ad been staying,chanel, she discovered you had spirited him away."
"The people at that inn served us well and faithfully, Mother. If she harmed any of them ,http://www.australiachanelbags.com/. . . ." Moiraine could not keep the sharpness out of her voice, and she heard Leane shift. One did not speak to the Amyrlin Seat in that tone; not even a king on his throne did.
"You should know, Daughter," the Amyrlin said dryly, "that Elaida harms no one except those she considers dangerous. Darkfriends, or those poor fool men who try to channel the One Power. Or one who threatens Tar Valon. Everyone else who isn't Aes Sedai might as well be pieces on a stones board as far as she is concerned. Luckily for him, the innkeeper, one Master Gill as I remember, apparently thinks much of Aes Sedai, and so answered her questions to her satisfaction. Elaida actually spoke well of him. But she spoke more of the young man you took away with you. More dangerous than any man since Artur Hawkwing, she said. She has the Foretelling sometimes,montblanc ballpoint pen, you know, and her words carried weight with the Hall. "
For Leane's sake, Moiraine made her voice as meek as she could. That was not very meek, but it was the best she could do. "I have three young men with me, Mother, but none of them is a king, and I doubt very much if any of them even dreams of uniting the world under one ruler. No one has dreamed Artur Hawkwing's dream since the War of the Hundred Years. "
"Yes, Daughter. Village youths, so Lord Agelmar tells me. But one of them is ta'veren." The Amyrlin's eyes strayed to the flattened cube again.
"It was put forward in the Hall that you should be sent into retreat for contemplation. This was proposed by one of the Sitters for the Green Ajah, with the other two nodding approval as she spoke."
Leane made a sound of disgust, or perhaps frustration. She always kept in the background when the Amyrlin Seat spoke, but Moiraine could understand the small interruption this time,http://www.cheapfoampositesone.us/. The Green Ajah had been allied with the Blue for a thousand years; since Artur Hawkwing's time, they had all bu
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
钃濊壊绱綏鍏_Violets Are Blue_172
ed him. He was better than all of you!’ Then he charged - and I couldn’t bring myself to shoot. Michael Alexander was insane; he wasn’t responsible anymore. He kept growling, frothing at the mouth. His eyes were wild, rolling in their sockets. Every muscle on his body was tightly flexed. I couldn’t kill this tortured man-child. I braced myself to tackle him,fake chanel bags. I hoped I could bring him down.
Then Kyle fired - once.
The shot struck him where his nose had been just an instant before. A dark, bloody hole appeared at the center of his face. There was no surprise or shock, just sudden obliteration. Then he crumpled to the ground. There was no doubt he was dead.
I had been wrong about Kyle - he could shoot. He was an expert, full of surprises. I needed to think about that, but not right now,montblanc pen. Suddenly, I heard another voice,nike foamposites. It was coming from inside the pickup. Someone was trapped. William? Was the brother alive,nike heels? I approached the overturned vehicle slowly, gun in hand. The engine was still smoking. I was afraid the truck might blow. I climbed onto the teetering wreck and managed to pull open a bent, badly damaged door. I saw William - shot to death, his face a sorry, bloody mask.
Then I found myself staring into the angriest, most arrogant eyes. I recognized them immediately. It was almost impossible to shock me anymore, but this was another jolt.’So you’re the one,’I said. ‘You killed them, and you will be killed,’a voice threatened.’You’ll die. You will die. Cross!’
I was looking at Peter Westin, the vampire expert I’d met weeks before in Santa Barbara. He was cut-up, injured and bleeding. But he was in total control, even with my gun aimed at his face. He was cool and superior, so confident. I remembered sitting across from him at the Davidson Library up in Santa Barbara. He had told me he was a real vampire. I guess I believed him now.
I finally found the right words.’You’re the Sire.’
Chapter 92
I tried a couple of sessions with the creepy and surreal Peter Westin that nig
Then Kyle fired - once.
The shot struck him where his nose had been just an instant before. A dark, bloody hole appeared at the center of his face. There was no surprise or shock, just sudden obliteration. Then he crumpled to the ground. There was no doubt he was dead.
I had been wrong about Kyle - he could shoot. He was an expert, full of surprises. I needed to think about that, but not right now,montblanc pen. Suddenly, I heard another voice,nike foamposites. It was coming from inside the pickup. Someone was trapped. William? Was the brother alive,nike heels? I approached the overturned vehicle slowly, gun in hand. The engine was still smoking. I was afraid the truck might blow. I climbed onto the teetering wreck and managed to pull open a bent, badly damaged door. I saw William - shot to death, his face a sorry, bloody mask.
Then I found myself staring into the angriest, most arrogant eyes. I recognized them immediately. It was almost impossible to shock me anymore, but this was another jolt.’So you’re the one,’I said. ‘You killed them, and you will be killed,’a voice threatened.’You’ll die. You will die. Cross!’
I was looking at Peter Westin, the vampire expert I’d met weeks before in Santa Barbara. He was cut-up, injured and bleeding. But he was in total control, even with my gun aimed at his face. He was cool and superior, so confident. I remembered sitting across from him at the Davidson Library up in Santa Barbara. He had told me he was a real vampire. I guess I believed him now.
I finally found the right words.’You’re the Sire.’
Chapter 92
I tried a couple of sessions with the creepy and surreal Peter Westin that nig
The Subtle Knife濂ョ鍖曢_164
come to the ground, nor can the others. The place is full of Specters—a hundred or more surrounding the building,cheap foamposites, and more drifting up over the grass. Can't you see them?"
"No! We can't see 'em at all!"
"Already we've lost one witch. We can't risk any more. Can you get down from this building?"
"If we jump off the roof like they done. But how did you find us? And where—"
"Enough now. There's more trouble coming, and bigger. Get down as best you can and then make for the trees."
They climbed over the sill and moved sideways down through the broken tiles to the gutter,http://www.australiachanelbags.com/. It wasn't high, and below it was grass, with a gentle slope away from the building. First Lyra jumped and then Will followed, rolling over and trying to protect his hand, which was bleeding freely again and hurting badly. His sling had come loose and trailed behind him, and as he tried to roll it up, the snow goose landed on the grass at his side.
"Lyra, who is this?" Kaisa said.
"It's Will. He's coming with us—"
"Why are the Specters avoiding you?" The goose daemon was speaking directly to Will.
By this time Will was hardly surprised by anything, and he said, "I don't know. We can't see them. No, wait!" And he stood up, struck by a thought. "Where are they now?" he said. "Where's the nearest one?"
