White Satin (Beau Lantry, Book 1)
With the Olympics just weeks away, an extraordinary contest of wills has begun. It could culminate in a crushing fall, or the greatest prize of all. Read more Read less. Shop now. Customers who bought this item also bought. Page 1 of 1 Start over Page 1 of 1. Dark Rider: A Novel. Product description Book Description "In this classic novel, New York Times bestselling author Iris Johansen spins a marvelous love story about a world-class figure skater, her distant, demanding mentor, and the high-stakes competition that could bring them together at last or put all their dreams on ice.
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Everlasting Sedikhan Book 9. No customer reviews. Share your thoughts with other customers. Write a customer review. Most helpful customer reviews on Amazon. Verified Purchase. I have read almost all of Iris Johansen's romances from the now defunct Loveswept Line. And I loved them all; the emotion, the drama, its a fun time to sit down and read one of her novels. She showed them into a small room with lots of books. Mama paced, wringing her hands.
She paused once and closed her eyes, her lips moving. The lady came back, her face white and lined, her cheeks wet. One word. Mama took a step toward the door, and the lady stopped her. How could I be hurt more, Mama? He was right. She hastened after Mama, closing the door as she left. Sarah waited, hearing distant voices.
Mama came back after a while. Mama nodded and turned away. When they reached the end of the tree-lined street, Mae opened her 33 Redeem. She gave a soft broken laugh. Mama sold her ruby ring and pearls. She and Sarah lived in an inn until the money gave out. Mama sold her music box, and for a while they lived quite comfortably in an inexpensive boardinghouse. Finally, she asked Sarah to give back the crystal swan, and with the money they got for it, they lived a long time in a rundown hotel before Mama found and settled them for good in a shack near the docks of New York.
Sarah finally saw the sea.
There was garbage floating in it. But still she liked it very much. Sometimes she would go down and sit on the wharf. She liked the salt smell and the ships coming in loaded with cargo. She liked the sounds of the water lapping at the pillars beneath her and the seagulls overhead. There were rough men at the docks and sailors who came from around the world.
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Some came to visit, and Mama would ask Sarah to wait outside until they left. They never stayed very long.
Sometimes they pinched her cheek and said they would come back when she got a little bigger. Mama laughed when they came and acted as though she were happy to see them. But when they went away, she cried and drank whiskey until she fell asleep in the rumpled bed by the window.
Then Uncle Rab came to live with them, and things got better. He was big and dull, and Mama treated him with affection. They slept together in the bed by the window, and Sarah had the cot on the floor. When it rained, he would go to the inn down the road to be with his friends.
Mama would drink and sleep. To pass the time, Sarah found tin cans and washed them until they shone like silver. She set them beneath the roof leaks. Then she would sit in the quiet shack with the rain beating down and listen to the music the drops made plinking into the tins. Cleo had been right about crying, too. Crying did no good. Mama cried and cried until Sarah wanted to cover her ears and never hear her again. When the other children mocked Sarah and called her mother names, she looked at them and said nothing.agendapop.cl/wp-content/kit/buju-localizar-numero.php
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When she felt the tears coming up, building like a great hard pressure inside her, hot, so hot she thought they would burn, she swallowed them down deeper and deeper until they became a hard little stone in her chest. She learned to look back at her tormentors and smile with cold arrogance and disdain.
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She learned to pretend nothing they said could touch her. And sometimes she convinced herself nothing did. The winter Sarah was eight, Mama became ill. She said all she needed was rest. But she kept getting worse, her breathing more labored. She smiled the way she had long ago.
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She died in the morning, the first sunlight of spring on her face and her rosary beads in her dead-white hands. Rab wept violently, but Sarah had no tears. The heaviness inside her seemed almost too great to bear. When Rab went out for a while, she lay down beside Mama and put her arms around her.
Mama was so cold and stiff. Sarah wanted to warm her. Wake up. Please, wake up. Take me, too. God, please, I want to go with my mama. Men were with him. Sarah saw they meant to handle Mama and she screamed at them to 35 Redeem.
Blue Velvet By Iris Johansen
Rab held her tight, almost smothering her in his foulsmelling shirt, while the others began wrapping Mama in a sheet. Sarah went silent when she saw what they had done. Maybe she was different, the way Mama once said. Free of me. Mama would be happy. Mama would be alive.
They all went away, Mama with them. Sarah sat alone for a long time wondering if Rab would keep his promise to take care of her. No answer came. He talked a long time, and Mama had listened, her head bowed, tears running down her cheeks. Mama never went back, but sometimes she would still sift the beads through her slender fingers while the rain spat on the window. She sat cross-legged with her back to the fire, looking at him. He was maudlin, sloppy tears running down his bearded cheeks. Every time he raised the half-empty bottle by its neck, she watched 36 Redeem.