Village-communities In The East And West - exemplaire signée
2019, ISBN: 3aeed4c1749d85741f21c8945ba7ed6f
Livres de poche, Edition reliée
Holt Paperbacks. Very Good. 19 x 13cm. Paperback. 2000. 181 pages. <br>One dark and stormy night in 1956, a stranger name d Fludd mysteriously turns up in the dismal village of Feth… Plus…
Holt Paperbacks. Very Good. 19 x 13cm. Paperback. 2000. 181 pages. <br>One dark and stormy night in 1956, a stranger name d Fludd mysteriously turns up in the dismal village of Fetherhoug hton. He is the curate sent by the bishop to assist Father Angwin -or is he? In the most unlikely of places, a superstitious town t hat understands little of romance or sentimentality, where bad bl ood between neighbors is ancient and impenetrable, miracles begin to bloom. No matter how copiously Father Angwin drinks while he confesses his broken faith, the level of the bottle does not drop . Although Fludd does not appear to be eating, the food on his pl ate disappears. Fludd becomes lover, gravedigger, and savior, tra nsforming his dull office into a golden regency of decision, unas hamed sensation, and unprecedented action. Knitting together the miraculous and the mundane, the dreadful and the ludicrous, Fludd is a tale of alchemy and transformation told with astonishing ar t, insight, humor, and wit. Editorial Reviews Amazon com Review Fetherhoughton, the shabby and provincial village of Hilary Mant el's fifth novel, Fludd, possesses a charm that is, at best, late nt. The surrounding moorland is foreboding, the populace is queru lous and ill-educated, and the presiding priest is an atheist. It 's 1956, and drabness is general to this English backwater. Until , that is, the appearance of a disarming young priest who, appare ntly, has been dispatched to wrest Fetherhoughton out of its supe rstitious stupor. One of the novel's several wonders is that Flud d surpasses all expectations. Father Angwin, Fetherhoughton's di sbelieving priest, has--much to the displeasure of his superiors- -grown comfortable with the entrenched, misapprehending devoutnes s of his flock. Fludd, who may or may not be the curate sent to d eliver the wayward, exerts an immediate, if unexpected, influence . He intrigues the townspeople, flusters the church's gaggle of n uns, kindles a welcome self-examination in Father Angwin, and aro uses the passion of the young and yearning Sister Philomena. A ch arge of possibility suddenly animates the village, accompanied by several incidents that seem midway between coincidence and mirac le. Fludd, however, remains beset by an insistent disillusionment --his clarity, it seems, arcs outward only. Mantel's cramped and pliant village is a marvel. Fetherhoughton wrestles not against flesh and blood but against principalities, against powers, again st the rulers of the darkness of this world, insists the dour hea dmistress, Mother Perpetua. A local tobacconist, not so trivially , just might be the devil in human garb. Fludd's gift lies in une arthing all the lovely and fearsome truths buried just beneath th e surface. The frightening thing is that life is fair, he observe s, but what we need... is not justice but mercy. The fruits of th is conviction, in Fetherhoughton, are rebellion, self-assertion, and even scandal; but Mantel's lovely tale suggests that difficul t possibility is fair compensation for a sloughed predictability. --Ben Guterson From Publishers Weekly Originally published in 1989 in the U.K., Mantel's slim, intense novel displays the autho r's formidable gift for illuminating the darker side of the human heart, offering metaphoric and literal incarnations of the power ful central images of Catholicism. Her circa-1956 setting of Feth erhoughton, a provincial English village surrounded on three side s by gloomy moors, is stark and dreary, a dead end where unwanted people are unceremoniously dumped. Such is the case of Sister Ph ilomena, a sturdy farm girl-turned-nun banished from an Irish con vent because her sister Kathleen breaks convent rules. It becomes apparent that Philomena will not fit in anywhere, as she is a st range mix of innocence and knowledge, a sage romantic. Philomena finds an unlikely confidant in Father Angwin, the parish priest, who has lost his faith, thinks the town tobacconist is the devil and fears the threat of a youthful replacement for his post. When a rain-soaked man named Fludd arrives on a stormy night, Angwin assumes it is the newly appointed curate, but even so, the two be come close friends and, in time, Angwin sheds his bitterness and paranoia to become a more compassionate, wiser person. Fludd swee ps the nosy housekeeper, Agnes, off her feet with his gentlemanly manners and cool confidence, but Philomena is also strangely att racted to the devilish Fludd, who magically transforms everyone h e meets. The monstrous Mother Perpetua, headmistress of the St. T homas Aquinas School, is the lone exception, and she ends up bein g a key player in the rural face-off between good and evil. Hawth ornden Prize-winner Mantel (The Giant, O'Brien) uses her knack fo r dry wit and lovely, scene-setting detail to liven up crisp, uti litarian prose, revealing, as her characters do, the ever-surpris ing divine in the mundane. (June) Copyright 2000 Reed Business I nformation, Inc. From Publishers Weekly Originally published in 1989 in the U.K., Mantel's slim, intense novel displays the autho r's formidable gift for illuminating the darker side of the human heart, offering metaphoric and literal incarnations of the power ful central images of Catholicism. Her circa-1956 setting of Feth erhoughton, a provincial English village surrounded on three side s by gloomy moors, is stark and dreary, a dead end where unwanted people are unceremoniously dumped. Such is the case of Sister Ph ilomena, a sturdy farm girl-turned-nun banished from an Irish con vent because her sister Kathleen breaks convent rules. It becomes apparent that Philomena will not fit in anywhere, as she is a st range mix of innocence and knowledge, a sage romantic. Philomena finds an unlikely confidant in Father Angwin, the parish priest, who has lost his faith, thinks the town tobacconist is the devil and fears the threat of a youthful replacement for his post. When a rain-soaked man named Fludd arrives on a stormy night, Angwin assumes it is the newly appointed curate, but even so, the two be come close friends and, in time, Angwin sheds his bitterness and paranoia to become a more compassionate, wiser person. Fludd swee ps the nosy housekeeper, Agnes, off her feet with his gentlemanly manners and cool confidence, but Philomena is also strangely att racted to the devilish Fludd, who magically transforms everyone h e meets. The monstrous Mother Perpetua, headmistress of the St. T homas Aquinas School, is the lone exception, and she ends up bein g a key player in the rural face-off between good and evil. Hawth ornden Prize-winner Mantel (The Giant, O'Brien) uses her knack fo r dry wit and lovely, scene-setting detail to liven up crisp, uti litarian prose, revealing, as her characters do, the ever-surpris ing divine in the mundane. (June) Copyright 2000 Reed Business I nformation, Inc. Review Hilary Mantel's wildly inventive novel about a reincarnated alchemist and an imaginary village in Englan d in the fifties is 'in every sense a magical book'. ?Listener, E ngland Fludd...establishes [Mantel] in the front rank of novelis ts writing in English today. ?The Guardian (London)) About the Author Hilary Mantel twice won the Booker Prize, for her best-sel ling novel Wolf Hall and its sequel, Bring Up the Bodies. The fin al novel of the Wolf Hall trilogy, The Mirror & the Light, debute d at #1 on the New York Times bestseller list and won critical ac claim around the globe. Mantel authored over a dozen books, inclu ding A Place of Greater Safety, Beyond Black, and the memoir Givi ng Up the Ghost. About the Author Hilary Mantel twice won the Bo oker Prize, for her best-selling novel Wolf Hall and its sequel, Bring Up the Bodies. The final novel of the Wolf Hall trilogy, Th e Mirror & the Light, debuted at #1 on the New York Times bestsel ler list and won critical acclaim around the globe. Mantel author ed over a dozen books, including A Place of Greater Safety, Beyon d Black, and the memoir Giving Up the Ghost. Excerpt. ® Reprinte d by permission. All rights reserved. Fludd A NovelBy Hilary Ma ntel Holt Paperbacks Copyright © 2000 Hilary Mantel All right re served. ISBN: 9780805062731 ONEOn Wednesday the bishop came in pe rson. He was a modern prelate, brisk and plump in his rimless gla sses, and he liked nothing better than to tear around the diocese in his big black car.He had taken the precaution-advisable in th e circumstances-of announcing himself two hours before his arriva l. The telephone bell, ringing in the hall of the parish priest's house, had in itself a muted ecclesiastical tone. Miss Dempsey h eard it as she was coming from the kitchen. She stood looking at the telephone for a moment, and then approached it gingerly, walk ing on the balls of her feet. She lifted the receiver as if it we re hot. Her head on one side, holding the earpiece well away from her cheek, she listened to the message given by the bishop's sec retary. Yes My Lord, she murmured, though in retrospect she knew that the secretary did not merit this. The bishop and his sycopha nts, Father Angwin always said; Miss Dempsey supposed they were a kind of deacon. Holding the receiver in her fingertips, she repl aced it with great care. She stood in the dim passageway, for a m oment, thinking, and bowed her head momentarily, as if she had he ard the Holy Name of Jesus. Then she went to the foot of the stai rs and bellowed up them: Father Angwin, Father Angwin, get yourse lf up and dressed, the bishop will be upon us before eleven o'clo ck. Miss Dempsey went back into the kitchen, and switched on the electric light. It was not a morning when the light made a great deal of difference; the summer, a thick grey blanket, had pinned itself to the windows. Miss Dempsey heard the incessant drip, dr ip, drip from the branches and leaves outside, and a more urgent metallic drip, pit-pat, pit-pat; it was the guttering. Her figure moved, the electric light behind it, over the dull green wall; i mmense hands floated towards the kettle; as in a thick sea, her l imbs swam for the range. Upstairs, the priest beat his shoe along the floor and pretended to be coming.Ten minutes later he had go t himself up; she heard the creak of the floorboards above, the g urgle of water from the washbasin, his feet on the stairs. He sig hed as he came down the hallway, his solitary morning sigh. Sudde nly he was behind her, hovering: Agnes, have you something for my stomach?I daresay, she said. He knew where the salts were kept; but she must get it for him, as if she were his mother. Were ther e many at seven o'clock Mass?It's funny you should ask, Father sa id, just as if she did not ask it every morning. There were a few old Children of Mary, along with the usual derelicts. It wouldn' t be some special feast of theirs, would it? Walpurgisnacht?I don 't know what you mean, Father. I'm a Children of Mary myself, as you perfectly well know, and I've not heard of anything. She look ed aggrieved. Were they wearing their cloaks and all?No, they wer e in mufti, just their usual horseblankets.Miss Dempsey brought t he teapot to the table. You ought not to make mock of the Sodalit ies, Father.I wonder if something has got out about the bishop co ming? Some intelligence of a subterranean variety? Am I to have b acon, Agnes?Not with