The innocuous facade of the research institute seems to be working on a different type of historical research. It appears that the institute is investigating the important events of history set in the contemporary time, which it does not consider as time travel. The staff members of the institute seem to find problems in trying to maintain the appearance of the harmless eccentrics of history as they tend to make loud explosions when the things become too quiet.
Although, their aim is to observe and record the events in the history, they also try to find the answers to most of the unanswered questions of History. But, they have to deal with a number of deadly difficulties in the process. They are required to be extremely careful because if they make one wrong move, they are going to get fought back by the History, possibly to death. Soon, they discover that, it is not just History that they are fighting. It was published in the year by the Accent Press publishing house.
In the opening sequence of the plot of the novel, the main character Max and his team visit the Victorian London through time travel in order to observe and document the elements of the rich history of that time. The research team of Max specifically tries to search the information related to Jack the Ripper, but instead they come across the murder of Archbishop Thomas, as the witnesses. Thomas is described as a Becket in the Canterbury Cathedral. Max and his team from the research institute also discover that the dodos make a certain grockling noise when they eat cucumber sandwiches.
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Because when he visits there he finds out no-one with the last name of Reacher has ever lived there. It leaves him wondering - did his father ever live there? Heavily disguised as the world's most incompetent facilities manager, she shifted dead dogs, fell out of mobile libraries, and spent far too much time in the gents' toilets. The idea to rewrite history first came to her while studying history A level at an evening class. Just One Damned Thing After Another is her first novel and was originally self-published as an ebook; it was downloaded by more than 60, readers on Amazon.
Overview Music Video Charts. Opening the iTunes Store. If iTunes doesn't open, click the iTunes application icon in your Dock or on your Windows desktop. If Apple Books doesn't open, click the Books app in your Dock. Click I Have iTunes to open it now. View More by This Author. In a blind panic I might have been, but the sensible part of my brain took me to the bank.
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From there, I pushed my way along the crowded post-Christmas pavements, heart thumping with fear, always looking over my shoulder, desperate to reach the railway station. Mindful of the ever-present CCTV cameras, I kept my face down and, to the bemusement of the ticket clerk, bought a one-way ticket to Edinburgh and then another to Penzance. I was hasty and frightened and I dropped things and my hands were shaking and I knew he would remember me.
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Just for good measure, I used my credit card to buy the tickets. I was certain they would be monitoring my bank account. From there, I trundled my suitcase into the Ladies and turned my coat inside out. It looked odd but that was the least of my worries and now it was silver instead of black, which was the best I could do for the time being. Leaving the Ladies, I left the station as well, heading for the bus depot next door. I counted three buses down the line and jumped on the fourth.
It was the going from that was so vital. I jumped off the bus at the next town and did exactly the same thing again — three buses along, catch the fourth, jump off that one at a randomly selected stop — and do it all again. I ate sandwiches of varying quality as I went. I slept in snatches, sometimes only for seconds, waking with a jerk at strange noises or sudden braking.
Or I huddled, too cold to sleep, on hideously cold metal seats in bus stations. The ones specifically designed to prevent anyone ever being comfortable on them. I had no idea where I was most of the time. I kidded myself this was a good thing. That if I had no idea where I was then neither would anyone else. And always, I kept moving. After three days, I was exhausted. I looked dreadful and felt worse. Was it possible I had escaped? Had I actually managed to get away? And for how long could I stay away?
It was when I was alighting from my umpteenth bus on its way to somewhere unknown that my legs gave way.
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I struggled to a nearby bench and sat down heavily. People were looking at me, probably thinking I was drunk or on drugs or both. This had to stop. Now I needed to plan for the future. I emerged from the bus station into a busy but anonymous town. Traffic roared past in several different directions. I stood for a while, getting my bearings, while people streamed around me on the pavement.
Everyone seemed to have somewhere to go. There was a large department store opposite and I trundled shakily across the road to use their facilities. They had a very nice restroom and I washed as much of me as was possible and scrabbled in my suitcase for something else to wear. And I had money. I bought another pair of jeans and a couple of t-shirts and warm sweaters.
All in greys and blacks. I had gone off colour forever. Colour had been the curse of my life. And I bought a new coat as well. I asked them to cut off all the labels and changed in the toilets. Examining myself in the mirror, I looked completely different. The beanie covered my hair and a scarf covered my face.
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I was huddled in a corner, as out of the way as I could manage, but when someone dropped a plate it frightened me so much I nearly jumped out of my skin, and the urge to move started up again. I stuffed down the rest of the sandwich and headed back to the train station where I bought a ticket for the first town whose name I recognised. Anyway, here I was, staring at myself in a blank window, wondering what I was doing, where I was going, and what on earth I was going to do when I got there.
So I get to put my feet up for a day or so. Only for a day or so, of course, and then full steam ahead with the sequel to White Silence and yes, Book 10 of the Chronicles. I have a busy year ahead of me.
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There will be tea and delicious cakes and, I hope, sandwiches with the crusts cut off. And then — we have a bit of fun planned for Sunday morning. Does anyone remember the two tiny stories I knocked out last year when I should have been working? Desiccated Water and Markham and the Anal Probing. People really seemed to like them so I shall be recording them. Apparently, Hazel knows someone with a big mike.
They took me after the funeral. It was quick and it was quiet. No one knew where I was.
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There was no one I could call on for help.