I Burn Paris

I Burn Paris

Language: English

Pages: 309

ISBN: 8086264378

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub















fact the freckle-faced boy who had tampered with the marks. The boy’s father simmered down a bit: “Punish him in my presence! Fifty strokes, and not one less!” Guards were called in. P’an was hauled into the office. He was stretched out on the bench. They started counting the lashes. The white man with the little jewel in his buttonhole tapped out the time with a slender foot clad in an elegant shoe, snorting with irritation. After the fortieth stroke the cane snapped in two. The man with the

shoreline like a head colliding with a wall. Down below, the Seine glittered with specks of light. P’an Tsiang-kuei and the professor stood there, not knowing what to do. “Tell me,” the professor finally said, wiping the misted lenses of his glasses with a handkerchief, “tell me if you’d be so kind ... I simply don’t understand. Why is it exactly that you despise us so implacably when you owe us so much, when you are endlessly taking from us. I think about this constantly, and I can’t find an

spacious land, a land flowing with milk and honey ... Come, therefore, I will send you to Pharaoh, and you shall free My people, the Israelites, from Egypt.’ “But Moses said to God, ‘Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and free the Israelites from Egypt?’ “But Moses said to the Lord, ‘Please, O Lord, I have never been a man of words, either in times past or now that You have spoken to Your servant; I am slow of speech and slow of tongue.’ And the Lord said to him, ‘Who gives man speech? ...

smell of comfort. Over the small altars of the tables, people bent in pious concentration accepted the Host of veal and lamb cutlets, to the prayerful clatter of the plates held by the anointed choirboys – the waiters. With the absent expression of an old regular who prefers an out-of-the-way table in his own discreet corner, Captain Solomin found a cramped place behind a pillar, which gave onto the entire room like the view from a theater box, and seating himself comfortably, he studied the

eyes and curls of chestnut-brown hair on his wise, broad forehead. Archie was smiling. David Lingslay tried to reflect that smile with the corners of his lips, now oddly stiff. He felt pride at having just carried out some immensely important work, for which he had never found time in his life till then, and which should have made his nephew Archie very satisfied, but he could not even recall what this work was exactly. Fewer and fewer illuminated floors flashed by in the impenetrably black

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