Received: from [104.168.110.171] (port=48761 helo=gofriendlybuy.com) by stodi.digitalkingdom.org with esmtp (Exim 4.87) (envelope-from ) id 1cHdgB-0007dS-69 for lojban@lojban.org; Thu, 15 Dec 2016 13:35:08 -0800 Date: Thu, 15 Dec 2016 14:58:49 -0700 From: "Sarah Underwood" Mime-Version: 1 Message-ID: <7564052623jrc2c7e55fbfda4353ca10c7b6e541eeed-5523612_lojban@lojban.org-659> Content-Type: text/html; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Subject: Best-Buy Shopper - You've earned-yourself a $50-Christamas-RewardCard: 4052623 To: X-Spam-Score: -0.4 (/) X-Spam_score: -0.4 X-Spam_score_int: -3 X-Spam_bar: / cmon mannnnn
 

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    • Okay It took him fifty years to get over his fear of having a family. You came along at just the right time. I didnt know how to respond. How do you say Im sorry your father didnt love you enough to your own dad I couldnt, so instead I just said goodnight and headed upstairs to bed. I tossed and turned most of the night. I couldnt stop thinking about the lettersthe one my dad and Aunt Susie had found as , from this other woman, and the one Id found a month ago, from Miss Peregrine. The thought that kept me awake was this: what if they were the same woman The postmark on Miss Peregrines letter was fifteen years old, but by all accounts shed been blown into the stratosphere back in 1940. To my mind, that left two possible explanations: either my grandfather had been corresponding with a dead personadmittedly unlikelyor the person who wrote the letter was not, in fact, Miss Peregrine, but someone who was using her identity to disguise her own. Why would you disguise your identity in a letter Because you have something to hide. Because you are the other woman. I have to go down there. I held my breath. Then, I heard a s voice say softly, Abe Is that you I bolted outside and down the crumbling brick steps into the grass, screaming, Wait! Stop! But they were gone. I scanned the yard, the woods, breathing hard, cursing myself. Something snapped beyond the trees. I wheeled around to look and, through a screen of branches, caught a flash of blurred movementthe hem of a white dress. It was her. I crashed into the woods, sprinting after. She took off running down the path. But enter I did, because thats where the s footprints led. Inside, the cairn tunnel was damp and narrow and profoundly dark, so cramped that I could only move forward in a kind of hunchbacked crabwalk. Luckily, enclosed spaces were not one of the many things that scared the hell out of me. Imagining the frightened and trembling somewhere up ahead, I talked to her as I went along, doing my best to reassure her that I meant no harm. My words came slapping back at me in a disorienting echo. Just as my thighs were starting to ache from the bizarre posture Id been forced to adopt, the tunnel widened into a chamber, pitch black but big enough that I could stand and stretch my arms to either side without touching a wall.