By J. R. Carroll
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Jan Wilde's much-needed holiday in Williamsburg, Virginia, is something yet restful. the following during this old restored colonial village, her sleep is invaded through strangers from centuries long ago. they appear so shut, so real—and whilst Jan awakens within the morning, their lives and loves and the key they percentage shadow her very lifestyles.
Every person has whatever to conceal. .. The virile, all-American husband. The brainy golden woman. The happily-wed bi-coastal couple. anyone is gazing. .. an individual who has exposed their darkest secrets and techniques. an individual who's hell-bent on making them pay for his or her sins. .. not anyone suspects the reality. .. Now there's no escaping the shadowy jury that watches their each circulation.
Who rose to enduring repute on Blood and Typewriters, advised the pregnant Portia of the Chambers it'll pop out after all, steered Guthrie Featherstone, Q. C. , to undertake a extra judicial perspective, back within the delicate gloaming of every one evening-via Pommeroy's and a tumbler of castle Fleet road- to She Who needs to be Obeyed?
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R. CARROLL She dropped the towel on the floor and went over, showing him an appealing rear view—lovely curved back and buttocks which were damp and slightly reddened from sexual activity. When she found the cigarettes she lit one, took a deep draw and turned around, cupping her elbow in her hand as she smoked. She was so damn cool it made his chest bump. ‘Raydon would never come here because . . it would be beneath him,’ she said. ‘He is a Toorak man, through and through. He would absolutely have to be dynamited out of Irving Road.
What he needed to find was a massive stringybark with a red spike driven into its trunk at chest height. Problem was, every tree he looked at was a massive stringybark. But it was somewhere here, exactly ten minutes from the holly bush. Landscapes might change with time, but not distances. So where in the blue fuck . . He found himself rushing like a madman from tree to tree, looking for a red spike that didn’t exist. Couldn’t have been removed—it had been slammed in good and deep with a sledgehammer.
It was supposedly a working visit. They hired some whores and spent three days fucking, snorting cocaine and swilling champagne. I found all this out because someone sent me an anonymous letter detailing his activities. Some colleague he’d put offside, no doubt. According to the note there was even some . . homosexual activity in front of the girls. That part knocked me for a loop, even though I have noticed in the past how his sexual orientation becomes increasingly blurred when he’s loaded. qxd 19/11/03 11:55 AM Page 33 BLINDSIDE 33 I always dismissed these tendencies as a natural product of his precious education.
Blindside by J. R. Carroll