2017, ISBN: f813acf5e138c0fddb1925dfea630be7

Gebundene Ausgabe

Corgi Books. Good. 4.29 x 1.26 x 7.05 inches. Paperback. 2006. 608 pages. Cover worn<br>Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon and F rench cryptologist Sophie Neveu work to solve the mu… Mehr…

Corgi Books. Good. 4.29 x 1.26 x 7.05 inches. Paperback. 2006. 608 pages. Cover worn<br>Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon and F rench cryptologist Sophie Neveu work to solve the murder of an el derly curator of the Louvre, a case which leads to clues hidden i n the works of Da Vinci and a centuries-old secret society. Edit orial Reviews About the Author DAN BROWN is the bestselling auth or of Digital Fortress, Angels & Demons, and Deception Point. He lives in New England. From the Hardcover edition. --This text re fers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title. Ex cerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. 1 Robert Langdon awoke slowly. A telephone was ringing in the darkness--a tinny, unfamiliar ring. He fumbled for the bedside lamp and turn ed it on. Squinting at his surroundings he saw a plush Renaissanc e bedroom with Louis XVI furniture, hand-frescoed walls, and a co lossal mahogany four-poster bed. Where the hell am I? The jacqu ard bathrobe hanging on his bedpost bore the monogram: HOTEL RI TZ PARIS. Slowly, the fog began to lift. Langdon picked up the receiver. Hello? Monsieur Langdon? a man's voice said. I hope I have not awoken you? Dazed, Langdon looked at the bedside clock. It was 12:32 A.M. He had been asleep only an hour, but he felt l ike the dead. This is the concierge, monsieur. I apologize for t his intrusion, but you have a visitor. He insists it is urgent. Langdon still felt fuzzy. A visitor? His eyes focused now on a cr umpled flyer on his bedside table. THE AMERICAN UNIVERSITY OF PA RIS proudly presents An evening with Robert Langdon Professor of Religious Symbology, Harvard University Langdon groaned. Tonight 's lecture--a slide show about pagan symbolism hidden in the ston es of Chartres Cathedral--had probably ruffled some conservative feathers in the audience. Most likely, some religious scholar had trailed him home to pick a fight. I'm sorry, Langdon said, but I'm very tired and-- Mais monsieur, the concierge pressed, lower ing his voice to an urgent whisper. Your guest is an important ma n. Langdon had little doubt. His books on religious paintings an d cult symbology had made him a reluctant celebrity in the art wo rld, and last year Langdon's visibility had increased a hundred-f old after his involvement in a widely publicized incident at the Vatican. Since then, the stream of self-important historians and art buffs arriving at his door had seemed never-ending. If you w ould be so kind, Langdon said, doing his best to remain polite, c ould you take the man's name and number, and tell him I'll try to call him before I leave Paris on Tuesday? Thank you. He hung up before the concierge could protest. Sitting up now, Langdon frow ned at his bedside Guest Relations Handbook, whose cover boasted: SLEEP LIKE A BABY IN THE CITY OF LIGHTS. SLUMBER AT THE PARIS RI TZ. He turned and gazed tiredly into the full-length mirror acro ss the room. The man staring back at him was a stranger--tousled and weary. You need a vacation, Robert. The past year had taken a heavy toll on him, but he didn't appreciate seeing proof in th e mirror. His usually sharp blue eyes looked hazy and drawn tonig ht. A dark stubble was shrouding his strong jaw and dimpled chin. Around his temples, the gray highlights were advancing, making t heir way deeper into his thicket of coarse black hair. Although h is female colleagues insisted the gray only accentuated his booki sh appeal, Langdon knew better. If Boston Magazine could see me now. Last month, much to Langdon's embarrassment, Boston Magazin e had listed him as one of that city's top ten most intriguing pe ople--a dubious honor that made him the brunt of endless ribbing by his Harvard colleagues. Tonight, three thousand miles from hom e, the accolade had resurfaced to haunt him at the lecture he had given. Ladies and gentlemen . . . the hostess had announced to a full-house at The American University of Paris's Pavillon Dauph ine, Our guest tonight needs no introduction. He is the author of numerous books: The Symbology of Secret Sects, The Art of the Il luminati, The Lost Language of Ideograms, and when I say he wrote the book on Religious