0 Σχόλια
0 Μοιράστηκε
36 Views
0 Προεπισκόπηση
Κατάλογος
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Παρακαλούμε συνδέσου στην Κοινότητά μας για να δηλώσεις τι σου αρέσει, να σχολιάσεις και να μοιραστείς με τους φίλους σου!
-
The Lawful Woman## Act I The house at Bayou Rouge had been built in 1842 by a man named Jacques Thibodeaux, who had made his fortune in sugar and cotton and the quiet, unacknowledged labor of people whose names do not appear in any ledger. By the time Ester Thibodeaux married into the house in 1955, the sugar fields had gone to seed, the cotton was a memory, and the house stood on a bluff overlooking the bayou...0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 25 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση
-
The Bottom of the HillACT I — THE WAKING Danny Reese woke up on a Monday. He had woken up on Mondays for twenty-three years, same time every Monday, 6:47 AM, always seven minutes before his alarm went off, always with the same thought: not again. This time the thought was different. Not again. No. He got out of bed. The apartment was cold—the heat had been off since October, and Danny had stopped fighting it in...0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 41 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση
-
sample-満唐春-V-06-202605271723 txtFrank DiMarco opened the shop at seven every morning. He unlocked the door, turned on the light, turned on the heater, turned on the small television that sat on top of the filing cabinet, and sat down behind the counter. The television played a morning show that Frank didn't watch. The heater clicked. The light buzzed. Frank sat and waited for the first customer, which was always Mort, who...0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 36 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση
-
THE LOOKING-GLASS OF DR. MORELI. The mirror came to Dublin from a Vienna antiquary whose name I shall not record, for he has been dead these fifteen years and deserved to be forgotten. It was a thing of considerable beauty: a baroque dressing mirror, its frame carved with scenes of mythology that seemed to shift when viewed from certain angles, as though the wood itself had been infused with the same restless energy that I,...0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 13 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση
-
The Numbers of GreenwichThe numbers never lied. That was the first thing my father told me, and the first thing I believed, and the last thing I believed. I was thirty-two in the summer of 1925, and I lived in a room above a laundromat on Sullivan Street in Greenwich Village. By day I calculated odds for the numbers runners who operated out of barbershops and grocery stores from Brooklyn to the Bronx. By night I...0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 23 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση
-
The Golden ExchangeThe ticker tape never stopped talking. That was the first thing Vincent Moretti learned on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange: the machine had opinions, and they came in the form of punched paper ribbons that fell like confetti from the ceiling of a cathedral built for a new god. He was nineteen, Irish-Italian from Hester Street, with ink on his fingers and a photographic memory that made...0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 23 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση
-
The Burial Ground of OakhavenThe ground was warm. That was the first thing Elias Thorne noticed, kneeling in the December cold with his hands pressed into the earth of the south field. December in the Mississippi Delta should not have felt warm. The air was thirty degrees and biting, and his breath plumed in white clouds around him. But the soil beneath his fingers — dry, dark, and radiating a gentle heat that he could...0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 9 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση
-
sample-満唐春-V-02-202605271723 txtThe champagne glasses caught the light like tiny furnaces, each one a miniature blaze of gold against the white tablecloths of the Plaza Hotel. Henry Ashworth stood at the edge of the ballroom, his tuxedo feeling like a costume he had borrowed from a man who had lived a better life. Below him, the city glittered. 1925. The Jazz Age in full flood, its golden tide washing over everything it...0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 16 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση
-
ACT IThe Beauregard plantation looked like a dying animal: magnificent once, now skeletal, its ribs of white columns protruding through peeling paint like bone through rotting flesh. Elias Thorne stood at the gate and felt something he hadn't felt since Boston, something that was almost sympathy. He had come south as a Union intelligence officer, armed with maps and coded messages and a conviction...0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 33 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση
English
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)