Weapons, an eccentric’s beekeeping equipment. Then a wine cellar. Then a handyman’s nook. Atelier de
Prismatic
— É certo — pergunta Jutta — fazer algo apenas porque todas as outras pessoas estão fazendo?
Nine are killed instantly. One of them still clutching the hand of bridge he was playing when the shell struck.
All the next day the pleasure of his success lingers in Werner's blood, the memory of how it seemed almost holy to him to walk beside big Volkheimer back to the castle, down through the frozen trees,...
That Dr. Hauptmann might have ties so far up—that the telephone on his desk connects him with men a hundred miles away who could probably wag a finger and send a dozen Messerschmitts streaming up from...
We are dust only after all our water evaporates.
We all go back to the mud. Until we rise again in ribbons of light.
Marie-Laure will indeed smell something, whether because her uncle is passing coffee grounds beneath her nose, or because they really are flying over the coffee trees of Boreno, she does not want to d...
What treasures they left behind! A gorgeous set of yellow topaz crystals on a gray matrix. A great pink hunk of beryl like a crystallized brain. A violet column of tourmaline from Madagascar that look...
Over Volkheimer’s shoulder, through the cracked rear window of the truck shell, Werner watches a red-haired child in a velvet cape float six feet above the road. She passes through trees and road sign...
He’ll say, You did this to me. Please. Not in front of my son.
A one-armed bunk master sets forth rules in a belligerent torrent. This is your parade uniform, this is your field uniform, this is your gym uniform. Suspenders crossed in the back, parallel in the fr...
Open your eyes and see what you can with them before they close forever. The Blade and the Whelk The H
I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country. Everyone
Is it right, Jutta says, to do something only because everyone else is doing it? Doubts:
Weaker moments, he
He feels ragged. For weeks logic has been failing him. The stone the museum has asked him to protect is not real. If it were, the museum would have sent men already to collect it. Why then, when he pu...
That first peach slithers down his throat like rapture. A sunrise in his mouth.
Artillery has stopped for the moment, and the predawn fires inside the walls take on a steady middle life, an adulthood.
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