"Ten paces away, down the slope,nike heels," said the daemon. "They don't want to come any closer, that's obvious."
Will took out the knife and looked in that direction, and he heard the daemon hiss with surprise.
But Will couldn't do what he intended, because at the same moment a witch landed her branch on the grass beside him. He was taken aback not so much by her flying as by her astounding gracefulness, the fierce, cold, lovely clarity of her gaze, and by the pale bare limbs, so youthful, and yet so far from being young.
"Your name is Will?" she said.
"Yes, but—"
"Why are the Specters afraid of you?"
"Because of the knife. Where's the nearest one,montblanc ballpoint pen? Tell me! I want to kill it!"
But Lyra came running before the witch could answer.
"Serafina
"No! We can't see 'em at all!"
"Already we've lost one witch. We can't risk any more. Can you get down from this building?"
"If we jump off the roof like they done. But how did you find us? And where—"
"Enough now. There's more trouble coming, and bigger. Get down as best you can and then make for the trees."
They climbed over the sill and moved sideways down through the broken tiles to the gutter,http://www.australiachanelbags.com/. It wasn't high, and below it was grass, with a gentle slope away from the building. First Lyra jumped and then Will followed, rolling over and trying to protect his hand, which was bleeding freely again and hurting badly. His sling had come loose and trailed behind him, and as he tried to roll it up, the snow goose landed on the grass at his side.
"Lyra, who is this?" Kaisa said.
"It's Will. He's coming with us—"
"Why are the Specters avoiding you?" The goose daemon was speaking directly to Will.
By this time Will was hardly surprised by anything, and he said, "I don't know. We can't see them. No, wait!" And he stood up, struck by a thought. "Where are they now?" he said. "Where's the nearest one?"
"Ten paces away, down the slope,nike heels," said the daemon. "They don't want to come any closer, that's obvious."
Will took out the knife and looked in that direction, and he heard the daemon hiss with surprise.
But Will couldn't do what he intended, because at the same moment a witch landed her branch on the grass beside him. He was taken aback not so much by her flying as by her astounding gracefulness, the fierce, cold, lovely clarity of her gaze, and by the pale bare limbs, so youthful, and yet so far from being young.
"Your name is Will?" she said.
"Yes, but—"
"Why are the Specters afraid of you?"
"Because of the knife. Where's the nearest one,montblanc ballpoint pen? Tell me! I want to kill it!"
But Lyra came running before the witch could answer.
"Serafina
Monday, December 17, 2012
The Duke Ching of Ch’i had a thousand teams
The Duke Ching of Ch’i had a thousand teams, each of four horses, but on the day of his death, the people did not praise him for a single virtue. Po-i and Shu-ch’i died of hunger at the foot of the Shau-yang mountains, and the people, down to the present time, praise them.
“Is not that saying illustrated by this?”
Ch’an K’ang asked Po-yu, saying, “Have you heard any lessons from your father different from what we have all heard?”
Po-yu replied, “No. He was standing alone once, when I passed below the hall with hasty steps, and said to me, ‘Have you learned the Odes,foamposite for cheap?’ On my replying ‘Not yet,’ he added, If you do not learn the Odes, you will not be fit to converse with.’ I retired and studied the Odes.
“Another day, he was in the same way standing alone,rolex submariner replica, when I passed by below the hall with hasty steps, and said to me, ‘Have you learned the rules of Propriety?’ On my replying ‘Not yet,’ he added, ‘If you do not learn the rules of Propriety, your character cannot be established.’ I then retired, and learned the rules of Propriety.
“I have heard only these two things from him.”
Ch’ang K’ang retired, and, quite delighted, said, “I asked one thing, and I have got three things. I have heard about the Odes. I have heard about the rules of Propriety. I have also heard that the superior man maintains a distant reserve towards his son.”
The wife of the prince of a state is called by him Fu Zan. She calls herself Hsiao T’ung. The people of the state call her Chun Fu Zan, and, to the people of other states, they call her K’wa Hsiao Chun. The people of other states also call her Chun Fu Zan.
Chapter 17
Yang Ho wished to see Confucius, but Confucius would not go to see him,cheap adidas shoes for sale. On this, he sent a present of a pig to Confucius, who, having chosen a time when Ho was not at home went to pay his respects for the gift. He met him, however, on the way.
Ho said to Confucius, “Come, let me speak with you.” He then asked, “Can he be called benevolent who keeps his jewel in his bosom, and leaves his country to confusion?” Confucius replied, “No.” “Can he be called wise, who is anxious to be engaged in public employment, and yet is constantly losing the opportunity of being so?” Confucius again said, “No.” “The days and months are passing away; the years do not wait for us.” Confucius said, “Right; I will go into office.”
The Master said,HOMEPAGE, “By nature, men are nearly alike; by practice, they get to be wide apart.”
The Master said, “There are only the wise of the highest class, and the stupid of the lowest class, who cannot be changed.”
The Master, having come to Wu-ch’ang, heard there the sound of stringed instruments and singing.
Well pleased and smiling, he said, “Why use an ox knife to kill a fowl?”
Tsze-yu replied, “Formerly, Master, I heard you say,-’When the man of high station is well instructed, he loves men; when the man of low station is well instructed, he is easily ruled.’”
The Master said, “My disciples, Yen’s words are right. What I said was only in sport.”
Kung-shan Fu-zao, when he was holding Pi, and in an attitude of rebellion, invited the Master to visit him, who was rather inclined to go.
“Is not that saying illustrated by this?”
Ch’an K’ang asked Po-yu, saying, “Have you heard any lessons from your father different from what we have all heard?”
Po-yu replied, “No. He was standing alone once, when I passed below the hall with hasty steps, and said to me, ‘Have you learned the Odes,foamposite for cheap?’ On my replying ‘Not yet,’ he added, If you do not learn the Odes, you will not be fit to converse with.’ I retired and studied the Odes.
“Another day, he was in the same way standing alone,rolex submariner replica, when I passed by below the hall with hasty steps, and said to me, ‘Have you learned the rules of Propriety?’ On my replying ‘Not yet,’ he added, ‘If you do not learn the rules of Propriety, your character cannot be established.’ I then retired, and learned the rules of Propriety.
“I have heard only these two things from him.”
Ch’ang K’ang retired, and, quite delighted, said, “I asked one thing, and I have got three things. I have heard about the Odes. I have heard about the rules of Propriety. I have also heard that the superior man maintains a distant reserve towards his son.”
