Thomas Kinkade The Heart of San Francisco painting

Thomas Kinkade The Heart of San Francisco paintingThomas Kinkade The Good Life paintingThomas Kinkade Sunset on Lamplight Lane painting
Fric got up from the armchair. He walked away.He passed quickly along aisles of bookshelves to the front of the library.His personal call tone continued to mock him. He paused to stare at the phone in this main reading area, watching as watched had once more settled over him.In the library, among the hundreds of tiny white lights strung like stars across the dark boughs of the evergreen, the angels sang silently, laughed silently, silently blew heralds’ horns, glimmered, glittered, hung from their halos or harps, dangled from their pierced wings, from their hands raised in blessing, from their necks, as if they had broken all the laws of Heaven and, executed in one great throng, had been condemned forever to this hangman’s tree.the signal light burned bright with each ring.Like all the members of the household and the staff who enjoyed dedicated phone lines, Fric had voice mail. If he didn’t pick up by the fifth ring, the call would be recorded for him.[226] Although his voice mail was currently activated, the phone had rung fourteen times, maybe more.He circled the Christmas tree, opened one of the two tall doors, and stepped out of the library, into the hall.At last the phone stopped taunting him.Fric glanced to his left, then to his right. He stood alone in the hall, yet the feeling of being