Harold Brodie Is A Louse And A

But The Past Cannot Be Changed, And We Carry Our Choices With Us, Forward, Into The Unknown. We Can Only Move On.

Evie Hadn’t Always Felt That Way. For A Year After James Had Died, She’d Cupped His Half-dollar Pendant Between Her Pressed Palms And Prayed Fervently For A Miracle, For A Telegram That Would Say Good News! It Was A Terrible Mistake, And Private James Xavier O’neill Has Been Found, Safe, In A Farmhouse In France. But No Such Telegram Ever Arrived, And Whatever Possible Faith Might Have Bloomed In Evie Withered And Died. Now She Saw It As Just Another Advertisement For A Life That Belonged To A Previous Generation And Held No Meaning For Hers.

Greetings, Ax Murderer! I Was Just Wondering How You Like Your Eggs?

I Should Never Be Left Alone With My Mind For Too Long.

When You Peeled Back The Skin, You Were Dealing With Bone And Muscle, Blood And Nerve Endings. It Was All The Same. She Liked The Beautiful Logic Of The Circulatory System, The Elegance Of The Neurological, And The Fierce Warrior Spirit Of The Heart. The Body Had Rules And It Had Quirks.