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Author: Jack London Publisher: ISBN: Category : Languages : en Pages : 178
Book Description
When God Laughs & Other Stories is an outstanding collection includes of stories from the author of Call of the Wild, White Fang and other classic works. Included here are five short stories entitled: When God Laughs; The Apostate; A Wicked Woman; Just Meat; Created He Them. This is a fabulous volume for those fans of Jack London.
Author: Jack London Publisher: ISBN: Category : Languages : en Pages : 178
Book Description
When God Laughs & Other Stories is an outstanding collection includes of stories from the author of Call of the Wild, White Fang and other classic works. Included here are five short stories entitled: When God Laughs; The Apostate; A Wicked Woman; Just Meat; Created He Them. This is a fabulous volume for those fans of Jack London.
Author: Jack London Publisher: ISBN: Category : Languages : en Pages : 174
Book Description
This work has been selected by scholars as being culturally important, and is part of the knowledge base of civilization as we know it. This work was reproduced from the original artifact, and remains as true to the original work as possible.
Author: Jack London Publisher: Forgotten Books ISBN: 9780483553385 Category : Languages : en Pages : 166
Book Description
Excerpt from When God Laughs: And Other Stories It is beautiful, he said. It is sweetly sweet. It is a woman's wine, and it was made for gray-robed saints to drink. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.
Author: London Publisher: ISBN: Category : Languages : en Pages : 176
Book Description
This collection of Jack London's short stories touches on a variety of topics, from his love of boxing, to relationships between criminals, to the trials of life and travel on many frontiers, to an allegory about a king who desired a nose. London is considered a master of the short story, a form much more to his liking and personality than his novels. He was active and quick of mind and the short story suited him well.
Author: Jack London Publisher: ISBN: Category : Languages : en Pages : 172
Book Description
"The classic book has always read again and again.""What is the classic book?""""Why is the classic book?""READ READ READ.. then you'll know it's excellence."
Author: Jack London Publisher: ISBN: Category : Languages : en Pages : 90
Book Description
"If you don't git up, Johnny, I won't give you a bite to eat!"The threat had no effect on the boy. He clung stubbornly to sleep, fighting for its oblivion as thedreamer fights for his dream. The boy's hands loosely clenched themselves, and he made feeble, spasmodic blows at the air. These blows were intended for his mother, but she betrayed practisedfamiliarity in avoiding them as she shook him roughly by the shoulder."Lemme 'lone!"It was a cry that began, muffled, in the deeps of sleep, that swiftly rushed upward, like a wail, intopassionate belligerence, and that died away and sank down into an inarticulate whine. It was a bestialcry, as of a soul in torment, filled with infinite protest and pain.But she did not mind. She was a sad-eyed, tired-faced woman, and she had grown used to thistask, which she repeated every day of her life. She got a grip on the bedclothes and tried to stripthem down; but the boy, ceasing his punching, clung to them desperately. In a huddle, at the foot ofthe bed, he still remained covered. Then she tried dragging the bedding to the floor. The boyopposed her. She braced herself. Hers was the superior weight, and the boy and bedding gave, theformer instinctively following the latter in order to shelter against the chill of the room that bit intohis body.As he toppled on the edge of the bed it seemed that he must fall head-first to the floor. Butconsciousness fluttered up in him. He righted himself and for a moment perilously balanced. Thenhe struck the floor on his feet. On the instant his mother seized him by the shoulders and shookhim. Again his fists struck out, this time with more force and directness. At the same time his eyesopened. She released him. He was awake."All right," he mumbled.She caught up the lamp and hurried out, leaving him in darkness."You'll be docked," she warned back to him.He did not mind the darkness. When he had got into his clothes, he went out into the kitchen.His tread was very heavy for so thin and light a boy. His legs dragged with their own weight, whichseemed unreasonable because they were such skinny legs. He drew a broken-bottomed chair to thetable
Author: Jack London Publisher: ISBN: Category : Languages : en Pages : 106
Book Description
"The gods, the gods are stronger; time Falls down before them, all men's knees Bow, all men's prayers and sorrows climb Like incense toward them; yea, for these Are gods, Felise."Carquinez had relaxed finally. He stole a glance at the rattling windows, looked upward at the beamed roof, and listened for a moment to the savage roar of the south-easter as it caught the bungalow in its bellowing jaws. Then he held his glass between him and the fire and laughed for joy through the golden wine."It is beautiful," he said. "It is sweetly sweet. It is a woman's wine, and it was made for gray-robed saints to drink.""We grow it on our own warm hills," I said, with pardonable California pride. "You rode up yesterday through the vines from which it was made."It was worth while to get Carquinez to loosen up. Nor was he ever really himself until he felt the mellow warmth of the vine singing in his blood. He was an artist, it is true, always an artist; but somehow, sober, the high pitch and lilt went out of his thought-processes and he was prone to be as deadly dull as a British Sunday-not dull as other men are dull, but dull when measured by the sprightly wight that Monte Carquinez was when he was really himself.