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% This file is public domain.
%
% Test double columns with headlines, single-column material, and a
% \topinsert.
\ifx\undefined\eplain \input eplain \fi
%\catcode`@=11
%\input gcol
%\catcode`@=12

\gutter = 1pc
\hyphenation{pour-ed}

\headline = {This is the headline \hfil}

{\center
   A test file for eplain
   Karl\footnote\dag{Credit in a footnote. Longer than one column. %
   Longer longer longer.}
}

\topinsert
This should appear at the top of the page, since it's a topinsert. It's
also longer than one column.
\endinsert

Here is a six-and-a-half-inch long rule.

\hrule width 6.5in

\doublecolumns

Here the main document starts. It should be in double columns until
further notice.  It's all one paragraph. I am going to use Wuthering
Heights, as usual. With that concluding word, the whole assembly,
exalting their pilgrim's staves, rushed round me in a body; and I,
having no weapon to raise in self-defence, commenced grappling with
Joseph, my nearest and most ferocious assailant, for his. In the
confluence of the multitude several clubs crossed; blows aimed at me
fell on other sconces. Presently the whole chapel resounded with
rappings and counter-rappings. Every man's hand was against his
neighbour; and Branderham, unwilling to remain idle, pour\-ed forth his
zeal in a shower of loud taps on the boards of the pulpit, which
responded so smartly that at last, to my unspeakable relief, they woke
me. And what was it that had suggested the tremendous tumult? What had
played Jabes's part in the row?  Merely the branch of a fir-tree that
touched my lattice, as the blast wailed by, and rattled its dry cones
against the panes! I listened doubtingly an instant, detected the
disturber, then turned and dozed, and dreamt again---if possible, still
more disagreeably than before.  This time I remembered I was lying in
the oak closet, and I heard distinctly the gusty wind and the driving of
the snow. I heard also the fir-bough repeat its teasing sound, and
ascribed it to the right cause.  But it annoyed me so much that I
resolved to silence it, if possible; and I thought I rose and
endeavoured to unhasp the casement. The hook was soldered into the
staple---a circumstance observed by me when awake, but forgotten. ``I
must stop it, nevertheless!'' I muttered, knocking my knuckles through
the glass, and stretching an arm out to seize the importunate branch;
instead of which, my fingers closed on the fingers of a little, icecold
hand!

The intense horror of nightmare came over me.  I tried to draw
back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice
sobbed, ``Let me in---let me in!'' ``Who are you?'' I asked, struggling,
meanwhile, to disengage myself. ``Catherine Linton,'' it replied
shiveringly. (Why did I think of Linton? I had read Earnshaw twenty
times for Linton.) ``I'm come home. I'd lost my way on the moor.''  As
it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child's face looking through the
window. Terror made me cruel; and finding it useless to attempt shaking
the creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane, and rubbed
it to and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes. Still
it wailed, ``Let me in!'' and maintained its tenacious gripe, almost
maddening me with fear. ``How can I?''  I said at length. ``Let me go,
if you want me to let you in!''

With that concluding word, the whole assembly,
exalting their pilgrim's staves, rushed round me in a body; and I,
having no weapon to raise in self-defence, commenced grappling with
Joseph, my nearest and most ferocious assailant, for his. In the
confluence of the multitude several clubs crossed; blows aimed at me
fell on other sconces. Presently the whole chapel resounded with
rappings and counter-rappings. Every man's hand was against his
neighbour; and Branderham, unwilling to remain idle, pour\-ed forth his
zeal in a shower of loud taps on the boards of the pulpit, which
responded so smartly that at last, to my unspeakable relief, they woke
me. And what was it that had suggested the tremendous tumult? What had
played Jabes's part in the row?  Merely the branch of a fir-tree that
touched my lattice, as the blast wailed by, and rattled its dry cones
against the panes! I listened doubtingly an instant, detected the
disturber, then turned and dozed, and dreamt again---if possible, still
more disagreeably than before.  This time I remembered I was lying in
the oak closet, and I heard distinctly the gusty wind and the driving of
the snow. I heard also the fir-bough repeat its teasing sound, and
ascribed it to the right cause.  But it annoyed me so much that I
resolved to silence it, if possible; and I thought I rose and
endeavoured to unhasp the casement. The hook was soldered into the
staple---a circumstance observed by me when awake, but forgotten. ``I
must stop it, nevertheless!'' I muttered, knocking my knuckles through
the glass, and stretching an arm out to seize the importunate branch;
instead of which, my fingers closed on the fingers of a little, icecold
hand!

The intense horror of nightmare came over me.  I tried to draw
back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice
sobbed, ``Let me in---let me in!'' ``Who are you?'' I asked, struggling,
meanwhile, to disengage myself. ``Catherine Linton,'' it replied
shiveringly. (Why did I think of Linton? I had read Earnshaw twenty
times for Linton.) ``I'm come home. I'd lost my way on the moor.''  As
it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child's face looking through the
window. Terror made me cruel; and finding it useless to attempt shaking
the creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane, and rubbed
it to and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes. Still
it wailed, ``Let me in!'' and maintained its tenacious gripe, almost
maddening me with fear. ``How can I?''  I said at length. ``Let me go,
if you want me to let you in!''

