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Date:         Tue, 27 Oct 1998 22:07:11 -0400
Reply-To:     Andreas Fenner <Max0628@BESTWEB.NET>
Sender:       Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@vanagon.com>
From:         Andreas Fenner <Max0628@BESTWEB.NET>
Subject:      Send this to nobody....
Comments: To: Alastair Chesson <Alastair.Chesson@ccmail.eu.sony.co.jp>,
          Martin@fenner.com, Vanagon@vanagon.com,
          G=?us-ascii?Q?=F8?=sta Metzler <gmetzle@kel.goe.net>,
          OPfanz@aol.com, Alycat75@aol.com, Vishal S Greenaway
          <vsg@acsu.buffalo.edu>
Content-type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"

>John Blanchard stood up from the >bench, straightened his Army uniform, and studied the crowd of >>> >people making their way through Grand Central >>> >>> > Station. He looked >>> >for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face >>> >>> > he >>> >>> > didn't, the >>> >girl with the rose. His interest in her had begun >>> >>> thirteen >>> >>> > months >>> >before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he >>> >>> > found >>> >himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with >>> >>> the >>> >>> > >>> >notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a >>> >>> > >>> >thoughtful soul and insightful mind. >>> >>> > >>> >>> > In the front of the book, >>> >he discovered the previous owner's name, >>> >>> > Miss >>> >>> > Hollis Maynell. >>> >With time and effort he located her address. She >>> >>> > lived >>> >>> > in New >>> >York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and >>> >>> > inviting her >>> >to correspond. The next day he was shipped overseas >>> >>> for >>> >>> > service >>> >in >>> >>> > World War II. >>> >>> > >>> >>> > During the next year and one-month the two >>> >grew to know each other >>> >>> > through the mail. Each letter was a seed >>> >falling on a fertile >>> >>> heart. >>> >>> > A >>> >>> > Romance was budding. Blanchard >>> >requested a photograph, but she >>> >>> > refused. >>> >>> > She felt that if he >>> >really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked >>> >>> > like. >>> >>> > >>> >>> > When >>> >the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they >>> >>> > scheduled >>> >>> >>> >> their first meeting - 7:00 PM at the Grand Central Station in New >>> >>> > >>> >York. >>> >>> > >>> >>> > "You'll recognize me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be >>> >wearing >>> >>> on >>> >>> > my >>> >>> > lapel." So at 7:00 he was in the station >>> >looking for a girl whose >>> >>> > heart >>> >>> > he loved, but whose face he'd >>> >never seen. >>> >>> > >>> >>> > I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what happened: A >>> >young woman was >>> >>> > coming >>> >>> > toward me, her figure long and slim. Her >>> >blonde hair lay back in >>> >>> > curls >>> >>> > from her delicate ears; her eyes >>> >were blue as >>> >>> > flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in >>> >her pale >>> >>> > green >>> >>> > suit she was like springtime come alive. I >>> >started toward her, >>> >>> > entirely >>> >>> > forgetting to notice that she was >>> >not wearing a rose. As I moved, a >>> >>> > small, provocative smile curved her >>> >lips. "Going my way, sailor?" >>> >>> she >>> >>> > murmured. Almost uncontrollably >>> >I made one step closer to her, and >>> >>> > then >>> >>> > I saw Hollis Maynell. >>> >She was standing almost directly behind the >>> >>> > girl. >>> >>> > A woman well >>> >past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. >>> >>> > She >>> >>> > was >>> >more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled >>> >>> > >>> >shoes. >>> >>> > The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt >>> >as >>> >>> though >>> >>> > I >>> >>> > was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow >>> >her, and yet so >>> >>> deep >>> >>> > was my longing for the woman whose spirit had >>> >truly companioned me >>> >>> and >>> >>> > upheld my own. >>> >>> > >>> >>> > And there she >>> >stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, >>> >>> > her >>> >>> > gray >>> >eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My >>> >>> > fingers >>> >gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that >>> >>> was >>> >>> > to >>> >>> >>> >> identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be >>> >>> >>> >something >>> >>> > precious, something perhaps even better than love, a >>> >friendship for >>> >>> > which I had been and >>> >>> > must ever be grateful. >>> >>> > >>> > >>> >>> > I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the >>> >>> >>> >woman, >>> >>> > even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of >>> >my >>> >>> > disappointment. "I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be >>> >>> >>> >Miss >>> >>> > Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to >>> >dinner?" >>> >>> > >>> >>> > The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I >>> >don't know >>> >>> what >>> >>> > this is about, son," she answered, "but the young >>> >lady in the green >>> >>> > suit >>> >>> > who just went by, she begged me to wear >>> >this rose on my coat. And >>> >>> she >>> >>> > said if you were to ask me out to >>> >dinner, I should go and tell you >>> >>> > that >>> >>> > she is waiting for you in >>> >the big restaurant across the street. She >>> >>> > said >>> >>> > it was some kind >>> >of test!" It's not difficult to understand and >>> >>> > admire >>> >>> > Miss >>> >Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its >>> >>> > response >>> >to the unattractive. "Tell me whom you love," Houssaye >>> >>> > wrote, >>> >>> > >>> >"And I will tell you who you are." >>> >>> > >>> >>> > *************** Send this to >>> >3 people.... You will have good luck >>> >>> for >>> >>> > an entire day. >>> >>> > >>> >Send this to 8 people.... You will have good >>> >>> > luck for all of next >>> >week. >>> >>> > Send this 11 or more people.... You will >>> >>> > know your true >>> >love and be happy for a long, long time. >>> >>> > Send this to 20 or more >>> >people.... You >>> >>> > and your true love are going to be happily married >>> >forever after. >>> >>> > Send this to nobody.... You will have >>> >>> > bad >>> >luck for at least 5 years. >>> > >>> >> >> >With Love, >Mr13 >"Technicolor children, in Picadilly Square >Whisper words, erotica, when U kiss me there." > >


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