Genre Biography & Autobiography. Page - 15

It Was Evening Of Early Summer. George Lansing Sat By A Window Of The
Library At Brantholme. The House Belonged To His Cousin; And George,
Having Lately Reached It After Traveling In Haste From Norway, Awaited
The Coming Of Mrs. Sylvia Marston In An Eagerly Expectant Mood. It Was
Characteristic Of Him That His Expression Conveyed Little Hint Of His
Feelings, For George Was A Quiet, Self-Contained Man; But He Had Not
Been So Troubled By Confused Emotions Since Sylvia Married Marston
Three Years Earlier. Marston Had Taken Her To Canada; But Now He Was
Dead, And Sylvia, Returning To England, Had Summoned George, Who Had
Been Appointed Executor Of Her Husband's Will.

Everyone would have faced some tensed moments in life. Going through those stressful moments could leave one broken-heart or smile with relief.

These are true accounts of my past taken from My Red Book, that I did not continue. Because when I returned to England I did nothing of much interest. 

logs these are my logs that are for every one to read or to help them chose which one to read every day ill write a log in my mead jurnal then the next day put it up here so good luck.

I need something for World Book Day. Really, my creativity knows no bounds. Now I'm just rambling. This getting embarrassing for both of us so I'll just leave. 

These are peices from humans struggling to live in so many different ways.  *Warning this book may contain poetry*