With that concluding word, the whole assembly,
exalting their pilgrim's staves, rushed round me in a body; and I,
having no weapon to raise in self-defence, commenced grappling with
Joseph, my nearest and most ferocious assailant, for his. In the
confluence of the multitude several clubs crossed; blows aimed at me
fell on other sconces. Presently the whole chapel resounded with
rappings and counter-rappings. Every man's hand was against his
neighbour; and Branderham, unwilling to remain idle, re forth his
zeal in a shower of loud taps on the boards of the pulpit, which
responded so smartly that at last, to my unspeakable relief, they woke
me. And what was it that had suggested the tremendous tumult? What had
played Jabes's part in the row?  Merely the branch of a fir-tree that
touched my lattice, as the blast wailed by, and rattled its dry cones
against the panes! I listened doubtingly an instant, detected the
disturber, then turned and dozed, and dreamt again---if possible, still
more disagreeably than before.  This time I remembered I was lying in
the oak closet, and I heard distinctly the gusty wind and the driving of
the snow. I heard also the fir-bough repeat its teasing sound, and
ascribed it to the right cause.  But it annoyed me so much that I
resolved to silence it, if possible; and I thought I rose and
endeavoured to unhasp the casement. The hook was soldered into the
staple---a circumstance observed by me when awake, but forgotten. ``I
must stop it, nevertheless!'' I muttered, knocking my knuckles through
the glass, and stretching an arm out to seize the importunate branch;
instead of which, my fingers closed on the fingers of a little, icecold
hand!

The intense horror of nightmare came over me.  I tried to draw
back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice
sobbed, ``Let me in---let me in!'' ``Who are you?'' I asked, struggling,
meanwhile, to disengage myself. ``Catherine Linton,'' it replied
shiveringly. (Why did I think of Linton? I had read Earnshaw twenty
times for Linton.) ``I'm come home. I'd lost my way on the moor.''  As
it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child's face looking through the
window. Terror made me cruel; and finding it useless to attempt shaking
the creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane, and rubbed
it to and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes. Still
it wailed, ``Let me in!'' and maintained its tenacious gripe, almost
maddening me with fear. ``How can I?''  I said at length. ``Let me go,
if you want me to let you in!''

With that concluding word, the whole assembly,
exalting their pilgrim's staves, rushed round me in a body; and I,
having no weapon to raise in self-defence, commenced grappling with
Joseph, my nearest and most ferocious assailant, for his. In the
confluence of the multitude several clubs crossed; blows aimed at me
fell on other sconces. Presently the whole chapel resounded with
rappings and counter-rappings. Every man's hand was against his
neighbour; and Branderham, unwilling to remain idle, re forth his
zeal in a shower of loud taps on the boards of the pulpit, which
responded so smartly that at last, to my unspeakable relief, they woke
me. And what was it that had suggested the tremendous tumult? What had
played Jabes's part in the row?  Merely the branch of a fir-tree that
touched my lattice, as the blast wailed by, and rattled its dry cones
against the panes! I listened doubtingly an instant, detected the
disturber, then turned and dozed, and dreamt again---if possible, still
more disagreeably than before.  This time I remembered I was lying in
the oak closet, and I heard distinctly the gusty wind and the driving of
the snow. I heard also the fir-bough repeat its teasing sound, and
ascribed it to the right cause.  But it annoyed me so much that I
resolved to silence it, if possible; and I thought I rose and
endeavoured to unhasp the casement. The hook was soldered into the
staple---a circumstance observed by me when awake, but forgotten. ``I
must stop it, nevertheless!'' I muttered, knocking my knuckles through
the glass, and stretching an arm out to seize the importunate branch;
instead of which, my fingers closed on the fingers of a little, icecold
hand!

The intense horror of nightmare came over me.  I tried to draw
back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice
sobbed, ``Let me in---let me in!'' ``Who are you?'' I asked, struggling,
meanwhile, to disengage myself. ``Catherine Linton,'' it replied
shiveringly. (Why did I think of Linton? I had read Earnshaw twenty
times for Linton.) ``I'm come home. I'd lost my way on the moor.''  As
it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child's face looking through the
window. Terror made me cruel; and finding it useless to attempt shaking
the creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane, and rubbed
it to and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes. Still
it wailed, ``Let me in!'' and maintained its tenacious gripe, almost
maddening me with fear. ``How can I?''  I said at length. ``Let me go,
if you want me to let you in!''

\singlecolumn
Now we should be typesetting in a single column, i.e., normally.  The
fingers relaxed; I snatched mine through the hole, hurriedly piled the
books up in a pyramid against it, and stopped my ears to exclude the
lamentable prayer. I seemed to keep them closed above a quarter of an
hour; yet the instant I listened again, there was the doleful cry
moaning on! ``Begone!'' I shouted; ``I'll never let you in---not if you
beg for twenty years.'' ``It is twenty years,'' mourned the
voice---``twenty years.  I've been a waif for twenty years!''  Thereat
began a feeble scratching outside, and the pile of books moved as if
thrust forward. I tried to jump up, but could not stir a limb, and so
yelled aloud in a frenzy of fright. To my confusion, I discovered the
yell was not ideal. Hasty footsteps approached my chamber door; somebody
pushed it open with a vigorous hand, and a light glimmered through the
squares at the top of the bed. I sat shuddering yet, and wiping the
perspiration from my forehead. The intruder appeared to hesitate, and
muttered to himself. At last he said in a half-whisper, plainly not
expecting an answer, ``Is any one here?''  I considered it best to
confess my presence, for I knew Heathcliff's accents, and feared he
might search further if I kept quiet. With this intention I turned and
opened the panels. I shall not soon forget the effect my action
produced.  Heathcliff stood near the entrance, in his shirt and
trousers, with a candle dripping over his fingers, and his face as white
as the wall behind him. The first creak of the oak startled him like an
electric shock. The light leaped from his hold to a distance of some
feet, and his agitation was so extreme that he could hardly pick it up.
``It is only your guest, sir,'' I called out, desirous to spare him the
humiliation of exposing his cowardice further.  ``I had the misfortune
to scream in my sleep, owing to a frightful nightmare. I'm sorry I
disturbed you.''
\end