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  /ndk/sources/host-tools/make-3.81/tests/scripts/functions/
sort 17 ."bar2 = boy end, has rise A midnight \n"
43 $answer = "A boy captured_by days end, has jazz_and_a midnight moon_light rise\n"
44 ."A boy captured_by days end, has jazz_and_a midnight moon_light rise\n"
45 ."A boy captured_by days end, has jazz_and_a midnight moon_light rise\n";
  /external/clang/test/Preprocessor/
macro_paste_msextensions.c 21 nested(baz) rise of the dead tokens
  /external/chromium_org/third_party/icu/source/i18n/
astro.cpp 744 UDate CalendarAstronomer::getSunRiseSet(UBool rise)
752 setTime(noon + ((rise ? -6 : 6) * HOUR_MS));
753 U_DEBUG_ASTRO_MSG(("added %.2lf ms as a guess,\n", ((rise ? -6. : 6.) * HOUR_MS)));
757 rise,
768 // // Alternate Sun Rise/Set
776 // /*public*/ long getSunRiseSet2(boolean rise) {
841 // double ut = gstToUt(rise ? gstr : gsts);
842 // //System.out.println((rise?"rise=":"set=") + ut + ", delta_t=" + delta_t);
896 // // Alternate Sun Rise/Se
    [all...]
astro.h 545 UDate getSunRiseSet(UBool rise);
639 UDate getMoonRiseSet(UBool rise);
663 double riseOrSet(CoordFunc& func, UBool rise,
  /external/icu4c/i18n/
astro.cpp 749 UDate CalendarAstronomer::getSunRiseSet(UBool rise)
757 setTime(noon + ((rise ? -6 : 6) * HOUR_MS));
758 U_DEBUG_ASTRO_MSG(("added %.2lf ms as a guess,\n", ((rise ? -6. : 6.) * HOUR_MS)));
762 rise,
773 // // Alternate Sun Rise/Set
781 // /*public*/ long getSunRiseSet2(boolean rise) {
846 // double ut = gstToUt(rise ? gstr : gsts);
847 // //System.out.println((rise?"rise=":"set=") + ut + ", delta_t=" + delta_t);
901 // // Alternate Sun Rise/Se
    [all...]
astro.h 545 UDate getSunRiseSet(UBool rise);
639 UDate getMoonRiseSet(UBool rise);
663 double riseOrSet(CoordFunc& func, UBool rise,
  /external/chromium_org/third_party/harfbuzz-ng/src/
hb-ot-hhea-table.hh 75 * cursor (rise/run); 1 for vertical. */
  /external/harfbuzz_ng/src/
hb-ot-hhea-table.hh 75 * cursor (rise/run); 1 for vertical. */
  /external/chromium_org/chrome/browser/ui/cocoa/tabs/
tab_view.h 24 // alert glow to go through a full rise-hold-fall cycle to avoid flickering (or
  /external/libyuv/files/unit_test/
cpu_test.cc 58 // RiseRiseRise Rise Technology processor
  /external/chromium/chrome/browser/ui/cocoa/tabs/
tab_view.h 27 // alert glow to go through a full rise-hold-fall cycle to avoid flickering (or
  /external/chromium_org/third_party/freetype/include/freetype/
tttables.h 153 /* caret_Slope_Rise :: The rise coefficient of the cursor's */
154 /* slope of the cursor (slope=rise/run). */
274 /* caret_Slope_Rise :: The rise coefficient of the cursor's */
275 /* slope of the cursor (slope=rise/run). */
    [all...]
  /external/freetype/include/freetype/
tttables.h 153 /* caret_Slope_Rise :: The rise coefficient of the cursor's */
154 /* slope of the cursor (slope=rise/run). */
274 /* caret_Slope_Rise :: The rise coefficient of the cursor's */
275 /* slope of the cursor (slope=rise/run). */
    [all...]
  /external/iproute2/man/man8/
tc-red.8 61 conceivably rise above
  /external/llvm/include/llvm/MC/
MCFixup.h 74 /// The source location which gave rise to the fixup, if any.
