R.s. Celine

Writer, international intrigue artist

Come on in and join the adventure

Writer, Author, Adventure Innovator


 
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The Professor exhaled a deep breath of satisfaction at his success. He pulled his collar up high and continued on, softly humming his favorite requiem to calm his mind. Determined to keep his pace to a casual stroll, he even felt the tension beginning to lift. All the while, the professor did not realize that a shadow was drawing rapidly closer, that he would not get the brandy he was so looking forward to and that he would never hear his beloved requiem again..


 
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They both gazed down into the box, lined in deep red, at a very small ancient book no larger than the palm of a hand, resting under a glass lid.  

“A Psalter.”  Hartman nearly whispered.  “It’s beautiful.”  Dust hung in the air below the single lightbulb, lit like particles suspended in time.


 

 
 
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Under the little yellow lamp over the door, he could just see the man place a cane on the step below, carefully steadying himself onto the sidewalk.  He buttoned his coat and began a slow walk towards the restaurant, placing the cane softly with each step.