The wife of the prince of a state is called by him Fu Zan. She calls herself Hsiao T’ung. The people of the state call her Chun Fu Zan, and, to the people of other states, they call her K’wa Hsiao Chun. The people of other states also call her Chun Fu Zan.
Chapter 17
Yang Ho wished to see Confucius, but Confucius would not go to see him,cheap adidas shoes for sale. On this, he sent a present of a pig to Confucius, who, having chosen a time when Ho was not at home went to pay his respects for the gift. He met him, however, on the way.
Ho said to Confucius, “Come, let me speak with you.” He then asked, “Can he be called benevolent who keeps his jewel in his bosom, and leaves his country to confusion?” Confucius replied, “No.” “Can he be called wise, who is anxious to be engaged in public employment, and yet is constantly losing the opportunity of being so?” Confucius again said, “No.” “The days and months are passing away; the years do not wait for us.” Confucius said, “Right; I will go into office.”
The Master said,HOMEPAGE, “By nature, men are nearly alike; by practice, they get to be wide apart.”
The Master said, “There are only the wise of the highest class, and the stupid of the lowest class, who cannot be changed.”
The Master, having come to Wu-ch’ang, heard there the sound of stringed instruments and singing.
Well pleased and smiling, he said, “Why use an ox knife to kill a fowl?”
Tsze-yu replied, “Formerly, Master, I heard you say,-’When the man of high station is well instructed, he loves men; when the man of low station is well instructed, he is easily ruled.’”
The Master said, “My disciples, Yen’s words are right. What I said was only in sport.”
Kung-shan Fu-zao, when he was holding Pi, and in an attitude of rebellion, invited the Master to visit him, who was rather inclined to go.
Soon the state people were making plans to take over all of my mother's children
Soon the state people were making plans to take over all of my mother's children. She talked to herselfnearly all of the time now, and there was a crowd of new white people entering the picture-alwaysasking questions. They would even visit me at the Gohannases',cheap jeremy scott adidas wings. They would ask me questions out onthe porch, or sitting out in their cars.
Eventually my mother suffered a complete breakdown, and the court orders were finally signed. Theytook her to the State Mental Hospital at Kalamazoo.
It was seventy-some miles from Lansing, about an hour and a half on the bus. A Judge McClellan inLansing had authority over me and all of my brothers and sisters,fake chanel bags. We were "state children," courtwards; he had the full say-so over us. A white man in charge of a black man's children! Nothing butlegal, modern slavery-however kindly intentioned.
My mother remained in the same hospital at Kalamazoo for about twenty-six years. Later, when I wasstill growing up in Michigan, I would go to visit her every so often. Nothing that I can imagine couldhave moved me as deeply as seeing her pitiful state. In 1963, we got my mother out of the hospital,and she now lives there in Lansing with Philbert and his family.
It was so much worse than if it had been a physical sickness, for which a cause might be known,medicine given, a cure effected. Every time I visited her, when finally they led her-a case, a number-back inside from where we had been sitting together, I felt worse.
My last visit, when I knew I would never come to see her again-there-was in 1952. I was twenty-seven.
My brother Philbert had told me that on his last visit, she had recognized him somewhat. "In spots," hesaid.
But she didn't recognize me at all.
She stared at me. She didn't know who I was.
Her mind, when I tried to talk, to reach her, was somewhere else. I asked, "Mama, do you know whatday it is?"She said, staring, "All the people have gone."I can't describe how I felt. The woman who had brought me into the world, and nursed me, andadvised me, and chastised me, and loved me, didn't know me. It was as if I was trying to walk up theside of a hill of feathers. I looked at her. I listened to her "talk." But there was nothing I could do.
I truly believe that if ever a state social agency destroyed a family,fake rolex watches, it destroyed ours. We wanted andtried to stay together. Our home didn't have to be destroyed. But the Welfare, the courts, and theirdoctor, gave us the one-two-three punch. And ours was not the only case of this kind.
I knew I wouldn't be back to see my mother again because it could make me a very vicious anddangerous person-knowing how they had looked at us as numbers and as a case in their book, not ashuman beings. And knowing that my mother in there was a statistic that didn't have to be, that existedbecause of a society's failure, hypocrisy, greed, and lack of mercy and compassion. Hence I have nomercy or compassion in me for a society that will crush people,replica chanel bags, and then penalize them for not beingable to stand up under the weight.
I have rarely talked to anyone about my mother, for I believe that I am capable of killing a person,without hesitation, who happened to make the wrong kind of remark about my mother. So Ipurposely don't make any opening for some fool to step into.
Eventually my mother suffered a complete breakdown, and the court orders were finally signed. Theytook her to the State Mental Hospital at Kalamazoo.
It was seventy-some miles from Lansing, about an hour and a half on the bus. A Judge McClellan inLansing had authority over me and all of my brothers and sisters,fake chanel bags. We were "state children," courtwards; he had the full say-so over us. A white man in charge of a black man's children! Nothing butlegal, modern slavery-however kindly intentioned.
My mother remained in the same hospital at Kalamazoo for about twenty-six years. Later, when I wasstill growing up in Michigan, I would go to visit her every so often. Nothing that I can imagine couldhave moved me as deeply as seeing her pitiful state. In 1963, we got my mother out of the hospital,and she now lives there in Lansing with Philbert and his family.
It was so much worse than if it had been a physical sickness, for which a cause might be known,medicine given, a cure effected. Every time I visited her, when finally they led her-a case, a number-back inside from where we had been sitting together, I felt worse.
My last visit, when I knew I would never come to see her again-there-was in 1952. I was twenty-seven.
My brother Philbert had told me that on his last visit, she had recognized him somewhat. "In spots," hesaid.
But she didn't recognize me at all.
She stared at me. She didn't know who I was.
Her mind, when I tried to talk, to reach her, was somewhere else. I asked, "Mama, do you know whatday it is?"She said, staring, "All the people have gone."I can't describe how I felt. The woman who had brought me into the world, and nursed me, andadvised me, and chastised me, and loved me, didn't know me. It was as if I was trying to walk up theside of a hill of feathers. I looked at her. I listened to her "talk." But there was nothing I could do.
I truly believe that if ever a state social agency destroyed a family,fake rolex watches, it destroyed ours. We wanted andtried to stay together. Our home didn't have to be destroyed. But the Welfare, the courts, and theirdoctor, gave us the one-two-three punch. And ours was not the only case of this kind.