  /external/chromium_org/third_party/icu/source/test/intltest/
astrotst.cpp 221 //-Rise and Set for the Sun for 2001
320 errln("FAIL: (rise) " + df_d->format(cal->getTime(status),s1) +
  /external/icu4c/test/intltest/
astrotst.cpp 221 //-Rise and Set for the Sun for 2001
320 errln("FAIL: (rise) " + df_d->format(cal->getTime(status),s1) +
  /external/chromium_org/courgette/third_party/
LICENCE 33 against the rise of a GPL-licensed competitor. While under existing
  /frameworks/base/docs/html/about/
index.jd 114 engagement across your apps and brand. As your apps rise in popularity, Google
  /external/jmonkeyengine/engine/src/core/com/jme3/input/
FlyByCamera.java 195 // keyboard only WASD for movement and WZ for rise/lower height
  /external/libvorbis/doc/vorbisenc/
overview.html 160 per second. If the bitrate would otherwise rise such that oversized
166 average period set by the reservoir; it may momentarily rise over if
  /external/chromium_org/third_party/WebKit/PerformanceTests/Layout/
chapter-reflow-once.html 17 <p><span>Germany girding for Armageddon was distinctly a disappointment. I entirely agreed with a portly dowager from the Middle West, who, between frettings about when she could get a train to the Dutch frontier, continually expressed her chagrin at such "a poor show." She imagined, like a good many of the rest of us, that mobilization in Germany would at the very least see the Supreme War Lord bolting madly up and down</span> <em class="italics">Unter den Linden</em><span>, plunging silver spurs into a foaming white charger and brandishing a glistening sword in martial gestures as Caruso does when he plays Radames in the finale of the second act of Aida. Verdi's Egyptian epic is the Kaiser's favorite opera, and he ought to have remembered, we thought, how a conquering hero should demean himself at such a blood-stirring hour. At least Berlin, we hoped, would rise to the occasion, and thunder and rock with the pomp and circumstance of war's alarums.</span></p>
25 <p><span>At the railway stations of Berlin and countless other German towns and cities at that hour heart-rending little tragedies were being enacted, as fathers, mothers, wives, sisters and sweethearts bade a long farewell to the beloved in gray. Only rarely did some man in uniform himself surrender to the emotions of the moment. These swarthy young Germans, with fifty or sixty pounds of impedimenta strapped round them, were endowed with Spartan stolidity now, and smilingly buoyed up the drooping spirits of the kith and kin they were leaving behind. "</span><em class="italics">Es wird schon gut, Mütterchen! Es wird schon gut!</em><span>" (It will be all right, mother dear! It will be all right!) Thus they returned comfort for tears.</span> <em class="italics">"Nicht unterliegen! Besser nicht zurückkehren!</em><span>" (Don't be beaten! Better not come back at all!) was the good-by greeting blown with the final kisses as many a trainload of embryonic heroes faded slowly from sight beneath the station's gaping archway. Germany was now indubitably convinced that its war was war in a holy cause. The time had come for the Fatherland to rise to the majesty of a great hour. "</span><em class="italics">Auf wiedersehen!</em><span>" sang the country to the army. But if there was to be no reunion, the army must go down fighting to the last gasp for</span> <em class="italics">unsere gerechte Sache</em><span>, manfully, tirelessly, ruthlessly, till victory was enforced. Such were the inspiring thoughts amid which the boys in field gray trooped off to die for Kaiser and Empire.</span></p>
59 <p><span>Doctor von Bethmann Hollweg, who is flattered when told that he looks like Abraham Lincoln--the resemblance ends there--began speaking at three-fifteen o'clock. Gaunt and fatigued, he tugged nervously at the portfolio of documents on the desk in front of him during the brief introductory remarks of the President of the House, the patriarchal, white-bearded Doctor Kaempf. The Chancellor's manner gave no indication that before he resumed his seat he would rise to heights of oratorical fire of which no one ever thought that "incarnation of passionate doctrinarianism" capable. What he said is known to all the world now; how, in Bismarckian accents, he thundered that "we are in a state of self-defense and necessity knows no law!" How he confessed that "our troops, which have already occupied Luxemburg, may perhaps already have set foot on Belgian territory." How he acknowledged, in a succeeding