your stomach in its present state.Miss Demps ey poured from the pot, a thick brown gurgling stream, adding to the noise: the dripping trees, the wind in the chimneys.And anoth er thing, he said. McEvoy was there. Father Angwin hunched himsel f over the table. He warmed his hands around his cup. When he sai d the name of McEvoy, a shadow crossed his face, and hovered abou t his jaw, so that Miss Dempsey, who was given to imagination, th ought for a moment she had seen what he would look like when he w as eighty years old.Oh yes, she said, and did he want something?N o.I wonder why you mention him then?Dear Agnes, give me some peac e. Go and let me compose myself for His Corpulence. What does he want, do you think? What's he after this time?Agnes went out, a d uster in her hand, her face full of complaints. Whatever he had m eant about subterranean intelligence, surely he was not accusing her? Nobody but the bishop himself, forming the intention in his deep heart, had known he meant to visit-except perhaps the sycoph ants might have known. Therefore she, Miss Dempsey, could not kno w, therefore she could not hint, divulge, reveal, to the Children of Mary or anyone else in the parish. Had she known, she might h ave mentioned it. Might-if she had thought that anyone needed to know. She herself was the judge of what anyone needed to know. Fo r Miss Dempsey occupied a special mediatory position, between chu rch, convent, and everyone else. To acquire information was her p ositive duty, and then what she did with it was a matter for her judgement and experience. Miss Dempsey would have eavesdropped on the confessional, if she could; she had often wondered how she m ight manage it.Left at the breakfast table, Father Angwin stared into his teacup and shifted it about. Miss Dempsey had not master ed the use of a strainer. Nothing in particular could be seen in the leaves, but for a moment Father Angwin thought that someone h ad come into the room behind him. He lifted his face, as he did i n conversation, but there was no one there. Come in, whoever you are, he said. Have some stewed tea. Father Angwin was a foxy man, with his deadleaf-colour eyes and hair; head tilted, he sniffed the wind, and shied away from what he detected. Somewhere else in the house, a door slammed. Consider Agnes Dempsey: duster in ha nd, whisking it over the dustless bureau. In recent years her fac e had fallen softly, like a piece of light cotton folding into a box. Her neck too fell in floury, scalloped folds, to where her c lothing cut off the view. Her eyes were round, child-like, bright blue, their air of surprise compounded by her invisible eyebrows and her hair, a faded gold streaked with grey, which sprang up f rom her hairline as if crackling with static. She had pleated ski rts, and short bottle-shaped legs, and pastel twin-sets to cover the gentle twin hummocks of her bosom. Her mouth was small and pa le and indiscernible, made to ingest the food she liked: Eccles c akes, vanilla slices, miniature chocolate Swiss rolls that came w rapped in red-and-silver foil. It was her habit to peel off the f oil carefully, fold it as thin as a pencil, twist it into a ring, and pop it on her wedding finger. Then she would hold out both h ands-fingers bloodless and slightly bent by incipient arthritis-a nd appraise them, a frown of concentration appearing as a, Holt Paperbacks, 2000, 3, Black Swan, Feb 1984. New edition. Paperback. Mrs Emmeline Lucas, known in her community as Lucia, "reigns supreme over the affairs of Riseholme". Riseholme is a one main street village in rural England in the year 1920. The "affairs of Riseholme" involve leisured eccentrics who devote their energies and time to the favorite pastimes, hobbies, fads and fancies of the day. It is Lucia's role as leader to take responsibility for heightening an awareness and questing for greater cultural richness. Not that she admits to this, even to herself. "You all work me to death," she usually says, when a new opportunity for leading a crusade or instigating a new field of cultural endeavor presents itself. \nOf course, Lucia's stance provokes great rivalry. Riseholmeites do not so much relate to each other as try to put each other down. Many are put down, and many fall down when they tread on those metaphorical banana skins that fate seems to spread before those who are absurdly over-ambitious\nUsing this material, E F Benson, begins an inter-related series of novels with this one in 1920. He devises an almost mock-heroic quality in the telling of his tale. Benson makes us aware that no great legendary conqueror gave as much thought and weight to the planning of a military conquest as do the Riseholmeites to the consideration of who to invite for afternoon tea. \nThe result is gentle satire and great fun from beginning to end. Not a day, not an hour, passes in Riseholme without plots being hatched, news being sought, and allegiances being formed. \nI don't recommend that you present this book as a gift to you football-playing, beer-swilling, macho male friends and relations. It is for those who enjoy the word spinning of an Oscar Wilde, mixed with the sophistication of a Noel Coward. \nEnglish actress Geraldine McEwan, who played the role of Lucia in a TV mini-series based on this series of books, has recorded this and others in the series in audio book format. With her sharp, silvery voice and incisive delivery, she makes Lucia and the people of Roseholme unforgettable., Black Swan, 0, Experience a quintessentially American summera village-green, homemade-ice-cream, corn-on-the-cob kind of summerexploring the fifty vibrant farmers' and artisan markets profiled in Markets of New England. You'll find picture-postcard settings, delicious food, and unique crafts down every ribbon of highway. In Massachusetts, make your way up the coast to Cape Cod, where markets feature baskets of blueberries and flats of oysters still dripping with saltwater; hop the ferry to Sustainable Nantucket's picturesque farm stands; or journey inland to an art festival nestled in the Berkshires. In New Hampshire, attend a lakeside workshop and a market held on New England's largest town common, in the shadow of a classic white church and steeple. Meander across Vermont during an open studio weekend, or to Maine for a clam festival, a county fair, and craft guild shows. Even tiny Rhode Island has pleasures aplenty: an oceanfront gourmet food tasting, an indie art fair overlooking Narragansett Bay and Newport Harbor, and more. Markets of New England leads you to the local delicacies, the most interesting purveyors, the products of community supported farms and fisheries, the standout crafts and artwork, and provides all the details you need to know, including off-season schedules. The food and crafts are filled with local flavor, the settings pure New England, and the itineraries provide enough delights to fill an endless summer., New York Review Books, 2011-05-03, 6, New York,New York: Berkley Prime Crime, 2014. Book. Illus. by Stephen Gardner. New. Mass Market Paperback. First Berkley Prime Crme Edition. The book is stored in a Mylar bag. FIRST IN A NEW SERIES! "Stained-glass aficionado Georgia Kelly packed up her city life for the quiet of small town Wenwood, New York. But the sleepy village's peace is about to get shattered-by murder. After a banking scandal loses Georgia her job and fiancé, she decides that a change of scenery will help piece her life back together. But escaping to her grandfather's house in the old-fashioned, brick-making Hudson River hamlet of Wenwood, New York, turns out to be less relaxing than she expects. Not only is the close-knit community on edge about their beloved brickworks being turned into a marina to draw in tourists, one of those most opposed to the project winds up dead-cracked over the head with a famous Wenwood brick. Georgia wouldn't be broken up over the news except for the fact that the main suspect is the deceased's biggest adversary-her grandfather. Now, to remove the stain from her grandy's record, Georgia will have to figure out who in town was willing to kill to keep the renovation project alive, before someone else is permanently cut out of the picture". Size: 4.1 x 0.9 x 6.7 inches., Berkley Prime Crime, 2014, 6, Allen & Unwin. Near Fine. 6 x 0.9 x 9.25 inches. Paperback. 2019. 304 pages. <br>This is the extraordinary story of Dr. Sanduk Ruit who, like his mentor Fred Hollows, took on the world's medical e stablishment to give the life-changing gift of sight to hundreds and thousands of the world's poorest and most isolated people. It is the story of a boy from the lowest tiers of a rigid caste sys tem who grew up in a tiny, remote Himalayan village with no schoo l to become one of the most respected ophthalmologists in the wor ld and a medical giant of Asia. It is also the story of a young d octor who became Fred Hollows' medical soul mate and who chose to defy the world's medical establishment and the lure of riches to make the world a better place. Editorial Reviews Review I've k nown Dr. Sanduk Ruit for over thirty years. He is one of our grea test living eye surgeons and humanitarians . . . Watching him giv e the gift of sight is like watching someone give a second life. --Richard Gere One of the greatest people I've ever met. --Joel Edgerton About the Author Ali Gripper has written features for G ood Weekend, the Sydney Morning Herald, Australian, Daily Telegra ph, South China Morning Post, and Country Style Magazine. Excerp t. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. CHAPTER 1 Ma rio Wins Again Mario wins again! As the cheesy, overplayed musi c comes to a close and the screen goes dark, I drop my controller into my lap in defeat. Be it the stuffiness of this room or the fact that this is our sixth tournament today, I lost my first gam e of Mario Kart in months ... to my eight-year-old brother. I wat ch through narrowed eyes as Jack catapults around the room in vic tory, lifting his shirt over his head to reveal his pale torso. S eriously, what is it with boys and showing their chest when they win something? Is it some sort of animalistic display of dominanc e originating from our monkey ancestors? I can't help but snort i n amusement as I consider this. He's such a little show-off. My h ands dart out to grab him by the sides and I tug him down to tick le him. You wish, monkey boy, I scoff. We both know that I kicke d your butt on the other games. Jack squirms to free himself fro m my hold, shooting me a glare as he brushes himself down. He hat es me tickling him. Monkey boy? I beat you with Mario, not Donkey Kong. I'm way too lazy to explain my thought process to him so I just roll my eyes. Riley, can you come here please? Mom calls from downstairs. If it wasn't for the urgency I can hear in her v oice, I would probably make more of a scene asking why she can't just come upstairs to me, but she sounds excited about something. There's a spark of vitality in the words that I haven't heard in a while and it intrigues me. Mumbling my protest instead, I swi ng my legs from the beanbag and give Jack a warning look with a c lear subliminal message: Steal my seat, I steal your life. Of cou rse, by the time I've reached the door, he's already sitting ther e. Oh, how I miss the days when I had some kind of authority over him. As I enter the kitchen, I'm hit with the heart-warming aro ma that signals Mom's baking: cupcakes and coffee, like the insid e of a Starbucks, but much cosier. It's something that I haven't smelled for quite a while, and my sourness at having to walk all theway down the stairs