For most,it would be as simple as finding the right paper and embellishments tomake their scrapbook uniquely theirs; for a few, it would take someextr... magic. Diane was looking forward to providing that magic.She had only been open a few minutes?her coffee maker had just finishedits daily work and she hadn't had a chance to pour a cup--when her firstcustomer walked through the front door. Sheila Stone looked to be aboutDiane's age. She was well-dressed, in a white winter coat with largeblack. Certainly an Englishman, it was more doubtful whether Phileas Fogg was a Londoner. He was never seen on 'Change, nor at the Bank, nor in the counting-rooms of the "City"; no ships ever came into London docks of which he was the owner; he had no public employment; he had never been entered at any of the Inns of Court, either at the Temple, or Lincoln's Inn, or Gray's Inn; nor had his voice ever resounded in the Court of Chancery, or in the Exchequer, or the Queen's Bench, or the Ecclesiastical. He was depressed, and I bet he's been depressed all day." He did seem a little down when I delivered his pizza for dinner last night," Cindy replied as she thought of how he looked."I bet you a fifty, his mom had been yelling at him," Mike said as he caressed her hair."Yes," Cindy said as she remembered the yelling as she was going to knock. "I heard her calling him names just as I knocked on the door." Then she was murdered, and now he thinks that no one is there for him. Well, we will prove. The realization of his blown cover hit him full force and resignation entered his voice. His eyes remained closed as he spoke.“What do you want?”“Look at me.”Francis' hand slid from his face, his gaze returning to the unveiled nun. His forlorn expression oozed defeat and concession.“I want my life back, FUCKER! I want to feel good again! That's priority one and you're going to help me with it right now.”Jessica reached down and pulled her habit up the length of her body. The thick, black.
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