kez_ h (Kez_h)
- Flag inappropriate
- Show review history
⚡ Get in on the Action Exclusive Promotion at 8.4.23 lottery result!I tried logging in using my phone number and I
was supposed to get a verification code text,but didn't
get it. I clicked resend a couple time, tried the "call
me instead" option twice but didn't get a call
either. the trouble shooting had no info on if the call
me instead fails.There was
Your safety is our priority at golden jackpot result today. Play with confidence knowing that your data and transactions are protected by advanced SSL encryption, secure payment gateways, RNG certified games, and 24/7 support. Enjoy a secure gaming environment like never before!
658 people found this
review helpful
Conrad
"It is true," puts in Mona. "How could he tell when the coast was clear for his escape, unless he took a little peep?" "Then I will sing you a song I was sent last week," says Mona, and forthwith sings him "Years Ago," mournfully, pathetically, and with all her soul, as it should be sung. Then she gives him "London Bridge," and then "Rose-Marie," and then she takes her fingers from the piano and looks at him with a fond hope that he will see fit to praise her work. At home—in Sydney, I mean—the life was different. It was free, unfettered, and in a degree lawless. It suited me better." The postman himself is an institution in the village, being of an unknown age, in fact, the real and original oldest inhabitant, and still with no signs of coming dissolution about him, thereby carrying out Dicken's theory that a dead post-boy or a dead donkey is a thing yet to be seen. He is a hoary-headed old person, decrepit and garrulous, with only one leg worth speaking about, and an ear trumpet. This last is merely for show, as once old Jacob is set fairly talking, no human power could get in a word from any one else..
298 people found this
review helpful