I knew I wouldn't be back to see my mother again because it could make me a very vicious anddangerous person-knowing how they had looked at us as numbers and as a case in their book, not ashuman beings. And knowing that my mother in there was a statistic that didn't have to be, that existedbecause of a society's failure, hypocrisy, greed, and lack of mercy and compassion. Hence I have nomercy or compassion in me for a society that will crush people,replica chanel bags, and then penalize them for not beingable to stand up under the weight.
I have rarely talked to anyone about my mother, for I believe that I am capable of killing a person,without hesitation, who happened to make the wrong kind of remark about my mother. So Ipurposely don't make any opening for some fool to step into.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
By and large
By and large, the response of the congressional leaders of both parties to the missile strikes was positive, in large part because they had been well briefed and Secretary Cohen had assured his fellow Republicans that the attack and its timing were justified. Speaker Gingrich said, The United States did exactly the right thing today. Senator Lott said the attacks were appropriate and just. Tom Daschle, Dick Gephardt, and all the Democrats were supportive. Soon I was heartened by the arrest of Mohamed Rashed, an al Qaeda operative who was a suspect in the Kenyan embassy bombing.
Some people criticized me for hitting the chemical plant, which the Sudanese government insisted had nothing to do with the production or storage of dangerous chemicals. I still believe we did the right thing there. The CIA had soil samples taken at the plant site that contained the chemical used to produce VX. In a subsequent terrorist trial in New York City, one of the witnesses testified that bin Laden had a chemical weapons operation in Khartoum. Despite the plain evidence, some people in the media tried to push the possibility that the action was a real-life version of Wag the Dog, a movie in which a fictional President starts a made-for-TV war to distract public attention from his personal problems.
The American people had to absorb the news of the strike and my grand jury testimony at the same time. Newsweek ran an article reporting that the publics reaction to my testimony and television address about it was calm and measured. My job rating was 62 percent, with 73 percent supporting the missile strikes. Most people thought I had been dishonest in my personal life but remained credible on public issues. By contrast, Newsweek said, the first reaction of the pundit class was near hysteria. They were hitting me hard. I deserved a whipping, all right, but I was getting it at home, where it should have been administered.
For now, I just hoped that the Democrats wouldnt be pushed by the media pounding into calling for my resignation, and that I would be able to repair the breach I had caused with my family and with my staff, cabinet, and the people who had believed in me through all the years of constant attacks.
After the speech I went back to the Vineyard for ten days. There was not much thaw on the family front. I made my first public appearance since my grand jury testimony, traveling to Worcester, Massachusetts, at the invitation of Congressman Jim McGovern, to promote the Police Corps, an innovative program that provided college scholarships to people who committed to becoming law-enforcement officers. Worcester is an old-fashioned blue-collar city; I was somewhat apprehensive about the kind of reception I would get there, and was encouraged to find a large enthusiastic crowd at an event attended by the mayor, both senators, and four Massachusetts congressmen. Many people in the crowd urged me to keep doing my job; several said they had made mistakes in their lives, too, and were sorry that mine had been aired in public.
On August 28, the thirty-fifth anniversary of Martin Luther King Jr.s famous I have a dream speech, I went to a commemorative service at Union Chapel in Oak Bluffs, which had been a vacation mecca for African-Americans for more than a century. I shared the platform with Congressman John Lewis, who had worked with Dr. King and was one of the most powerful moral forces in American politics. He and I had been friends for a long time, going back well before 1992. He was one of my earliest supporters and had every right to condemn me. Instead, when he rose to speak, John said that I was his friend and brother, that he had stood with me when I was up and would not leave me when I was down, that I had been a good President, and that if it were up to him, I would continue to be. John Lewis will never know how much he lifted my spirits that day.
Some people criticized me for hitting the chemical plant, which the Sudanese government insisted had nothing to do with the production or storage of dangerous chemicals. I still believe we did the right thing there. The CIA had soil samples taken at the plant site that contained the chemical used to produce VX. In a subsequent terrorist trial in New York City, one of the witnesses testified that bin Laden had a chemical weapons operation in Khartoum. Despite the plain evidence, some people in the media tried to push the possibility that the action was a real-life version of Wag the Dog, a movie in which a fictional President starts a made-for-TV war to distract public attention from his personal problems.
The American people had to absorb the news of the strike and my grand jury testimony at the same time. Newsweek ran an article reporting that the publics reaction to my testimony and television address about it was calm and measured. My job rating was 62 percent, with 73 percent supporting the missile strikes. Most people thought I had been dishonest in my personal life but remained credible on public issues. By contrast, Newsweek said, the first reaction of the pundit class was near hysteria. They were hitting me hard. I deserved a whipping, all right, but I was getting it at home, where it should have been administered.
For now, I just hoped that the Democrats wouldnt be pushed by the media pounding into calling for my resignation, and that I would be able to repair the breach I had caused with my family and with my staff, cabinet, and the people who had believed in me through all the years of constant attacks.
After the speech I went back to the Vineyard for ten days. There was not much thaw on the family front. I made my first public appearance since my grand jury testimony, traveling to Worcester, Massachusetts, at the invitation of Congressman Jim McGovern, to promote the Police Corps, an innovative program that provided college scholarships to people who committed to becoming law-enforcement officers. Worcester is an old-fashioned blue-collar city; I was somewhat apprehensive about the kind of reception I would get there, and was encouraged to find a large enthusiastic crowd at an event attended by the mayor, both senators, and four Massachusetts congressmen. Many people in the crowd urged me to keep doing my job; several said they had made mistakes in their lives, too, and were sorry that mine had been aired in public.
On August 28, the thirty-fifth anniversary of Martin Luther King Jr.s famous I have a dream speech, I went to a commemorative service at Union Chapel in Oak Bluffs, which had been a vacation mecca for African-Americans for more than a century. I shared the platform with Congressman John Lewis, who had worked with Dr. King and was one of the most powerful moral forces in American politics. He and I had been friends for a long time, going back well before 1992. He was one of my earliest supporters and had every right to condemn me. Instead, when he rose to speak, John said that I was his friend and brother, that he had stood with me when I was up and would not leave me when I was down, that I had been a good President, and that if it were up to him, I would continue to be. John Lewis will never know how much he lifted my spirits that day.
'My love
'My love,' said I to Dora, 'what have you got in that dish?'
I could not imagine why Dora had been making tempting little faces at me, as if she wanted to kiss me.
'Oysters, dear,' said Dora, timidly.
