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. Look at that by - (read ebook pdf .txt) 📖
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Book online «Look at that by - (read ebook pdf .txt) 📖». Author -
- Are you sure?
- Trust me.
- This sounds as if you’re saying it with a negative tinge.
- Quit being more papal than the pope all the time! How d’you figure that?
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which, though a narrative in itself, he would have big trouble putting into words, however much he knew it by heart – much like they his own.
Τhat she wasn’t a typical western-European either though, he could somehow tell. At least – any sim-plistic generalisations being far from Babis to make – compared to those that had found nothing better (and yes, that spoke volumes about who they really were) than to choose the busiest island in Greece as their holiday destination, an island which the more sophis-ticated ones, having visited at sixteen when it was still untouched, would never ever return to again, not even if you paid them to.
An island that, essentially, as long as it turned out to be value for money and recharged their batteries be-fore returning home back to the salt mines, it didn’t matter to them one-bit which island it was, if it was even an island, and which country it belonged to. And this particular one was offering itself up like a prosti-tute. The charter flights that connected it to the rest of Europe in the summer, the relatively cheap sunbeds and the drinks, even if, who knows why, they always gave you a massive headache the next day, its genuine five star hotels, the immense heated swimming pools practically two steps away from the sea, the endless
- How is it then that there’s absolutely no one at the beach?
- Who goes to a pebble beach at the break of dawn?
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sunshine, not a single raincloud in sight, the fact that it didn’t seem to be a target for a terrorist attack thus far, and there were no kids begging for money, while theirs could look forward to a series of entertainment activi-ties, all numbered among its various assets. On top of that, there was the unprecedented and inconceivable (in their countries - role models of democracy) free-dom that ruled here, in its cradle. The freedom to, for instance, park or have a smoke wherever you fucking pleased. And which they enjoyed unscrupulously.
Yet what this mysterious woman lacked, by contrast, was coming out of their ears. But also the opposite.
So, on their part - the British phlegm, the Prussian-like military discipline and the precision of a Swiss watch with which, since for better or for worse they had (forking out for it) bothered to
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