Iconology, I mean that quite literally. Ma ny of you use his textbooks in class. The students in the crowd nodded enthusiastically. I had planned to introduce him tonight by sharing his impressive curriculum vitae, however . . . She gla nced playfully at Langdon, who was seated onstage. An audience me mber has just handed me a far more, shall we say . . . intriguing introduction. She held up a copy of Boston Magazine. Langdon c ringed. Where the hell did she get that? The hostess began readi ng choice excerpts from the inane article, and Langdon felt himse lf sinking lower and lower in his chair. Thirty seconds later, th e crowd was grinning, and the woman showed no signs of letting up . And Mr. Langdon's refusal to speak publicly about his unusual r ole in last year's Vatican conclave certainly wins him points on our intrigue-o-meter. The hostess goaded the crowd. Would you lik e to hear more? The crowd applauded. Somebody stop her, Langdon pleaded as she dove into the article again. Although Professor Langdon might not be considered hunk-handsome like some of our yo unger awardees, this forty-something academic has more than his s hare of scholarly allure. His captivating presence is punctuated by an unusually low, baritone speaking voice, which his female st udents describe as 'chocolate for the ears.'' The hall erupted i n laughter. Langdon forced an awkward smile. He knew what came n ext--some ridiculous line about Harrison Ford in Harris tweed--an d because this evening he had figured it was finally safe again t o wear his Harris tweed and Burberry turtleneck, he decided to ta ke action. Thank you, Monique, Langdon said, standing prematurel y and edging her away from the podium. Boston Magazine clearly ha s a gift for fiction. He turned to the audience with an embarrass ed sigh. And if I find which one of you provided that article, I' ll have the consulate deport you. The crowd laughed. Well, folk s, as you all know, I'm here tonight to talk about the power of s ymbols . . . * * * The ringing of Langdon's hotel phone once ag ain broke the silence. Groaning in disbelief, he picked up. Yes? As expected, it was the concierge. Mr. Langdon, again my apolog ies. I am calling to inform you that your guest is now en route t o your room. I thought I should alert you. Langdon was wide awak e now. You sent someone to my room? I apologize, monsieur, but a man like this . . . I cannot presume the authority to stop him. Who exactly is he? But the concierge was gone. Almost immediat ely, a heavy fist pounded on Langdon's door. Uncertain, Langdon slid off the bed, feeling his toes sink deep into the savonniere carpet. He donned the hotel bathrobe and moved toward the door. W ho is it? Mr. Langdon? I need to speak with you. The man's Engli sh was accented--a sharp, authoritative bark. My name is Lieutena nt Jerome Collet. Direction Centrale Police Judiciaire. Langdon paused. The Judicial Police? The DCPJ were the rough equivalent o f the U.S. FBI. Leaving the security chain in place, Langdon ope ned the door a few inches. The face staring back at him was thin and washed out. The man was exceptionally lean, dressed in an off icial-looking blue uniform. May I come in? the agent asked. Lan gdon hesitated, feeling uncertain as the stranger's sallow eyes s tudied him. What is this is all about? My capitaine requires you r expertise in a private matter. Now? Langdon managed. It's afte r midnight. Am I correct that you were scheduled to meet with cu rator of the Louvre this evening? Langdon felt a sudden surge o f uneasiness. He and the revered curator Jacques Saunière had bee n slated to meet for drinks after Langdon's lecture tonight, but Saunière had never shown up. Yes. How did you know that? We foun d your name in his daily planner. I trust nothing is wrong? The agent gave a dire sigh and slid a Polaroid snapshot through the narrow opening in the door. When Langdon saw the photo, his enti re body went rigid. This photo was taken less than an hour ago. Inside the Louvre. As Langdon stared at the bizarre image, his initial revulsion and shock gave way to a sudden upwelling of ang er. Who would do this! We had hoped that you might help us answe r that very question. Considering your knowledge in symbology and your plans to meet with him. Langdon stared at the picture, his horror now laced with fear. The image was gruesome and profoundl y strange, bringing with it an unsettling sense of deja vu. A lit tle over a year ago, Langdon had