disappears in a second at the sweetness of the nostalgia. I can't help but smile as I see her standing behi nd the kitchen counter in an apron. She looks up and brushes her hands off immediately. There's icing sugar in the curls of her ha ir. Come and look at this, she says, beckoning, abandoning her h alf-iced cupcakes. She leads me over to the kitchen window and pu lls back the plaid drapes ever so slightly, just enough for me to peek through. Shooting her a look of bewilderment and wondering if this has anything to do with the new geraniums she bought yest erday, I squeeze my head into the gap and look out at the neighbo urs' driveway. I was expecting a potted plant, so what I see inst ead surprises me greatly. We have new neighbours. Parked next d oor, in the house that has been empty for almost six months now, is a large removal truck. The giant green anomaly overshadows the small car beside it, and my eyebrows rise further upwards as I w atch the family climbing out of the vehicle. A woman steps out fi rst, and reaches into the back to grab a small girl from the back seat. Her dark curls are scraped back into a clasp, and her feat ures are delicate and feminine. It's nice that someone around Mom 's age is moving in next door - my mom could use someone to talk to living so close by. The girl the woman carries is around the a ge of four or five, with the cutest baby face I've ever laid eyes on and two brunette bunches on either side of her head. Adorable . I'm not sure who I was expecting to see get out of the car nex t, but it definitely wasn't the alluring, moody boy that I see no w. He looks around my age, and from what I can see of his ebony h air and angled jaw ... he's hot. No doubt the entire population o f the student body will completely swarm this one. I can't help b ut watch as he threads his fingers through his hair, slightly ent ranced. I'm a bit of a scientific hermit when it comes to the spe cies of the hot, so the fact that I have an attractive male now l iving next door is enough to make my stomach flip. I pull the dr ape further to the side, but to my complete horror, the boy's hea d snaps up at the movement. His eyes latch onto mine as he notice s me ogling. Oh. I pull away quickly, bumping back into Mom's sho ulder. I can already feel a blush burning my cheeks. He must thin k I'm such a creep. Surprisingly though, by the time I've recover ed enough courage to peek through again, he doesn't look affected in the slightest. Bored almost, which reassures me. Out of fear of being spotted again, I withdraw from the drapes - finally thi s time - and pull them closed. It was only a matter of time befor e we got new neighbours, I knew that, but it still comes as a sur prise. The house next door is fairly large - a two-storey cream-c oloured family house with a front porch and unruly yard. I had gr own quite used to it being empty, and definitely never pictured s omeone of my own age moving in. Mom chortles at my puzzled expres sion and tucks my long hair behind my shoulders. It warms my hear t that she's so excited about this. What do you think, eh? she s ays. New neighbours. I smile half-heartedly, heading over to the fridge. I haven't seen them around Lindale before. They must be new to town. Lindale is one of those fairly small, well-kept com munities where most people know of each other and the sense of to wn pride is strong. There's a school for each age group, lots of community fundraisers and with surroundings of dense Oregon fores t in almost every direction away from the beach. My eyes scour t he shelves of the fridge, but I'm left disappointed. No orange ju ice, I murmur, peering at the remnants of food. All that's left i s wafer-thin ham, flavoured water and an old lettuce. Not much I can make there. Mom shrugs in reply, batting my hand away as I r each for a cupcake instead. We need to go shopping, Ma, I grumbl e. There's no food in this house. The order is coming later! Sh e sticks her tongue out at me, and I'm momentarily stunned by tha t simple action, something that she hasn't done in a long time. I t seems like today is going really well for her. Mom and I are si milar in more ways than one. Along with our almost matching appea rance - auburn curls and fair skin - we're both sarcastic and jok ey with an abnormally weird side. Mom only shows her weird side w hen she's in a good mood nowadays, so when she does, that makes i t all the more special. So, you felt like doing some baking toda y then? I probe, peering over her shoulder as she ices the cupcak es. Her hand falters slightly as I ask, and she nods. I missed i t. Figured I can't mope for ever. She looks back at me with a sma ll smile. Good, I say. I love you. I'm going upstairs to do some studying. I brush past and grab a lollipop from my sweet jar, ju st as my phone begins to vibrate in my pocket. Amusement curves m y lips as I see Violet's particularly horrific caller-ID picture show up on the screen. She and I have a bit of a tradition about how we answer the phone. It takes me only a second to think of an opening line before I pick up. Tampax tampons - for your need t o bleed. How may I be of assistance? This is no time for jokes, Riley! Violet replies in a hushed voice. It's only then that I re member that she's on a blind date. Knowing her pickiness when it comes to guys, it's probably going badly. I'm in the girls' toile ts at the moment. Hiding. Stupid period had to come today, when I 'm wearing white jeans! Plus, he has the table manners of a compl ete pig. He spilt water all over me. Okay, I snort at my eccentr ic best friend. Dry yourself off a bit. If you have a jacket, tie it round your waist and just tell the guy that you have a stomac h ache or something. If he's got a brain, he'll take you home. V iolet mumbles in agreement, and I can hear the rustling of her ja cket down the line. Thanks so much. She sighs gratefully. And he y, nice line. I better get back out there before he starts worryi ng. Text me later? I will, I promise, before hanging up. Violet and I have been best friends since the very beginning of Freshma n year. We sat next to each other in our first Math class, where she slapped a jock for making fun of her dyed purple hair. I resp ected her attitude from that moment onwards. Unlike me, she's gab by and confident and shamelessly herself - she's magnetic. I, on the other hand, am known to be a bit of a dork. Just a little soc ially awkward, my role in our friendship is often to advise her f rom afar while she faces the horrors of social inter-action. I h ead straight back upstairs to my room and shut the door behind me . My bedroom is my haven. It's not particularly glamorous or arts y, but it's rustic and it feels like home. The entire far wall is dedicated to tacked posters of bands and TV shows. Everything in this room, from the mess of books to the mix of old vinyl record s, screams introvert and I love it. My skateboard and old guitar sit propped against the wardrobe, and my double bed, complete wit h Star Wars sheets, sits in its usual unruly state just opposite my window. Funnily enough, my window exactly mirrors a window in the neighbouring house, separated only by a couple of metres. No w that I have neighbours ... Oh crap. I tiptoe towards the wind ow and cautiously peer round the window frame into the room oppos ite. If my luck is as bad as I estimate it to be, I can't risk be ing spotted staring at Neighbour Dude again. Sure enough, as my e yes rest on the room opposite, I have to fight to restrain my gro an. Of course it's the guy. I guess my drapes will have to remain closed from now on. I tug the purple material further back to se e that he's packing away his things. He hasn't noticed me this ti me, at least. It's only this close up that I realise quite how at tractive this guy is. With a strong, chiselled jawline and define d cheekbones, his face is angular and, dare I say it, sexy. Inky locks curl over his forehead, and his eyes are a deep cobalt. He turns to face the other way and I snap out of my daze, a little surprised with myself that I have stared at him so much already. I will be the first to openly admit that I haven't had the best e xperiences when it comes to boys, so it's really out of the quest ion for me to have a crush. I guess there isn't any harm in looki ng, but I close the drapes and walk away just to be on the safe s ide. Putting on my music, I settle down to do some studying. My grades dropped a lot last year, and I'm determined to get back on track in time for Senior year. Studying is a way to focus my ene rgy so that I feel like I'm actually accomplishing something in m y free time. Twenty One Pilots blast through my docking station. I nod my head in time to the music and stare down at the equation s in front of me until my eyes blur. I've never been good at Math , and now I'm having to fight my hardest to keep up. Nothing seem s to click. I just hope this extra work will be worth it in my fi nal exams next year. My phone buzzes. It's Violet again. I esca ped from that hellish date! I'll tell you all the details on Mond ay xx Don't get distracted by the phone. Ugh goon then. May as w ell reply. I type in a hasty message before turning my phone off . No doubt if I didn't, Mom would walk in, see me texting Violet and think I'd been doing that the entire time. We have some major trust issues in our relationship - mainly due to the bowl cut sh e made me get when I was twelve. Yup, it looked just as bad as it sounds, if not worse. After a solid hour of studying, I finally finish and it's getting late. I stifle my yawn and begin to get changed ready for bed, ensuring the drapes are firmly closed befo re I strip. I would not want Neighbour Dude to get more than he b argained for by moving into that room. I don't think that's the k ind of first impression I want to make, funnily enough. I slide into the covers in my pyjama top, frowning as I realise that the music next door is playing pretty loudly. Surely that heavy metal couldn't belong to the mom of a toddler. No, my bet is placed on the boy in the room next door, which would explain why I seem to be taking the brunt of the volume. Judging by the raucous laught er and heavy rock music, Mr Neighbour has friends over. He hasn't even been here for a day, and already he's having a party. If th is isn't foreshadowing, I don't know what is. I sigh, frustrated , and slam the pillow over my head in an attempt to muffle the so und, curling further into the soft sheets and hoping for the best . Twenty minutes later, I'm still unsuccessful. Looks like this will be a long night. I stir to a small sound near by, and groa n quietly. The music from next door still hasn't stopped! Can a g irl not get her beauty sleep any more? Blinking to clear my visio n, I prop myself up on one elbow and turn on the lamp beside my b ed. Light floods the room, and I survey the lit scene quickly, my jaw slackening in surprise at what I see. I stare wide-eyed at the boy, who seems just as paralysed as I am. His eyes lock onto mine in shock and we, Allen & Unwin, 2019, 4, New York: Berkley Prime Crime. Fine. 2014. First Edition. Mass Market Paperback. Paperback Original. No spine crease. SIGNED by the AUTHOR on the title page. Full number line 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1. . 