Ergebnis gesprochen von "Lucy Fletcher" in Alle Kategorien

"The White Moll" is a crime novel by Frank L. Packard. Excerpt from the book: “It was like some shadowy pantomime: The dark mouth of an alleyway thrown into murky relief by the rays of a distant street lamp ... the swift, forward leap of a skulking figure... a girl’s form swaying and struggling in the man’s embrace. Then, a pantomime no longer, there came a half threatening, half triumphant oath; and then the girl’s voice, quiet, strangely contained, almost imperious: "Now, give me back that purse, please. Instantly!" The man, already retreating into the alleyway, paused to fling back a jeering laugh."

Ronicky Doone is a western novel by Max Brand. Excerpt from the book: "He came into the town as a solid, swiftly moving dust cloud. The wind from behind had kept the dust moving forward at a pace just equal to the gallop of his horse. Not until he had brought his mount to a halt in front of the hotel and swung down to the ground did either he or his horse become distinctly visible. Then it was seen that the animal was in the last stages of exhaustion, with dull eyes and hanging head and forelegs braced widely apart, while the sweat dripped steadily from his flanks into the white dust on the street."

"The Shortstop" is a novel by Zane Grey a baseball insider about a 17 years old boy, who fights his way to success, and saves his mother and brother out of poverty. Excerpt from the book: "I am going to be a baseball player." He waited quietly for her refusal, her reproach, her arguments, ready to answer them one by one. "I won’t let you be a ball player." "Mother, since father left us to shift for ourselves I’ve been the head of the house. I never disobeyed you before, but now - I’ve thought it out. I’ve made my plan."

"Trailin’!" is a western novel by Max Brand. Excerpt from the book: "Take off the blinder," he ordered. "Look here, lad, I know this hoss. The minute the blinder’s off he’ll up on his hind legs and bash you into the floor with his forefeet." "Let him go," growled one of the cowboys. "He’s goin’ to hell making a gallery play." But taking the matter into his own hands Woodbury snatched the coat from the head of the stallion, which snorted and reared up. There was a shout from the man, not a cry of dismay, but a ringing battle yell.