This Could Endanger Your Bank Account 👀💭

𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 3 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘴 𝘣𝘺 𝘑𝘶𝘭𝘺 2023 [Main logotype Expert Modern Advice](       Dear Reader, The U.S. government is gearing up to change how it controls the mоnеу in your bаnk account. This change may seem innocent at first... But when you look closer, the consequences can be frightening... [See what this disturbing change is hеrе.]( Good luck and God bless! [𝘚𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘋. 𝘞𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘴] Martin D. Weiss, PhD Founder of Weiss Ratings Fifteen. So you are. But bless me, child, the Leaguers will accept you in a middy blouse and pigtails. What’s Isolde thinking of? And you look much too plump! — But Sidney stalked haughtily past her tormenter into the h. Vick’s bantering, however, had stung her. The old clock on the stair landing chiming out the approaching hour of the League visitors warned Sidney that t was not time to change her middy with its faded collar; nor to wind the despised pigtails, around her head in the fashion Mrs. Milliken ced So beautifully quaint. Anyway, if t were the time in the world she would not do it. She’d begin right being her own self and not something the League wanted her to be because she was a poet’s daughter! Isolde and Trude might yield weakly to their fate but she would be strong. Perhaps, some day, she would rescue them—even Vicky! But as an unmistakable wave of chattering from without struck her ear her fine defiance deserted her. She ran to the door and peeped through one of the narrow windows that framed the door on either side. At the gate stood Mrs. Milliken and a strange woman. Behind them, in twos, stretched a long queue of girls—girls of about her own age. They wore trim serge dresses with white collars, alike. They carried notebooks in their hands. They leaned toward one another, whispering, giggling. around her neck and Isolde did a thing like that when something dreadful happened. Sidney had hoped that she might find the letter lying around somew so carelessly that she could be pardoned for reading it, but though she had looked everyw she had found it. She had had to piece toher Trude’s romance from the fabric of her agile imagination. Sidney had often tried to make herself hate the old house. Though it was a jolly, rambly place it was so very down-at-the heels and the light that poured in through the windows made things look even barer and shabbier. Nancy Stevens lived in one of the bungalows near the school and it was beautiful with shiny furniture and rugs that felt like woolly bed slippers under one’s tread and two pairs of curtains at each window and Nancy’s own room was pink even to the ruffled stuff hung over her bed like a tent. But Sidney had once heard Mrs. Milliken say to Isolde: I hope, dear girl, that you will not be tempted to change this fine old house in any way—to it just as your father lived in it is the est tribute we can pay to his memory. After that Sidney k t was no use hinting for even one pair of curtains. But her sisters had seemed quite contented. T had been a disturbing ring of finality to Isolde’s, You can’t away from it, that seemed almost to slap Sidney in the face. Would they always—at least she and Isolde and Trude, Vick would manage to escape someway—be bound down t in the quaint bare house with the Trustees sending their skimpy owances and long letters of advice and the ladies of the League of Poets coming and going and owning them body and soul? What was to prevent such a fate? They didn’t have enough to just say—Dear ladies, take the old house and the desk and the pens and pencils and the old coat—they’re yours— and run away and do what they pleased; probably a whole dozen of Eggs would not them anyw! What are you doing mooning t in the window? cried Vick from the door. Her arms were filled with a litter of boxes and old portfolios. W’s Isolde? I want her to k I dusted things in the study. Fifteen. So you are. But bless me, child, the Leaguers will accept you in a middy blouse and pigtails. What’s Isolde thinking of? And you look much too plump! — But Sidney stalked haughtily past her tormenter into the h. Vick’s bantering, however, had stung her. The old clock on the stair landing chiming out the approaching hour of the League visitors warned Sidney that t was not time to change her middy with its faded collar; nor to wind the despised pigtails, around her head in the fashion Mrs. Milliken ced So beautifully quaint. Anyway, if t were the time in the world she would not do it. She’d begin right being her own self and not something the League wanted her to be because she was a poet’s daughter! Isolde and Trude might yield weakly to their fate but she would be strong. Perhaps, some day, she would rescue them—even Vicky! But as an unmistakable wave of chattering from without struck her ear her fine defiance deserted her. She ran to the door and peeped through one of the narrow windows that framed the door on either side. At the gate stood Mrs. Milliken and a strange woman. Behind them, in twos, stretched a long queue of girls—girls of about her own age. They wore trim serge dresses with white