201 pages. A Stained Glass Mystery, No. 1. Signed by Author. Stained-glass aficionado Georgia Kelly packed up her city life for the quiet of small town Wenwood, New York. But the sleepy village's peace is about to get shattered -- by murder...After a banking scandal loses Georgia her job and fiancé, she decides that a change of scenery will help piece her life back together. But escaping to her grandfather's house in the old-fashioned, brick-making Hudson River hamlet of Wenwood, New York, turns out to be less relaxing than she expects. Not only is the close-knit community on edge about their beloved brickworks being turned into a marina to draw in tourists, one of those most opposed to the project winds up dead -- cracked over the head with a famous Wenwood brick.Georgia wouldn't be broken up over the news except for the fact that the main suspect is the deceased's biggest adversary -- her grandfather. Now, to remove the stain from her grandy's record, Georgia will have to figure out who in town was willing to kill to keep the renovation project alive, before someone else is permanently cut out of the picture... ., Berkley Prime Crime, 2014, 5, Petaling Jaya, Malaysia: SIRD, 2015. First edition. Paperback. New. 17-2-16. The authors, a retired Malaysian diplomat and a senior sociologist undertook this research, using both quantitative and qualitative methodologies, to determine how an urban community n the outskirts of the capital city had adapted to change since the 1980s and 1990s. The community they studied was comprised mainly of Indians from the estates and Malays from villages. Both groups were trying to cope with the transformation into being urban dwellers in a mixed community having previously been used to more homogeneous living in their places of origin. 70 pages with references and an appendix. Weight: 0.4kg. Post free within Malaysia, SIRD, 2015, 6, London: Sidgwick & Jackson. Very Good/Very Good. 1989. Hard Cover. 4to 23 x 2 x 27.5 cm 0283998865 Dust jacket complete, unclipped. Original cloth boards with bright gilt titling on spine. No ownership marks. Colour and b/w photographs. 176 pages clean and tight. Based on interviews with countrywomen from all over England and Wales this book has two main themes: village life between 1915 and 1989 and a more specific focus on the rights of women which links up with the history of the Womens' Institute It shows the development of the rural community in Britain from 1915 to the present day and in parallel how the Women's Institute's modus operandi and mechanism for change has developed over the same period. In particular, how its increasing involvement as a pressure group concerned with village ameneties and services, brought its representation on local parish councils, rural district councils and county council committees and how it encouraged and trained women to work effectively from within these and many other organizations. ., Sidgwick & Jackson, 1989, 3, London: George Allen & Co Ltd. Good +/No DJ. 1913. Hard Cover. Lge 8vo Original green cloth with bright gilt titling to upper cover. Titling faded on spine. Split in cloth at top of spine. Wear to edges. Foxing mainly to end papers. xxvii, 473 pages clean and tight. From the Preface. "'Of late years various books relating to the unit of English territorial organisation known as the manor have appeared. Two or three of these deal with short periods, such as the eleventh or the thirteenth century, and the late Mr. Seebohm, in a masterly investigation, has surveyed a considerable part of the field. Notwithstanding the good work that has been done, an essential part of the subject has been omitted, or misunderstood. The manor and the ecclesiastical benefice have been regarded as entirely independent things. But the economic history of medieval England will gain much in simplicity if it can be shown that lord and priest were once the same person; that the hall cannot at an early time be distinguished from the church; and that ecclesiastical benefices were themselves manors, with all the privileges which belonged to feudal lordship. No treatment of the economic history of these islands can be satisfactory unless it includes the church-building and the benefice within its scope. To describe the scattered acres of the open fields, with all the complicated belongings of the village community, and yet leave out the building near which the frail and mud-built houses of the inhabitants were gathered, is to omit the chief point of interest, for the church was not only the place of worship but also the seat of local government. It has been thought desirable to treat the evidence from architecture, as found in existing remains or referred to in documents, in considerable detail, because, if it can be proved that the church-fabric was evolved from the hall or lord's dwelling, a strong presumption arises, on that ground alone, that the benefice was the manor." ., George Allen & Co Ltd, 1913, 2.5, Charleston: Arcadia Publishing, 2001. First Edition. Trade Paperback. Very Good. First edition - a paperback original. Spine faded. 2001 Trade Paperback. 128 pp. Numerous historical photographs with information covering over 100 years of history. Greece, a community of nearly 100,000 people, lies on the south shore of Lake Ontario, opposite Toronto. It has a picturesque shoreline with a bay and more ponds than any other locality along the lake. In its early years, community life was centered around a harbor on the Genesee River at the village of Charlotte. From these simple beginnings, Greece eventually grew to become the largest township in Monroe County. Its growth was due in large part to photography leader George Eastman, whose factories became the major employer in the Rochester metropolitan area. Over the years, the township's political leaders have been recognized across the state. Its land once produced magnificent flowers, vegetable seeds, and rootstock for shipment worldwide. Greece also is the home of the Wegman families, whose food stores rank among the nation's best grocery operations. Buried in nearby Holy Sepulchre Cemetery are the remains of Dr. Francis Tumblety, inventor of patent medicine cure-alls and main suspect in London's 1888 Jack the Ripper murder investigation. Greece contains marvelous pictorial memories of the amusement park at Manitou Beach, with its poplar-lined entrance, grand old hotels reached by an open-air trolley that slowly crossed the bay and ponds, and two nearby lighthouses that guided vessels across the lake to and from Canada., Arcadia Publishing, 2001, 3, New York: Henry Holt. Good with no dust jacket. 1876. Hardcover. Approx. 1" missing from the top spine end. Cloth of front cover has some very slight surface wrinkling along the outer edge. Title page has two tears to the upper edge. Private book plate on the front endpaper. ; "Six lectures delivered at Oxford, to which are added other lectures, addresses and essays." ., Henry Holt, 1876, 2.5<
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Village Communities in the East and West - livre d'occasion
1909, ISBN: 3aeed4c1749d85741f21c8945ba7ed6f
1895. Village Communities in an Oriel College Binding Maine, Henry Sumner [1822-1888]. Village Communities in the East and West. London: John Murray, 1890. xii, 413 pp. Octavo (8-1/2" x … Plus…
1895. Village Communities in an Oriel College Binding Maine, Henry Sumner [1822-1888]. Village Communities in the East and West. London: John Murray, 1890. xii, 413 pp. Octavo (8-1/2" x 5-1/2"). Contemporary calf, blind frames and gilt ornaments to boards, gilt armorial stamp of Oriel College, Oxford to front board, raised bands, gilt fillets and lettering piece to spine, gilt ornaments to compartments, gilt tooling to board edges, top-edge of text block gilt, blind inside dentelles, marbled endpapers, silk ribbon bookmark. Light scuffing, light rubbing to boards, moderate rubbing to extremities, small early bookseller ticket to front pastedown. Moderate toning to interior, crack in text block between pp. x and xi, internally clean. $250. * Later edition. Maine's classic comparison of Indian and European property law. It contains the texts of six lectures given at Oxford and other essays, lecture and addresses on Roman and Indian law. The first edition appeared in 1871. "These works...are at the foundation of all study of historical jurisprudence.": Pound, Outlines of Jurisprudence (5th. ed.) 196. Catalogue of the Library of the Harvard Law School (1909) II:34., 1895, 0<
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VILLAGE COMMUNITIES IN THE EAST AND WEST - edition reliée, livre de poche
1876, ISBN: 3aeed4c1749d85741f21c8945ba7ed6f
[SC: 41.79], [PU: Henry Holt and Company, New York], Large Octavo, xii, 413 pages, [6]; Dark orange publishers cloth, with gilt letters to roundback spine; Boards show moderate bumping to… Plus…
[SC: 41.79], [PU: Henry Holt and Company, New York], Large Octavo, xii, 413 pages, [6]; Dark orange publishers cloth, with gilt letters to roundback spine; Boards show moderate bumping to corners, moderate wear to head.tail of spine (fraying cloth), light wear to joints of spine and edges, and light wear overall; Textblock has light plus age-toning and minor shelfwear to edges, a small chip to fore-edge of titlepage, some tearing to brown end-papers along hinges, and a former owner's signature in pencil on the titlepage; All pages from the appendix on (pp. 385 - end) are unopened; Six pages of publisher's ads are at back; A series of six lectures on comparative law by one of the pre-eminent 19th-century scholars of common law, specifically comparing English common law with traditional Indian legal systems. RWO. 1357831. Special Collections.<
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VILLAGE COMMUNITIES IN THE EAST AND WEST - edition reliée, livre de poche
1876, ISBN: 3aeed4c1749d85741f21c8945ba7ed6f
[SC: 42.46], [PU: Henry Holt and Company, New York], Large Octavo, xii, 413 pages, [6]; Dark orange publishers cloth, with gilt letters to roundback spine; Boards show moderate bumping to… Plus…
[SC: 42.46], [PU: Henry Holt and Company, New York], Large Octavo, xii, 413 pages, [6]; Dark orange publishers cloth, with gilt letters to roundback spine; Boards show moderate bumping to corners, moderate wear to head.tail of spine (fraying cloth), light wear to joints of spine and edges, and light wear overall; Textblock has light plus age-toning and minor shelfwear to edges, a small chip to fore-edge of titlepage, some tearing to brown end-papers along hinges, and a former owner's signature in pencil on the titlepage; All pages from the appendix on (pp. 385 - end) are unopened; Six pages of publisher's ads are at back; A series of six lectures on comparative law by one of the pre-eminent 19th-century scholars of common law, specifically comparing English common law with traditional Indian legal systems. RWO. 1357831. Special Collections.<
ZVAB.com Second Story Books, ABAA, Rockville, MD, U.S.A. [9226] [Rating: 4 (von 5)] Frais d'envoi EUR 42.46 Details... |
Village-communities In The East And West - edition reliée, livre de poche
1876, ISBN: 3aeed4c1749d85741f21c8945ba7ed6f
New York: Henry Holt. Good with no dust jacket. 1876. Hardcover. Approx. 1" missing from the top spine end. Cloth of front cover has some very slight surface wrinkling along the out… Plus…
New York: Henry Holt. Good with no dust jacket. 1876. Hardcover. Approx. 1" missing from the top spine end. Cloth of front cover has some very slight surface wrinkling along the outer edge. Title page has two tears to the upper edge. Private book plate on the front endpaper. ; "Six lectures delivered at Oxford, to which are added other lectures, addresses and essays." ., Henry Holt, 1876, 2.5<
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Village-communities In The East And West - exemplaire signée
2019, ISBN: 3aeed4c1749d85741f21c8945ba7ed6f