received a photograph of a corps e and a similar request for help. Twenty-four hours later, he had almost lost his life inside Vatican City. This photo was entirel y different, and yet something about the scenario felt disquietin gly familiar. The agent checked his watch. My captain is waiting , sir. Langdon barely heard him. His eyes were still riveted on the picture. This symbol here, and the way his body is so oddly . . . Positioned? the agent offered. Langdon nodded, feeling a c hill as he looked up. I can't imagine who would do this to someon e. The agent looked grim. You don't understand, Mr. Langdon. Wha t you see in this photograph . . . He paused. Monsieur Saunière d id that to himself. 2 One mile away, the hulking albino named S ilas limped through the front gate of the luxurious brownstone re sidence on Rue la Bruyere. The spiked cilice belt that he wore ar ound his thigh cut into his flesh, and yet his soul sang with sat isfaction of service to the Lord. Pain is good. His red eyes sc anned the lobby as he entered... --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title. Review Wi th The Da Vinci Code, Dan Brown masterfully concocts an intellige nt and lucid thriller that marries the gusto of an international murder mystery with a collection of fascinating esoteria culled f rom 2,000 years of Western history. A murder in the silent afte r-hour halls of the Louvre museum reveals a sinister plot to unco ver a secret that has been protected by a clandestine society sin ce the days of Christ. The victim is a high-ranking agent of this ancient society who, in the moments before his death, manages to leave gruesome clues at the scene that only his granddaughter, n oted cryptographer Sophie Neveu, and Robert Langdon, a famed symb ologist, can untangle. The duo become both suspects and detective s searching for not only Neveu's grandfather's murderer but also the stunning secret of the ages he was charged to protect. Mere s teps ahead of the authorities and the deadly competition, the mys tery leads Neveu and Langdon on a breathless flight through Franc e, England, and history itself. Brown (Angels and Demons) has cre ated a page-turning thriller that also provides an amazing interp retation of Western history. Brown's hero and heroine embark on a lofty and intriguing exploration of some of Western culture's gr eatest mysteries--from the nature of the Mona Lisa's smile to the secret of the Holy Grail. Though some will quibble with the vera city of Brown's conjectures, therein lies the fun. The Da Vinci C ode is an enthralling read that provides rich food for thought. - -Jeremy Pugh --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title. From the Back Cover Dan Brown has to be one of the best, smartest, and most accomplished writers in the c ountry. THE DA VINCI CODE is many notches above the intelligent t hriller; this is pure genius. -NELSON DeMILLE, #1 New York Times bestselling author Intrigue and menace mingle in one of the fine st mysteries I've ever read. An amazing tale with enigma piled on secrets stacked on riddles. -CLIVE CUSSLER, #1 New York Times be stseller Dan Brown is my new must-read. THE DA VINCI CODE is fas cinating and absorbing -- perfect for history buffs, conspiracy n uts, puzzle lovers or anyone who appreciates a great, riveting st ory. I loved this book. -HARLAN COBEN, New York Times bestselling author of Tell No One The Da Vinci Code sets the hook-of-all-ho oks, and takes off down a road that is as eye-opening as it is pa ge-turning. You simply cannot put this book down. Thriller reader s everywhere will soon realize Dan Brown is a master. -VINCE FLYN N, New York Times bestselling author of Separation of Power I wo uld never have believed that this is my kind of thriller, but I'm going to tell you something--the more I read, the more I had to read. In The Da Vinci Code, Dan Brown has built a world that is r ich in fascinating detail, and I could not get enough of it. Mr. Brown, I am your fan. ROBERT CRAIS, New York Times bestselling au thor of Hostage From the Hardcover edition. --This text refers t o an out of print or unavailable edition of this title. From Pub lishers Weekly Brown's latest thriller (after Angels and Demons)i s an exhaustively researched page-turner about secret religious s ocieties, ancient coverups and savage vengeance. The action kicks off in modern-day Paris with the murder of the Louvre's chief cu rator, whose body is found laid out in symbolic