collars, alike. They carried notebooks in their hands. They leaned toward one another, whispering, giggling. Sidney’s heart gave a tremendous bound. It was most certainly a boarding school! It was the nearest she had ever been to one! She forgot her middy and the hated pigtails, and the dread of the League. She threw the door. Mrs. Milliken’s voice came to her: He died on April tenth, Nineteen eighteen. He had just written that sonnet to the West Wind. You k it W is Isolde? Mrs. Milliken whispered between her Note the gracious proportions of this h and Joseph Romley would ow himself to be crowded with possessions. She’s—she’s— Sidney had a sudden instinct to protect Isolde. She has—a headache. I am so sorry that I cannot introduce you to Isolde Romley—the poet’s oldest daughter, Mrs. Milliken pitched her voice so that it might reach even to the girls crowding into the front door. She is a most interesting and delightful and unusual young lady. She was always closely associated with her gifted father and we feel that she is growing to be very like him. This— smiling affectionately at Sidney and owing a suggestion of apology to creep into her tone, This is just our little Sidney, the poet’s baby-girl. Sidney, lamb, this is Miss Byers of Grace H, a boarding school ng ladies and these are her precious charges. They are making a pilgrimage to our beloved shrine— Sidney, too familiar with Mrs. Milliken’s flowery phrases to be embarrassed by them, faced a little frightenedly the eyes that stared curiously at her from above the spotless collars. We will go right into the study, Mrs. Milliken advised Miss Byers. We can take the girls in in little groups. As poor Isolde is not I will tell them some of the precious and personal anecdotes of the poet. You k we, in Middletown—especiy of the League—feel very privileged to have lived so close to him— Miss Byers briskly marshed the first eight girls into the sm study. The others broke file and crowded into the front room and on to the stairs, some even spilled over into the dining room. They paid not the slightest attention to anything about them. Assured that Miss Byers was out of hearing they burst into excited chatter and laughter. Except for one or two who smiled shyly at her they did not even notice Sidney. Sidney, relieved that Mrs. Milliken did not expect her to recite the precious and personal anecdotes, drew back into a corner from w she could enjoy to its fullest measure the delight of such close propinquity to real boarding-school girls. Their talk, broken by smotd shrieks of laughter, rang like sweetest music to her. They seemed so jolly. Their blue serges and white collars were so stylish. She dered w they came from and whether they had scrapes at Grace H. The first eight girls filed back into the h from the study and Miss Byers motioned eight more to enter. T was a general stirring, then the chatter swelled again. a girl slipped into Sidney’s corner and dropped down upon a chair. Isn’t this the stupidest bore! she groaned. Then looking at Sidney, she gasped and laughed. Say—I beg your pardon. I thought you were one of the girls. And you’re—you’re—the poet’s daughter, aren’t you? The slanting dove-gray eyes above the white collar uy softened with sympathy. Sidney thought this young creature the very prettiest girl—next to Vicky—she had ever seen. She did not mind her pity. The stranger had taken her for one of the girls and Sidney would have forgiven her anything for that! I suppose it is a bore. Isn’t it fun, though, just going places? The boarding school girl stared. Oh, we go so much. T isn’t a big gun anyw within a radius of five hundred miles that we don’t have to visit. We autographs and listen to speeches and make notes about graves and look at pictures. Most of the girls a kick out of it slipping in some gore behind Byers’ back—but I don’t. I travel so much with my family that nothing seems awfully exciting . Sidney wished she’d say that over again—it sounded so . And the girl couldn’t be any older than she was. She was conscious that the slanting eyes were her closely. Do you like living and having a lot of people tramp over your house and stare at you and say things about you and poke at your father’s things? It was plain magic the way this stranger put her finger directly upon the sore spot. No, I don’t! vehemently. I’d hate it, too. And I suppose you always have to like a poet’s daughter, don’t you? Do you have to write poetry yourself? No, I loathe poetry! But I’ll bet you don’t dare say so when that Dame in t can hear you! I have to be careful talking about candy. My father makes the Betty Sweets. Don’t you k them? They’re sold over the world. We have an immense fory. And t isn’t any other kind of candy that I don’t like better. But I don’t dare tell anybody that. Funny, I’m telling you! Our spirits must be drawn toher by some invisible bond. Sidney’s ears fairly ached with the beauty of the other’s words. She stiffened her slender little body to control its trembling. She tried to say something but found her throat choked. The other girl rattled on: I didn’t take any notes. I’ll copy my roommate’s. You see we have to write a theme about our visit. Miss Byers prides herself on the girls of Grace being so well-informed. I k. I’ll put you into it. That’ll be fun. you’ll have to tell me something about yourself. How old are you? Do you go to a regular school and play with other girls like any ordinary girl? Sidney flushed at the other’s manner and found her tongue in an instinctive desire to defend her lot. Of course I go to school. It’s sort of a boarding school, the girls go nights. And I do everything the others do. And I am fifteen. I didn’t mean to end you. I thought perhaps a poet’s daughter was different. If you don’t mind in my theme I’ll make you different—pale and thin, with curly hair in a cloud, and faraway eyes— That’s like Isolde, my oldest sister, the one who usuy tells the ‘precious and personal anecdotes.’ I wasn’t rey ended—and I’ll admit most of the girls do treat me a little bit differently—but that’s Miss Downs’ fault; she ’t let them for that I am Joseph Romley’s daughter. She uses it the time in her catalogue and when any visitors come to the school it’s dreadful— If you don’t like it why don’t you come to Grace H? We’d have no end of fun— Gracious, I’ve been anyw. I go to Miss Downs’ because it’s at Middletown and because she gives me my tuition on account of Dad— Sidney bit her words in a sudden panic lest her admission of poverty shock this lovely creature. It had not, however. The dove-gray eyes had softened again with pity. Oh, I see. Of course, poets are always poor. I supposed they usuy lived in garrets. I nearly flopped when I saw this big house! This to comfort Sidney. Well, it’s too bad you can’t go to Grace. I like the riding best. I have my own horse. Gypsy. She’s a darling. My roommate is the cutest thing. She’s captain of the hockey team and her picture was in the York Times. Her mother made a dreadful fuss about it but it was too late. And she got a letter from a boy in York who’d seen the picture—the most exciting letter— Oh, you are, Pola, cried a voice behind them and a t girl elbowed Sidney back into her corner. Say, Byers will be at least a half an hour longer. We’ll have time for a dope at that store we passed, if we hurry! boredom vanished, the girl Pola sprang to her feet. She paused long enough to hold out her hand to Sidney. Don’t tell anyone that I don’t like Betty Sweets best of the candy in the world, will you? she laughed. And I ’t tell anyone that you loathe poetry. Then she ran after the t girl. Sidney felt engulfed in a and terrible loneliness. For the next half hour she was conscious of a fear that Pola and her companion might not back before Miss Byers discovered their flight. But just as the last eight came out of the study and Miss Byers was lingering for a few words with Mrs. Milliken, Sidney saw two flying figures join the others at the gate. Her little hope that she might have a to talk again with Pola or hear her talk was lost in a surge of relief that she was quite safe. Mrs. Milliken remained after the others had filed down the street. Sidney, troubled by her fib of the headache, wished with her soul that she would go and strained her ears for any sound from the floor above that might betray Isolde’s ivities. A lovely thing—to bring those young girls to this spot, Mrs. Milliken was murmuring as she looked over the register which the League kept very carefully. are some well-kn names. Jenkins—probably that’s the iron family. Scott—I der if that’s the Scott who’s related to the Astors. Sidney watched the gloved finger as it traced its way down the page of scrawled signatures. Is t a Pola Somebody t? she asked, hopefully. Mrs. Milliken’s finger ran back up the page. No—not that I can find. The girls were very careless—not half of them registered. Of course Pola wouldn’t have registered—she had been too bored. Her survey finished, Mrs. Milliken put the register in its place and regarded Sidney with contemplative eyes. Another time, dear lamb, if you receive, tell Isolde to—well, fix you up a little. I must speak to the Committee and plan something suitable . Perhaps we have been forting that our dear little girl is growing out of her rompers. Oh—and another thing, tell Isolde I was shocked to smell gasoline on your gifted father’s jacket— Trude thought it had moths in it and she soaked it in gasoline, explained Sidney uncomfortably. Oh, she mustn’t do it again. It—it spoiled the atmosp of everything! I will speak to the dear girls. Give my love to Isolde and tell her to rest. I do not think anyone else will come for I posted a notice at the clubrooms reserving this date for Grace School. With an affectionate-taking of her lamb Mrs. Milliken rustled . Sidney slowly shut the door. Out t, beyond the hedge, went Pola and the other laughing girls of Grace H, out into a world of fun and adventure. And inside the door— Pola had dared race to the corner drug store; Sidney felt certain Pola would dare anything. And she had not even had spunk enough to speak up and tell interfering Mrs. Milliken that Trude and the rest of them would soak everything in gasoline, if they wanted to! Most certainly they were not going to let moths eat them up alive! Oh—oh, it was hateful! And Isolde had said they could not escape it; well, she’d find a way! From abovestairs the three older sisters had witnessed the invasion of their by the Grace H girls. It’s perfectly disgusting! had