÑдÑÑнкÑв Dear Subscriber, You've probably heard about angry online mobs calling for people to be "cancelled" ⦠Socially blacklisted ⦠Even fired from their jobs. All because they don't conform to a particular ideology ⦠Or because they disagree with this or that government decision â from the left, the right, or in-between. This public shaming (and worse!) is an unfortunate dark side of the Internet ⦠And an especially unfortunate symptom of the new hyperpolitical world we live in today. But if you think that's concerning ⦠Suppose you discovered an obscure official plan that will give the U.S. Federal Reserve the power to do some "canceling" of its own ⦠Closely monitor â and even control â their checking accounts ⦠У наÑÑ ÑаÑи лÑди, Ñо ÑÑ
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ими оÑелÑми виÑоÑÑÑ Ð¿ÑоÑÑенÑка ÑеÑква, Ñо Ñак гаÑмонÑÑÑ Ð· ÑбогÑÑÑÑ Ñела. Closely monitor â and even control â nearly all their financial transactions. Imagine a scenario in which ⦠You're checking account is restricted or even frozen ⦠You're unable to buy or sell anything from your bank account or credit card ⦠You're unable to pay your mortgage or fill up your gas tank. I know it sounds like a chapter from a dystopian novel. But it could soon be a reality. [Click here]( for the facts and nothing but the facts. Good luck and God bless! Ð ÑилÑного Ð±Ð¾ÐºÑ ÑеÑкви пÑоÑÑÑгÑÑ ÑвинÑаÑ, ÑÑоÑ
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вÑдÑÑнкÑв [Signature]
Martin D. Weiss, PhD
Founder of Weiss Ratings âI donât wish to know anything about them. I love scandals about other people, but scandals about myself donât interest me. They have not got the charm of novelty.â âThey must interest you, Dorian. Every gentleman is interested in his good name. You donât want people to talk of you as something vile and degraded. Of course, you have your position, and your wealth, and all that kind of thing. But position and wealth are not everything. Mind you, I donât believe these rumours at all. At least, I canât believe them when I see you. Sin is a thing that writes itself across a manâs face. It cannot be concealed. People talk sometimes of secret vices. There are no such things. If a wretched man has a vice, it shows itself in the lines of his mouth, the droop of his eyelids, the moulding of his hands even. SomebodyâI wonât mention his name, but you know himâcame to me last year to have his portrait done. I had never seen him before, and had never heard anything about him at the time, though I have heard a good deal since. He offered an extravagant price. I refused him. There was something in the shape of his fingers that I hated. I know now that I was quite right in what I fancied about him. His life is dreadful. But you, Dorian, with your pure, bright, innocent face, and your marvellous untroubled youthâI canât believe anything against you. And yet I see you very seldom, and you never come down to the studio now, and when I am away from you, and I hear all these hideous things that people are whispering about you, I donât know what to say. Why is it, Dorian, that a man like the Duke of Berwick leaves the room of a club when you enter it? Why is it that so many gentlemen in London will neither go to your house or invite you to theirs? You used to be a friend of Lord Staveley. I met him at dinner last week. Your name happened to come up in conversation, in connection with the miniatures you have lent to the exhibition at the Dudley. Staveley curled his lip and said that you might have the most artistic tastes, but that you were a man whom no pure-minded girl should be allowed to know, and whom no chaste woman should sit in the same room with. I reminded him that I was a friend of yours, and asked him what he meant. He told me. He told me right out before everybody. It was horrible! Why is your friendship so fatal to young men? There was that wretched boy in the Guards who committed suicide. You were his great friend. There was Sir Henry Ashton, who had to leave England with a tarnished name. You and he were inseparable. What about Adrian Singleton and his dreadful end? What about Lord Kentâs only son and his career? I met his father yesterday in St. Jamesâs Street. He seemed broken with shame and sorrow. What about the young Duke of Perth? What sort of life has he got now? What gentleman would associate with him?â âStop, Basil. You are talking about things of which you know nothing,â said Dorian Gray, biting his lip, and with a note of infinite contempt in his voice. âYou ask me why Berwick leaves a room when I enter it. It is because I know everything about his life, not because he knows anything about mine. With such blood as he has in his veins, how could his record be clean? You ask me about Henry Ashton and young Perth. Did I teach the one his vices, and the other his debauchery? If Kentâs silly son takes his wife from the streets, what is that to me? If Adrian Singleton writes his friendâs name across a bill, am I his keeper? I know how people chatter in England. The middle classes air their moral prejudices over their gross dinner-tables, and whisper about what they call the profligacies of their betters in order to try and pretend that they are in smart society and on intimate terms with the people they slander. In this country, it is enough for a man to have distinction and brains for every common tongue to wag against him. And what sort of lives do these people, who pose as being moral, lead themselves? My dear fellow, you forget that we are in the native land of the hypocrite.