repose at the foo t of the Mona Lisa. Seizing control of the case are Sophie Neveu, a lovely French police cryptologist, and Harvard symbol expert R obert Langdon, reprising his role from Brown's last book. The two find several puzzling codes at the murder scene, all of which fo rm a treasure map to the fabled Holy Grail. As their search moves from France to England, Neveu and Langdon are confounded by two mysterious groups-the legendary Priory of Sion, a nearly 1,000-ye ar-old secret society whose members have included Botticelli and Isaac Newton, and the conservative Catholic organization Opus Dei . Both have their own reasons for wanting to ensure that the Grai l isn't found. Brown sometimes ladles out too much religious hist ory at the expense of pacing, and Langdon is a hero in desperate need of more chutzpah. Still, Brown has assembled a whopper of a plot that will please both conspiracy buffs and thriller addicts. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title. From AudioFile Dan Brown writes with an edge-of-your -seat style, combining a wealth of esoteric information and an ex citing read. While this abridgment by David Rosaler necessarily l eaves out details, it retains the book's drama and enough of the multifaceted plot to ensure that listeners never wonder what they 're missing. Colin Stinton's narration does not ple, Corgi Books, 2006, 2.5, Arrow. Very Good. 4.33 x 1.06 x 7.01 inches. Paperback. 1999. 505 pages. <br>MysteryLarge Print Edition*A New York Times Bestse ller*A Literary Guild Selection*A Doubleday Book Club Selection*A Mystery Guild SelectionThe nation is seized by fear. A terrorist attack on a military convoy leaves scores of soldiers dead as tr uckloads of highly volatile weapons fall into the hands of an ult ra-right-wing militia. Worse yet, a fanatical preacher known as B rother Transgressor joins forces with the radical group. Now the President is demanding swift legal action against the militia and turns to attorney Martin Vail with the impossible task of nailin g the terrorists in their tracks a mission that soon explodes int o a personal nightmare for Vail as his nemesis Aaron Stampler ret urns to enact a vengeance that could bring Vail to his knees. Ed itorial Reviews From Library Journal 'So Pennington trades his war years for a ticket to the White House and Engstrom plans the second American Revolution,' Vail said. This is the premise behin d Diehl's (Show of Evil, LJ 4/15/95) new Martin Vail novel. Illin ois state attorney general Vail is called upon by President Lawre nce Pennington to seek a trial case against one of the largest mi litia outfits in the country. The leader of this outfit, Gen. Jos hua Engstrom, just happens to be an old adversary of the presiden t, putting Vail in the middle of a dangerous situation. Vail must also relive the past when unwillingly faced with his nemesis fro m years ago, serial killer Aaron Stampler, who has now become bli nd Brother Transgression. The meshing of these storylines is intr icate yet easily followed as the tension mounts. Diehl's exciting mystery teaches the reader never to think that it is over?until it is really over. Recommended for all public libraries. -?Stacey Reasor, ITT Technical Inst. Lib.,Tampa, Fla. Copyright 1997 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to the hardcover e dition. From the Back Cover William Diehl stunned readers with P rimal Fear and Show of Evil, the national bestsellers featuring C hicago lawyer Martin Vail. Now, in his gripping new novel of susp ense, Diehl enters uncharted territory, pushing Vail and the lega l system he represents to the brink of destruction. After an ult ra-right-wing militia seizes truckloads of highly volatile weapon s, the president turns to Illinois attorney general Martin Vail. His job: nail the terrorists in their tracks. Vail plunges into h is new, near-impossible mission, one that soon explodes into a pe rsonal nightmare as his most chilling adversary, Aaron Stampler, returns -- seemingly from the dead -- to exact a vengeance that c ould bring Vail to his knees.... --This text refers to the hardco ver edition. About the Author William Diehl is the author of the bestselling Sharky's Machine, Thai Horse, Hooligans, Chameleon, The Hunt (formerly titled 27), Primal Fear, and Show of Evil. He lives on St. Simons Island, Georgia, with his wife, Virginia Gunn , and his daughter, Temple. --This text refers to the hardcover e dition. From Kirkus Reviews Veteran