📘 ❞ New York : Dutton ❝ رواية ــ Tracy Chevalier اصدار 1999
Stories and novels - 📖 ❞ رواية New York : Dutton ❝ ــ Tracy Chevalier 📖
█ _ Tracy Chevalier 1999 حصريا رواية New York : Dutton عن New Books 2024 Dutton: Dutton My mother did not tell me they were coming Afterwards she said did not want to appear nervous I was surprised, for thought knew me well Strangers would think calm cry as a baby Only my mother note the tightness along my jaw, widening of already wide eyes I chopping vegetables in kitchen when heard voices outside our front door—a woman’s, bright polished brass, and man’s, low dark like the wood table working on They kind we heard rarely house could hear rich carpets their voices, books pearls and fur glad that earlier had scrubbed front steps so hard My mother’s voice—a cooking pot, flagon—approached from front room pushed leeks been chopping into place, then set knife table, wiped hands my apron pressed lips together smooth them appeared doorway, her two warnings Behind the woman duck head because tall, taller than man following All family, even father brother, small Stories novels مجاناً PDF اونلاين هذا القسم يحتوي علي العديد من القصص والروايات باللغة الإنجليزية This section contains many stories English (Stories novels) والروايات: الرواية هي سرد نثري طويل يصف شخصيات خيالية أو واقعية وأحداثاً شكل قصة متسلسلة كما أنها أكبر الأجناس القصصية حيث الحجم وتعدد الشخصيات وتنوع الأحداث وقد ظهرت أوروبا بوصفها جنساً أدبياً مؤثراً القرن الثامن عشر والرواية حكاية تعتمد السرد بما فيه وصف وحوار وصراع بين وما ينطوي عليه ذلك تأزم وجدل وتغذيه A novel is relatively long work narrative fiction, normally written prose form, which typically published book The present English word fiction derives Italian novella "new", "news", or "short story something new", itself Latin novella, singular noun use neuter plural novellus, diminutive novus, meaning "new" Walter Scott made distinction between novel, (as he saw it) "events are accommodated ordinary train human events modern state society" romance, defined "a fictitious verse; interest turns upon marvellous uncommon incidents"
New York : Dutton
My mother did not tell me they were coming. Afterwards she said she did
not want me to appear nervous. I was surprised, for I thought she knew me
well. Strangers would think I was calm. I did not cry as a baby. Only my
mother would note the tightness along my jaw, the widening of my already
wide eyes.
I was chopping vegetables in the kitchen when I heard voices outside our front
door—a woman’s, bright as polished brass, and a man’s, low and dark like the
wood of the table I was working on. They were the kind of voices we heard
rarely in our house. I could hear rich carpets in their voices, books and pearls
and fur.
I was glad that earlier I had scrubbed the front steps so hard.
My mother’s voice—a cooking pot, a flagon—approached from the front
room. They were coming to the kitchen. I pushed the leeks I had been
chopping into place, then set the knife on the table, wiped my hands on my
apron and pressed my lips together to smooth them.
My mother appeared in the doorway, her eyes two warnings. Behind her the
woman had to duck her head because she was so tall, taller than the man
following her.
All of our family, even my father and brother, were small
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