"Sarah reached up and removed the leather-bound book from her head and moved to place it on the table. She reached for the pen and looked at the paper.... There was her mother’s and step-father’s signature, there was the headmistress’ large florid signature and all that remained was for her to sign. It was over in seconds. She did not even think to read the document, after all it would have been boring stuff about permissions and grades. The instant she lifted the pen from the page the. “What do you write?” he asked.“Oh, just short stories. I am not a professional writer and it’s just a hobby,” I replied, shrugging noncommittally.After a few more pleasantries I excused myself, and as I was leaving I gave my business a plug; “By the way, I own the gift shop diagonally across the road. If you are ever in need of a gift, I promise you a good discount to make up for the shirt,” I concluded sheepishly.Upon arriving home I opened my computer. Several months before I had come across. More

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