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document.write('<p class="rss-title"><a class="rss-title" href="http://www.mixedmetaphor.net" target="_self">Mixed Metaphor.net</a><br /><span class="rss-item">Writing, blogging, believing, loving . . . living a life that is like a mixed metaphor.</span></p>');
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document.write('<li class="rss-item"><a class="rss-item" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/mixedmetaphor/ypoo/~3/rar-CCkjcpA/" title="Pure joy. Just before she fell asleep, she realized that those were the words she had been searching for. She was filled with joy . . . pure, undiluted, uninhibited, unspoiled joy. There was simply no better word to describe the culmination of the past fe..." target="_self">Pure Joy</a><br />');
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document.write('<li class="rss-item"><a class="rss-item" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/mixedmetaphor/ypoo/~3/PkNzhuNN_Ls/" title="She gazed down at her nephew sleeping soundly in his crib as her sister quietly moved about his bedroom gathering clothes, diapers, and other necessities. &amp;#8220;Enjoy your innocence while it lasts, little one,&amp;#8221; she whispered, stroking his c..." target="_self">Opportunity (Part Two)</a><br />');
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document.write('<li class="rss-item"><a class="rss-item" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/mixedmetaphor/ypoo/~3/So2mrKtcdPU/" title="She stared at the ceiling. She had been tossing and turning, trying to find a comfortable position, determined to will sleep to overtake her . . . to no avail. She wasn&amp;#8217;t sure how much time had passed since she heard the clock in her living room..." target="_self">Opportunity</a><br />');
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document.write('<li class="rss-item"><a class="rss-item" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/mixedmetaphor/ypoo/~3/ERXSKIQ7fjI/" title="&amp;#8220;She wants to see you,&amp;#8221; his father told him two days ago. &amp;#8220;How did you get my telephone number?&amp;#8221; He looked over at Keith, who could not meet his gaze. &amp;#8220;That&amp;#8217;s not important. What matters is that ..." target="_self">The Farewell (Part One)</a><br />');
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document.write('<li class="rss-item"><a class="rss-item" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/mixedmetaphor/ypoo/~3/X8t6QfuAOeg/" title="As always, Dennis knew exactly what she needed and provided it. As she stood on the deck of the little cottage at the top of the walkway leading to the shore, she marveled at how well he understood her. Leave it to Dennis to arrange for them to enjoy an e..." target="_self">The Letter (Chapter Twenty-Seven)</a><br />');
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