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- Author: Harold MacGrath
- Publisher: Kessinger Publishing
- ISBN-10: 1162724218
- ISBN-13: 9781162724218
- Format: 15.2 x 22.9 x 1.2 cm, minkšti viršeliai
- Language: English
- SAVE -10% with code: EXTRA
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Description
1907. With decorations by Franklin Booth. MacGrath, a prolific writer, wrote for newspapers until 1890 when he published his first novel Arms and the Woman. The Best Man begins: Carrington folded the document and thoughtfully balanced it on his palm. What an ironical old world it was! There was a perpendicular wrinkle about his nose, and his lips had thinned into a mere line which drooped at the corners. The drone of a typewriter in the adjoining room sounded above the rattle-tattle of the street below. Through the opened windows came a vague breath of summer redolent of flowers and grasses; for it was but eleven o'clock of the morning, and the smell of sun-baked brick and asphalt had not yet risen through the air. Far beyond the smoking, ragged skyline Carrington could see the shifting, glittering river and the great ships going down to the sea. Presently the ashes from his dead cigar fell in a gray cascade down his coat and tumbled across his knees, but he gave no heed. See other titles by this author available from Kessinger Publishing.
EXTRA 10 % discount with code: EXTRA
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- Author: Harold MacGrath
- Publisher: Kessinger Publishing
- ISBN-10: 1162724218
- ISBN-13: 9781162724218
- Format: 15.2 x 22.9 x 1.2 cm, minkšti viršeliai
- Language: English English
1907. With decorations by Franklin Booth. MacGrath, a prolific writer, wrote for newspapers until 1890 when he published his first novel Arms and the Woman. The Best Man begins: Carrington folded the document and thoughtfully balanced it on his palm. What an ironical old world it was! There was a perpendicular wrinkle about his nose, and his lips had thinned into a mere line which drooped at the corners. The drone of a typewriter in the adjoining room sounded above the rattle-tattle of the street below. Through the opened windows came a vague breath of summer redolent of flowers and grasses; for it was but eleven o'clock of the morning, and the smell of sun-baked brick and asphalt had not yet risen through the air. Far beyond the smoking, ragged skyline Carrington could see the shifting, glittering river and the great ships going down to the sea. Presently the ashes from his dead cigar fell in a gray cascade down his coat and tumbled across his knees, but he gave no heed. See other titles by this author available from Kessinger Publishing.
Reviews