Livres de poche, Edition reliée
Holt Paperbacks. Very Good. 19 x 13cm. Paperback. 2000. 181 pages. <br>One dark and stormy night in 1956, a stranger name d Fludd mysteriously turns up in the dismal village of Feth… Plus…
Holt Paperbacks. Very Good. 19 x 13cm. Paperback. 2000. 181 pages. <br>One dark and stormy night in 1956, a stranger name d Fludd mysteriously turns up in the dismal village of Fetherhoug hton. He is the curate sent by the bishop to assist Father Angwin -or is he? In the most unlikely of places, a superstitious town t hat understands little of romance or sentimentality, where bad bl ood between neighbors is ancient and impenetrable, miracles begin to bloom. No matter how copiously Father Angwin drinks while he confesses his broken faith, the level of the bottle does not drop . Although Fludd does not appear to be eating, the food on his pl ate disappears. Fludd becomes lover, gravedigger, and savior, tra nsforming his dull office into a golden regency of decision, unas hamed sensation, and unprecedented action. Knitting together the miraculous and the mundane, the dreadful and the ludicrous, Fludd is a tale of alchemy and transformation told with astonishing ar t, insight, humor, and wit. Editorial Reviews Amazon com Review Fetherhoughton, the shabby and provincial village of Hilary Mant el's fifth novel, Fludd, possesses a charm that is, at best, late nt. The surrounding moorland is foreboding, the populace is queru lous and ill-educated, and the presiding priest is an atheist. It 's 1956, and drabness is general to this English backwater. Until , that is, the appearance of a disarming young priest who, appare ntly, has been dispatched to wrest Fetherhoughton out of its supe rstitious stupor. One of the novel's several wonders is that Flud d surpasses all expectations. Father Angwin, Fetherhoughton's di sbelieving priest, has--much to the displeasure of his superiors- -grown comfortable with the entrenched, misapprehending devoutnes s of his flock. Fludd, who may or may not be the curate sent to d eliver the wayward, exerts an immediate, if unexpected, influence . He intrigues the townspeople, flusters the church's gaggle of n uns, kindles a welcome self-examination in Father Angwin, and aro uses the passion of the young and yearning Sister Philomena. A ch arge of possibility suddenly animates the village, accompanied by several incidents that seem midway between coincidence and mirac le. Fludd, however, remains beset by an insistent disillusionment --his clarity, it seems, arcs outward only. Mantel's cramped and pliant village is a marvel. Fetherhoughton wrestles not against flesh and blood but against principalities, against powers, again st the rulers of the darkness of this world, insists the dour hea dmistress, Mother Perpetua. A local tobacconist, not so trivially , just might be the devil in human garb. Fludd's gift lies in une arthing all the lovely and fearsome truths buried just beneath th e surface. The frightening thing is that life is fair, he observe s, but what we need... is not justice but mercy. The fruits of th is conviction, in Fetherhoughton, are rebellion, self-assertion, and even scandal; but Mantel's lovely tale suggests that difficul t possibility is fair compensation for a sloughed predictability. --Ben Guterson From Publishers Weekly Originally published in 1989 in the U.K., Mantel's slim, intense novel displays the autho r's formidable gift for illuminating the darker side of the human heart, offering metaphoric and literal incarnations of the power ful central images of Catholicism. Her circa-1956 setting of Feth erhoughton, a provincial English village surrounded on three side s by gloomy moors, is stark and dreary, a dead end where unwanted people are unceremoniously dumped. Such is the case of Sister Ph ilomena, a sturdy farm girl-turned-nun banished from an Irish con vent because her sister Kathleen breaks convent rules. It becomes apparent that Philomena will not fit in anywhere, as she is a st range mix of innocence and knowledge, a sage romantic. Philomena finds an unlikely confidant in Father Angwin, the parish priest, who has lost his faith, thinks the town tobacconist is the devil and fears the threat of a youthful replacement for his post. When a rain-soaked man named Fludd arrives on a stormy night, Angwin assumes it is the newly appointed curate, but even so, the two be come close friends and, in time, Angwin sheds his bitterness and paranoia to become a more compassionate, wiser person. Fludd swee ps the nosy housekeeper, Agnes, off her feet with his gentlemanly manners and cool confidence, but Philomena is also strangely att racted to the devilish Fludd, who magically transforms everyone h e meets. The monstrous Mother Perpetua, headmistress of the St. T homas Aquinas School, is the lone exception, and she ends up bein g a key player in the rural face-off between good and evil. Hawth ornden Prize-winner Mantel (The Giant, O'Brien) uses her knack fo r dry wit and lovely, scene-setting detail to liven up crisp, uti litarian prose, revealing, as her characters do, the ever-surpris ing divine in the mundane. (June) Copyright 2000 Reed Business I nformation, Inc. From Publishers Weekly Originally published in 1989 in the U.K., Mantel's slim, intense novel displays the autho r's formidable gift for illuminating the darker side of the human heart, offering metaphoric and literal incarnations of the power ful central images of Catholicism. Her circa-1956 setting of Feth erhoughton, a provincial English village surrounded on three side s by gloomy moors, is stark and dreary, a dead end where unwanted people are unceremoniously dumped. Such is the case of Sister Ph ilomena, a sturdy farm girl-turned-nun banished from an Irish con vent because her sister Kathleen breaks convent rules. It becomes apparent that Philomena will not fit in anywhere, as she is a st range mix of innocence and knowledge, a sage romantic. Philomena finds an unlikely confidant in Father Angwin, the parish priest, who has lost his faith, thinks the town tobacconist is the devil and fears the threat of a youthful replacement for his post. When a rain-soaked man named Fludd arrives on a stormy night, Angwin assumes it is the newly appointed curate, but even so, the two be come close friends and, in time, Angwin sheds his bitterness and paranoia to become a more compassionate, wiser person. Fludd swee ps the nosy housekeeper, Agnes, off her feet with his gentlemanly manners and cool confidence, but Philomena is also strangely att racted to the devilish Fludd, who magically transforms everyone h e meets. The monstrous Mother Perpetua, headmistress of the St. T homas Aquinas School, is the lone exception, and she ends up bein g a key player in the rural face-off between good and evil. Hawth ornden Prize-winner Mantel (The Giant, O'Brien) uses her knack fo r dry wit and lovely, scene-setting detail to liven up crisp, uti litarian prose, revealing, as her characters do, the ever-surpris ing divine in the mundane. (June) Copyright 2000 Reed Business I nformation, Inc. Review Hilary Mantel's wildly inventive novel about a reincarnated alchemist and an imaginary village in Englan d in the fifties is 'in every sense a magical book'. ?Listener, E ngland Fludd...establishes [Mantel] in the front rank of novelis ts writing in English today. ?The Guardian (London)) About the Author Hilary Mantel twice won the Booker Prize, for her best-sel ling novel Wolf Hall and its sequel, Bring Up the Bodies. The fin al novel of the Wolf Hall trilogy, The Mirror & the Light, debute d at #1 on the New York Times bestseller list and won critical ac claim around the globe. Mantel authored over a dozen books, inclu ding A Place of Greater Safety, Beyond Black, and the memoir Givi ng Up the Ghost. About the Author Hilary Mantel twice won the Bo oker Prize, for her best-selling novel Wolf Hall and its sequel, Bring Up the Bodies. The final novel of the Wolf Hall trilogy, Th e Mirror & the Light, debuted at #1 on the New York Times bestsel ler list and won critical acclaim around the globe. Mantel author ed over a dozen books, including A Place of Greater Safety, Beyon d Black, and the memoir Giving Up the Ghost. Excerpt. ® Reprinte d by permission. All rights reserved. Fludd A NovelBy Hilary Ma ntel Holt Paperbacks Copyright © 2000 Hilary Mantel All right re served. ISBN: 9780805062731 ONEOn Wednesday the bishop came in pe rson. He was a modern prelate, brisk and plump in his rimless gla sses, and he liked nothing better than to tear around the diocese in his big black car.He had taken the precaution-advisable in th e circumstances-of announcing himself two hours before his arriva l. The telephone bell, ringing in the hall of the parish priest's house, had in itself a muted ecclesiastical tone. Miss Dempsey h eard it as she was coming from the kitchen. She stood looking at the telephone for a moment, and then approached it gingerly, walk ing on the balls of her feet. She lifted the receiver as if it we re hot. Her head on one side, holding the earpiece well away from her cheek, she listened to the message given by the bishop's sec retary. Yes My Lord, she murmured, though in retrospect she knew that the secretary did not merit this. The bishop and his sycopha nts, Father Angwin always said; Miss Dempsey supposed they were a kind of deacon. Holding the receiver in her fingertips, she repl aced it with great care. She stood in the dim passageway, for a m oment, thinking, and bowed her head momentarily, as if she had he ard the Holy Name of Jesus. Then she went to the foot of the stai rs and bellowed up them: Father Angwin, Father Angwin, get yourse lf up and dressed, the bishop will be upon us before eleven o'clo ck. Miss Dempsey went back into the kitchen, and switched on the electric light. It was not a morning when the light made a great deal of difference; the summer, a thick grey blanket, had pinned itself to the windows. Miss Dempsey heard the incessant drip, dr ip, drip from the branches and leaves outside, and a more urgent metallic drip, pit-pat, pit-pat; it was the guttering. Her figure moved, the electric light behind it, over the dull green wall; i mmense hands floated towards the kettle; as in a thick sea, her l imbs swam for the range. Upstairs, the priest beat his shoe along the floor and pretended to be coming.Ten minutes later he had go t himself up; she heard the creak of the floorboards above, the g urgle of water from the washbasin, his feet on the stairs. He sig hed as he came down the hallway, his solitary morning sigh. Sudde nly he was behind her, hovering: Agnes, have you something for my stomach?I daresay, she said. He knew where the salts were kept; but she must get it for him, as if she were his mother. Were ther e many at seven o'clock Mass?It's funny you should ask, Father sa id, just as if she did not ask it every morning. There were a few old Children of Mary, along with the usual derelicts. It wouldn' t be some special feast of theirs, would it? Walpurgisnacht?I don 't know what you mean, Father. I'm a Children of Mary myself, as you perfectly well know, and I've not heard of anything. She look ed aggrieved. Were they wearing their cloaks and all?No, they wer e in mufti, just their usual horseblankets.Miss Dempsey brought t he teapot to the table. You ought not to make mock of the Sodalit ies, Father.I wonder if something has got out about the bishop co ming? Some intelligence of a subterranean variety? Am I to have b acon, Agnes?Not with your stomach in its present state.Miss Demps ey poured from the pot, a thick brown gurgling stream, adding to the