Two other highly perceptive and supportive readers, Mike Julien and Russell Tayler, also helped me with the nitpicking business of line-editing. Mike has championed me for years, whereas Russell and I have been corresponding only for a few months. This is yet another advantage of the modern publishing ecosystem: the chance for reader and author to correspond and even collaborate. It's great! The cover image was shot and edited by my friend, the artist and ceramicist Althea Wilson.
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Her first marriage was to William Benedict in This marriage resulted in the birth of her only child, a daughter named Gabrielle in Brenda and William divorced in and she raised Gabrielle on her own. Both marriages resulted in divorce. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Retrieved April 20, Kore Press. Retrieved April 25, Southwest Journal.
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Retrieved A Council committee voted Thursday to allow demolition of a house at W. Categories : American women journalists American memoirists American radio writers Women radio writers Animal rights activists Anti-vivisectionists births deaths Writers from Minneapolis Barnard College alumni American people of Norwegian descent 20th-century American non-fiction writers 20th-century American women writers Recipients of the St.
They talked aloud of superficial things but their eyes were conducting another conversation altogether. By the time the girl had finished her coffee, Brenda was in no doubt of what the afternoon had so surprisingly offered her. Clark Gable and Lana Turner.
Walking the short distance to the cinema, Brenda learned that Grete lived and worked at the Feathers Hotel. The auditorium was almost deserted.
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Brenda began to wonder if she had made a mistake. This would deflect her yet further from her ambition: to find and marry some pliable man with money. So far she had met plenty of men, but few had been pliable, and even fewer had had any money. She liked going to bed with them, perhaps too well; but always there was something else, something better, out there, waiting for her, just as Grete had been waiting today. It had started at school, at home in Norfolk, with a girl in her class. There, in a private hollow sparsely littered with pine cones, accompanied by the dreamily soughing trees, Brenda had tasted her first consensual kiss.
The lights in the cinema came up. An usherette walked past with an illuminated tray of fruit drinks and ice creams. She reached the bottom of the aisle, under the screen, and turned to face the audience. A small queue formed. A second usherette, with a similar tray, had taken up the corresponding station at the bottom of the other main aisle. Your figure shows it.
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How do you say? I will remember that. I must improve my English. That is only why, since two months, I am working at the Feathers.
They said I would be on the reception desk and so on. Instead I am a … how did he say it? He says they took me because I am cheaper. To get my work permit, they tell to the authorities they cannot find anyone to speak fluent German.
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Since April we are having three German tourists only in the hotel. Grete lit one and gave it to her. At this Brenda became more excited still. The fluttering in her stomach had grown. Seen at close range, in the low lighting of the auditorium, Grete was more than merely attractive. She smelled good, too.
Brenda gazed at her thickly braided hair. She had always wished that she could have been born blonde instead of brunette. The house is enormous. Lots of staff. I use it all the time. Have it to myself. The lights went down. They sat in silence during the advertisements and trailers. Brenda could not concentrate on the story. It had something to do with the war, and Holland, and spies.
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Lana Turner was a spy. Looking straight ahead, she returned the pressure. More words boomed from the huge and incomprehensible faces on the screen. The next Dever bus was a double decker. They sat upstairs, their bodies in contact, Brenda next to the window. How long had it been? Three whole years. How many men since? How many obtuse, careless and perfunctory men? Her absence overnight would cause no concern. After Lymperne the top deck emptied of other passengers altogether. Grete spoke in a low voice.
She too was experiencing this breathlessness, this anticipation, this tingling suspense. Had it not been for the angled mirror, so placed at the top of the stairs that the conductor could see, Brenda felt that Grete might not have been able to wait. They alighted almost outside the hotel, a former coaching-inn. An archway led into the mews. From here Grete proceeded at a normal pace, turning right and through a heavy black door, which stood open on a cobbled floor. To the left rose a flight of stone steps with an iron handrail.
She took out a latchkey. Rack was sitting on the lock-gate, watching the reflections on the brickwork of the bridge. Sometimes he would stand on the bridge itself and lean on the parapet, looking down into the dark water of the canal; or he would gaze upstream, along the pound, the willow trees overhanging the towpath on the left, on the right the gentle pasture rising towards the wood.
When he was like this, with his old, seamed face at its most inscrutable, his eyes became especially inane. He might take his blue cap and revolve it in his hands while, up at the bend, appeared the painted prow of a narrowboat. When it reached the lock he would benignly supervise the antics of the crew: the rapid revolutions of the windlass and the clatter of the pawls, the water gushing through the paddles, the graze and bump of hempen fenders as the level rose or fell.
He would return any friendly gesture with one of his own, vague but adequate to the occasion, and, as the boat chugged between the gates and below the bridge, he would move to the other parapet to see it on its way. The boats carried coal, mostly, and timber, bricks, gravel, steel: heavy things passing to and from London and the Midlands. The cargo occupied nearly the whole length of the boat forward of the cabin, and was tented with tarpaulins.