been Vick’s comment. Trude was sympathy for Sidney. You were cruel, Issy, making Sid receive that mob. Isolde reluctantly turned her attention from the faded silks in her lap. Sidney might as well realize with what we have to put up. Then perhaps she will not be so discontented with her own easy lot— From w she squatted on the floor, a huge mending basket balanced on her knees, Trude regarded Isolde with troubled eyes. Her forehead puckered with little criss-cross wrinkles. Of the three older girls Trude had the least claim to beauty; from constant exposure her skin had acquired a ruddiness like a boy’s which made her blue eyes paler by contrast; her hair had been cut after an attack of scarlet fever and had grown in so slowly that she wore it shingle-bobbed which added to the suggestion of boyishness about her; t was an ungirlish sturdiness and squareness to her build—one instinctively looked to her shoulders to carry burdens. Yet withal t was about her a lovableness infinitely more than Vick’s Grecian beauty or Isolde’s interesting personality—a lovableness and a loyalty that urged her on to champion poor Sidney and yet made it the harder for her to express to the others what she felt deep in her heart. a minute and think, Issy. Didn’t we used to feel discontented lots of times and fuss about things between ourselves? We k—though we didn’t exly ever say it—that we had to be different, on account of Dad. We couldn’t ever bother him, for fear we’d spoil his work. Of course it was worth while and doesn’t make much difference—, but, Issy, Sid doesn’t have to put up with what we did— Trude ped suddenly. It seemed dreadful to say: Dad isn’t writing any poems . She felt the pang of loss in her tender heart that always came when she thought of her father, with his bursts of impatience and his twitching nose and his long hours in the study with the door closed, and then his indulgence and boyish demonstrativeness when some work that had been tormenting was completed and or when some unexpected came with an accompanying . She blinked back some tears. You k I wouldn’t talk like this to anyone outside of us, but, just among us—I wish we could let Sidney do the things we didn’t do when we were her age. Trude, I have heard you talk so foolishly. I’m sure our lot isn’t so tragic that Sid can’t share it. She has nice friends and goes to Miss Downs and hasn’t a responsibility in the world— Sometimes we tired of the brand of our best friends and want a change—even yearn for responsibility! I’d say we’d spoiled her enough—she doesn’t need any more. Isolde, you simply don’t want to understand me! Goodness ks I preach contentment the loudest—but— Are we going to live like this our lives? Look at us, huddled up , , because the Saturdays belong to the League. Issy, you and I can go on because we got broken in to it years ago. Vick ’t, of course— (flashing a smile at the disinterested Victoria) but little Sid—She’s fifteen . She has two more years at Miss Downs’. She may want college—or—or something—different—— Isolde lifted her shoulders with an impatient shrug. Isolde’s thin shoulders were very expressive and had a way of communicating her thoughts more effectively than mere words. They silenced Trude, . Do you think it’s a kindness to encourage Sid to want things that we simply can’t afford to give her? You ought to k that we can’t live a bit differently—you keep our . Trude groaned. In any argument they always came back to that; their poverty was like the old w outside that closed them around. If poor little Sid dreamed dreams it would be as it had been with her. Isolde was quite right—it might be no kindness to the child to let her want things—like college. Yet, though silenced, Trude was not satisfied; t were surely things one could want that could surmount even the ugly w of poverty. Vick broke into the pause. While we’re considering Sid, what are we going to do with her this summer? If she’s going to have fits like she had this morning it’ll be pleasant having her round with nothing to do. Of course if Godmother Jocelyn makes good on her to take me to Banff I ’t have to worry but— Trude, have you written to Huldah asking her if she can come for July and August? Prof. Deering wrote last week suggesting that I spend the summer with them in their cottage on Lake Michigan. I can more than pay my board by helping       11780 US Highway 1 Palm Beach Gardens, FL 33408-3080 Would you like to [edit your e-mail notification preferences or unsubscribe]( from Weiss mailing list? Copyright © 2023 Weiss Ratings. All rights reserved.   ExpertModernAdvice.com is sending this newsletter on behalf Inception Media, LLC. Inception Media, LLC appreciates your comments and inquiries. Please keep in mind, that Inception Media, LLC are not permitted to provide individualized financial аdvіsе. This email is not financial advice and any investment decіsіоn you make is solely your responsibility. Feel frее to contact us toll frее Domestic/International: +17072979173 Mon–Fri, 9am–5pm ET, or email us support@expertmodernadvice.com. [Unsubscrіbe]( to stop receiving marketing communication from us. 600 N Broad St Ste 5 PMB 1 Middletown, DE 19709 2023 Inception Media, LLC. AІІ rights reserved [Unsubscrіbe]( [Privacy Policy](