noise: the dripping trees, the wind in the chimneys.And anoth er thing, he said. McEvoy was there. Father Angwin hunched himsel f over the table. He warmed his hands around his cup. When he sai d the name of McEvoy, a shadow crossed his face, and hovered abou t his jaw, so that Miss Dempsey, who was given to imagination, th ought for a moment she had seen what he would look like when he w as eighty years old.Oh yes, she said, and did he want something?N o.I wonder why you mention him then?Dear Agnes, give me some peac e. Go and let me compose myself for His Corpulence. What does he want, do you think? What's he after this time?Agnes went out, a d uster in her hand, her face full of complaints. Whatever he had m eant about subterranean intelligence, surely he was not accusing her? Nobody but the bishop himself, forming the intention in his deep heart, had known he meant to visit-except perhaps the sycoph ants might have known. Therefore she, Miss Dempsey, could not kno w, therefore she could not hint, divulge, reveal, to the Children of Mary or anyone else in the parish. Had she known, she might h ave mentioned it. Might-if she had thought that anyone needed to know. She herself was the judge of what anyone needed to know. Fo r Miss Dempsey occupied a special mediatory position, between chu rch, convent, and everyone else. To acquire information was her p ositive duty, and then what she did with it was a matter for her judgement and experience. Miss Dempsey would have eavesdropped on the confessional, if she could; she had often wondered how she m ight manage it.Left at the breakfast table, Father Angwin stared into his teacup and shifted it about. Miss Dempsey had not master ed the use of a strainer. Nothing in particular could be seen in the leaves, but for a moment Father Angwin thought that someone h ad come into the room behind him. He lifted his face, as he did i n conversation, but there was no one there. Come in, whoever you are, he said. Have some stewed tea. Father Angwin was a foxy man, with his deadleaf-colour eyes and hair; head tilted, he sniffed the wind, and shied away from what he detected. Somewhere else in the house, a door slammed. Consider Agnes Dempsey: duster in ha nd, whisking it over the dustless bureau. In recent years her fac e had fallen softly, like a piece of light cotton folding into a box. Her neck too fell in floury, scalloped folds, to where her c lothing cut off the view. Her eyes were round, child-like, bright blue, their air of surprise compounded by her invisible eyebrows and her hair, a faded gold streaked with grey, which sprang up f rom her hairline as if crackling with static. She had pleated ski rts, and short bottle-shaped legs, and pastel twin-sets to cover the gentle twin hummocks of her bosom. Her mouth was small and pa le and indiscernible, made to ingest the food she liked: Eccles c akes, vanilla slices, miniature chocolate Swiss rolls that came w rapped in red-and-silver foil. It was her habit to peel off the f oil carefully, fold it as thin as a pencil, twist it into a ring, and pop it on her wedding finger. Then she would hold out both h ands-fingers bloodless and slightly bent by incipient arthritis-a nd appraise them, a frown of concentration appearing as a, Holt Paperbacks, 2000, 3, Black Swan, Feb 1984. New edition. Paperback. Mrs Emmeline Lucas, known in her community as Lucia, "reigns supreme over the affairs of Riseholme". Riseholme is a one main street village in rural England in the year 1920. The "affairs of Riseholme" involve leisured eccentrics who devote their energies and time to the favorite pastimes, hobbies, fads and fancies of the day. It is Lucia's role as leader to take responsibility for heightening an awareness and questing for greater cultural richness. Not that she admits to this, even to herself. "You all work me to death," she usually says, when a new opportunity for leading a crusade or instigating a new field of cultural endeavor presents itself. \nOf course, Lucia's stance provokes great rivalry. Riseholmeites do not so much relate to each other as try to put each other down. Many are put down, and many fall down when they tread on those metaphorical banana skins that fate seems to spread before those who are absurdly over-ambitious\nUsing this material, E F Benson, begins an inter-related series of novels with this one in 1920. He devises an almost mock-heroic quality in the telling of his tale. Benson makes us aware that no great legendary conqueror gave as much thought and weight to the planning of a military conquest as do the Riseholmeites to the consideration of who to invite for afternoon tea. \nThe result is gentle satire and great fun from beginning to end. Not a day, not an hour, passes in Riseholme without plots being hatched, news being sought, and allegiances being formed. \nI don't recommend that you present this book as a gift to you football-playing, beer-swilling, macho male friends and relations. It is for those who enjoy the word spinning of an Oscar Wilde, mixed with the sophistication of a Noel Coward. \nEnglish actress Geraldine McEwan, who played the role of Lucia in a TV mini-series based on this series of books, has recorded this and others in the series in audio book format. With her sharp, silvery voice and incisive delivery, she makes Lucia and the people of Roseholme unforgettable., Black Swan, 0, Experience a quintessentially American summera village-green, homemade-ice-cream, corn-on-the-cob kind of summerexploring the fifty vibrant farmers' and artisan markets profiled in Markets of New England. You'll find picture-postcard settings, delicious food, and unique crafts down every ribbon of highway. In Massachusetts, make your way up the coast to Cape Cod, where markets feature baskets of blueberries and flats of oysters still dripping with saltwater; hop the ferry to Sustainable Nantucket's picturesque farm stands; or journey inland to an art festival nestled in the Berkshires. In New Hampshire, attend a lakeside workshop and a market held on New England's largest town common, in the shadow of a classic white church and steeple. Meander across Vermont during an open studio weekend, or to Maine for a clam festival, a county fair, and craft guild shows. Even tiny Rhode Island has pleasures aplenty: an oceanfront gourmet food tasting, an indie art fair overlooking Narragansett Bay and Newport Harbor, and more. Markets of New England leads you to the local delicacies, the most interesting purveyors, the products of community supported farms and fisheries, the standout crafts and artwork, and provides all the details you need to know, including off-season schedules. The food and crafts are filled with local flavor, the settings pure New England, and the itineraries provide enough delights to fill an endless summer., New York Review Books, 2011-05-03, 6, New York,New York: Berkley Prime Crime, 2014. Book. Illus. by Stephen Gardner. New. Mass Market Paperback. First Berkley Prime Crme Edition. The book is stored in a Mylar bag. FIRST IN A NEW SERIES! "Stained-glass aficionado Georgia Kelly packed up her city life for the quiet of small town Wenwood, New York. But the sleepy village's peace is about to get shattered-by murder. After a banking scandal loses Georgia her job and fiancé, she decides that a change of scenery will help piece her life back together. But escaping to her grandfather's house in the old-fashioned, brick-making Hudson River hamlet of Wenwood, New York, turns out to be less relaxing than she expects. Not only is the close-knit community on edge about their beloved brickworks being turned into a marina to draw in tourists, one of those most opposed to the project winds up dead-cracked over the head with a famous Wenwood brick. Georgia wouldn't be broken up over the news except for the fact that the main suspect is the deceased's biggest adversary-her grandfather. Now, to remove the stain from her grandy's record, Georgia will have to figure out who in town was willing to kill to keep the renovation project alive, before someone else is permanently cut out of the picture". Size: 4.1 x 0.9 x 6.7 inches., Berkley Prime Crime, 2014, 6, Allen & Unwin. Near Fine. 6 x 0.9 x 9.25 inches. Paperback. 2019. 304 pages. <br>This is the extraordinary story of Dr. Sanduk Ruit who, like his mentor Fred Hollows, took on the world's medical e stablishment to give the life-changing gift of sight to hundreds and thousands of the world's poorest and most isolated people. It is the story of a boy from the lowest tiers of a rigid caste sys tem who grew up in a tiny, remote Himalayan village with no schoo l to become one of the most respected ophthalmologists in the wor ld and a medical giant of Asia. It is also the story of a young d octor who became Fred Hollows' medical soul mate and who chose to defy the world's medical establishment and the lure of riches to make the world a better place. Editorial Reviews Review I've k nown Dr. Sanduk Ruit for over thirty years. He is one of our grea test living eye surgeons and humanitarians . . . Watching him giv e the gift of sight is like watching someone give a second life. --Richard Gere One of the greatest people I've ever met. --Joel Edgerton About the Author Ali Gripper has written features for G ood Weekend, the Sydney Morning Herald, Australian, Daily Telegra ph, South China Morning Post, and Country Style Magazine. Excerp t. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. CHAPTER 1 Ma rio Wins Again Mario wins again! As the cheesy, overplayed musi c comes to a close and the screen goes dark, I drop my controller into my lap in defeat. Be it the stuffiness of this room or the fact that this is our sixth tournament today, I lost my first gam e of Mario Kart in months ... to my eight-year-old brother. I wat ch through narrowed eyes as Jack catapults around the room in vic tory, lifting his shirt over his head to reveal his pale torso. S eriously, what is it with boys and showing their chest when they win something? Is it some sort of animalistic display of dominanc e originating from our monkey ancestors? I can't help but snort i n amusement as I consider this. He's such a little show-off. My h ands dart out to grab him by the sides and I tug him down to tick le him. You wish, monkey boy, I scoff. We both know that I kicke d your butt on the other games. Jack squirms to free himself fro m my hold, shooting me a glare as he brushes himself down. He hat es me tickling him. Monkey boy? I beat you with Mario, not Donkey Kong. I'm way too lazy to explain my thought process to him so I just roll my eyes. Riley, can you come here please? Mom calls from downstairs. If it wasn't for the urgency I can hear in her v oice, I would probably make more of a scene asking why she can't just come upstairs to me, but she sounds excited about something. There's a spark of vitality in the words that I haven't heard in a while and it intrigues me. Mumbling my protest instead, I swi ng my legs from the beanbag and give Jack a warning look with a c lear subliminal message: Steal my seat, I steal your life. Of cou rse, by the time I've reached the door, he's already sitting ther e. Oh, how I miss the days when I had some kind of authority over him. As I enter the kitchen, I'm hit with the heart-warming aro ma that signals Mom's baking: cupcakes and coffee, like the insid e of a Starbucks, but much cosier. It's something that I haven't smelled for quite a while, and my sourness at having to walk all theway down the stairs disappears in a second at the sweetness of the nostalgia. I can't help but smile as I see her standing behi nd the