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Pagina 222
We drove round the block and back up Cushman Street , the way we had come into Fairbanks , and turned right on the airport road . Away in the distance I could see the towering craggy peaks still covered with snow tumbling down to their ...
We drove round the block and back up Cushman Street , the way we had come into Fairbanks , and turned right on the airport road . Away in the distance I could see the towering craggy peaks still covered with snow tumbling down to their ...
Pagina 250
Except this : that when he had done writing about the English life he saw , and all the ways in which he thought it could be bettered , he turned to the subject nearest his heart — he turned to music . He had a Shakespearian belief in ...
Except this : that when he had done writing about the English life he saw , and all the ways in which he thought it could be bettered , he turned to the subject nearest his heart — he turned to music . He had a Shakespearian belief in ...
Pagina 302
At this stage I was inclined to agree been a few acknowledging smiles . with him ; but on these occasions the So I turned to Brodie and shouted , upper lip inevitably stiffens , and I “ This is it , I guess !
At this stage I was inclined to agree been a few acknowledging smiles . with him ; but on these occasions the So I turned to Brodie and shouted , upper lip inevitably stiffens , and I “ This is it , I guess !
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Inhoudsopgave
CONTENTS | 40 |
SOLDIERING IN THE SIXTIES BY J G R A 289 | 122 |
THE BOW RIVER BY R M PATTERSON 541 | 202 |
Copyright | |
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African appeared arms asked bank began better boat called close continued course door English eyes face fact feeling feet felt fire fish five followed forces four gave give half hand head hills hour hundred interest knew lake land later least leave less light living London looked means miles morning mountains moved never night officer once passed perhaps present reached reason returned river road Rollo round seemed seen showed side soon stand stood stopped Street tell thing thought tion told took town trees turned village waiting walked watched whole wind write young