thriller writer Diehl pits s crappy Chicago lawyer Martin Vail against Bible-thumping militia maniacs and Vail's old adversary, psychokiller Aaron Stampler, in a mindless plotboiler that never fails to please. Having succeed ed fabulously as a defense attorney (Primal Fear, 1993) and then as a district attorney (Show of Evil, 1995), crusading, street-sm art Vail is now promoted to the lofty, politically turbulent offi ce of Illinois State Attorney General. Between passionate trysts with his previous courtroom opponent, Jane Venable, Vail can't ke ep his paws (speaking of same) off corrupt politicians. Having co mmitted his too-good-to-be-billable talents to the public weal, h e effortlessly sends a pack of scalawags to jail using the RICO s tatute. He then finds himself tapped by US Attorney General Marga ret Castaigne to draw up a RICO indictment against General Joshua Engstrom, a right-wing militia commander whose wacko religious o rder, the Sanctuary, may have been behind a terrorist attack on a n Army convoy in Montana. Vail rapidly learns of Engstrom's hatre d for his former Army buddy Lawrence Pennington, now President of the United States. Before you can say Ruby Ridge all over again, Diehl tosses in Arnold Stampler, Vail's homicidal former client and nemesis, as a fundamentalist preacher who feigns blindness an d spouts marginally comprehensible hate sermons on Engstrom's rad io station. From here on, Diehl's forced and foolish story hurtle s on at full throttle, never stopping to question itself or the p reposterousness of its plot. Vail staggers from one contrived cli ffhanger to another until almost everyone is blown up except Stam pler and Vail himself, who takes a bullet through his heart but h as enough chutzpa to insult the President and thumb his nose at a federal judgeship. What a guy! Fizzy male wish-fulfillment that bulges with Clancyesque histrionics, frothing fundamentalist fome nt, and more than you want to know about hate groups and RICO ind ictments. (Literary Guild main selection/Mystery Guild selection; author tour) -- Copyright ®1997, Kirkus Associates, LP. All righ ts reserved. --This text refers to the hardcover edition. Excerp t. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Chapter One: J une 12 The dusty RV wailed along the flat interstate, its tires whining on the hot pavement. Behind the wheel was a gaunt, reed-t hin driver, his thinning black hair whipping in the furnace of ho t air that streamed through the open window. He sucked on a bottl e of water to keep from dozing, arcs of sweat staining his white shirt. It had been unmercifully hot since they left Omaha, headin g south and then due west on Interstate 80, with towns and small cities--Kearney, Cozad, Gothenburg--blurring past them as they pa ralleled the river. He drove straight into the sun, into the hot June afternoon, whizzing past the Nebraska farms and fields, uncl uttered, lonely, and dull in their sameness. As was his wont, he bitched to himself as he drove. What's the use havin' air-condi tionin' if he don't let me turn it on? A few miles later. Shakin g his head. Never knew nobody loved the heat like this one. Must be a hunerd-ten out there, he wants the damn window open. Anoth er couple of miles. Nobody t'talk to. Won't let me play the radi o when he's sleepin'. One of these days I'm gonna just doze off . .. Nodding to himself. ... bug off the road, we'll both end up wrapped in this RV in the middle of godforsakennowhere ... Tappi ng the flat of his hand on the steering wheel. ... damn buzzards eatin' our eyes out. Brother T was stretched out on a futon spr ead across two seats.He was uncomfortable sleeping in the main su ite, as he called it, while the RV was on the highway, preferring instead the double seat behind the driver. He was napping, getti ng his strength together for the confront. That's what he called the meetings, confronts. What we're doin', Mordie, we're confron tin' the devil, he would say. Gonna whip that fire-scald, son-bit ch to his knees again t'night, he would say. Praise God, praise J EE-sus. Like they were going to war or somedamnthing. But the d river wasn't complaining. It was the best job he ever had, even t hough he hated driving the flat plains where you could close your eyes for ten minutes then open them and appear to be in the same place you were when you shut them. Suddenly he perked up. Shhh ew, he said under his breath. There was a sign far ahead, dancin g among dervish