Book Reviews A Little Life นิยาย & เรื่องราว

Truly, I was sweating so bad and the air conditioner was on. I quickly wiped the sweat off my forehead but that wasn't helpful, not one bit. It all came back immediately. I was startled when I heard the bathroom door creak open slightly. I immediately turned to look at whoever it was and thankfully, it was just Belle. Please check out my new book on Goodnovel, my entry for the CEO and I contest, Matter of Wife and Death. to his personal elevator.

So instead I would just look at the pictures of the funny pages and that was a source of entertainment. I lived in the small dusty attic that sat atop the house. It was filthy and filled with dust and mold that caused me to have breathing problems. It was occupied by rodents and pests but it's the only space I know. When I had the time and energy I would sit at the window and watch everyone who came by that was another form of entertainment. I lived vicariously through the people in my neighborhood. One day I overheard my mother telling people that I was a seriously ill child and could not interact with other people that's why I couldn't attend school or step outside the house. No one questi

DELIA I finally knocked on the door and when I heard a reply, I opened the door and walked inside. Levi's head was buried inside a book. I felt like crying. A few weeks back, he was lying almost lifeless but there he was, stronger and healthier. All thanks to the almighty for sparing his life. "Hi," I said. He must have thought I was a nurse or a doctor and that's why he didn't bother to check. But after I made my entrance recognizable by speaking, he looked away from his book.

I had made my new home in a quaint southern town, taking up residence in a cozy little courtyard. I was sprawled on a wicker chair, soaking up the rare shade on a balmy summer afternoon. The town was a slice of heaven, picture-perfect all year round. I was toying with the idea of opening a flower shop. I never used to care for the frilly stuff like flowers, but three years as Mrs. Harris had somehow coaxed out a fondness for their charm.

She didn't want to see him too anyway. 'Liar' Her thoughts echoed but she ignored them and got up. She might as well arrange his stuff. She kept his jacket and made to lock his wardrobe when she saw an old book tucked away at the lowest part of the wardrobe. What was that? She was overwhelmed by curiousity and picked it up. It was dusty. She cleaned it up and opened it. It was a photo album! There were lots of photos in it. She saw photos of Lance when he was a baby.

She looked stunned when they brought her into the room, something we're all used to when someone outside the family sees Pop's largess for the first time up-close and personal. "Wow, what is this?" She gravitated to the books that lined one wall, all classics, most of which were collector's editions. "Is this an original Herodotus?" She pulled her hand back from the volume making the twins laugh, and me smile. She acts like Pop and Uncle Garrett with books. They swear the rest of us are heathens because we don't all genuflect before the greats like they do.

"What are you saying? It's not the hardship I mind, it's just that I'm scared for you..." "Scared of what for me?" With a tilt of his head, Anthony's face was suddenly close, his breath warm on my skin. My thoughts scattered to the wind. "I'm scared you won't make it back." Anthony paused, a look of surprise on his face. "Yasmine, do you believe in second chances at life?" I gazed deep into his eyes, feeling myself drawn in, and my hunch was spot on. Anthony had come back to life too.

"It's nothing much. I was just reading a web novel. The author's got a great sense of humor." "What novel is it? I like reading web novels, too. Recommend some good ones to me!" "I've been reading one about a genius doctor. It's pretty interesting. I think the author's pen name… was the Wild Storyteller, or something like that," Serena said. "Considering how good he is at writing, I bet he's good-looking, too!"

I closed my eyes, trembling as tears escaped and fell into the food. "Happy birthday, Eleanor Shaw," I whispered to myself. "Keep moving forward—onward forever. Even if no one loves you, there's still light at the end of the tunnel. As Jeffrey said, you have enjoyed over 20 wonderful years of wealth and privilege. You've had it good." Just like that, I repeated words of comfort to myself as I wiped away my tears. I moved all my belongings that I had sorted out over the past two weeks in the living room.