â âDorian,â cried Hallward, âthat is not the question. England is bad enough I know, and English society is all wrong. That is the reason why I want you to be fine. You have not been fine. One has a right to judge of a man by the effect he has over his friends. Yours seem to lose all sense of honour, of goodness, of purity. You have filled them with a madness for pleasure. They have gone down into the depths. You led them there. Yes: you led them there, and yet you can smile, as you are smiling now. And there is worse behind. I know you and Harry are inseparable. Surely for that reason, if for none other, you should not have made his sisterâs name a by-word.â âTake care, Basil. You go too far.â âI must speak, and you must listen. You shall listen. When you met Lady Gwendolen, not a breath of scandal had ever touched her. Is there a single decent woman in London now who would drive with her in the park? Why, even her children are not allowed to live with her. Then there are other storiesâstories that you have been seen creeping at dawn out of dreadful houses and slinking in disguise into the foulest dens in London. Are they true? Can they be true? When I first heard them, I laughed. I hear them now, and they make me shudder. What about your country-house and the life that is led there? Dorian, you donât know what is said about you. I wonât tell you that I donât want to preach to you. I remember Harry saying once that every man who turned himself into an amateur curate for the moment always began by saying that, and then proceeded to break his word. I do want to preach to you. I want you to lead such a life as will make the world respect you. I want you to have a clean name and a fair record. I want you to get rid of the dreadful people you associate with. Donât shrug your shoulders like that. Donât be so indifferent. You have a wonderful influence. Let it be for good, not for evil. They say that you corrupt every one with whom you become intimate, and that it is quite sufficient for you to enter a house for shame of some kind to follow after. I donât know whether it is so or not. How should I know? But it is said of you. I am told things that it seems impossible to doubt. Lord Gloucester was one of my greatest friends at Oxford. He showed me a letter that his wife had written to him when she was dying alone in her villa at Mentone. Your name was implicated in the most terrible confession I ever read. I told him that it was absurdâthat I knew you thoroughly and that you were incapable of anything of the kind. Know you? I wonder do I know you? Before I could answer that, I should have to see your soul.â âTo see my soul!â muttered Dorian Gray, starting up from the sofa and turning almost white from fear. âYes,â answered Hallward gravely, and with deep-toned sorrow in his voice, âto see your soul. But only God can do that.â A bitter laugh of mockery broke from the lips of the younger man. âYou shall see it yourself, to-night!â he cried, seizing a lamp from the table. âCome: it is your own handiwork. Why shouldnât you look at it? You can tell the world all about it afterwards, if you choose. Nobody would believe you. If they did believe you, they would like me all the better for it. I know the age better than you do, though you will prate about it so tediously. Come, I tell you. You have chattered enough about corruption. Now you shall look on it face to face.â There was the madness of pride in every word he uttered. He stamped his foot upon the ground in his boyish insolent manner. He felt a terrible joy at the thought that some one else was to share his secret, and that the man who had painted the portrait that was the origin of all his shame was to be burdened for the rest of his life with the hideous memory of what he had done. âYes,â he continued, coming closer to him and looking steadfastly into his stern eyes, âI shall show you my soul. You shall see the thing that you fancy only God can see.â Hallward started back. âThis is blasphemy, Dorian!â he cried. âYou must not say things like that. They are horrible, and they donât mean anything.â At times, our affiliate partners reach out to the Editors at USA Insider News with special opportunities for our readers. The message above is one we think you should take a close, serious look at. [divider] [divider] [divider] Email is compliments of Finance and Investing Traffic, LLC, owner and operator of USA Insider News. 11780 US Highway 1
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