Author: Herbert Strang
Publisher: BEYOND BOOKS HUB
ISBN:
Category : Fiction
Languages : en
Pages : 187
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It was Saturday afternoon. The spacious lawn in front of Mr. Crawshay’s house was spread with bamboo tables and deck-chairs. At the porch stood Mr. Crawshay and Mr. Ambrose Pratt side by side, smoking long cigars, chatting and laughing with the familiarity of old friends. Mr. Pratt’s right arm was in a sling. “It’s time they came,” said Mr. Crawshay, taking out his watch. He wore a large panama, and his suit of spotless ducks gave him a festal air. “They’re probably squabbling for precedence,” said Mr. Pratt; “not on social grounds, but for modesty. It’s an ordeal, you know, Crawshay; and when they see your rig, and that purple tie of yours, they’ll be abashed.” “What’ll they say to the women, then?” returned Mr. Crawshay. “Upon my soul, Pratt, I think you are right to come in your old clothes; they’ll feel more at home. It never occurred to me.” “Oh, well, you’re lord of the manor; I dare say you’re right to look the part. But here they come, in a bunch. Mrs. Rogers is, perhaps, a shade ahead.” Mr. Crawshay turned and called through the open door. His daughter, in a dainty confection of muslin and lace, and a straw hat trimmed with pink silk, came running out, followed by her mother, an impressive figure in blue, and our three campers, in flannels and blazers. Armstrong also had an arm in a sling. Grouped in front of the porch they awaited the coming of the party that had just entered the drive. Mrs. Rogers, in stiff black silk, and a wonderful bonnet, marched along a little in advance of her husband, hardly recognisable in his Sunday suit of blue serge and a bowler hat sitting uneasily on the back of his head. Samuel Blevins, the general dealer, had affected a long frock coat and a tall hat. Henery Drew, magnificent in a brown bowler and a suit of large-checked tweed, walked beside Hardstone, the constable, disguised in habiliments that might have become a prosperous plumber. The rest of the company, whose names we do not know, were alike in one respect; all had donned their “Sunday best.” Every face, without exception, wore an air of deep solemnity. Mr. Crawshay took a step forward. “Glad to see you, neighbours,” he said, genially. “We are lucky in a fine afternoon.” He shook hands with them individually, a greeting that inflicted on them various degrees of embarrassment, deepened by the smiling welcome of his wife and daughter. Mr. Pratt contented himself with a general salutation; it was not until the boys began to crack jokes with them that the prevailing gloom lightened. “You didn’t bring your sister, Rogers?” said Mr. Crawshay to the innkeeper. “True, sir; she bain’t come along.” “She couldn’t face ‘ee, sir,” added Mrs. Rogers. “I always did say as she was making a rod for her back, though never did I think Rod was such a downright wicked feller. And Henery Drew, as would have made her a good husband as far as husbands do go, and now he can’t marry her without committing bigamy.” “Well, well! We must hope for the best,” said Mr. Crawshay. “Now, my friends, we’re all here. Take your seats, and we’ll have tea.” The company seated themselves. Maids brought from the house trays filled with good things. Mrs. Crawshay poured out tea, and Lilian and the boys carried round the eatables. Under the influence of good cheer the villagers’ stiffness wore off, and they began to descant upon the moving events of the past days. For the first time in its history the village had become a place of importance. Visitors had flocked to it from all parts; journalists with cameras had interviewed the actors in the drama, and expressed themselves very freely on Mr. Pratt’s refusal to admit them to his grounds, and to pose for his photograph. His modesty in this respect was a standing puzzle to his humble neighbours. Mrs. Rogers, for instance, was extremely proud of the portrait of her husband that had appeared in the previous day’s picture paper. “The scar shows beautiful,” she said, complacently. “Dear me,” said Mrs. Crawshay, with a discreet glance at Rogers’s broad face, “I wasn’t aware––” “Take off your hat, Joe, and show the lady.” Removing his hat, Rogers displayed a red furrow that ran across his shiny pate. “What a narrow escape!” exclaimed Mrs. Crawshay. “Ay sure, ma’am, ‘twas