'Was that YOUR thought?' said I, delighted.
'Ye-yes, Doady,' said Dora.
'There never was a happier one!' I exclaimed, laying down the carving-knife and fork. 'There is nothing Traddles likes so much!'
'Ye-yes, Doady,' said Dora, 'and so I bought a beautiful little barrel of them, and the man said they were very good. But I - I am afraid there's something the matter with them. They don't seem right.' Here Dora shook her head, and diamonds twinkled in her eyes.
'They are only opened in both shells,' said I. 'Take the top one off, my love.'
'But it won't come off!' said Dora, trying very hard, and looking very much distressed.
'Do you know, Copperfield,' said Traddles, cheerfully examining the dish, 'I think it is in consequence - they are capital oysters, but I think it is in consequence - of their never having been opened.'
They never had been opened; and we had no oyster-knives - and couldn't have used them if we had; so we looked at the oysters and ate the mutton. At least we ate as much of it as was done, and made up with capers. If I had permitted him, I am satisfied that Traddles would have made a perfect savage of himself, and eaten a plateful of raw meat, to express enjoyment of the repast; but I would hear of no such immolation on the altar of friendship, and we had a course of bacon instead; there happening, by good fortune, to be cold bacon in the larder.
My poor little wife was in such affliction when she thought I should be annoyed, and in such a state of joy when she found I was not, that the discomfiture I had subdued, very soon vanished, and we passed a happy evening; Dora sitting with her arm on my chair while Traddles and I discussed a glass of wine, and taking every opportunity of whispering in my ear that it was so good of me not to be a cruel, cross old boy. By and by she made tea for us; which it was so pretty to see her do, as if she was busying herself with a set of doll's tea-things, that I was not particular about the quality of the beverage. Then Traddles and I played a game or two at cribbage; and Dora singing to the guitar the while, it seemed to me as if our courtship and marriage were a tender dream of mine, and the night when I first listened to her voice were not yet over.
When Traddles went away, and I came back into the parlour from seeing him out, my wife planted her chair close to mine, and sat down by my side. 'I am very sorry,' she said. 'Will you try to teach me, Doady?'
'I must teach myself first, Dora,' said I. 'I am as bad as you, love.'
'Ah! But you can learn,' she returned; 'and you are a clever, clever man!'
'Nonsense, mouse!' said I.
'I wish,' resumed my wife, after a long silence, 'that I could have gone down into the country for a whole year, and lived with Agnes!'
Her hands were clasped upon my shoulder, and her chin rested on them, and her blue eyes looked quietly into mine.
I could not imagine why Dora had been making tempting little faces at me, as if she wanted to kiss me.
'Oysters, dear,' said Dora, timidly.
'Was that YOUR thought?' said I, delighted.
'Ye-yes, Doady,' said Dora.
'There never was a happier one!' I exclaimed, laying down the carving-knife and fork. 'There is nothing Traddles likes so much!'
'Ye-yes, Doady,' said Dora, 'and so I bought a beautiful little barrel of them, and the man said they were very good. But I - I am afraid there's something the matter with them. They don't seem right.' Here Dora shook her head, and diamonds twinkled in her eyes.
'They are only opened in both shells,' said I. 'Take the top one off, my love.'
'But it won't come off!' said Dora, trying very hard, and looking very much distressed.
'Do you know, Copperfield,' said Traddles, cheerfully examining the dish, 'I think it is in consequence - they are capital oysters, but I think it is in consequence - of their never having been opened.'
They never had been opened; and we had no oyster-knives - and couldn't have used them if we had; so we looked at the oysters and ate the mutton. At least we ate as much of it as was done, and made up with capers. If I had permitted him, I am satisfied that Traddles would have made a perfect savage of himself, and eaten a plateful of raw meat, to express enjoyment of the repast; but I would hear of no such immolation on the altar of friendship, and we had a course of bacon instead; there happening, by good fortune, to be cold bacon in the larder.
My poor little wife was in such affliction when she thought I should be annoyed, and in such a state of joy when she found I was not, that the discomfiture I had subdued, very soon vanished, and we passed a happy evening; Dora sitting with her arm on my chair while Traddles and I discussed a glass of wine, and taking every opportunity of whispering in my ear that it was so good of me not to be a cruel, cross old boy. By and by she made tea for us; which it was so pretty to see her do, as if she was busying herself with a set of doll's tea-things, that I was not particular about the quality of the beverage. Then Traddles and I played a game or two at cribbage; and Dora singing to the guitar the while, it seemed to me as if our courtship and marriage were a tender dream of mine, and the night when I first listened to her voice were not yet over.
When Traddles went away, and I came back into the parlour from seeing him out, my wife planted her chair close to mine, and sat down by my side. 'I am very sorry,' she said. 'Will you try to teach me, Doady?'
'I must teach myself first, Dora,' said I. 'I am as bad as you, love.'
'Ah! But you can learn,' she returned; 'and you are a clever, clever man!'
'Nonsense, mouse!' said I.
'I wish,' resumed my wife, after a long silence, 'that I could have gone down into the country for a whole year, and lived with Agnes!'
Her hands were clasped upon my shoulder, and her chin rested on them, and her blue eyes looked quietly into mine.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Lally reaches out to stop her
Lally reaches out to stop her. 'Doris - that's not all,LINK.' He fumbles in his shirt pocket and pulls out two crumpled joints. 'Vernon didn't do such a good job hiding these.'
'Cigarettes?' asks Mom.
'Illegal drugs. You'll understand now why I can't be associated with the boy.' He throws the spliffs scornfully onto the coffee table, leaning past me to whisper, 'Thanks for the story.'
In the background you hear Leona's car keys drop into George's lap. 'I guess I'll ride with Lally. Take the Eldorado when you're ready - it'll need some gas.'
'We have a spare room,' says Betty. 'We haven't used Myron's studio since he died.'
Lally and Leona clack out through the screen into a dirty afternoon. A promise of rain on dust puffs through the door behind them. To Mom I know it smells of their sex.
'I'll be back for my stuff,' calls Lally. Mom's skin has all melted together. Her face drips down her arms onto her lap.
I run a step after him. 'How'd you know it said Gutierrez on the card, motherfucker? How'd you know it said Ledesma Gutierrez, when you didn't even look at the card?' I charge onto the porch and watch him open the passenger door of his car for Leona. Then you see the Lechugas' drapes twitch open a crack. Leona flaps a little wave towards it, from behind her back. The drapes close.
