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American Poems: Books: The Open Boat and Other Stories
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The Open Boat and Other Stories

The Open Boat and Other Stories
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  • List Price: $5.60
  • Buy New: $5.59
  • as of 9/15/2014 01:21 EDT details
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  • Seller:the_book_depository_
  • Languages:English (Unknown), English (Original Language), English (Published)
  • Media:Paperback
  • Number Of Items:1
  • Pages:74
  • Shipping Weight (lbs):0.3
  • Dimensions (in):9.7 x 7.4 x 0.2
  • Publication Date:September 12, 2013
  • ISBN:1230457453
  • EAN:9781230457451
  • ASIN:1230457453
Availability:Usually ships in 1-2 business days

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Editorial Reviews:
Synopsis
This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1898 edition. Excerpt: ...night Richardson sat wondering if some serpent-like Mexican were sliding towards him in the darkness, and if the first thing he knew of it would be the deadly sting of a knife. "Sssh," he whispered, to Josd. He drew his revolver from under the blanket, and held it on his leg. The blanket over the door fascinated him. It was a vague form, black and unmoving. Through the opening it shielded were to come, probably, threats, death. Sometimes he thought he saw it move. /As grim white sheets, the black and silver of coffins7"a'll the panoply of death, affect us, because of that which they hide, so this blanket, dangling before a hole in an adobe wall, was to Richardson a horrible emblem, and a horrible thing in itself/ In his present mood he could not have been brought to touch it with his finger. The celebrating Mexicans occasionally howled in song. The guitarist played with speed and enthusiasm. Richardson longed to run. (But in this vibrating and threatening gloom his terror convinced him that a move on his part would be a signal for the pounce of death. Jose, crouching abjectly, mumbled now and again. Slowly, and ponderous as stars, the minutes went) Suddenly Richardson thrilled and started. His breath for a moment left him. In sleep his nerveless fingers had allowed his revolver to fall and clang upon the hard floor. He grabbed it up hastily, and his glance swept apprehensively over the room. A chill blue light of dawn was in the place. Every outline was slowly growing; detail was following detail. The dread blanket did not move. The riotous company had gone or fallen silent. He felt the effect of this cold dawn in his blood. The candour of breaking day brought his nerve. He touched Jos6. "Come," he said. His...

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