so,” said Mrs. Rogers. “And I’m certain a widow’s cap wouldn’t have suited me.” “Well, Mrs. Rogers, you won’t be so particular about Joe’s wig after this,” said Percy Pratt. “You see, if he’d worn his wig, his scalp wouldn’t have been touched; think what millions of people have had the pleasure of admiring your husband, talking about his bravery, discussing the track of the bullet across his skull. No one wanted to take my photograph.” “They took ‘ee unbeknownst, then, becos there you be, next to Joe, with ‘Pepper and Salt’ printed underneath; very clever, I call it, Joe being once a sailor.” “Oh, I say,” exclaimed Pratt, “did they get the others too?” “No, sir. Not as I think it a very good likeness. You’ve got your two eyes half shut, and your mouth is a very queer shape, like as if you was expecting of somebody to pop something in it–a drop of physic, maybe.” The villagers looked merely interested, the others frankly amused. Pratt blushed. “He must have caught you when you were singing a particularly sentimental song, old chap,” said Warrender, smiling. “That reminds me,” said Mrs. Crawshay. “Do bring out your banjo, Mr. Pratt, and sing us something.” “Wait a minute,” said Mr. Crawshay. “Before we begin the–entertainment, shall I call it?–I want to say a word or two.” “Hear, hear!” exclaimed Blevins. “‘Tis what I call an event.” “No heroics, for goodness’ sake, Crawshay,” murmured Mr. Pratt. Mr. Crawshay assumed the look of one determined not to be interfered with. “I just want to say, neighbours,” he proceeded, “how glad I am to see you all here this afternoon, in celebration of what Mr. Blevins rightly calls an event in the simple history of our little parish. You all had a part in the frustration of the most nefarious criminal conspiracy that has ever come within my long experience as a county magistrate. Thanks to the ingenuity and perseverance of my dear young friends, their refusal to be intimidated, their sleepless vigils and untiring watchfulness, the secrets of that criminal conspiracy were laid bare, my old friend and neighbour was rescued from a most distressing situation, and you, anticipating the slow operation of the law, but sanctioned by the presence among you of an officer of the law, were able to secure the apprehension of the whole band of criminals, who are now awaiting in the darkness of the county gaol the due reward of their deeds. Our village is to be congratulated on the visit of three young men, typical products of our renowned public school system, and on the public spirit of its own inhabitants, who, when the call for action came, forgetting all class distinctions, regardless of personal risk, braved the murderous weapons of unscrupulous villains, and nobly carried out the first duty of the patriotic citizen. I am speaking the mind of you all,” the worthy magistrate went on, warming to his subject, “when I say that we shall long treasure the memory of our young friends, their high spirits, their unfailing cheerfulness under persecution, their courage and ingenuity; and it is a matter of regret that, yielding to paramount claims, the claims of parental affection, they are leaving us to-day. But it will please you all to hear that, in response to my invitation–I may say to my insistence–they have agreed to visit us again next year; and I understand from my old friend and neighbour, Mr. Pratt, that he intends to acquire No Man’s Island, so long derelict, and restore the cottage as a holiday hostel for boys of our public schools.” Here there were general cheers. “Dear old Father!” whispered Lilian to the boys. “He gets so few chances of making a speech, and he does love it so.” “I won’t detain you longer,” Mr. Crawshay went on. “No doubt Mr. Pratt would like to say a few words.” “Hate it!” exclaimed Mr. Pratt. “One thing only. I’ve had a bad time. I deserved it. I was over-hasty. My old servants are scattered; if any of you know where they are, tell them to come to me. I’ll reinstate them–if we can agree about wages.” Under cover of the villagers’ applause, Percy seized the opportunity of unbosoming himself to a select audience, his companions and Lilian Crawshay. “Are we blushing, Miss Crawshay?” he asked. “I don’t think we are, because, you see, we are supremely conscious of each other’s merits. We really are benefactors, you know–public and private. Who would ever believe that the two old