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Deep Learning with Python 1st Edition François Chollet
Digital Instant Download
Author(s): François Chollet
ISBN(s): 9781617294433, 1617294438
Edition: 1
File Details: PDF, 12.71 MB
Year: 2018
Language: english
Deep Learning with Python
François Chollet
Copyright
For online information and ordering of this and other Manning books,
please visit www.manning.com. The publisher offers discounts on this
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ISBN 9781617294433
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 – EBM – 22 21 20 19 18 17
Brief Table of Contents
Copyright
Brief Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Preface
Acknowledgments
About this Book
About the Author
About the Cover
Index
List of Figures
List of Tables
List of Listings
Table of Contents
Copyright
Brief Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Preface
Acknowledgments
About this Book
About the Author
About the Cover
Chapter 9. Conclusions
9.1. Key concepts in review
9.1.1. Various approaches to AI
9.1.2. What makes deep learning special within the
field of machine learning
9.1.3. How to think about deep learning
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Mrs. Geedge knew better because she had seen the French stamp
on the letter, but she meant to get to the bottom of this business, and
thus it was she said this.
“I’ve sent him back to his soldiering,” said Madeleine serenely. “He
has better things to do.”
§ 12
For some moments after the unceremonious departure of Captain
Douglas from the presence of Lord Moggeridge, it did not occur to
anyone, it did not occur even to Bealby, that the Captain had left his
witness behind him. The general and the Lord Chancellor moved into
the hall, and Bealby, under the sway of a swift compelling gesture
from Candler, followed modestly. The same current swept them all
out into the portico, and while the under-butler whistled up a
hansom for the General, the Lord Chancellor, with a dignity that was
at once polite and rapid, and Candler gravely protective and little
reproving, departed. Bealby, slowly apprehending their desertion,
regarded the world of London with perplexity and dismay. Candler
had gone. The last of the gentlemen was going. The under-butler,
Bealby felt, was no friend. Under-butlers never are.
Lord Chickney in the very act of entering his cab had his coat-tail
tugged. He looked enquiringly.
“Please, sir, there’s me,” said Bealby.
Lord Chickney reflected. “Well?” he said.
The spirit of Bealby was now greatly abased. His face and voice
betrayed him on the verge of tears. “I want to go ’ome to Shonts, sir.”
“Well, my boy, go ’ome—go home, I mean, to Shonts.”
“’E’s gone, sir,” said Bealby....
Lord Chickney was a good-hearted man, and he knew that a
certain public kindliness and disregard of appearances looks far
better and is infinitely more popular than a punctilious dignity. He
took Bealby to Waterloo in his hansom, got him a third class ticket to
Chelsome, tipped a porter to see him safely into his train and
dismissed him in the most fatherly manner.
§ 13
It was well after tea-time, Bealby felt, as he came once more within
the boundaries of the Shonts estate.
It was a wiser and a graver Bealby who returned from this week of
miscellaneous adventure. He did not clearly understand all that had
happened to him; in particular he was puzzled by the extreme
annoyance and sudden departure of Captain Douglas from the
presence of Lord Moggeridge; but his general impression was that he
had been in great peril of dire punishment and that he had been
rather hastily and ignominiously reprieved. The nice old gentleman
with the long grey moustaches had dismissed him to the train at last
with a quality of benediction. But Bealby understood now better than
he had done before that adventures do not always turn out well for
the boy hero, and that the social system has a number of dangerous
and disagreeable holes at the bottom. He had reached the beginnings
of wisdom. He was glad he had got away from the tramp and still
gladder that he had got away from Crayminster; he was sorry that he
would never see the beautiful lady again, and perplexed and
perplexed. And also he was interested in the probability of his
mother having toast for tea....
It must, he felt, be a long time after tea-time, quite late....
He had weighed the advisability of returning quietly to his
windowless bedroom under the stairs, putting on his little green
apron and emerging with a dutiful sang-froid as if nothing had
happened, on the one hand, or of going to the gardens on the other.
But tea—with eatables—seemed more probable at the gardens....
He was deflected from the direct route across the park by a long
deep trench, that someone had made and abandoned since the
previous Sunday morning. He wondered what it was for. It was
certainly very ugly. And as he came out by the trees and got the full
effect of the façade, he detected a strangely bandaged quality about
Shonts. It was as if Shonts had recently been in a fight and got a
black eye. Then he saw the reason for this; one tower was swathed in
scaffolding. He wondered what could have happened to the tower.
Then his own troubles resumed their sway.
He was so fortunate as not to meet his father in the gardens, and
he entered the house so meekly that his mother did not look up from
the cashmere she was sewing. She was sitting at the table sewing
some newly dyed black cashmere.
He was astonished at her extreme pallor and the drooping
resignation of her pose.
“Mother!” he said, and she looked up convulsively and stared,
stared with bright round astonished eyes.
“I’m sorry, mother, I’aven’t been quite a good steward’s-room boy,
mother. If I could ’ave another go, mother....”
He halted for a moment, astonished that she said nothing, but only
sat with that strange expression and opened and shut her mouth.
“Reely—I’d try, mother....”
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