0 Комментарии
0 Поделились
27 Просмотры
0 предпросмотр
Каталог
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Войдите, чтобы отмечать, делиться и комментировать!
-
The Phoenix SpecimenThe salon was in a townhouse on Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore, and it was exactly the kind of place Julian Ashworth had been born to inhabit. Crystal chandeliers cast light over marble floors. Women in silk dresses moved through rooms filled with paintings, sculptures, and the kind of furniture that cost more than most people earned in a lifetime. Men in tailcoat jackets discussed art,...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 35 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
-
Blood and MagnoliasThe Spanish moss hanging from the live oaks along Cypress Lane did not sway so much as it hung, like laundry left to dry on a line that had not been pulled in thirty years. Bell Thorne stood on the porch of the house that had been her family's for four generations and watched the rain fall in sheets that turned the dirt road into a river, and she thought about how water, left long enough, could...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 46 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
-
The Architect of SilenceThe city of Oakhaven was a masterpiece of symmetry and stone, a place where every street was a perfect arc and every building a testament to the order of the State. In Oakhaven, silence was not the absence of sound, but a civic duty. The citizens spoke in hushed tones, their lives choreographed by the Great Clock in the center of the plaza, which dictated when to wake, when to work, and when to...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 32 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
-
The House of DustThe Blackwood estate did not just sit on the land of the American South; it seemed to be sinking into it. The columns were cracked, the ivy had strangled the balconies, and the air always tasted of damp earth and old secrets. Colonel Silas Blackwood, the last of his line, lived in the center of this decay, a man who clung to the ghost of a Southern aristocracy that had died a century ago. Beau,...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 19 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
-
The Blank PageJack Morrison came back from the Pacific with a medal he did not want and a head full of things he could not unsee. Los Angeles in 1945 was a city of people running from something. The war was over, but the people who had been to the war had not finished running. They came to L.A. looking for sunshine and found a different kind of heat — the kind that sat on your chest and made you sweat...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 21 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
-
The Sterling AlgorithmIn the glass towers of New York, power is not inherited; it is engineered. Maximilian Sterling had engineered the most powerful asset management firm in the world, a machine that could predict market crashes and manufacture fortunes. He was the architect of the new world, a man who believed that human emotion was simply a noise in the data. Dominic, the CEO and son-in-law, was the perfect...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 19 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
-
The Weight of the SoilMercy Caldwell arrived at Mosswood Plantation on a Tuesday in early May, carrying a single valise and a letter of recommendation from a Boston schoolmistress who had warned her: "The Beauregards are not like other families. They carry their history like a disease." Mercy was twenty-four, a teacher from Salem with a mind trained in literature and a heart still believing in the redemptive power...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 28 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
-
The Mirror of the Unseen(Second Person Variation) You wake up in a room that is not yours, though every object in it feels like a memory you've forgotten. The walls are a faded ochre, peeling like sunburnt skin. There is a mirror in the corner, but when you look into it, you don't see your face. You see a blur of motion, a smudge of charcoal against a white background. You don't remember your name. You only remember...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 50 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
-
The Keeper of Blackwood HallI awoke to the smell of smoke and the taste of ash. The last thing I remembered was the fire—how it had started in the server room of my Mayfair office, how the sprinklers had failed, how I had stumbled through the flames clutching nothing but the black amber pendant my grandmother had given me on my thirtieth birthday. I had been worth four hundred million pounds as of Tuesday morning. By...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 37 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
English
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek