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It's the same. Dave comes into the office and turns on a computer. , he's banging his fists on the desk and shouting at the screen. He then throws something across the room. We sit there until he calms down. He apologises as he smiles before starting to type. Then we have to remind him that he's the cleaner.
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The priest looked at the baby. He picked it up and went outside. Someone had left the child at the back of the church. The sun was shining as he sat on a bench in the garden. , a woman ran towards him, shouting and crying . The priest looked into her eyes for a moment before realising she was the sister he hadn't seen for thirty years. He was an uncle!
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As the chickens clucked around the barn, the old farmer sighed as he watched them fight for the food. He knew all of them by sight, very indeed. He'd been feeding them for many years. The old man thought about the eggs the chickens had laid over the years. What a pity I don't like eggs, he mused .
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Sandra slipped into bed. She was exhausted. The leaves of the flowers that David had left hung over the side of their pot. Three days, and not a word. She cast her mind back to better days, when she and Dave had talked about their future. Dreams were only a promise, she thought . Promises could be broken, like hearts.
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"Hurry up! I said I'd call Dan we arrived." Colin watched Sue searching her bag for the phone. She apologized to Colin for the state of her bag, and he felt he spent half his life waiting for things to appear from it. "You must have taken it when you were looking for the tickets," she said . "Sorry, love, you're right. It's in my pocket."
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Detective Bradley observed the guard . It was almost five, and the visitors were heading for the exit. The gallery had been open for only two weeks, and four paintings had disappeared. Bradley saw the pass. Two hands met , and the keys found a new minder. Bradley walked towards the exit and locked the heavy door. He leant against it , looking forward to the action he'd been waiting for all day.
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A man who loved the world more than Monroe would be hard to find. He approached each day , as though the world had given him a gift-wrapped surprise. Monroe sat in his back garden, tapping a forefinger on a knee. He loved music , but his playing days were over. He had the birds, and he was happy.
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"Have you never been on a big job?" Morton shouted . His young apprentice nodded back . "Sure," he said . "I was on the bridge job for a year." The bridge, Morton recalled , should have been his job, but Turner always more found the cash for the bribes. Morton had to be content with picking up whatever work came his way. The text message unsettled him. Turner was dead, and Morton had an appointment he couldn't back out of.
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It was the way her hair fell over her shoulders that first attracted Mark to Eve. It swayed as she walked, revealing in turn each side of her slender neck. They'd met at a jazz festival, Eve the first to speak as Mark struggled to find the words. She'd rambled on about jazz as Mark gazed into her eyes. She mumbled something about the ladies' room, and disappeared for fifteen years. Now she was back.
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Enwin the Elf sat on a stone, chomping on a soggy bread roll. A frog eyed him . Enwin teased the frog , suggesting that his snack would be tastier with a helping of frog eyes, or a slice of frog tongue. Frogs could swim around to pass the time. Such an easy life! Enwin, of course, teased the frog because he was jealous of its leisurely life. Not a nice elf, really. You should have seen the look on his face when a princess appeared out of the blue and kissed the frog.
