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Searched
refs:bowl
(Results
1 - 4
of
4
) sorted by null
/external/libxcam/modules/soft/
soft_stitcher.cpp
145
const BowlDataConfig &
bowl
);
244
const BowlDataConfig &
bowl
)
258
view_slice.width, view_slice.height,
bowl
);
429
BowlDataConfig
bowl
= _stitcher->get_bowl_config ();
local
430
bowl
.angle_start = view_slice.hori_angle_start;
431
bowl
.angle_end = format_angle (view_slice.hori_angle_start + view_slice.hori_angle_range);
437
if (
bowl
.angle_end <
bowl
.angle_start)
438
bowl
.angle_start -= 360.0f;
440
"soft-stitcher:%s camera(idx:%d) info (angle start:%.2f, range:%.2f),
bowl
info (angle start%.2f, end:%.2f)"
[
all
...]
/external/libxcam/tests/
test-soft-image.cpp
766
BowlDataConfig
bowl
;
local
767
bowl
.wall_height = 3000.0f;
768
bowl
.ground_length = 2000.0f;
769
//
bowl
.a = 5000.0f;
770
//
bowl
.b = 3600.0f;
771
//
bowl
.c = 3000.0f;
772
bowl
.angle_start = 0.0f;
773
bowl
.angle_end = 360.0f;
774
stitcher->set_bowl_config (
bowl
);
/prebuilts/go/darwin-x86/src/cmd/link/
link_test.go
16
Fog everywhere. Fog up the river, where it flows among green aits and meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping and the waterside pollutions of a great (and dirty) city. Fog on the Essex marshes, fog on the Kentish heights. Fog creeping into the cabooses of collier-brigs; fog lying out on the yards and hovering in the rigging of great ships; fog drooping on the gunwales of barges and small boats. Fog in the eyes and throats of ancient Greenwich pensioners, wheezing by the firesides of their wards; fog in the stem and
bowl
of the afternoon pipe of the wrathful skipper, down in his close cabin; fog cruelly pinching the toes and fingers of his shivering little ?prentice boy on deck. Chance people on the bridges peeping over the parapets into a nether sky of fog, with fog all round them, as if they were up in a balloon and hanging in the misty clouds.
/prebuilts/go/linux-x86/src/cmd/link/
link_test.go
16
Fog everywhere. Fog up the river, where it flows among green aits and meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping and the waterside pollutions of a great (and dirty) city. Fog on the Essex marshes, fog on the Kentish heights. Fog creeping into the cabooses of collier-brigs; fog lying out on the yards and hovering in the rigging of great ships; fog drooping on the gunwales of barges and small boats. Fog in the eyes and throats of ancient Greenwich pensioners, wheezing by the firesides of their wards; fog in the stem and
bowl
of the afternoon pipe of the wrathful skipper, down in his close cabin; fog cruelly pinching the toes and fingers of his shivering little ?prentice boy on deck. Chance people on the bridges peeping over the parapets into a nether sky of fog, with fog all round them, as if they were up in a balloon and hanging in the misty clouds.
Completed in 71 milliseconds