heat monkeys. He squinted through his sunglasses: Brady two miles. Thank you Jay-sus, he said aloud, mimicking hi s boss in his own rolled-out south Georgia accent. Behind him, B rother T stirred. He leaned up on one elbow and craned and twiste d his neck, popping the muscles, a husky man with long blond hair that hung down to his shoulders and a heavy beard. Where we at? he asked in a voice that was low as a whisper and harsh as a fil e. Smack dab in the middle of the Lord's oven. Brother T cupped the palms of both hands under his jaws, raised his eyebrows, and very lightly rubbed the sleep from the corners of his eyes with the forefinger of each hand. Sometimes I think Gawd jes' took te n square acres of Kansas, Xeroxed 'em, and laid 'em out end on en d all over the whole damn middle of the country. Sounds like you 're flirtin' with blasphemy there, Mordie. Flirtin' with the tru th, what I'm doin', Mordachai answered, coming to a stop and turn ing right onto a narrow two-lane blacktop. What's the name of th is place again? Brady. 'Bout twenty miles this side a North Plat te. That doesn't tell me a thing. We've driven a little over tw o hunerd miles. Over halfway 'cross Nebraska since we left Omaha. It's flat, hot, and I ain't seen another car for at least an hou r. Brother T opened his eyes and stared through orbs the color o f milk. Stared at absolutely nothing. You ought to feel right at home. Sounds like south Georgia. No trees. Nothin' but hay growi n' everywhere. Wheat, Mordie, wheat. Hay is what it becomes afte r it's shorn from the bosom of the land. I'll trade a hunerd mil es of whateveryacallit for one tall pine tree. Unhappy, Mordie? Brother T admonished gently. Jes' bitchin'. Brother T chuckled. Good for the soul. And I'm soppin'. Since you never sweat, I dr ip fer the both of us. Jesus is the great leveler. Easy fer you t'say, you ain't the dripper. True. Cold's more your fashion. B rother T shivered involuntarily at the thought, rubbed his arms, then felt around the floor for the ice cooler. He snapped it open , took out a can of Coke, bent the tab under, and took a long swi g. Ahhh, he said. My mouth was as dry as stale toast. Near the cooler on the floor were four flat, varnished boxes. A sound came from one of them. Briefly. Like a babe in its sleep rolling agai nst a rattle. Easy, children, Brother T said softly, leaning ove r and brushing his fingertips across the smooth top of one of the boxes. Curl up and go back to sleep. Then to Mordachai: What are my arrangements? You're staying with one'a the preachers, name' s Harmon Jasper. Got a room fixed up in his barn for a farmhand b ut the feller quit and moved to Lincoln. Any family? Wife. Chi ldren? Mordachai paused for an instant. Mordachai ... Daughter in high school. How old? The driver stared uncomfortably at Br other T in the rearview mirror before he said, I dunno. Fifteen, sixteen. The preacher took a swig of Coke. Then he stroked his l ong blond locks with one hand and smiled. All the publicity you been gettin' on the radio, Mordachai said, and the state papers, we could maybe see a hunerd er two hunerd folks tonight. But out here in the middle a nowhere, hell, we won't scratch doodley. Tim es're so bad, nobody's got two nickels to rub t'gether. He paused for a moment, then added, If we'd a stayed outside Omaha a coupl e nights, bet we woulda had a thousand people every night, maybe took in four, five, maybe even ten thousand a night. You know I don't like the big towns. Press is too nosy. People don't give t wo hoots 'bout that. You got apostles, T, apostles. They know lie s when they read 'em. I appreciate your ardor. The preacher lean ed back and took another deep swig from the can. Besides, we've h ad some good one, two thousand dollar nights lately. He leaned ba ck in his seat, his glazed eyes flicking sideways occasionally. T ell me what you see. A drought. Fields all wilted, ground cracke d and dusty, heat squigglin' off everything ... farmhouse off the left, coupla oak trees givin' it shade and behind it's the barn, got a advertisement for chewin' tobacca painted on the side ... can't tell what kind, it's all faded and cracked. How picturesqu e. Everybody out here's hard-timin'. Ya might throw in a word fo r some rain, t'night. Excellent idea. Brother T leaned his head back, like a wolf baying, and his voice rose suddenly, still har sh and tormented, but quivering with emotion. I beseech you, swee t Jee-sus, in the name of my