Cssekar Uspl

“expression. She threw Claudia a helpless glance. “The only time I get family news is from the boys, and you know I hardly ever hear from them.” “When we find her,” Erin said tearfully, “You’ll get to meet her. I promise.” They stared at each other in shared distress, the reunion caused—and ruined—by the same terrifying event. “I thought he’d just taken her out for a walk,” said Erin. Tears welled up and spilled over. She sniffled into the”
― Sheila Lowe, Last Writes

“family of friends, people she knows only by their voices. She especially likes Griswald, gruff old butler for wealthy Zack Givens.   Meeting Griswald is a shock; he is neither gruff nor old, but a powerful, handsome man. In fact, he is Zack Givens, cold, heartless — and charmed by the artless young woman who brings him chicken soup, treats him like a friend … and falls in love with the humble man she imagines him to be. Inevitably, she will face his betrayal. Then”
― Christina Dodd, Just the Way You Are

“Elianne du Hommet ran, her soldier-escort panting at her heels. Beneath awnings raised against the day’s unusual heat, Knabwell’s startled merchants left off their haggling to stare after the sheriff’s grown daughter. Tethered chickens squawked and flapped out of her way. Stubblefed geese, an autumn delicacy, hissed from their wicker carriers. Elianne’s companion collided with an unfortunate housewife, spilling the contents of the hapless woman’s basket. "The lord sheriff’s business," he shouted by way of apology to the townswoman as he sprinted to catch his charge. Together they flew out onto the higher of Knabwell’s two cobbled thoroughfares. The soldier shot a look toward the city’s southern gate. "Jesus save us! That’s Haydon’s party," he cried. "Hurry! He wants you at the priory before they arrive." Elianne threw a glance over her shoulder.”
― Denise Domning, The Warrior's Maiden

“The stranger looked at his watch; he jumped to his feet. "Nine o'clock! Mrs. Braile, I'm ashamed. But you must blame your husband, partly. Good night, ma'am; good—Why, look here, Squire Braile!" he arrested himself in offering his hand. "How about the obscurity of the scene where Joe Smith founded his superstition, which bids fair to live right along with the other false religions? Was Leatherwood, Ohio, a narrower stage than Manchester, New York? And in point of time the two cults were only four years apart.”
― William Dean Howells, The Leatherwood God [with Biographical Introduction]