kitchen counter in an apron. She looks up and brushes her hands off immediately. There's icing sugar in the curls of her ha ir. Come and look at this, she says, beckoning, abandoning her h alf-iced cupcakes. She leads me over to the kitchen window and pu lls back the plaid drapes ever so slightly, just enough for me to peek through. Shooting her a look of bewilderment and wondering if this has anything to do with the new geraniums she bought yest erday, I squeeze my head into the gap and look out at the neighbo urs' driveway. I was expecting a potted plant, so what I see inst ead surprises me greatly. We have new neighbours. Parked next d oor, in the house that has been empty for almost six months now, is a large removal truck. The giant green anomaly overshadows the small car beside it, and my eyebrows rise further upwards as I w atch the family climbing out of the vehicle. A woman steps out fi rst, and reaches into the back to grab a small girl from the back seat. Her dark curls are scraped back into a clasp, and her feat ures are delicate and feminine. It's nice that someone around Mom 's age is moving in next door - my mom could use someone to talk to living so close by. The girl the woman carries is around the a ge of four or five, with the cutest baby face I've ever laid eyes on and two brunette bunches on either side of her head. Adorable . I'm not sure who I was expecting to see get out of the car nex t, but it definitely wasn't the alluring, moody boy that I see no w. He looks around my age, and from what I can see of his ebony h air and angled jaw ... he's hot. No doubt the entire population o f the student body will completely swarm this one. I can't help b ut watch as he threads his fingers through his hair, slightly ent ranced. I'm a bit of a scientific hermit when it comes to the spe cies of the hot, so the fact that I have an attractive male now l iving next door is enough to make my stomach flip. I pull the dr ape further to the side, but to my complete horror, the boy's hea d snaps up at the movement. His eyes latch onto mine as he notice s me ogling. Oh. I pull away quickly, bumping back into Mom's sho ulder. I can already feel a blush burning my cheeks. He must thin k I'm such a creep. Surprisingly though, by the time I've recover ed enough courage to peek through again, he doesn't look affected in the slightest. Bored almost, which reassures me. Out of fear of being spotted again, I withdraw from the drapes - finally thi s time - and pull them closed. It was only a matter of time befor e we got new neighbours, I knew that, but it still comes as a sur prise. The house next door is fairly large - a two-storey cream-c oloured family house with a front porch and unruly yard. I had gr own quite used to it being empty, and definitely never pictured s omeone of my own age moving in. Mom chortles at my puzzled expres sion and tucks my long hair behind my shoulders. It warms my hear t that she's so excited about this. What do you think, eh? she s ays. New neighbours. I smile half-heartedly, heading over to the fridge. I haven't seen them around Lindale before. They must be new to town. Lindale is one of those fairly small, well-kept com munities where most people know of each other and the sense of to wn pride is strong. There's a school for each age group, lots of community fundraisers and with surroundings of dense Oregon fores t in almost every direction away from the beach. My eyes scour t he shelves of the fridge, but I'm left disappointed. No orange ju ice, I murmur, peering at the remnants of food. All that's left i s wafer-thin ham, flavoured water and an old lettuce. Not much I can make there. Mom shrugs in reply, batting my hand away as I r each for a cupcake instead. We need to go shopping, Ma, I grumbl e. There's no food in this house. The order is coming later! Sh e sticks her tongue out at me, and I'm momentarily stunned by tha t simple action, something that she hasn't done in a long time. I t seems like today is going really well for her. Mom and I are si milar in more ways than one. Along with our almost matching appea rance - auburn curls and fair skin - we're both sarcastic and jok ey with an abnormally weird side. Mom only shows her weird side w hen she's in a good mood nowadays, so when she does, that makes i t all the more special. So, you felt like doing some baking toda y then? I probe, peering over her shoulder as she ices the cupcak es. Her hand falters slightly as I ask, and she nods. I missed i t. Figured I can't mope for ever. She looks back at me with a sma ll smile. Good, I say. I love you. I'm going upstairs to do some studying. I brush past and grab a lollipop from my sweet jar, ju st as my phone begins to vibrate in my pocket. Amusement curves m y lips as I see Violet's particularly horrific caller-ID picture show up on the screen. She and I have a bit of a tradition about how we answer the phone. It takes me only a second to think of an opening line before I pick up. Tampax tampons - for your need t o bleed. How may I be of assistance? This is no time for jokes, Riley! Violet replies in a hushed voice. It's only then that I re member that she's on a blind date. Knowing her pickiness when it comes to guys, it's probably going badly. I'm in the girls' toile ts at the moment. Hiding. Stupid period had to come today, when I 'm wearing white jeans! Plus, he has the table manners of a compl ete pig. He spilt water all over me. Okay, I snort at my eccentr ic best friend. Dry yourself off a bit. If you have a jacket, tie it round your waist and just tell the guy that you have a stomac h ache or something. If he's got a brain, he'll take you home. V iolet mumbles in agreement, and I can hear the rustling of her ja cket down the line. Thanks so much. She sighs gratefully. And he y, nice line. I better get back out there before he starts worryi ng. Text me later? I will, I promise, before hanging up. Violet and I have been best friends since the very beginning of Freshma n year. We sat next to each other in our first Math class, where she slapped a jock for making fun of her dyed purple hair. I resp ected her attitude from that moment onwards. Unlike me, she's gab by and confident and shamelessly herself - she's magnetic. I, on the other hand, am known to be a bit of a dork. Just a little soc ially awkward, my role in our friendship is often to advise her f rom afar while she faces the horrors of social inter-action. I h ead straight back upstairs to my room and shut the door behind me . My bedroom is my haven. It's not particularly glamorous or arts y, but it's rustic and it feels like home. The entire far wall is dedicated to tacked posters of bands and TV shows. Everything in this room, from the mess of books to the mix of old vinyl record s, screams introvert and I love it. My skateboard and old guitar sit propped against the wardrobe, and my double bed, complete wit h Star Wars sheets, sits in its usual unruly state just opposite my window. Funnily enough, my window exactly mirrors a window in the neighbouring house, separated only by a couple of metres. No w that I have neighbours ... Oh crap. I tiptoe towards the wind ow and cautiously peer round the window frame into the room oppos ite. If my luck is as bad as I estimate it to be, I can't risk be ing spotted staring at Neighbour Dude again. Sure enough, as my e yes rest on the room opposite, I have to fight to restrain my gro an. Of course it's the guy. I guess my drapes will have to remain closed from now on. I tug the purple material further back to se e that he's packing away his things. He hasn't noticed me this ti me, at least. It's only this close up that I realise quite how at tractive this guy is. With a strong, chiselled jawline and define d cheekbones, his face is angular and, dare I say it, sexy. Inky locks curl over his forehead, and his eyes are a deep cobalt. He turns to face the other way and I snap out of my daze, a little surprised with myself that I have stared at him so much already. I will be the first to openly admit that I haven't had the best e xperiences when it comes to boys, so it's really out of the quest ion for me to have a crush. I guess there isn't any harm in looki ng, but I close the drapes and walk away just to be on the safe s ide. Putting on my music, I settle down to do some studying. My grades dropped a lot last year, and I'm determined to get back on track in time for Senior year. Studying is a way to focus my ene rgy so that I feel like I'm actually accomplishing something in m y free time. Twenty One Pilots blast through my docking station. I nod my head in time to the music and stare down at the equation s in front of me until my eyes blur. I've never been good at Math , and now I'm having to fight my hardest to keep up. Nothing seem s to click. I just hope this extra work will be worth it in my fi nal exams next year. My phone buzzes. It's Violet again. I esca ped from that hellish date! I'll tell you all the details on Mond ay xx Don't get distracted by the phone. Ugh goon then. May as w ell reply. I type in a hasty message before turning my phone off . No doubt if I didn't, Mom would walk in, see me texting Violet and think I'd been doing that the entire time. We have some major trust issues in our relationship - mainly due to the bowl cut sh e made me get when I was twelve. Yup, it looked just as bad as it sounds, if not worse. After a solid hour of studying, I finally finish and it's getting late. I stifle my yawn and begin to get changed ready for bed, ensuring the drapes are firmly closed befo re I strip. I would not want Neighbour Dude to get more than he b argained for by moving into that room. I don't think that's the k ind of first impression I want to make, funnily enough. I slide into the covers in my pyjama top, frowning as I realise that the music next door is playing pretty loudly. Surely that heavy metal couldn't belong to the mom of a toddler. No, my bet is placed on the boy in the room next door, which would explain why I seem to be taking the brunt of the volume. Judging by the raucous laught er and heavy rock music, Mr Neighbour has friends over. He hasn't even been here for a day, and already he's having a party. If th is isn't foreshadowing, I don't know what is. I sigh, frustrated , and slam the pillow over my head in an attempt to muffle the so und, curling further into the soft sheets and hoping for the best . Twenty minutes later, I'm still unsuccessful. Looks like this will be a long night. I stir to a small sound near by, and groa n quietly. The music from next door still hasn't stopped! Can a g irl not get her beauty sleep any more? Blinking to clear my visio n, I prop myself up on one elbow and turn on the lamp beside my b ed. Light floods the room, and I survey the lit scene quickly, my jaw slackening in surprise at what I see. I stare wide-eyed at the boy, who seems just as paralysed as I am. His eyes lock onto mine in shock and we, Allen & Unwin, 2019, 4, New York: Berkley Prime Crime. Fine. 2014. First Edition. Mass Market Paperback. Paperback Original. No spine crease. SIGNED by the AUTHOR on the title page. Full number line 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1. . 