I'm a kid whose best friend took a gun into his mouth and blew off his hair, whose classmates are dead, who's being blamed for it all, who just broke his mama's heart - and as I drag myself inside under the weight of these slabs of moldy truth, into my dark, brown ole life - another learning flutters down to perch on top. A learning like a joke, that kicks the last breath from my system. The Lechugas' drapes. It's how Mom's so-called friends coordinate their uncannily timed assaults on my home,fake foamposites. They still have a hotline to Nancie Lechuga's.
Chapter 11
I stand on the porch this Sunday evening and try to force Mexico to appear in front of me. I tried it all day from the living-room window, but it didn't work. By this time tonight I imagined cactus, fiestas, and salty breath. The howls of men in the back of whose lives lurked women called Maria. Instead there's a house like Mrs Porter's across the street, a willow like the Lechugas' and a pump-jack next door, dressed as a mantis; pump, pump,fake jordans for sale, pump. Vernon Gridlock Little.
'Lord God in heaven please let me have a side-by-side, let me open my eyes and it be there …'
Mom's whispers sparkle moonlight as they fall to the ground by the wishing bench. Then Kurt barks from Mrs Porter's yard. Kurt is in trouble with Mrs Porter. He spent all day on the wrong side of the fence from the Hoovers' sausage sizzle, and eventually destroyed Mrs Porter's sofa out of frustration. Fucken Kurt, boy. His barks cover the creaking of planks as I step off the porch. It's a well-upholstered barking circuit tonight, on account of the Bar-B-Chew Barn hayride. A hayride,North Face Jackets, gimme a break. We don't even have fucken hay around here, they probably had to buy it on the web or something. But no, now it's the traditional Martirio Hayride.
'Cigarettes?' asks Mom.
'Illegal drugs. You'll understand now why I can't be associated with the boy.' He throws the spliffs scornfully onto the coffee table, leaning past me to whisper, 'Thanks for the story.'
In the background you hear Leona's car keys drop into George's lap. 'I guess I'll ride with Lally. Take the Eldorado when you're ready - it'll need some gas.'
'We have a spare room,' says Betty. 'We haven't used Myron's studio since he died.'
Lally and Leona clack out through the screen into a dirty afternoon. A promise of rain on dust puffs through the door behind them. To Mom I know it smells of their sex.
'I'll be back for my stuff,' calls Lally. Mom's skin has all melted together. Her face drips down her arms onto her lap.
I run a step after him. 'How'd you know it said Gutierrez on the card, motherfucker? How'd you know it said Ledesma Gutierrez, when you didn't even look at the card?' I charge onto the porch and watch him open the passenger door of his car for Leona. Then you see the Lechugas' drapes twitch open a crack. Leona flaps a little wave towards it, from behind her back. The drapes close.
I'm a kid whose best friend took a gun into his mouth and blew off his hair, whose classmates are dead, who's being blamed for it all, who just broke his mama's heart - and as I drag myself inside under the weight of these slabs of moldy truth, into my dark, brown ole life - another learning flutters down to perch on top. A learning like a joke, that kicks the last breath from my system. The Lechugas' drapes. It's how Mom's so-called friends coordinate their uncannily timed assaults on my home,fake foamposites. They still have a hotline to Nancie Lechuga's.
Chapter 11
I stand on the porch this Sunday evening and try to force Mexico to appear in front of me. I tried it all day from the living-room window, but it didn't work. By this time tonight I imagined cactus, fiestas, and salty breath. The howls of men in the back of whose lives lurked women called Maria. Instead there's a house like Mrs Porter's across the street, a willow like the Lechugas' and a pump-jack next door, dressed as a mantis; pump, pump,fake jordans for sale, pump. Vernon Gridlock Little.
'Lord God in heaven please let me have a side-by-side, let me open my eyes and it be there …'
Mom's whispers sparkle moonlight as they fall to the ground by the wishing bench. Then Kurt barks from Mrs Porter's yard. Kurt is in trouble with Mrs Porter. He spent all day on the wrong side of the fence from the Hoovers' sausage sizzle, and eventually destroyed Mrs Porter's sofa out of frustration. Fucken Kurt, boy. His barks cover the creaking of planks as I step off the porch. It's a well-upholstered barking circuit tonight, on account of the Bar-B-Chew Barn hayride. A hayride,North Face Jackets, gimme a break. We don't even have fucken hay around here, they probably had to buy it on the web or something. But no, now it's the traditional Martirio Hayride.
She had another trait not rare among her sex
She had another trait not rare among her sex,fake jordan shoes. She liked the attentions of young gentlemen, while the society of girls bored her. She would drag them, sulkily, in the cart; but as for permitting one of them in the saddle, the idea was preposterous. Once when Pepper Whitcomb's sister, in spite of our remonstrances, ventured to mount her, Gypsy gave a little indignant neigh,HOMEPAGE, and tossed the gentle Emma heels over head in no time. But with any of the boys the mare was as docile as a lamb.
Her treatment of the several members of the family was comical. For the Captain she entertained a wholesome respect,SHIPPING INFO., and was always on her good behavior when he was around. As to Miss Abigail, Gypsy simply laughed at her--literally laughed, contracting her upper lip and displaying all her snow-white teeth, as if something about Miss Abigail struck her, Gypsy, as being extremely ridiculous.
Kitty Collins, for some reason or another, was afraid of the pony, or pretended to be. The sagacious little animal knew it, of course, and frequently, when Kitty was banging out clothes near the stable, the mare being loose in the yard, would make short plunges at her. Once Gypsy seized the basket of clothespins with her teeth, and rising on her hind legs, pawing the air with her fore feet followed Kitty clear up to the scullery steps.
That part of the yard was shut off from the rest by a gate; but no gate was proof against Gypsy's ingenuity. She could let down bars, lift up latches, draw bolts, and turn all sorts of buttons. This accomplishment rendered it hazardous for Miss Abigail or Kitty to leave any eatables on the kitchen table near the window. On one occasion Gypsy put in her head and lapped up six custard pies that had been placed by the casement to cool.
An account of my young lady's various pranks would fill a thick volume. A favorite trick of hers, on being requested to "walk like Miss Abigail," was to assume a little skittish gait so true to nature that Miss Abigail herself was obliged to admit the cleverness of the imitation.