phrase, to Germany's eternal guilt, that "that violates international law." How he proclaimed the amazing doctrine that, confronted by such emergencies as Germany now was, she had but one duty--"to hack her way through, even though--I say it quite frankly--we are doing wrong!" Our heads, I think, fairly swam as the terrible portent of these words sank into our consciousness. "Our troops may perhaps already have set foot on Belgian soil." That meant one thing, with absolute certainty. It denoted war with England. Trifles have a habit at such moments of lodging themselves firmly in one's mind; and I remember distinctly how, when I heard Bethmann Hollweg fling that challenge forth, I leaned over impulsively to my Swedish friend, Siosteen, of the</span> <em class="italics">Goteborg Tidningen</em><span>, and whispered: "That settles it. England's in it now, too." Siosteen nods an excited assent. It is in the midst of one of the frequent intervals in which the House, floor and galleries alike, is now venting its impassioned approval of the Chancellor's words. I had heard Bülow and Bebel and Bethmann Hollweg himself, times innumerable, set the Reichstag rocking with fervid demonstrations of approval or hostility, but never has it throbbed with such life as to-day. It is the incarnation of the inflamed war spirit of the land. The more defiant the Chancellor's diction, the more fervid the applause it evokes. "</span><em class="italics">Sehr richtig! Sehr richtig!</em><span>" the House shrieks back at him in chorus as he details, step by step, how Germany has been "forced" to draw her terrible sword to beat back the "Russian mobilization menace," how she has tried and failed to bargain with England and Belgium, how she has kept the dogs of war chained to the last, and only released them now when destruction, imminent and certain, is upon her.</span></p>
chapter-reflow-thrice.html 17 <p><span>Germany girding for Armageddon was distinctly a disappointment. I entirely agreed with a portly dowager from the Middle West, who, between frettings about when she could get a train to the Dutch frontier, continually expressed her chagrin at such "a poor show." She imagined, like a good many of the rest of us, that mobilization in Germany would at the very least see the Supreme War Lord bolting madly up and down</span> <em class="italics">Unter den Linden</em><span>, plunging silver spurs into a foaming white charger and brandishing a glistening sword in martial gestures as Caruso does when he plays Radames in the finale of the second act of Aida. Verdi's Egyptian epic is the Kaiser's favorite opera, and he ought to have remembered, we thought, how a conquering hero should demean himself at such a blood-stirring hour. At least Berlin, we hoped, would rise to the occasion, and thunder and rock with the pomp and circumstance of war's alarums.</span></p>
25 <p><span>At the railway stations of Berlin and countless other German towns and cities at that hour heart-rending little tragedies were being enacted, as fathers, mothers, wives, sisters and sweethearts bade a long farewell to the beloved in gray. Only rarely did some man in uniform himself surrender to the emotions of the moment. These swarthy young Germans, with fifty or sixty pounds of impedimenta strapped round them, were endowed with Spartan stolidity now, and smilingly buoyed up the drooping spirits of the kith and kin they were leaving behind. "</span><em class="italics">Es wird schon gut, Mütterchen! Es wird schon gut!</em><span>" (It will be all right, mother dear! It will be all right!) Thus they returned comfort for tears.</span> <em class="italics">"Nicht unterliegen! Besser nicht zurückkehren!</em><span>" (Don't be beaten! Better not come back at all!) was the good-by greeting blown with the final kisses as many a trainload of embryonic heroes faded slowly from sight beneath the station's gaping archway. Germany was now indubitably convinced that its war was war in a holy cause. The time had come for the Fatherland to rise to the majesty of a great hour. "</span><em class="italics">Auf wiedersehen!</em><span>" sang the country to the army. But if there was to be no reunion, the army must go down fighting to the last gasp for</span> <em class="italics">unsere gerechte Sache</em><span>, manfully, tirelessly, ruthlessly, till victory was enforced. Such were the inspiring thoughts amid which the boys in field gray trooped off to die for Kaiser and Empire.</span></p>