gentlemen were not long ago calling each other luna––” “Now, Mr. Pratt,” the girl interrupted. “Well, X and Y then,” rejoined Pratt. “It’s undeniable, isn’t it, that they’re reconciled through us? And as for my uncle and me, we’re quite pally; the old feud is healed, and before long I expect my father and Uncle Ambrose will kiss again with tears. Tennyson, you know. Anyway, it’s been a ripping holiday, and––” “Now, Mr. Pratt, we are all waiting,” said Mrs. Crawshay, amiably. Pratt obediently went into the house, brought out his banjo, and trolled out ditties of the most sentimental order. Presently Warrender announced that it was time to go if they meant to reach Southampton before dark. The whole company trooped down to the bank with them, and watched them board the motor-boat, already loaded with their camp equipment. Last good-byes were said; Warrender opened the throttle; and as the boat panted down stream there came to the ears of the silent spectators the gentle strumming of the banjo, and Pratt’s melodious tenor...FROM THE BOOKS.
Author: Carolyn Hart
Publisher: Crimeline
ISBN: 0307569373
Category : Fiction
Languages : en
Pages : 352
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Book Description
“A sassy heroine . . . [Henrie O] says what she thinks (when it serves her purposes) and pulls no punches.”—Chicago Sun-Times When arrogant media magnate Chase Prescott is nearly killed by a box of cyanide-laced candy, he dials his long-ago lover, retired newshound Henrietta O’Dwyer Collins, with a simple request: He’ll assemble all the suspects if Henrie O will kindly point out the would-be murderer. It’s a case—her first—that fills Henrie O with grave misgivings, especially when she arrives on Chase’s private island off the South Carolina coast to meet the players in this deadly drama. Among Prescott’s unstable young wife, his sullen stepson, and his toady of a secretary, she has trouble narrowing the field of suspects—even when a second attempt is made on Chase’s life. As Henrie O unearths a will and fascinating new evidence, a killer hurricane sweeps up from Cuba, threatening to maroon them in this vacation hell . . . where the trappings of luxury are put to lethal use and the secrets of the past have the power to engulf them all.
Author: James Udden
Publisher: Hong Kong University Press
ISBN: 9888139223
Category : Performing Arts
Languages : en
Pages : 263
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Book Description
Taiwan is a peculiar place resulting in a peculiar cinema, with Hou Hsiao-hsien being its most remarkable product. Hou’s signature long and static shots almost invite critics to give auteurist readings of his films, often privileging the analysis of cinematic techniques at the expense of the context from which Hou emerges. In this pioneering study, James Udden argues instead that the Taiwanese experience is the key to understanding Hou’s art. The convoluted history of Taiwan in the last century has often rendered fixed social and political categories irrelevant. Changing circumstances have forced the people in Taiwan to be hyperaware of how imaginary identity—above all national identity—is. Hou translates this larger state of affairs in such masterpieces as City of Sadness, The Puppetmaster, and Flowers of Shanghai, which capture and perhaps even embody the elusive, slippery contours of the collective experience of the islanders. Making extensive uses of Chinese sources from Taiwan, the author shows how important the local matters for this globally recognized director. In this new edition of No Man an Island, James Udden charts a new chapter in the evolving art of Hou Hsiao-hsien, whose latest film, The Assassin, earned him the Best Director Award at the Cannes Film Festival in 2015. Hou breaks new ground in turning the classic wuxia genre into a vehicle to express his unique insight into the working of history. The unconventional approach to conventions is quintessential Hou Hsiao-hsien. “An excellent and groundbreaking volume. This book’s very precise analyses of the films as well as their context make it the primary source for any scholar working on Hou in English.” —Chris Berry, King’s College London “In this first book-length study on Hou Hsiao-hsien James Udden illuminates the most intriguing yet mystifying filmmaker in world cinema. No Man an Island is without doubt a major contribution to the fields of Chinese-language cinema and film studies.” —Emilie Yueh-yu Yeh, Lingnan University, Hong Kong