The idea of putting Gypsy through a systematic course of instruction was suggested to me by a visit to the circus which gave an annual performance in Rivermouth. This show embraced among its attractions a number of trained Shetland ponies, and I determined that Gypsy should likewise have the benefit of a liberal education. I succeeded in teaching her to waltz,fake ugg delaine boots, to fire a pistol by tugging at a string tied to the trigger, to lie down dead, to wink one eye, and to execute many other feats of a difficult nature. She took to her studies admirably, and enjoyed the whole thing as much as anyone.
The monkey was a perpetual marvel to Gypsy. They became bosom-friends in an incredibly brief period, and were never easy out of each other's sight. Prince Zany--that's what Pepper Whitcomb and I christened him one day, much to the disgust of the monkey, who bit a piece out of Pepper's nose--resided in the stable, and went to roost every night on the pony's back, where I usually found him in the morning. Whenever I rode out, I was obliged to secure his Highness the Prince with a stout cord to the fence, he chattering all the time like a madman.
Sunday, December 2, 2012
But did he dare to enter this shop out of which a woman now casually walked
But did he dare to enter this shop out of which a woman now casually walked, carrying a greatround box? Or this apartment before which a white man stood, dressed in a brilliant uniform? John knew he did not dare, not to-day, and he heard his father’s laugh: ‘No, nor to-morrow neither!’ Forhim there was the back door, and the dark stairs, and the kitchen or the basement. This world wasnot for him. If he refused to believe, and wanted to break his neck trying, then he could try untilthe sun refused to shine; they would never let him enter. In John’s mind then, the people and theavenue underwent a change, and he feared them and knew that one day he could hate them if Goddid not change his heart.
He left Fifth Avenue and walked west toward the movie houses. Here on 42nd Street it wasless elegant but not less strange. He loved this street, not for the people or the shops but for thestone lions that guarded the great main building of the Public Library,fake jordans for sale, a building filled with bookand unimaginably vast, and which he had never yet dared to enter. He might, he knew, for he was amember of the branch in Harlem and was entitled to take books from any library in the city. But hehad never gone in because the building was so big that it must be full of corridors and marblesteps, in the maze of which he would be lost and never find the book he wanted. And theneveryone, all the white people inside, would know that he was not used to great buildings, or tomany books, and they would look at him wit pity. He would enter on another day, when he hadread all the books uptown, an achievement that would, he felt,HOMEPAGE, lend him the poise to enter anybuilding in the world. People, mostly men, leaned over the stone parapets of the raised park thatsurrounded the library, or walked up and own and bent to drink water from the public drinking-fountains. Silver pigeons lighted briefly on the heads of the lions or the rims of fountains, andstrutted along the walks. John loitered in front of Woolworth’s, staring at the candy display, tryingto decide what candy to buy—and buying one, for the store was crowded and he was certain thatthe salesgirl would never notice him—and before a vendor of artificial flowers,North Face Jackets, and crossed SixthAvenue where the Automat was, and the parked taxis, and the shops, which he would not look atto-day, that displayed in their windows dirty postcards and practical jokes. Beyond Sixth Avenuethe movie houses began, and now he studied the stills carefully, trying to decide which of all thesetheaters he should enter. He stopped at last before a gigantic, colored poster that represented awicked woman, half undressed, leaning in a doorway, apparently quarreling with a blond man whostared wretchedly into the street. The legend above their heads was: ‘There’s a fool like him inevery family—and a woman next door to take him over!’ He decided to see this, for he feltidentified with the blond young man, the fool of his family, and he wished to know more about hisso blatantly unkind fate.
And so he stared at the price above the ticket-seller’s window and, showing her his coins,received the piece of paper that was charged with the power to open doors. having once decided toenter, he did not look back at the street again for fear that one of the saints might be passing and,seeing him, might cry out his name and lay hands on him to drag him back. He walked veryquickly across the carpeted lobby, looking at nothing, and pausing only to see his ticket torn, halfof it thrown into a silver box and half returned to him. And then the usherette opened the doors ofthis dark palace and with a flashlight held behind her took him to his seat. Not even then, havingpushed past a wilderness of knees and feet to reach his designated seat, did he dare to breathe; nor,out of a last, sick hope for forgiveness, did he look at the screen. He stared at the darkness aroundhim, and at the profiles that gradually emerged from this gloom, was so like the gloom of Hell. Hewaited for this darkness to be shattered by the light of the second coming,fake delaine ugg boots, for the ceiling to crackupward, revealing, for every eye to see, the chariots of fire on which descended a wrathful God and all the host of Heaven. He sank far down
He left Fifth Avenue and walked west toward the movie houses. Here on 42nd Street it wasless elegant but not less strange. He loved this street, not for the people or the shops but for thestone lions that guarded the great main building of the Public Library,fake jordans for sale, a building filled with bookand unimaginably vast, and which he had never yet dared to enter. He might, he knew, for he was amember of the branch in Harlem and was entitled to take books from any library in the city. But hehad never gone in because the building was so big that it must be full of corridors and marblesteps, in the maze of which he would be lost and never find the book he wanted. And theneveryone, all the white people inside, would know that he was not used to great buildings, or tomany books, and they would look at him wit pity. He would enter on another day, when he hadread all the books uptown, an achievement that would, he felt,HOMEPAGE, lend him the poise to enter anybuilding in the world. People, mostly men, leaned over the stone parapets of the raised park thatsurrounded the library, or walked up and own and bent to drink water from the public drinking-fountains. Silver pigeons lighted briefly on the heads of the lions or the rims of fountains, andstrutted along the walks. John loitered in front of Woolworth’s, staring at the candy display, tryingto decide what candy to buy—and buying one, for the store was crowded and he was certain thatthe salesgirl would never notice him—and before a vendor of artificial flowers,North Face Jackets, and crossed SixthAvenue where the Automat was, and the parked taxis, and the shops, which he would not look atto-day, that displayed in their windows dirty postcards and practical jokes. Beyond Sixth Avenuethe movie houses began, and now he studied the stills carefully, trying to decide which of all thesetheaters he should enter. He stopped at last before a gigantic, colored poster that represented awicked woman, half undressed, leaning in a doorway, apparently quarreling with a blond man whostared wretchedly into the street. The legend above their heads was: ‘There’s a fool like him inevery family—and a woman next door to take him over!’ He decided to see this, for he feltidentified with the blond young man, the fool of his family, and he wished to know more about hisso blatantly unkind fate.
