Subject: Amazing: 91 year old grandma overnight looks 48 in photos: You wont believe it

From: Joseph <[email-masked]>
Date: Tue, 18 Jul 2017 11:23:04 -0400

My 94 year old grandma goes wild in photos

Take a look at these, she looks 50 again and just looks amazing. I promise shes older

You will be amazed by her story
- Shark Tank

Her friends and family were laughing when they saw her recently- not because she looks funny but more in amazament of how great she now looks.

Take a look at the pictures

Jew hated Russia worse than hell. Do you wonder? he cried. For three hundred years they have been persecuted, and this is the return match for the pogroms. The Jew is everywhere, but you have to go far down the backstairs to find him. Take any big Teutonic business concern. If you have dealings with it the first man you meet is Prince von und Zu Something, an elegant young man who talks Eton-and-Harrow English. But he cuts no ice. If your business is big, you get behind him and find a prognathous Westphalian with a retreating brow and the manners of a hog. He is the German business man that gives your English papers the shakes. But if youre on the biggest kind of job and are bound to get to the real boss, ten to one you are brought up against a little white-faced Jew in a bath-chair with an eye like a rattlesnake. Yes, Sir, he is the man who is ruling the world just now,

sights, and in less than a month I had had enough of restaurants and theatres and race-meetings. I had no real pal to go about with, which probably explains things. Plenty of people invited me to their houses, but they didnt seem much interested in me. They would fling me a question or two about South Africa, and then get on their own affairs. A lot of Imperialist ladies asked me to tea to meet schoolmasters from New Zealand and editors from Vancouver, and that was the dismalest business of all. Here was I, thirty-seven years old, sound in d and limb, with enough to have a good time, yawning my head off all day. I had just about settled to clear out and get back to the veld, for I was the best bored man in the United Kingdom. That afternoon I had been

Langham Place. There was a common staircase, with a porter and a liftman at the entrance, but there was no restaurant or anything of that sort, and each flat was quite shut off from the others. I hate servants on the premises, so I had a fellow to look after me who came in by the day. He arrived before eight oclock every morning and used to depart at seven, for I never dined at home. I was just fitting my key into the door when I noticed a man at my elbow. I had not seen him approach, and the sudden appearance made me start. He was a slim man, with a short brown beard and small, gimlety blue eyes. I recognized him as the occupant of a flat on the top floor, with whom I had passed the time of day on the stairs. Can I speak to you? he said. May I come in for a minute? He was steadying his voice with an effort, and his hand was pag my arm. I got my door open and motioned him in. No sooner

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was he over the threshold than he made a dash for my back room, where I used to smoke and write my letters. Then he bolted back. Is the door locked? he asked feverishly, and he fastened the chain with his own hand. Im very sorry, he said humbly. Its a mighty liberty, but you looked the kind of man who would understand. Ive had you in my mind all this week when things got troublesome. Say, will you do me a good turn? Ill listen to you, I said. Thats all Ill promise. I was getting worried by the antics of this nervous little chap. There was a tray of drinks on a table beside him, from which he filled himself a stiff whisky-and-soda. He drank it off in three gulps, and cracked the glass as he set it down. Pardon, he said, Im a bit rattled tonight. You see, I happen at this moment to be dead. I sat down in an armchair and lit my pipe. What does it feel like? I asked. I was pretty

merchant. In Norway I was an English student of Ibsen collecting materials for lectures, but when I left Bergen I was a cinema-man with special ski films. And I came here from Leith with a lot of pulp-wood propositions in my pocket to put before the London newspapers. Till yesterday I thought I had muddied my trail some, and was feeling pretty happy. Then ... The recollection seemed to upset him, and he gulped down some more whisky. Then I saw a man standing in the street outside this block. I used to

market, and it suited the book of both classes to set Europe by the ears. He told me some queer things that explained a lot that had puzzled me—things that happened in the Balkan War, how one state suddenly came out on top, why alliances were made and broken, why certain men disappeared, and where the sinews of war came from. The aim of the whole conspiracy was to get Russia and Germany at loggerheads. When I asked why, he said that the anarchist lot thought it would give them their chance. Everything would be in the melting-pot, and they looked to see a new world emerge. The capitalists would rake in the shekels, and make fortunes by buying up wreckage. Capital, he said, had no conscience and no fatherland. Besides, the Jew was behind it, and the

. Theyre not going to let their guests be murdered. Tip them the k, and theyll take extra precautions. No good. They might stuff your city with plain-clothes detectives and double the police and Constantine would still be a doomed man. My friends are not playing this game for candy. They want a big occasion for the taking off, with the eyes of all Europe on it. Hell be murdered by an Austrian, and therell be plenty of evidence to show the connivance of the big folk in Vienna and Berlin. It will all be an infernal lie, of course, but the case will look black enough to the world. Im not talking hot air, my friend. I happen to know