By Bruce Herschensohn
Islamist progressive terrorists have taken over the us of the USA. hundreds of thousands of voters were killed, imprisoned, and tortured. The President is lacking, and his so much relied on consultant, Eli Jared, is holed up in a mystery govt command middle. with out guns or any conversation with the skin global, Jared needs to work out tips to wrest the destiny of the state clear of terrorists bent on obliterating the yankee lifestyle.
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Extra info for Above Empyrean: A Novel of the Final Days of the War on Islamic Terrorism
The doctor and his wife in Eddleston were no doubt informed that the child they were pleased to adopt was of good English stock. The mother had not been able to afford to keep the child, neither financially nor psychologically. In the late fifties, before the Pill, these situations were commonplace. Poor Monica—how she would have hated this tabloid rendering of her parentage. Monica liked privacy. She wanted to do good—and, as her work in the Social Services can testify, she did. Monica’s last card to me bemoaned the cuts in assistance to single mothers.
I lie very still, silent. “Ah! ” he sighs. I do not know if it is pleasure or pain. Pain? How can that be? I murmur, “My lover—my god—” “Ah! ” he sighs again. “I have waited so long—” “Hush. Hush,” he says. Then he is on me, his hands digging like claws into my shoulders, no gentleness now, no words. Then with one hand he grasps me hard between my legs. I try not to cry out. This is blood and fire, this is purging flame, this is a man like no other, no other in the whole world. He is breathing hard.
My blonde maiden,” he says. ” He cannot insist. It is for me to act now. I unbutton his jacket and pull a shoulder free. He takes off the jacket and I pull him down, down, down onto the bed with me. I cover his face with kisses, I smooth his hair. ” I ask. “Never tired,” he tells me. Of course not. Amadeus is steel; he is thunder; he is lightning. Now there is a silence between us. He lies beside me on his back. He puts a hand on my breast. “Little darling, little sweetheart,” he says. ” He raises up a little and kisses me, whispering endearments, over and over again.