59 <p><span>Doctor von Bethmann Hollweg, who is flattered when told that he looks like Abraham Lincoln--the resemblance ends there--began speaking at three-fifteen o'clock. Gaunt and fatigued, he tugged nervously at the portfolio of documents on the desk in front of him during the brief introductory remarks of the President of the House, the patriarchal, white-bearded Doctor Kaempf. The Chancellor's manner gave no indication that before he resumed his seat he would rise to heights of oratorical fire of which no one ever thought that "incarnation of passionate doctrinarianism" capable. What he said is known to all the world now; how, in Bismarckian accents, he thundered that "we are in a state of self-defense and necessity knows no law!" How he confessed that "our troops, which have already occupied Luxemburg, may perhaps already have set foot on Belgian territory." How he acknowledged, in a succeeding phrase, to Germany's eternal guilt, that "that violates international law." How he proclaimed the amazing doctrine that, confronted by such emergencies as Germany now was, she had but one duty--"to hack her way through, even though--I say it quite frankly--we are doing wrong!" Our heads, I think, fairly swam as the terrible portent of these words sank into our consciousness. "Our troops may perhaps already have set foot on Belgian soil." That meant one thing, with absolute certainty. It denoted war with England. Trifles have a habit at such moments of lodging themselves firmly in one's mind; and I remember distinctly how, when I heard Bethmann Hollweg fling that challenge forth, I leaned over impulsively to my Swedish friend, Siosteen, of the</span> <em class="italics">Goteborg Tidningen</em><span>, and whispered: "That settles it. England's in it now, too." Siosteen nods an excited assent. It is in the midst of one of the frequent intervals in which the House, floor and galleries alike, is now venting its impassioned approval of the Chancellor's words. I had heard Bülow and Bebel and Bethmann Hollweg himself, times innumerable, set the Reichstag rocking with fervid demonstrations of approval or hostility, but never has it throbbed with such life as to-day. It is the incarnation of the inflamed war spirit of the land. The more defiant the Chancellor's diction, the more fervid the applause it evokes. "</span><em class="italics">Sehr richtig! Sehr richtig!</em><span>" the House shrieks back at him in chorus as he details, step by step, how Germany has been "forced" to draw her terrible sword to beat back the "Russian mobilization menace," how she has tried and failed to bargain with England and Belgium, how she has kept the dogs of war chained to the last, and only released them now when destruction, imminent and certain, is upon her.</span></p>
chapter-reflow-twice.html 17 <p><span>Germany girding for Armageddon was distinctly a disappointment. I entirely agreed with a portly dowager from the Middle West, who, between frettings about when she could get a train to the Dutch frontier, continually expressed her chagrin at such "a poor show." She imagined, like a good many of the rest of us, that mobilization in Germany would at the very least see the Supreme War Lord bolting madly up and down</span> <em class="italics">Unter den Linden</em><span>, plunging silver spurs into a foaming white charger and brandishing a glistening sword in martial gestures as Caruso does when he plays Radames in the finale of the second act of Aida. Verdi's Egyptian epic is the Kaiser's favorite opera, and he ought to have remembered, we thought, how a conquering hero should demean himself at such a blood-stirring hour. At least Berlin, we hoped, would rise to the occasion, and thunder and rock with the pomp and circumstance of war's alarums.</span></p>
25 <p><span>At the railway stations of Berlin and countless other German towns and cities at that hour heart-rending little tragedies were being enacted, as fathers, mothers, wives, sisters and sweethearts bade a long farewell to the beloved in gray. Only rarely did some man in uniform himself surrender to the emotions of the moment. These swarthy young Germans, with fifty or sixty pounds of impedimenta strapped round them, were endowed with Spartan stolidity now, and smilingly buoyed up the drooping spirits of the kith and kin they were leaving behind. "</span><em class="italics">Es wird schon gut, Mütterchen! Es wird schon gut!</em><span>" (It will be all right, mother dear! It will be all right!) Thus they returned comfort for tears.</span> <em class="italics">"Nicht unterliegen! Besser nicht zurückkehren!