And so he stared at the price above the ticket-seller’s window and, showing her his coins,received the piece of paper that was charged with the power to open doors. having once decided toenter, he did not look back at the street again for fear that one of the saints might be passing and,seeing him, might cry out his name and lay hands on him to drag him back. He walked veryquickly across the carpeted lobby, looking at nothing, and pausing only to see his ticket torn, halfof it thrown into a silver box and half returned to him. And then the usherette opened the doors ofthis dark palace and with a flashlight held behind her took him to his seat. Not even then, havingpushed past a wilderness of knees and feet to reach his designated seat, did he dare to breathe; nor,out of a last, sick hope for forgiveness, did he look at the screen. He stared at the darkness aroundhim, and at the profiles that gradually emerged from this gloom, was so like the gloom of Hell. Hewaited for this darkness to be shattered by the light of the second coming,fake delaine ugg boots, for the ceiling to crackupward, revealing, for every eye to see, the chariots of fire on which descended a wrathful God and all the host of Heaven. He sank far down
Pastor
"Pastor, Pastor, how are we?" It was Travis Boyette. In anticipation of this unlikely event, Keith had rigged a small recorder to his phone. He pushed "Record" and said, "Hello, Travis," and Dana came to life. She scrambled out of bed, flipped on a light switch, grabbed her cell phone, and began punching the number of a Detective Lang, a man they had met with twice.
"What are you doing these days?" Keith asked. Just a couple of old friends. Lang had told him to keep Boyette on the line as long as possible.
"Moving around, can't stay in one place too long." His tongue was thick, his words slow.
"Still in Missouri?"
"Naw, I left Missouri before you did, Pastor. I'm here and there."
"You forgot your cane, Travis. Left it on the bed. Why did you do that?"
"Don't need it, never did. I exaggerated a little bit, Pastor, please forgive me. I got a tumor, but it's been with me for a long time. Meningioma, not a glioblastoma. Grade one. Benign little fella. It acts up every now and then, but I doubt if it will kill me. The cane was a weapon,fake foamposites for sale, Pastor, something I used for self-defense. You live with a bunch of thugs in a halfway house, and you just never know when you might need a weapon." Country music was in the background; he was probably in a seedy lounge.
"But you had a limp."
"Well, come on, Pastor, if you're using a cane, you need a little limp, don't you think,Link?"
"I wouldn't know, Travis. You got some folks looking for you."
"The story of my life. They'll never find me. Just like they never found Nicole. Have they buried her yet, Pastor?"
"No. Her funeral is Thursday. Donte's is tomorrow."
"I might sneak around and watch Nicole's, whatta you think about that, Pastor?"
Great idea. They would not only catch him but probably beat him. "I think you should, Travis. You're the reason for the funeral. Seems fitting."
"How's that cute little wife of yours, Pastor? Bet you guys are having fun. She's so fine."
"Knock it off, Travis." Keep him on the line. "You thought much about Donte Drumm?"
"Not really. We should've known those people down there wouldn't listen to us."
"They would have, Travis, if you had come forward earlier. If we had found the body first, the execution would not have happened."
"Still blaming me, huh?"
"Who else, Travis? I guess you're still the victim, right?"
"I don't know what I am. Tell you what, though, Pastor. I gotta find a woman, know what I mean?"
"Listen to me, Travis. Tell me where you are, and I'll come get you and bring you back to Topeka. I'll leave right now. We'll do another road trip, just the two of us. I don't care where you are. You'll be locked up here, and then they'll extradite you to Missouri. Do what's right for once, Travis, and nobody else will get hurt,Website. Let's do it, pal."
"I don't like prison, Pastor. I've seen enough to know."
"But you're tired of hurting people, Travis. I know you are. You told me so."
"I guess. I gotta go, Pastor."
"Call me anytime, Travis. I'm not tracing these calls. I just want to talk to you."
The phone line was dead.
An hour later, Detective Lang was at the house, listening to the recording. They had been able to trace the call to the owner of a stolen cell phone in Lincoln,fake jordan shoes, Nebraska.
"What are you doing these days?" Keith asked. Just a couple of old friends. Lang had told him to keep Boyette on the line as long as possible.
"Moving around, can't stay in one place too long." His tongue was thick, his words slow.
"Still in Missouri?"
"Naw, I left Missouri before you did, Pastor. I'm here and there."
"You forgot your cane, Travis. Left it on the bed. Why did you do that?"
"Don't need it, never did. I exaggerated a little bit, Pastor, please forgive me. I got a tumor, but it's been with me for a long time. Meningioma, not a glioblastoma. Grade one. Benign little fella. It acts up every now and then, but I doubt if it will kill me. The cane was a weapon,fake foamposites for sale, Pastor, something I used for self-defense. You live with a bunch of thugs in a halfway house, and you just never know when you might need a weapon." Country music was in the background; he was probably in a seedy lounge.
"But you had a limp."
"Well, come on, Pastor, if you're using a cane, you need a little limp, don't you think,Link?"
"I wouldn't know, Travis. You got some folks looking for you."
"The story of my life. They'll never find me. Just like they never found Nicole. Have they buried her yet, Pastor?"
"No. Her funeral is Thursday. Donte's is tomorrow."
"I might sneak around and watch Nicole's, whatta you think about that, Pastor?"
Great idea. They would not only catch him but probably beat him. "I think you should, Travis. You're the reason for the funeral. Seems fitting."
"How's that cute little wife of yours, Pastor? Bet you guys are having fun. She's so fine."
"Knock it off, Travis." Keep him on the line. "You thought much about Donte Drumm?"
"Not really. We should've known those people down there wouldn't listen to us."
"They would have, Travis, if you had come forward earlier. If we had found the body first, the execution would not have happened."
"Still blaming me, huh?"
"Who else, Travis? I guess you're still the victim, right?"
"I don't know what I am. Tell you what, though, Pastor. I gotta find a woman, know what I mean?"
"Listen to me, Travis. Tell me where you are, and I'll come get you and bring you back to Topeka. I'll leave right now. We'll do another road trip, just the two of us. I don't care where you are. You'll be locked up here, and then they'll extradite you to Missouri. Do what's right for once, Travis, and nobody else will get hurt,Website. Let's do it, pal."
"I don't like prison, Pastor. I've seen enough to know."
"But you're tired of hurting people, Travis. I know you are. You told me so."
"I guess. I gotta go, Pastor."
"Call me anytime, Travis. I'm not tracing these calls. I just want to talk to you."
The phone line was dead.
An hour later, Detective Lang was at the house, listening to the recording. They had been able to trace the call to the owner of a stolen cell phone in Lincoln,fake jordan shoes, Nebraska.
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