Book Review Remains Of The Day Novels & Stories

Chapter Fifteen Dapo was dumb struck, he stood rooted like someone who was struck by lightning, but he was not struck by lightning after all, he was only struck by the beauty who is seducing him by her innocent exercise. It was now that Dapo noticed the office dress that Bisola wore, she was modest in her own way, not too eye catching, not too old skul, everything about her this day seems to perfect on her, that wondered if this was an entirely different Lady from the one he picked up this morning.

The elders exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of what to make of the scandal unfolding before them. "Who says I'm without proof?" I smirked, pulling out a digital recorder. "Here's the juicy bit of Derick and Jasmine's midnight rendezvous from last night. While they played me for a fool, the kid they thought was mine was burning up with fever all alone in his bed!"

Before Lily's surgery, the nurse slid the consent form across to me. I called my husband, Ethan Reid, eleven times. When the twelfth call finally connected, the first voice I heard was his first love, Claire Bennett, on the verge of tears: "Ethan, the zipper on my wedding dress is stuck. Don't leave yet." I looked at my daughter, white with pain in the hospital bed, and said, "Lily's waiting for you." Ethan was silent for two seconds before saying, "Just sign it. I'll get there later." Later, Lily studied the lone guardian's signature on the form and asked, "Mom, can I leave Dad off the school forms from now on?" I said she could. From that day on, she stopped leaving room for Ethan anywhere

"There's nothing wrong with that, Deborah. Nothing shameful about wanting to read stories that make you feel something." I looked up at him, surprised by the conviction in his voice. "You really think that?" "I know it." He reached past me, his arm brushing mine as he picked up the book again. "Besides, you have excellent taste. Sylvia Dayn knows how to write tension that'll keep you up all night. The way she builds the emotional connection between her characters is incredible." My eyes widened. "Who are you and what have you done with Liam Reynolds?” I asked. “You've read it?"

They were all souvenirs he picked up during his competitions abroad. They had once wanted my entire life to revolve around them. But now, all of it felt like a burden. I asked the maid to take everything out and throw them away. As I cleared the last poetry book from the shelf, Mario stood at the door and stared at the empty space blankly. He looked like a wounded little boy. "Why did you throw away the poetry books I gave you? Didn't you say you would treasure them for life?" he asked. Bruno came to take a look after him.

On Christmas Day, my parents decided to add my sister Chloe's name to the family trust. As the lawyer prepared the documents, he glanced at me. "And this young lady? Should she be included as well?" My mother waved a hand dismissively. "No need. She's just a foster child." Ever since Chloe was brought back home, I—their biological daughter—had become the outsider. All because Chloe insisted she was the only daughter in the family. If anyone so much as mentioned that I was blood-related, she'd have a PTSD episode—screaming, crying, the whole breakdown. Eventually, everyone just accepted it: "The Haper family only has one real daughter. The other one's a foster kid." At first, I tried to

The second Thursday, she stayed for forty-seven minutes. They did not talk about Vanessa. They did not talk about the past. They talked about a book. The Remains of the Day, which she had been rereading because it was the only novel she had brought with her from London. He had read it. He had hated the ending. She had loved the ending. They argued about it for forty minutes, and by the time dessert came, she was laughing once. Not a real laugh. A half one. But it escaped her mouth before she could stop it, and Damien looked at her like a man watching the sunrise after a long night.

He moved methodically, chopping, seasoning, and stirring, just like he had so many times before. His mind wandered. Lately, whenever he cooked, Winifred would sneak up behind him, hug him from behind, and press herself into him. She acted like they were newlyweds in some honeymoon phase. I had never done that. For the first time, the thought made him feel… hollow. An hour later, the table was packed with food, every dish carefully prepared. At the center sat a steaming bowl of clam chowder—my favorite. "Darling, dinner's ready," he called.

This is the price I paid just to come back and see you because I am truly dead. As bottle after bottle of strong liquor washed over my wounds until my flesh turned pale and raw, I shivered from the excruciating pain. Yet, the onlookers watching showed no sympathy at all as they continued to mock me. “Hey, Greg. I heard high-proof alcohol catches fire instantly. Why don’t we try it out on her?” “Since she’s already rotting away like this, if she actually catches fire, wouldn’t it just burn all those nasty germs away?”

All the details I'd been ignoring were now dancing vividly in the eyes of my mind. Johnny loved basketball. Zoe always had balms and ointments in her drawer prepared for him. I was terrified of any ball-related sports, so I'd never set foot on a basketball court. Johnny and I had the same thermos. My thermos was filled with water from a random drinking fountain in the school, while his was filled with energy drinks. Zoe would bring two sets of breakfast every morning. Mine was always plain, but Johnny would have different breakfasts every day for the whole week.