</em><span>" (Don't be beaten! Better not come back at all!) was the good-by greeting blown with the final kisses as many a trainload of embryonic heroes faded slowly from sight beneath the station's gaping archway. Germany was now indubitably convinced that its war was war in a holy cause. The time had come for the Fatherland to rise to the majesty of a great hour. "</span><em class="italics">Auf wiedersehen!</em><span>" sang the country to the army. But if there was to be no reunion, the army must go down fighting to the last gasp for</span> <em class="italics">unsere gerechte Sache</em><span>, manfully, tirelessly, ruthlessly, till victory was enforced. Such were the inspiring thoughts amid which the boys in field gray trooped off to die for Kaiser and Empire.</span></p>
59 <p><span>Doctor von Bethmann Hollweg, who is flattered when told that he looks like Abraham Lincoln--the resemblance ends there--began speaking at three-fifteen o'clock. Gaunt and fatigued, he tugged nervously at the portfolio of documents on the desk in front of him during the brief introductory remarks of the President of the House, the patriarchal, white-bearded Doctor Kaempf. The Chancellor's manner gave no indication that before he resumed his seat he would rise to heights of oratorical fire of which no one ever thought that "incarnation of passionate doctrinarianism" capable. What he said is known to all the world now; how, in Bismarckian accents, he thundered that "we are in a state of self-defense and necessity knows no law!" How he confessed that "our troops, which have already occupied Luxemburg, may perhaps already have set foot on Belgian territory." How he acknowledged, in a succeeding phrase, to Germany's eternal guilt, that "that violates international law." How he proclaimed the amazing doctrine that, confronted by such emergencies as Germany now was, she had but one duty--"to hack her way through, even though--I say it quite frankly--we are doing wrong!" Our heads, I think, fairly swam as the terrible portent of these words sank into our consciousness. "Our troops may perhaps already have set foot on Belgian soil." That meant one thing, with absolute certainty. It denoted war with England. Trifles have a habit at such moments of lodging themselves firmly in one's mind; and I remember distinctly how, when I heard Bethmann Hollweg fling that challenge forth, I leaned over impulsively to my Swedish friend, Siosteen, of the</span> <em class="italics">Goteborg Tidningen</em><span>, and whispered: "That settles it. England's in it now, too." Siosteen nods an excited assent. It is in the midst of one of the frequent intervals in which the House, floor and galleries alike, is now venting its impassioned approval of the Chancellor's words. I had heard Bülow and Bebel and Bethmann Hollweg himself, times innumerable, set the Reichstag rocking with fervid demonstrations of approval or hostility, but never has it throbbed with such life as to-day. It is the incarnation of the inflamed war spirit of the land. The more defiant the Chancellor's diction, the more fervid the applause it evokes. "</span><em class="italics">Sehr richtig! Sehr richtig!</em><span>" the House shrieks back at him in chorus as he details, step by step, how Germany has been "forced" to draw her terrible sword to beat back the "Russian mobilization menace," how she has tried and failed to bargain with England and Belgium, how she has kept the dogs of war chained to the last, and only released them now when destruction, imminent and certain, is upon her.</span></p>
chapter-reflow.html 17 <p><span>Germany girding for Armageddon was distinctly a disappointment. I entirely agreed with a portly dowager from the Middle West, who, between frettings about when she could get a train to the Dutch frontier, continually expressed her chagrin at such "a poor show." She imagined, like a good many of the rest of us, that mobilization in Germany would at the very least see the Supreme War Lord bolting madly up and down</span> <em class="italics">Unter den Linden</em><span>, plunging silver spurs into a foaming white charger and brandishing a glistening sword in martial gestures as Caruso does when he plays Radames in the finale of the second act of Aida. Verdi's Egyptian epic is the Kaiser's favorite opera, and he ought to have remembered, we thought, how a conquering hero should demean himself at such a blood-stirring hour. At least Berlin, we hoped, would rise to the occasion, and thunder and rock with the pomp and circumstance of war's alarums.</span></p>