suffering brothers and sisters ... b athe this thirsty dust with your tears ... and give life to its p arched earth and wilted fruit. Amen, Lord, a-men! Which Book's t hat from? My very own treasury of injunctions, Brother T answere d, and chuckled. The Jasper place was a pleasant if somewhat spa rtan white frame farmhouse, boxed by the porch that surrounded it . A dusty red Chevy pickup was parked beside it, and a sturdy bar n that looked recently painted stood behind it. Fifteen or twenty skinny pigs rooted and wallowed in a sty at one side of the barn . Behind all that, a field of scorched grain spread across the fl at land toward the town of Brady, a few miles away, a large clust er of low buildings surrounded on four corners by silos, which fr om a distance, in the clear but heat-heavy air, looked like senti nels guarding a prairie fortress. The big tent was stretched out , fifty yards or so from the house at the edge of a parched field , its canvas side flaps rolled up and tied. A vague and inadequat e breeze stirred the grass around it. Nearby, several vehicles of all makes and models were parked haphazardly along the road and on the grounds. There was a sense of revelry here, of people esc aping from the moment in anticipation of comradery and redemption : a dozen women and children scurried about, chatting and laughin g and setting out plastic plates and eatingware on four long tabl es; a young teenage girl in a blue dress spun around and danced t o a song in her head; a small boy sat on the ground staring mutel y at a squirrel in one of the oaks, while other children played t ag around one of the larger trees; two men in shirtsleeves attend ed pieces of chicken sizzling over charcoal on twenty-gallon drum s that were halved and perched on sections of old train rails; fo ur women fussed over a table abounding with bowls of biscuits, co leslaw, baked beans, corn on the cob, chocolate layer cakes, and pitchers of freshly made lemonade. At the edge of the dirt road leading to the farmhouse, a mobile sign announced: Revival Meeti ng 7:30 p.m. tonight BROTHER TRANSGRESSOR Pastor, Church of Chr ist Wandering Preparing for Parousia All you can eat country di nner, 3$ 6:00-7:30 Mordachai walked across the hard earth, flap ping his damp shirt against his chest. He asked someone where he could find Jasper and was pointed to a short, r, Arrow, 1999, 3, White River Productions. Softcover. New. Special Feature L'Aubraie, Large Scale In A Small Space by Bernard Junk A challenge. Features: Betsy Lives by Jim Schulz Gazette Award, 37th National Narrow Gauge Convention, Denver, Colorado, 2017. A Large-scale Modeler Looks For A Little Change by John K. Landis A contrast in scales. My On30 Version Of Chama by Mike Schrier A new beginning. Fremont by John Campbell, MMR A fantasy Colorado mining town with a history. My HOn3 Rio Grande Southern Lizard Head Division, Part 3 by Gregg Condon, MMR Burns Canyon to Silver Spur. Along The Narrow Gauge by Mallory Hope Ferrell My historic photo album: the East Broad Top, part 5. The Locomotive That Never Was by Mallory Hope Ferrell A sidebar. The On30 Fiddletown & Copperopolis by Bill Gould An uncommon carrier, part 6: the Chamita coaling tower. The Western Bay Railroad's Aerial Ore Tram And Ore Dump by Al Sohl, MMR An impressive bit of scenery. Scenery Techniques by Craig Symington, MMR Making aspen trees. The Narrow Gauge Scene by Charlie Getz Durango press. Plans: South Pacific Coast, Arcade Depot, San Jose, California by Gary Caviglia East Broad Top Railroad & Coal Company 2nd 4 CROMWELL by David Fletcher East Broad Top Railroad & Coal Company 11 by David Fletcher C&S Cinder Car 04000 by Robert Stears Chamita Coaling Tower by Bill Gould The Murphy House, Bodie, California by Neil A. Pfafman Departments: Robert's Ramblings by Bob Brown Pigeon Hole Letters to the editor. In Brief Small announcements, new items, and corrections. New in Review Model reviews. Book Reviews 98 pages, B&W and color photographs., White River Productions, 6, San Francisco, California, U.S.A.: Chronicle Books Llc, 1996 Well illustrated recipes for creating unusual finishes. Light cover scratches. . Flex Vinyl. Very Good/No Jacket. Narrow 4to - over 9¾" - 12" Tall, 192 Pages ., Chronicle Books Llc, 1996, 3, Narrow House. Used - Very Good. May have light to moderate shelf wear and/or a remainder mark. Complete. Clean pages., Narrow House, 3, Morganville is not a typical Texas town, but a social experiment to