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The best ghostwriters for hire in Ireland

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John

Dublin, Ireland

Award-winning ghost writer - business & memoir expert - worked with Penguin Random House - co-created books with hundreds of 5-star reviews

Genres: Business & Management, Non-Fiction, Biographies & Memoirs, and Health & Wellbeing.

Work experience:

Self-employed

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Nicola

Drogheda, County Louth, Ireland

I'm an award winning ghostwriter, traditionally published author and screenwriter.

Genres: Historical Fiction, Fiction, Historical Mysteries, Mystery & Crime, and Contemporary Fiction.

Work experience:

Bombshell Books (Bloodhound Books)
Poolbeg Press Ltd
TBC
Authentic Creativity
Orpen Press
Louth County Council
Pactum Factum Press

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Hardly had the Doctor finished his story when there was a long whistle from the locomotive, followed by several short ones. The speed of the train was slackened, and, while the passengers were wondering what was the matter, the conductor came into the car where our friends were seated and told them there was a herd of buffaloes crossing the track. "You are wrong there," answered the Doctor; "there is probably as large a proportion of married women in the one region as in the other. The difference is that the custom is rapidly falling off." The man's eyes were perhaps the worst part of him--dull, red, and bloated, full of a certain ferocious cowardliness. They were the eyes of a man who drank to excess. The red rims twitched. "Good night, my darling," he said, as he kissed her fondly. "You'll be compelled to leave here tomorrow, and I only hope the child will be better. Thank goodness, Gilbert Lawrence will be only too glad to have you." at vital moments. Thank you for your rosebuds. They were lovely. And, quite unexpectedly, as we turned a corner beyond the coppersmiths' alley, we came on a row of tea-shops, displaying huge and burly china jars. Chinamen, in black or blue, sat at the shop doors in wide, stiff armchairs, their fine, plaited pigtail hanging over the back, while they awaited a customer with a good-humoured expression of dull indifference. [Pg 157] ��Now Jeff,�� the letter concluded, ��my caretaker on Long Island has sent me clippings about a ghost scare on the old estate, and somehow I connect that with the attempt to destroy the emeralds. I can��t imagine any motive, but there are fanatics who do such things from a warped sense of their duty or from spite and hatred of rich folks. For old times�� sake, drop everything, get down to bedrock on this thing at your end��do whatever you think best, but get in touch with the yacht, learn their plans, cooperate with Captain Parks and my wife to bring that necklace back to the vaults, and��I count on you!�� He must be looking for his landing!�� Sandy called. Cairness went on, back to the barracks, and sitting at the troop clerk's desk, made a memory sketch of her. It did not by any means satisfy him, but he kept it nevertheless. Cadnan reached numbly for a leaf and, without thinking, began to nibble. The world had been set in order: he had no more questions now. Instead, he felt empty spaces, waiting to be filled with the great knowledge of Puna and of Gornom and all the others, at the next meeting. Besides, she was lost in the crowd which jigged and clumped around her, not even daunted by the unfamiliar waltz that the hurdy-gurdy struck up next. Nobody, except fanatics, bothered about steps, so one could dance to any tune. Therefore the confessions of a man like Albert came upon him as a revelation. Indeed, at first he scarcely understood them. They disquieted him and sometimes made him nervous and miserable, not because he had any very definite moral recoil, but because they forced him to think. Few can gauge the tragedy of thinking when it visits an unthinking soul. For the first time in his life Pete found himself confused, questioning, lying awake of nights and asking "why?" The world suddenly showed itself to him as a place which he could not understand. It frightened him to think about it. Sometimes he was acutely miserable, but he would not betray his misery to Albert, as the poor fellow seemed to find relief in his confidences. And on and on the stream flowed, swifter and muddier every day. Reuben too was appalled by them, but would not for worlds have shown it. He attacked the knives and forks with such vigour that he did not get really involved in them till the joint, and as he refused no drink the waiter offered he soon had all his glasses harmlessly occupied. Nor was he at a loss for conversation. He was resolved that neither Richard nor Anne should ignore the greatness of his farm; if only he could stir[Pg 392] up a spark of home-sickness in his son's white-shirted breast, his triumph would be complete. HoME Ի��ŷ��һ��ëƬ ENTER NUMBET 0018www.bitmall.net.cn
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