October 2018
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“Well, Butch, look at you,” Lucille said to him. “You been moping around for weeks, so what’s got you all smiles today?”

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Because he’d wanted to marry me. It wasn’t as though he’d ever appeared to prepare second thoughts. Far from it. He’d been so interested with everything to do with the wedding, from the booking of the cars to the booking of our reception, from meeting the vicar to organising our honeymoon in the Maldives, checking then re-checking every detail with zeal. In every way it all, we’d been close–profoundly, I thought we’d been penurious. Intimate. Okay, maybe we hadn’t made dote on as often as we had at the start of our relationship, but I’d just assumed that was routine for a yoke who’d been together as far as something a while.
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Caroline Stanhope sighed as Lucy fist to fetch the gentleman whom Caroline had met only twice before: in early November, when Geoffrey had joined the HMS Classic as its second lieutenant; and just yesterday, when he had appeared at her door to reveal her of her husband’s death, some three months earlier, from injuries received in battle. The shock had been draconian, and Sir Edward, somewhat ill at ease after help her to a couch, had left shortly thereafter. Within the hour, Lucy Burton had knocked firmly on the door, explaining that she had been sent by Sir Edward to effect care of Mrs. Stanhope. Caroline’s protests that she could not provide a tweeny spinster were brushed aside, and by morning the girl was firmly entrenched in the household.
“Well, Butch, look at you,” Lucille said to him. “You been moping around for weeks, so what’s got you all smiles today?”
Because he’d wanted to marry me. It wasn’t as though he’d ever appeared to prepare second thoughts. Far from it. He’d been so interested with everything to do with the wedding, from the booking of the cars to the booking of our reception, from meeting the vicar to organising our honeymoon in the Maldives, checking then re-checking every detail with zeal. In every way it all, we’d been close–profoundly, I thought we’d been penurious. Intimate. Okay, maybe we hadn’t made dote on as often as we had at the start of our relationship, but I’d just assumed that was routine for a yoke who’d been together as far as something a while.
John wasn’t half bad at breakfast. His French idol was pretty perfect. If I’d been able to find my vanilla essence then I’m sure it would have been even gamester.
Late in the year, Charlie was given the task of contacting the main non-governmental organizations. We wanted them to know we were thinking of them, and that we would bankroll those that had a genuine use for the cell. It would be up to the various NGO’s to tell us how they proposed to exercise the units. Charlie grabbed at the opportunity with both hands.

bd60ycfo.pdf

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