PromptHero Discord Server

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Join the PromptHero Discord server for a creative, supportive community of AI artists, journalists, novelists, and entrepreneurs. Invite link and 13.4k members waiting to help!

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Short link: discord.ly/prompthero-1026222136790110259

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PromptHero Discord Server Described

: Official Server for prompthero.com, a space to share AI art, prompts, ideas, resources, & prompt engineering techniques

PromptHero Official Server

Welcome to the official server for PromptHero.com, a space dedicated to discussing Artificial Intelligence (AI) art, talking about creative prompts and ideas, sharing resources, and learning about different PromptEngineering techniques!

We have something to offer everyone here - whether you��re an AI artist, journalist, novelist, or creative entrepreneur, this is the perfect platform to exchange ideas, ask questions, and get help when you��re stuck! Our helpful members have a wealth of information they��re eager to share, and we��re always looking to welcome new members. So come join us and start sharing your work and your wisdom!

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��He says for me to shove my crate in the hangar, stay here, get your parents to let you make a visit and Larry learn flying and so on, but if I put my crate in that hangar��it haunted and now the jinxed seaplane to come in��any instruction I give will be at your own risk.�� The man who struck him was bayoneted by Abel Waite, who was dancing around the edges of the melee like a malignant little fiend, prodding wherever he could get a chance at a rebel body. The Irishmen, yelling like demons, were using their guns like shilelahs, and crushing heads in every direction, while Wat Burnham had thrown his musket aside, and was rushing at everybody with his mighty fists. "Bowersox?" said her father, catching the sound. "Why, that's the name o' the Lootenant Si and Shorty was under when they came home. Don't you remember they told us about him? I remember the name, for a man named Bowersox used to run a mill down on Bean-Blossom Crick, years ago, and I wondered if he was his son. He's sent me that dispatch, and signed his name. The Lord be praised for His never-endin' mercies. Si's alive, after all. Le' me read that over again." He sprang toward him, snatched the half-canteen from his hand, and threw its contents on the ground. "I don't know anything about the different cars, my friend," said the Quartermaster haughtily. "That's the business of the railroad people. I simply order them to make up the trains for me, and they do the rest. There's a Yard-Master over there. Go ask him." They advanced noiselessly over the crest of a ridge, and the squad, which gained a little on the rest, saw a rebel videt sitting on his horse in the road some 200 or 300 yards away. The guns of the nervous boys were up instantly, but Si restrained them with a motion of his hand. "Well, I thought��I��" He paused. "It's not the same thing." She had shut the door, and stood against it, a tall,[Pg 134] rather commanding figure, in spite of her snow-covered garments and dishevelled hair. She could still hear that call, muted, tender, wild��the voice of her youth and of her love, calling to her out of the velvet night, bidding her leave the house where the hearth was piled with ashes, and feel the rain and the south wind on her lips. There was no escape in sleep, for her dreams showed her that window framing a sky soft and dark as a grape, with the blackness of her lover's bulk against it, while the moon rose over his shoulder, red, like a fiery pan.... Their route was a lonely one. Scarcely a light was visible in the numerous dwellings they passed, and they reached the verge of the forest without encountering a single human being. They now walked along the high road, which, with a tract of uninclosed pasture-land stretching to the right, and a scanty neglected hedge skirting the left, had a wild and dreary aspect, which however might, perhaps, with more justice be attributed to the darkness and gloom of the night, than to any thing particularly cheerless in the road itself. They had proceeded about a dozen paces beyond a narrow lane, turning to the left, when Oakley, without assigning a reason, stepped back; and, as Holgrave turned to enquire the cause, he saw some men close behind him; and ere, in the surprise of the moment, he could raise his weapon to defend himself in case of need, a blow from a club felled him to the ground. The blow did not deprive him of consciousness, and now, convinced of treachery, he sprang on his feet determined not to yield with life. But it was not possible for one arm, even though that arm was nerved by an indomitable soul, to hold out long in so unequal a strife. It was in vain that he strove to attack or grapple with one��a host appeared to encompass him. Incessant blows from staves and clubs, although more annoying than really dangerous, wearied him out, and one, descending on his already swollen right hand, finally decided the contest. The arm dropped, and the weapon, that had as yet, in some measure, protected him, was easily wrested from his relaxed grasp; and the impotent fury of an almost frantic resistance availed but for a short space. He was gagged, bound hand and foot, and thrown into a cart that drew up for the purpose from the adjacent lane. "Calverley done all this!" said the baron in a tone of incredulity; but then, as the steward's persevering hostility to Holgrave flashed across his mind, it seemed to bring conviction. HoME �� ENTER NUMBET 0017
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