Author: David Baldacci
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
ISBN: 1455586498
Category : Fiction
Languages : en
Pages : 432
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Book Description
After his father is accused of murder, combat veteran and Special Agent John Puller must investigate his past and learn the truth about his mother in this New York Times bestselling thriller--but someone hiding in the shadows wants revenge. Two men. Thirty years. John Puller's mother, Jackie, vanished thirty years ago from Fort Monroe, Virginia, when Puller was just a boy. Paul Rogers has been in prison for ten years. But twenty years before that, he was at Fort Monroe. One night three decades ago, Puller's and Rogers' worlds collided with devastating results, and the truth has been buried ever since. Until now. Military investigators, armed with a letter from a friend of Jackie's, arrive in the hospital room of Puller's father-a legendary three-star now sinking into dementia-and reveal that Puller Sr. has been accused of murdering his wife. Aided by his brother Robert Puller, an Air Force major, and Veronica Knox, who works for a shadowy U.S. intelligence organization, Puller begins a journey that will take him into his own past, to find the truth about his mother. Paul Rogers' time is running out. With the clock ticking, he begins his own journey, one that will take him across the country to the place where all his troubles began: a mysterious building on the grounds of Fort Monroe. There, thirty years ago, the man Rogers had once been vanished too, and was replaced with a monster. And now the monster wants revenge. And the only person standing in his way is John Puller.
Author: Scott Huler
Publisher: Crown
ISBN: 0307409783
Category : Biography & Autobiography
Languages : en
Pages : 304
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Book Description
When NPR contributor Scott Huler made one more attempt to get through James Joyce’s Ulysses, he had no idea it would launch an obsession with the book’s inspiration: the ancient Greek epic The Odyssey and the lonely homebound journey of its Everyman hero, Odysseus. No-Man’s Lands is Huler’s funny and touching exploration of the life lessons embedded within The Odyssey, a legendary tale of wandering and longing that could be read as a veritable guidebook for middle-aged men everywhere. At age forty-four, with his first child on the way, Huler felt an instant bond with Odysseus, who fought for some twenty years against formidable difficulties to return home to his beloved wife and son. In reading The Odyssey, Huler saw the chance to experience a great vicarious adventure as well as the opportunity to assess the man he had become and embrace the imminent arrival of both middle age and parenthood. But Huler realized that it wasn’t enough to simply read the words on the page—he needed to live Odysseus’s odyssey, to visit the exotic destinations that make Homer’s story so timeless. And so an ambitious pilgrimage was born . . . traveling the entire length of Odysseus’s two-decade journey. In six months. Huler doggedly retraced Odysseus’s every step, from the ancient ruins of Troy to his ultimate destination in Ithaca. On the way, he discovers the Cyclops’s Sicilian cave, visits the land of the dead in Italy, ponders the lotus from a Tunisian resort, and paddles a rented kayak between Scylla and Charybdis and lives to tell the tale. He writes of how and why the lessons of The Odyssey—the perils of ambition, the emptiness of glory, the value of love and family—continue to resonate so deeply with readers thousands of years later. And as he finally closes in on Odysseus’s final destination, he learns to fully appreciate what Homer has been saying all along: the greatest adventures of all are the ones that bring us home to those we love. Part travelogue, part memoir, and part critical reading of the greatest adventure epic ever written, No-Man’s Lands is an extraordinary description of two journeys—one ancient, one contemporary—and reveals what The Odyssey can teach us about being better bosses, better teachers, better parents, and better people.
Author: Thomas Merton
Author: Thomas Merton
Author: Susan Sallis
Author: John Donne
Author: Duong Thu Huong
Author: John Donne