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The dowager rose and slipped from her pew. There was the sound of tearing silk as she threw up her arms to embrace her son. Then: Oh, Rupert, darling, she exclaimed in tones of theatrical despair, don't you see? The game's up!
Eva Ibbotson
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Eva Ibbotson
Age: 85 †
Born: 1925
Born: January 25
Died: 2010
Died: October 20
Novelist
Writer
Vienna
Austria
Maria Charlotte Michelle Wiesner
Eva Maria Charlotte Michelle Wiesner
Eva Maria Charlotte Michelle Ibbotson
Son
Tones
Embrace
Silk
Arms
Threw
Game
Theatrical
Dowager
Games
Darling
Rupert
Sound
Tone
Exclaimed
Despair
Slipped
Rose
Tearing
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This is worse than Hollywood, he thought. A girl comes in with a pork chop and I write a song for her.
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Not a frog, I hope?” he asked…She shook her head. “No. And if it was I wouldn’t kiss it, I promise you. I might kiss a prince if I could be sure he’d turn into a frog, but not the other way around.
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And so they played some of the world's loveliest piano music - the exiled homesick girl, the humiliated, tired old man. Not properly. Better than that.
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What are you afraid of then? Not Being able to see, I think not seeing because your obsessed by something that blots out the world.
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The sisters worked from dawn to dusk. One of them was an idiot she started shaving her legs and marrying tax inspectors, so she was no good.
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But she had to know words. She had to know everything.
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Loneliness had taught Harriet that there was always someone who understood - it was just so often that they were dead, and in a book.
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Slowly, Anna put up a hand to his muzzle and began to scratch that spot behind the ear where large dogs keep their souls.
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