Louis Mézenge est né en 1890 à Vernantes (Maine et Loire), où ses parents sont métayers dans une petite ferme. Louis est l'aîné des quatre enfants. La famille vit modestement de son labeur et lorsque Louis atteint ses quatorze ans, ses parents le placent comme domestique dans une maison bourgeoise de la région. Il y restera jusqu'à ses 18 ans révolus. Le maître de maison, l'ayant pris en sympathie, lui fera découvrir beaucoup des nouveautés de ce début de 20ème siècle. Le temps passant, il se lasse et très attiré par la ville, il rejoint Angers dans une nouvelle place. En novembre 1913, après le service militaire, il revient à Angers, au service d'une nouvelle famille. Il essaiera de renouer avec ses anciennes conquêtes, l'ennui guette... La seule connaissance qui lui restera fidèle : Marie. Elle lui redonne espoir, mais alors qu'il essaie de revenir à Saint Georges pour y travailler, l'actualité le rattrape... Le 1er août, alors qu'il est en place à Angers, il entendra, comme tout le monde, sonner le tocsin et verra placarder les affiches de mobilisation générale... Comme tous les autres, il va devoir préparer ses affaires et rejoindre son régiment, un autre destin l'attend...

Lise avait hérité depuis sa plus tendre enfance de séquelles de polio. À l'aube de ses quarante et un ans, elle effectue un rituel dans le but d'obtenir le pouvoir de la transformer. Aussitôt après, elle est confrontée à d'étranges évènements qui vont bouleverser sa vie. À travers ses pérégrinations entre deux mondes, elle découvre que l'être humain n'est qu'un pion dans un jeu de rôle. Bientôt, ce sont les dirigeants qui se sentent manipulés. Le Maître du jeu ne contrôle plus les concepts dont se sert le mental de Lise. Qui manoeuvre ? Qui dirige ? Les conséquences de cette dualité auront-elles un impact sur le destin de Lise ? L'auteur « Rachelle Evrandura », de son vrai nom Liberté Jurado-Narvaez est née à Le Creusot, en Saône et Loire. Divorcée, mère de deux enfants. Elle n'a cessé d'écrire depuis l'enfance. En invalidité depuis 2007, elle se lance le défi d'écrire un livre pour relater sa vie autrement. Une histoire romancée basée sur des faits réels avec une touche de fiction et d'humour.

Please note: This audiobook has been created using AI voice. Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo.... His father told him that story: his father looked at him through a glass: he had a hairy face. He was baby tuckoo. The moocow came down the road where Betty Byrne lived: she sold lemon platt.

Please note: This audiobook has been created using AI voice. It is a sin to write this. It is a sin to think words no others think and to put them down upon a paper no others are to see. It is base and evil. It is as if we were speaking alone to no ears but our own. And we know well that there is no transgression blacker than to do or think alone. We have broken the laws. The laws say that men may not write unless the Council of Vocations bid them so. May we be forgiven!

Please note: This audiobook has been created using AI voice. Mr. Phileas Fogg lived, in 1872, at No. 7, Saville Row, Burlington Gardens, the house in which Sheridan died in 1814. He was one of the most noticeable members of the Reform Club, though he seemed always to avoid attracting attention; an enigmatical personage, about whom little was known, except that he was a polished man of the world. People said that he resembled Byron-at least that his head was Byronic; but he was a bearded, tranquil Byron, who might live on a thousand years without growing old.

Please note: This audiobook has been created using AI voice. In the summer of 1869, Scottish-American naturalist and author John Muir spent the months of June through September in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California accompanying a group of shepherds while they led a flock of sheep to the high country to graze. During that time, Muir took every opportunity to explore the Yosemite area extensively-hiking, camping, writing, and sketching. Muir's diary entries describing the land, flora, and fauna he encountered became the basis for the book My First Summer in the Sierra, first published in 1911.

Please note: This audiobook has been created using AI voice. It was four o'clock when the ceremony was over and the carriages began to arrive. There had been a crowd following all the way, owing to the exuberance of Marija Berczynskas. The occasion rested heavily upon Marija's broad shoulders-it was her task to see that all things went in due form, and after the best home traditions; and, flying wildly hither and thither, bowling every one out of the way, and scolding and exhorting all day with her tremendous voice, Marija was too eager to see that others conformed to the proprieties to consider them herself. She had left the church last of all, and, desiring to arrive first at the hall, had issued orders to the coachman to drive faster. When that personage had developed a will of his own in the matter, Marija had flung up the window of the carriage, and, leaning out, proceeded to tell him her opinion of him, first in Lithuanian, which he did not understand, and then in Polish, which he did. Having the advantage of her in altitude, the driver had stood his ground and even ventured to attempt to speak; and the result had been a furious altercation, which, continuing all the way down Ashland Avenue, had added a new swarm of urchins to the cortege at each side street for half a mile.

Please note: This audiobook has been created using AI voice. The Time Traveller (for so it will be convenient to speak of him) was expounding a recondite matter to us. His grey eyes shone and twinkled, and his usually pale face was flushed and animated. The fire burned brightly, and the soft radiance of the incandescent lights in the lilies of silver caught the bubbles that flashed and passed in our glasses. Our chairs, being his patents, embraced and caressed us rather than submitted to be sat upon, and there was that luxurious after-dinner atmosphere when thought roams gracefully free of the trammels of precision. And he put it to us in this waymarking the points with a lean forefingeras we sat and lazily admired his earnestness over this new paradox (as we thought it) and his fecundity.