By Elizabeth Taylor
Might be each novelist harbors a monster at middle, an irrepressible and totally irresponsible fantasist, let alone a born and inventive liar, with out which all her artwork may opt for naught. Angel, at any cost, is the tale of any such monster. Angelica Deverell lives above her diligent, drab mother's grocery store in a dreary turn-of-the-century English local, yet spends her days dreaming of good-looking Paradise condominium, the place her aunt is enthroned as a maid. yet in Angel's mind's eye, she is the mistress of the home, a realm of lavish opulence, of night robes and peacocks. Then she starts to write down renowned novels, and this myth turns into her lifestyles. And now that she has tasted luck, Angel has no goal of letting an individual stand in her way--except, maybe, herself.
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The handwriting was relatively easy to read, but the black ink, most likely iron gall, had eaten away the parchment at certain places. Green sensed that the professor was now focusing all his attention on the manuscript and decided not to disturb his concentration. He just sat there, deep in his own thoughts, and from time to time glanced at Galway, who was showing increasing excitement as he skimmed through the book, apparently only trying to get the general sense of the text. The telephone on Green’s desk rang twice before Sandra answered the call from the reception desk, but neither man seemed to take notice.
The chain of ownership prior to that date was not clear. Fra Benedetto really had no choice but to embark on a covert operation. The game was worth the candle—or, in this case, a new dome for the basilica was well worth some circumventing of proper procedure. He prayed to the Lord, asking for His understanding if not His forgiveness, and went ahead with his scheme. Benedetto conﬁded his plan to Fra Ignacio, his longtime friend and current treasurer of the Order. Fra Ignacio was a Spaniard from an old aristocratic Spanish family; he was also Sr.
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Angel by Elizabeth Taylor