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FICTION
BY BEVERLEY BYRNE
In Romania’s Carpathian Mountain
IT had been a long, hard drive. Frances had left early, hoping to get away before the rush hour – only to discover that the rush hour started earlier still. She stopped for a break further south than
I n the corner of the drawing room ...
THE clamour of seagulls woke Frances. For a moment, she was disorientated. Not so much in place – she knew this bedroom well – as in time. She had the odd feeling that none of the last 30-odd years ha
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A hidden secret proved to Annie that bravery came in many forms
She’d admired the cool blonde from afar, but Teresa had no idea how much they actually had in common