@viewModel Web.ViewModels.DefaultViewModel, Web
@masterPage Views/Site.dotmaster
<dot:Content ContentPlaceHolderID="Body">
<div DataContext="{value: Wizard}">
<div class="container mt-3" IncludeInPage="{value: NavigationVisible}">
<div class="row">
<div class="col-md-2">
<bs:Button ButtonTagName="button" Click="{command: _root.OnPreviousClick()}" Enabled="{value: PreviousButtonEnabled}" IncludeInPage="{value: PreviousButtonVisible}" Type="Light">
Previous Button
</bs:Button>
</div>
<div class="col-md-8">
<div class="row">
<div class="col-md-3">
Step {{value: Step}} out of {{value: Total}}.
</div>
</div>
<div class="row">
<div class="col-md-12">
<bs:ProgressBar Color="Primary" VisualStyle="AnimatedStriped" Value="{value: Percentage}" />
</div>
</div>
<div class="row">
<div class="col-md-3">
{{value: Percentage.ToString("#.##")}}% Complete
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="col-md-2">
<bs:Button ButtonTagName="button" Click="{command: _root.OnNextClick()}" Enabled="{value: NextButtonEnabled}" IncludeInPage="{value: NextButtonVisible}" IsSubmitButton="true" Type="Primary">
Next Button
</bs:Button>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="container mt-3">
<div class="row">
<div class="offset-md-2 col-md-8">
<h5 class="text-muted">{{value: Title}}</h5>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="container mt-4">
<div class="row">
<div class="col-md-12">
<div IncludeInPage="{value: Wizard.Step == 1}">
<div DataContext="{value: First}">
<blockquote class="blockquote">
<p class="mb-0">
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of
wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was
the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of
Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had
everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct
to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period
was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities
insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative
degree of comparison only.
</p>
<footer class="blockquote-footer">Charles Dickens: <cite title="Source Title">A Tale of Two Cities</cite></footer>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<div IncludeInPage="{value: Wizard.Step == 2}">
<div DataContext="{value: Second}">
<blockquote class="blockquote">
<p class="mb-0">
Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or
no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought
I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way
I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I
find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly
November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before
coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and
especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a
strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street,
and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to get
to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a
philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the
ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men
in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings
towards the ocean with me.
</p>
<footer class="blockquote-footer">Herman Melville: <cite title="Source Title">Moby Dick</cite></footer>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<div IncludeInPage="{value: Wizard.Step == 3}">
<div DataContext="{value: Third}">
<blockquote class="blockquote">
<p class="mb-0">
No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that
this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than
man’s and yet as mortal as his own; that as men busied themselves about their
various concerns they were scrutinised and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly
as a man with a microscope might scrutinise the transient creatures that swarm
and multiply in a drop of water. With infinite complacency men went to and fro
over this globe about their little affairs, serene in their assurance of their
empire over matter. It is possible that the infusoria under the microscope do
the same. No one gave a thought to the older worlds of space as sources of
human danger, or thought of them only to dismiss the idea of life upon them as
impossible or improbable. It is curious to recall some of the mental habits of
those departed days. At most terrestrial men fancied there might be other men
upon Mars, perhaps inferior to themselves and ready to welcome a missionary
enterprise. Yet across the gulf of space, minds that are to our minds as ours
are to those of the beasts that perish, intellects vast and cool and
unsympathetic, regarded this earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely
drew their plans against us. And early in the twentieth century came the great
disillusionment.
</p>
<footer class="blockquote-footer">H.G. Wells: <cite title="Source Title">The War of the Worlds</cite></footer>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</dot:Content>