see whether humans and vampires can peacefully co-exist. The vampires stand at the top of the food chain; they make the rules that humans must obey. Four friends (humans Claire, Eve and Shane and the vampire Michael) room in Glass House. Eve and Michael are in love and want to marry, but their respective species violently oppose interspecies marriage. Taking a rest from the nuptial craziness, Claire and Shane meet a vampire from a nearby town with a letter addressed to Amelie the Founder and ruler of Morganville. Myron the mad vampire scientist takes it and tells them it says "run". At about the same time, Claire sees a strong male who is not vampire or human. An evil long standing enemy of Amelia and her species has arrived. This thing disguised as human can easily kill a vampire. The town's residents regardless of specie are in extreme danger as recently three vampires vanished without a trace after a visit from Magnus. The eleventh Morganville Vampires small town fantasy (see Ghost Town) is a pulse-pounding supernatural thriller that keeps readers on the edge until the Last Breath expires. Courageous Claire has risked her life before against impossible odds, but this time the adversary seems too powerful, but through human she still tries to rescue vampires from the wrath of Magnus. Shane's perspective is narrower as he thrives to do what it takes to keep his risk-taking beloved Claire safe. Rachel Caine writes a wonderful young adult tale in which the heroes must choose fight or flight with either option most likely leading to death., Penguin Publishing, 2012, 0, NY: Reader's Digest, 1981 Hard Cover. Very Good/As New. First Edition; Volume 139. 12mo - over 6¾" - 7¾" tall. The first 20 twenty pages have been bent.., NY: Reader's Digest, 1981, 0, Random House Publishing Group. Used - Good. Used book that is in clean, average condition without any missing pages., Random House Publishing Group, 2.5, Living Language by Random House. 1st thus,1999. Very Good soft cover. narrow 8vo,soft covers,193pp,drawings. edgewear,corners curled,remnant of label back,cover. corners bumped,clean,tight,text. food., Living Language by Random House, 3, NY: Hearst Books, 1982. Illustrated throughout with drawings. Pages [159 including index] clean, unmarked, binding tight and square. Red leatherette covers, bright gilt lettering, some on black panels, clean, a little shelf wear at extremities, narrow staining at back edge of spine. Media Mail, Priority & most international shipping include free tracking information. Every book listed is located in my smoke free and climate controlled shop. All are inspected by me and will have qualities and/or flaws described. . Second Printing. Hard Cover. Very Good/No Jacket. Illus. by Tvaryanas, Alphonse. 4to - over 9¾" - 12" tall., Hearst Books, 1982, 3, Random House Publishing Group. Used - Good. Used book that is in clean, average condition without any missing pages., Random House Publishing Group, 2.5, New York: Hastings House Publishers, 1954. 238 pages with black and white illustrations and photographs. Jacket has much wear with some creasing, mild chipping at top, several tiny tears at bottom; and several three inch tears to creased back. Pencilled prices on fep are crossed off. Illustrated pages are in great condition. Thanks for shopping with us. 100% of your purchase benefits charity and supports literacy and life-long learning.. Cloth. Good/Fair. 4to - over 9¾" - 12" tall., Hastings House Publishers, 1954, 2.25, Random House Publishing Group. Used - Good. Former library book; may include library markings. Used book that is in clean, average condition without any missing pages., Random House Publishing Group, 2.5, Tyndale House Publishers, 2012, 2012. Soft cover. Fine. Octavo, softcover, fine in black and white pictorial wraps. Foreword by Greg Laurie. A memoir beginning days before Chad Williams was to report to military duty in Great Lakes, Illinois, he turned on a television and was greeted with the horrifying images of his mentor, US Navy SEAL Scott Helvenston, being brutally murdered in a premeditated ambush on the roads of Fallujah, Iraq. 284 pp., Tyndale House Publishers, 2012, 2012, 5, aspect, first edition, 1994. fine, unread, new, paperback, aspect, 0<

ISBN: f813acf5e138c0fddb1925dfea630be7

Author: Peter Crowther ISBN 10: 0316903957. Title: Narrow Houses Vol 1 Item Condition: used item in a good condition. Will be clean, not soiled or stained. Festpreisangebot, [LT: FixedPrice]