201 pages. A Stained Glass Mystery, No. 1. Signed by Author. Stained-glass aficionado Georgia Kelly packed up her city life for the quiet of small town Wenwood, New York. But the sleepy village's peace is about to get shattered -- by murder...After a banking scandal loses Georgia her job and fiancé, she decides that a change of scenery will help piece her life back together. But escaping to her grandfather's house in the old-fashioned, brick-making Hudson River hamlet of Wenwood, New York, turns out to be less relaxing than she expects. Not only is the close-knit community on edge about their beloved brickworks being turned into a marina to draw in tourists, one of those most opposed to the project winds up dead -- cracked over the head with a famous Wenwood brick.Georgia wouldn't be broken up over the news except for the fact that the main suspect is the deceased's biggest adversary -- her grandfather. Now, to remove the stain from her grandy's record, Georgia will have to figure out who in town was willing to kill to keep the renovation project alive, before someone else is permanently cut out of the picture... ., Berkley Prime Crime, 2014, 5, Petaling Jaya, Malaysia: SIRD, 2015. First edition. Paperback. New. 17-2-16. The authors, a retired Malaysian diplomat and a senior sociologist undertook this research, using both quantitative and qualitative methodologies, to determine how an urban community n the outskirts of the capital city had adapted to change since the 1980s and 1990s. The community they studied was comprised mainly of Indians from the estates and Malays from villages. Both groups were trying to cope with the transformation into being urban dwellers in a mixed community having previously been used to more homogeneous living in their places of origin. 70 pages with references and an appendix. Weight: 0.4kg. Post free within Malaysia, SIRD, 2015, 6, London: Sidgwick & Jackson. Very Good/Very Good. 1989. Hard Cover. 4to 23 x 2 x 27.5 cm 0283998865 Dust jacket complete, unclipped. Original cloth boards with bright gilt titling on spine. No ownership marks. Colour and b/w photographs. 176 pages clean and tight. Based on interviews with countrywomen from all over England and Wales this book has two main themes: village life between 1915 and 1989 and a more specific focus on the rights of women which links up with the history of the Womens' Institute It shows the development of the rural community in Britain from 1915 to the present day and in parallel how the Women's Institute's modus operandi and mechanism for change has developed over the same period. In particular, how its increasing involvement as a pressure group concerned with village ameneties and services, brought its representation on local parish councils, rural district councils and county council committees and how it encouraged and trained women to work effectively from within these and many other organizations. ., Sidgwick & Jackson, 1989, 3, London: George Allen & Co Ltd. Good +/No DJ. 1913. Hard Cover. Lge 8vo Original green cloth with bright gilt titling to upper cover. Titling faded on spine. Split in cloth at top of spine. Wear to edges. Foxing mainly to end papers. xxvii, 473 pages clean and tight. From the Preface. "'Of late years various books relating to the unit of English territorial organisation known as the manor have appeared. Two or three of these deal with short periods, such as the eleventh or the thirteenth century, and the late Mr. Seebohm, in a masterly investigation, has surveyed a considerable part of the field. Notwithstanding the good work that has been done, an essential part of the subject has been omitted, or misunderstood. The manor and the ecclesiastical benefice have been regarded as entirely independent things. But the economic history of medieval England will gain much in simplicity if it can be shown that lord and priest were once the same person; that the hall cannot at an early time be distinguished from the church; and that ecclesiastical benefices were themselves manors, with all the privileges which belonged to feudal lordship. No treatment of the economic history of these islands can be satisfactory unless it includes the church-building and the benefice within its scope. To describe the scattered acres of the open fields, with all the complicated belongings of the village community, and yet leave out the building near which the frail and mud-built houses of the inhabitants were gathered, is to omit the chief point of interest, for the church was not only the place of worship but also the seat of local government. It has been thought desirable to treat the evidence from architecture, as found in existing remains or referred to in documents, in considerable detail, because, if it can be proved that the church-fabric was evolved from the hall or lord's dwelling, a strong presumption arises, on that ground alone, that the benefice was the manor." ., George Allen & Co Ltd, 1913, 2.5, Charleston: Arcadia Publishing, 2001. First Edition. Trade Paperback. Very Good. First edition - a paperback original. Spine faded. 2001 Trade Paperback. 128 pp. Numerous historical photographs with information covering over 100 years of history. Greece, a community of nearly 100,000 people, lies on the south shore of Lake Ontario, opposite Toronto. It has a picturesque shoreline with a bay and more ponds than any other locality along the lake. In its early years, community life was centered around a harbor on the Genesee River at the village of Charlotte. From these simple beginnings, Greece eventually grew to become the largest township in Monroe County. Its growth was due in large part to photography leader George Eastman, whose factories became the major employer in the Rochester metropolitan area. Over the years, the township's political leaders have been recognized across the state. Its land once produced magnificent flowers, vegetable seeds, and rootstock for shipment worldwide. Greece also is the home of the Wegman families, whose food stores rank among the nation's best grocery operations. Buried in nearby Holy Sepulchre Cemetery are the remains of Dr. Francis Tumblety, inventor of patent medicine cure-alls and main suspect in London's 1888 Jack the Ripper murder investigation. Greece contains marvelous pictorial memories of the amusement park at Manitou Beach, with its poplar-lined entrance, grand old hotels reached by an open-air trolley that slowly crossed the bay and ponds, and two nearby lighthouses that guided vessels across the lake to and from Canada., Arcadia Publishing, 2001, 3, New York: Henry Holt. Good with no dust jacket. 1876. Hardcover. Approx. 1" missing from the top spine end. Cloth of front cover has some very slight surface wrinkling along the outer edge. Title page has two tears to the upper edge. Private book plate on the front endpaper. ; "Six lectures delivered at Oxford, to which are added other lectures, addresses and essays." ., Henry Holt, 1876, 2.5<
Maine, Henry Sumner:
Village Communities in the East and West - livre d'occasion1909, ISBN: 3aeed4c1749d85741f21c8945ba7ed6f
1895. Village Communities in an Oriel College Binding Maine, Henry Sumner [1822-1888]. Village Communities in the East and West. London: John Murray, 1890. xii, 413 pp. Octavo (8-1/2" x … Plus…
1895. Village Communities in an Oriel College Binding Maine, Henry Sumner [1822-1888]. Village Communities in the East and West. London: John Murray, 1890. xii, 413 pp. Octavo (8-1/2" x 5-1/2"). Contemporary calf, blind frames and gilt ornaments to boards, gilt armorial stamp of Oriel College, Oxford to front board, raised bands, gilt fillets and lettering piece to spine, gilt ornaments to compartments, gilt tooling to board edges, top-edge of text block gilt, blind inside dentelles, marbled endpapers, silk ribbon bookmark. Light scuffing, light rubbing to boards, moderate rubbing to extremities, small early bookseller ticket to front pastedown. Moderate toning to interior, crack in text block between pp. x and xi, internally clean. $250. * Later edition. Maine's classic comparison of Indian and European property law. It contains the texts of six lectures given at Oxford and other essays, lecture and addresses on Roman and Indian law. The first edition appeared in 1871. "These works...are at the foundation of all study of historical jurisprudence.": Pound, Outlines of Jurisprudence (5th. ed.) 196. Catalogue of the Library of the Harvard Law School (1909) II:34., 1895, 0<
VILLAGE COMMUNITIES IN THE EAST AND WEST - edition reliée, livre de poche
1876
ISBN: 3aeed4c1749d85741f21c8945ba7ed6f
[SC: 41.79], [PU: Henry Holt and Company, New York], Large Octavo, xii, 413 pages, [6]; Dark orange publishers cloth, with gilt letters to roundback spine; Boards show moderate bumping to… Plus…
[SC: 41.79], [PU: Henry Holt and Company, New York], Large Octavo, xii, 413 pages, [6]; Dark orange publishers cloth, with gilt letters to roundback spine; Boards show moderate bumping to corners, moderate wear to head.tail of spine (fraying cloth), light wear to joints of spine and edges, and light wear overall; Textblock has light plus age-toning and minor shelfwear to edges, a small chip to fore-edge of titlepage, some tearing to brown end-papers along hinges, and a former owner's signature in pencil on the titlepage; All pages from the appendix on (pp. 385 - end) are unopened; Six pages of publisher's ads are at back; A series of six lectures on comparative law by one of the pre-eminent 19th-century scholars of common law, specifically comparing English common law with traditional Indian legal systems. RWO. 1357831. Special Collections.<
VILLAGE COMMUNITIES IN THE EAST AND WEST - edition reliée, livre de poche
1876, ISBN: 3aeed4c1749d85741f21c8945ba7ed6f
[SC: 42.46], [PU: Henry Holt and Company, New York], Large Octavo, xii, 413 pages, [6]; Dark orange publishers cloth, with gilt letters to roundback spine; Boards show moderate bumping to… Plus…
[SC: 42.46], [PU: Henry Holt and Company, New York], Large Octavo, xii, 413 pages, [6]; Dark orange publishers cloth, with gilt letters to roundback spine; Boards show moderate bumping to corners, moderate wear to head.tail of spine (fraying cloth), light wear to joints of spine and edges, and light wear overall; Textblock has light plus age-toning and minor shelfwear to edges, a small chip to fore-edge of titlepage, some tearing to brown end-papers along hinges, and a former owner's signature in pencil on the titlepage; All pages from the appendix on (pp. 385 - end) are unopened; Six pages of publisher's ads are at back; A series of six lectures on comparative law by one of the pre-eminent 19th-century scholars of common law, specifically comparing English common law with traditional Indian legal systems. RWO. 1357831. Special Collections.<
Village-communities In The East And West - edition reliée, livre de poche
1876, ISBN: 3aeed4c1749d85741f21c8945ba7ed6f
New York: Henry Holt. Good with no dust jacket. 1876. Hardcover. Approx. 1" missing from the top spine end. Cloth of front cover has some very slight surface wrinkling along the out… Plus…
New York: Henry Holt. Good with no dust jacket. 1876. Hardcover. Approx. 1" missing from the top spine end. Cloth of front cover has some very slight surface wrinkling along the outer edge. Title page has two tears to the upper edge. Private book plate on the front endpaper. ; "Six lectures delivered at Oxford, to which are added other lectures, addresses and essays." ., Henry Holt, 1876, 2.5<
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Informations détaillées sur le livre - Village-Communities in the East and West
Version reliée
Livre de poche
Date de parution: 2010
Editeur: John Murray
Livre dans la base de données depuis 2013-12-12T19:37:25+01:00 (Paris)
Page de détail modifiée en dernier sur 2022-12-02T15:04:23+01:00 (Paris)
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Auteur du livre: six, henry sumner maine
Titre du livre: east and west, the east the west
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