| Dennisoi |
DATUM: ČETVRTAK, 2014-11-13, 00:49:34 | PORUKA # 1 |
POSTOVA: 961
STATUS: OFFLINE
LOKACIJA: Kwajalein-Bouvet Island |
surprise.Margaret's hand was as small, as dainty, and as white.
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I hope so, thought Sam as she walked back into the warm, fragrant building. A customer like that could provide a real boost to the business. She glanced at the decimated supply of pastries. However . . . now she had to hustle to be ready for the rest of her patrons.She squeezed his hand and smiled back at him. Keep it light. “Let’s plan on a dinner out, just the two of us, later in the week.”The Arroyo Grande Lodge’s parking lot was filling quickly. The polls would be closed in another thirty minutes and the excitement was evident in people’s posture as Sam watched them rushing toward the lobby entrance.
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He did not answer. He gave a sigh of relief as they drove into thethem as interlopers, and I don't think we made them particularly welcome.of the flesh, but with no eager yearning of the soul to burst its prison,
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When her bedside phone rang at eight o’clock, she sat up and rubbed at her eyes. Clearing her throat she picked up the receiver.“Beau! Get on with it. What did they find?”Beau, in his cruiser, ignored the whole protocol of parking and pulled up to the curb out front. While the crowd flowed down a central corridor toward the ballroom, Beau and Sam approached the front desk. He flashed his badge and said that he needed Carlos Tafoya’s room number.
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Philip blushed. He had not suspected that his face showed the dismay he
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Elena’s blond hair hung limply to her shoulders. “It’s okay, Sam. I’m not really in the mood for cake.”No one seemed to notice the time.Turning sideways, she sidestepped farther into the clutter. A break in the tall paper-stacks revealed a living room. A sofa had some crocheted afghans and a couple of small throw pillows on it, looking like someone had just gotten up from a nap. A cheap fake-wood stand, minus the TV, stood in one corner and little nests of afghans were bunched in front of it. In the corners were piles of plastic toys, the kind that seem to grow and multiply in so many American homes. On the south wall, they were literally stacked to the ceiling in plastic crates.
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