If you see a Google Drive link instead of source url, means that the file witch you will get after approval is just a summary of original book or the file has been already removed. Loved each and every part of this book. I will definitely recommend this book to childrens, classics lovers. Your Rating:. Your Comment:.
White Free Download pages Author E. General opinion is to let them be there and the hell with them, people and horrors too, if there is a distinction. Unfortunate, but what can you do? Look the other way. That's all right with me. I don't know anything better to do about the horrors that are, or that may be on skid row than to hope they will stay there where they belong—and let me forget them.
That's why I'm writing this. I want to do the story of what I saw, and what I think I saw or felt, and what I didn't see, to get it off my mind. Then I am going to do my damnedest not to think of the whole thing.
Me, I know about skid row because I was there. That's my personal problem and another story, before this one, and the hell with that, too. I once had a wife and a couple of kids. I had a lot of problems and then no wife and no kids and I made it to skid row. It was easy. For a while I was there, all the way down, where the gutter was something I could look up to. Well, turned out I had friends who wouldn't quit. By their efforts plus, as they say, the grace of God, I came off it; most of the way off it, at least.
No credit to me, but not too many ever manage to make a round trip of it. Who are the misfits and derelicts on skid row? Anybody; nobody. Individuals, if they are individuals, come and go. The group, with few exceptions, is always the same. It is built of the world's rejects—lost souls, bad dreams; shadowy, indistinct shapes, not a part of life nor yet quite altogether out of it, either.
I was down there. I left. But I kept passing by every once in a while to pay a little visit. For that I had two reasons.
One, I could sometimes pick up a lead on something for a Sunday feature for my paper. The other—just taking another look now and then at where and what I had been was a sort of insurance for me. So, from time to time I would stop by The Yard for an evening. I would spring for a jug. I was welcome. Those in the regular group knew me and they held me in no more than the same contempt they had for each other and themselves.
Being no stranger—or, perhaps, not too much less strange—I fitted well enough with the misfits of that half-world where the individual rarely stands out enough to be noticeable. Wino Jones, though, and his friend Stanley were, each in his own way, quite noticeable. I first ran across Wino Jones and Stanley one early spring evening. It was a Thursday. I was beat. It had been a tough week—a political scandal, a couple of fires and a big 'Missing Kid—Fiend' scare.
Turned out the kid had skipped school to catch a triple-feature horror show and was scared to go home when she came out late, so she went to hide out at Grandma's. The suspect fiend was a cockfight sportsman from the Caribbean colony smuggling home his loser under his leather jacket.
But it had been a rough week with a lot of chasing around and getting no place that left me in one of those hell-with-it moods. Like, maybe, I ought to take a week or so off and—and the hell with that. It was time for me to pay a little remembrance-of-things-not-so-far-past visit down on the row.
I left the city room, tired, dirty, needing a shave. Where I was headed, this would put me ahead of the fashion parade, but it would serve. I stopped for a bowl of chili at Mad Miguel's and then wandered down to those four blocks on South River Street, known as Bug Alley, that make up the hard-core skid-row section of our city.
Across from St. Vincent's in Scott Square, called the Yard, by the old wall, there was a group of six or eight passing the time and a nearly dead jug.
I shambled over and squatted down. Got a hard, bloodshot look or two, but not because the jug in the public park was against the law. Even if I was the law, so what? These, they made the jail now and then, if there were too many complaints, if they made a disturbance.
But not even the jail wanted them. The hard looks wondered only if the jug should be passed to me or by me. I lit a cigarette, took a couple of drags and handed it on. Bootnose Bailey, big, old, bald, with the cast-iron stomach and leather liver, settled the jug question by handing it to me. Score: 4. It wasn't as if Moxy hadn't tried to do her summer reading. She and Stuart Little had been inseparable all summer, like best friends. If Stuart Little wasn't in her backpack, it was in her lap.
But now it's the end of August—the day before fourth grade. And if Moxy doesn't read all of Stuart Little immediately, there are going to be "consequences. Just look at the pictures her twin brother Mark takes to document it all—they're scattered throughout—and you'll see why it's so difficult to make time for a book about a mouse. Of course our heroine does manage to finish her book, falling so in love with it that she finds herself reading under the covers with a flashlight, late into the night.
Stuart Little Author : E. White's classic novel about a small mouse on a very big adventure, available in eBook for the very first time! Stuart Little is no ordinary mouse. Born to a family of humans, he lives in New York City with his parents, his older brother George, and Snowbell the cat. White Submitted by: Jane Kivik. Read Online Download.
White by E. Great book, Stuart Little pdf is enough to raise the goose bumps alone. Add a review Your Rating: Your Comment:. White by T.
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