25 <p><span>At the railway stations of Berlin and countless other German towns and cities at that hour heart-rending little tragedies were being enacted, as fathers, mothers, wives, sisters and sweethearts bade a long farewell to the beloved in gray. Only rarely did some man in uniform himself surrender to the emotions of the moment. These swarthy young Germans, with fifty or sixty pounds of impedimenta strapped round them, were endowed with Spartan stolidity now, and smilingly buoyed up the drooping spirits of the kith and kin they were leaving behind. "</span><em class="italics">Es wird schon gut, Mütterchen! Es wird schon gut!</em><span>" (It will be all right, mother dear! It will be all right!) Thus they returned comfort for tears.</span> <em class="italics">"Nicht unterliegen! Besser nicht zurückkehren!</em><span>" (Don't be beaten! Better not come back at all!) was the good-by greeting blown with the final kisses as many a trainload of embryonic heroes faded slowly from sight beneath the station's gaping archway. Germany was now indubitably convinced that its war was war in a holy cause. The time had come for the Fatherland to rise to the majesty of a great hour. "</span><em class="italics">Auf wiedersehen!</em><span>" sang the country to the army. But if there was to be no reunion, the army must go down fighting to the last gasp for</span> <em class="italics">unsere gerechte Sache</em><span>, manfully, tirelessly, ruthlessly, till victory was enforced. Such were the inspiring thoughts amid which the boys in field gray trooped off to die for Kaiser and Empire.</span></p>
59 <p><span>Doctor von Bethmann Hollweg, who is flattered when told that he looks like Abraham Lincoln--the resemblance ends there--began speaking at three-fifteen o'clock. Gaunt and fatigued, he tugged nervously at the portfolio of documents on the desk in front of him during the brief introductory remarks of the President of the House, the patriarchal, white-bearded Doctor Kaempf. The Chancellor's manner gave no indication that before he resumed his seat he would rise to heights of oratorical fire of which no one ever thought that "incarnation of passionate doctrinarianism" capable. What he said is known to all the world now; how, in Bismarckian accents, he thundered that "we are in a state of self-defense and necessity knows no law!" How he confessed that "our troops, which have already occupied Luxemburg, may perhaps already have set foot on Belgian territory." How he acknowledged, in a succeeding phrase, to Germany's eternal guilt, that "that violates international law." How he proclaimed the amazing doctrine that, confronted by such emergencies as Germany now was, she had but one duty--"to hack her way through, even though--I say it quite frankly--we are doing wrong!" Our heads, I think, fairly swam as the terrible portent of these words sank into our consciousness. "Our troops may perhaps already have set foot on Belgian soil." That meant one thing, with absolute certainty. It denoted war with England. Trifles have a habit at such moments of lodging themselves firmly in one's mind; and I remember distinctly how, when I heard Bethmann Hollweg fling that challenge forth, I leaned over impulsively to my Swedish friend, Siosteen, of the</span> <em class="italics">Goteborg Tidningen</em><span>, and whispered: "That settles it. England's in it now, too." Siosteen nods an excited assent. It is in the midst of one of the frequent intervals in which the House, floor and galleries alike, is now venting its impassioned approval of the Chancellor's words. I had heard Bülow and Bebel and Bethmann Hollweg himself, times innumerable, set the Reichstag rocking with fervid demonstrations of approval or hostility, but never has it throbbed with such life as to-day. It is the incarnation of the inflamed war spirit of the land. The more defiant the Chancellor's diction, the more fervid the applause it evokes. "</span><em class="italics">Sehr richtig! Sehr richtig!</em><span>" the House shrieks back at him in chorus as he details, step by step, how Germany has been "forced" to draw her terrible sword to beat back the "Russian mobilization menace," how she has tried and failed to bargain with England and Belgium, how she has kept the dogs of war chained to the last, and only released them now when destruction, imminent and certain, is upon her.</span></p>

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