By Ann H. Gabhart
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Russia, 1943. a lady from Leningrad, a soldier from Venice, stand jointly at the fringe of barren region. he's a shadow of a guy, trapped at the back of cord, an enemy in her land. She takes anything from her pocket, slips her hand during the cord, and catches her epidermis on one of many barbs. Up comes a tiny sphere of blood.
Lately canned professor of yank literature Chris Jaynes has simply made a startling discovery: the manuscript of a crude slave narrative that confirms the truth of Edgar Allan Poe’s unusual and merely novel, The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket. made up our minds to find Tsalal, the distant island of natural and utter blackness that Poe describes, Jaynes convenes an all-black team of six to keep on with Pym’s path to the South Pole, armed with little however the firsthand account from which Poe derived his seafaring story, a bag of bones, and a stash of Little Debbie snack muffins.
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Extra info for Angel Sister
Hundreds of thousands of WHO WILL GO FOR US? 17 Americans had hunted through their scrapbooks and their attics for photographs and letters, guidebooks, railroad timetables, hotel circulars— everything that might by chance yield a scrap of information useful to a secret agent or to the Armed Forces. Thousands of people had searched in the libraries, in museums, in the records of business concerns, in consular reports. A. might have sat in that little cubicle for a month or two and compiled material about the places he was going to visit and the people he would meet.
Had he spoken any word yet? Had he made any effort to get up on his feet? And so on and on, as you might expect from a grandmother who was being kept by a cruel war four thousand miles away from the most precious of her possessions. And then Robbie Budd, and his family in Newcastle, Connecticut. Several years had passed since Beauty had seen Lanny's father; but Lanny had talked with him over the phone just before flying and reported that all was well. Budd-Erling was turning out the fastest pursuit plane in the world, and doing it wholesale now; the planes had helped to win the battle in Tunisia and were doing a job over Sicily that you could hear about e-^^ery hour or two over the French radio.
Came back, toward seven o'clock, he found his wife transformed. She was wearing a lovely pale blue evening gown, of that kind of simplicity which costs like smoke. She had followed his instrucand gone to a "good" place; she was proud of herself because she had found a dress that became her and had cost only three hundred dollars. Fortunately you didn't wear a hat to an evening party, and all she had had to buy were shoes and gloves to match, and, of course, stockings, and a little handbag that had cost fifty dollars, and a handkerchief for thirty-five.