Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. When the Night is New by Marvin Rabinovitch (best large ebook reader TXT) 📖
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the world. The young Russian, cadaverous as a walking skeleton and troll-ugly, embodied more than his fair share of human benevolence, and she was grateful.
“You’re a good man, Pavel,” she murmured. “Just a little too skinny.”
“That’s why you love me,” he laughed, and gently closed the door, though leaving it ajar.
Though her children and grandchildren were infrequent visitors, she could always count on Pavel. Poor malnourished man! Poor thin boy!
The tiny phone of memory inside her brain rang, and she lifted the receiver.
“Pavel, the thin man,” a disembodied voice, not her own, perhaps Yashe’s, sounded in her inner ear.
“William Powell,” she cried silently. The thin man.
Exultant at the ultimate success of her hunt, she closed her eyes and hugged her prey close. William Powell and Myrna Loy. At the other end of the line, Yashe celebrated her joy.
Ill be seeing you
In every lovely, summers day,
And everything that’s bright and gay,
Ill always think of you that way;
Ill find you in the morning sun,
And when the night is new,
Ill be looking at the moon,
But Ill be seeing you.
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“You’re a good man, Pavel,” she murmured. “Just a little too skinny.”
“That’s why you love me,” he laughed, and gently closed the door, though leaving it ajar.
Though her children and grandchildren were infrequent visitors, she could always count on Pavel. Poor malnourished man! Poor thin boy!
The tiny phone of memory inside her brain rang, and she lifted the receiver.
“Pavel, the thin man,” a disembodied voice, not her own, perhaps Yashe’s, sounded in her inner ear.
“William Powell,” she cried silently. The thin man.
Exultant at the ultimate success of her hunt, she closed her eyes and hugged her prey close. William Powell and Myrna Loy. At the other end of the line, Yashe celebrated her joy.
Ill be seeing you
In every lovely, summers day,
And everything that’s bright and gay,
Ill always think of you that way;
Ill find you in the morning sun,
And when the night is new,
Ill be looking at the moon,
But Ill be seeing you.
Imprint
Publication Date: 06-25-2010
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