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The War of the Titans, or Titanomachy , is one of many Ancient Near Eastern stories of generations of gods vying for primacy. Documents in Mycenaean Greek. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, , p. The authors note the source of this name as fragment Xa Works and Days and Theogony. Hardcover eBook. About The Book.

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Eight Months Ago. Where Things Take a Turn for the Weird. We are confident you will contribute many amazing things to our school and community. Here at Smith we take our motto very seriously: Non tamen ad reddet. Not to take, but to give back. We strive each day to make the world a better place for our fellow human beings because this is what matters most. Attached please find details regarding the start of the school year.

Our travel office will be contacting you shortly to arrange transportation for you and your belongings to our beautiful Connecticut campus. We look forward to an exciting and rewarding year! And Blake and I trade lunch every day because he likes the kale chips and other inedible green things my mother packs for me.

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Mrs. Smith's Spy School for Girls

My mother, the smart yet apparently forgetful Jennifer Hunter, appears in my bedroom doorway. She has a towel wrapped around her hair and one covering her torso. Her mouth is full of toothpaste. Also, why does a school for kids have a coat of arms? Mom squints. I clear my throat.

Mom freezes, a look of shock clouding her face. Toothpaste rolls down her chin.

Persephone Smith Series by Lauren Courcelle

My stomach sinks. This letter is no mistake. I sit cross-legged on my bed. In my free hand, I hold a ceramic box I made in pottery this year. Not that I plan on throwing it or anything.

My mother returns in a white T-shirt, her long, wet hair dripping on the floor, a totally inappropriate smile plastered on her face. She eyes my pottery. The smile falters. Just like when you ditched school with Ainsley to liberate the lemurs at the Central Park Zoo. There were police involved. No upside. Besides, it was addressed to me. Lots of smart kids. You know. For someone with a sharp tongue, I have a pathetically monosyllabic argument against boarding school. I shake the letter at my mother. My creative self will be forever silenced. I cannot possibly go.

And what sort of person wears marine life on her skirts? Wicked Witch of the West, Mom. Gone in a puff of smoke. The end of Abigail Hunter as you know her. She steamed. I hug my knees to my chest, the defensive posture of a hedgehog under attack. Mom looks me up and down. There are places I have to be and things that. Smith will challenge you and keep you focused. Give it a try. For me? I love my mother. But she also failed to mention she was sending me to boarding school in September.

Why I Love “Wicked”

Mom stands up. She paces the short length of my narrow bedroom, thinking. I hate the snow. Besides, Mom drives on icy roads the same way she drives on not-icy roads: fast and terrifying. The Costa Rican cloud forest? My heart races. The elusive victory is close, I can feel it. Mom puts her hands on her hips. A trickle of sweat runs down my back. We shake hands.

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