LHeure anglaise (Fiction) (French Edition)

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For translations from English, there are helpful sense-markers to guide the user to the most appropriate translation. Included in this essential reference line: br br - , words, phrases, and.. Clason Ce livre traite des succ s personnels de chacun de nous. Le succ s vient des r alisations cons cutives nos efforts et notre savoir-faire. Une bonne pr paration est essentielle au succ s. Nos actions ne peuvent pas tre plus sages que nos pens es. Notre fa on de penser ne peut pas tre plus sage que notre entendement. Voil que l'argent abonde pour ceux qui comprennent les r gles simples de l'acquisition de biens.

Commencez garnir votre bourse. Contr lez vos d penses. Faites fructifier votre or. Emp chez vos"tr sors de se perdre. Faites de votr.. Sami a attrape un pou. Au secours dit maman les bras charges de lotions et de shampoings Mais Sami veut garder son pou Et si le pou voulait lui aussi garder son petit garcon? J'apprends avec Sami et Julie est une collection specialement concue pour les enfants apprenant a lire.

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On days like this, when other people were not about, Mahailey liked to talk to Claude about the things they did together when he was little; the Sundays when they used to wander along the creek, hunting for wild grapes and watching the red squirrels; or trailed across the high pastures to a wild-plum thicket at the north end of the Wheeler farm. Claude could remember warm spring days when the plum bushes were all in blossom and Mahailey used to lie down under them and sing to herself, as if the honey-heavy sweetness made her drowsy; songs without words, for the most part, though he recalled one mountain dirge which said over and over, "And they laid Jesse James in his grave.

THE time was approaching for Claude to go back to the struggling denominational college on the outskirts of the state capital, where he had already spent two dreary and unprofitable winters. The professors at the Temple aren't much good. Most of them are just preachers who couldn't make a living at preaching. The look of pain that always disarmed Claude came instantly into his mother's face. I can't believe but teachers are more interested in their students when they are concerned for their spiritual development, as well as the mental.

Brother Weldon said many of the professors at the State University are not Christian men; they even boast of it, in some cases. These little pinheaded preachers like Weldon do a lot of harm, running about the country talking. He's sent around to pull in students for his own school. If he didn't get them he'd lose his job. I wish he'd never got me.

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Most of the fellows who flunk out at the State come to us, just as he did. They pay their football coach a larger salary than their Chancellor. And those fraternity houses are places where boys learn all sorts of evil. I've heard that dreadful things go on in them sometimes.

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Besides, it would take more money, and you couldn't live as cheaply as you do at the Chapins'. Claude made no reply. He stood before her frowning and pulling at a calloused spot on the inside of his palm. Wheeler looked at him wistfully.

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He sighed and turned away. If his mother had been the least bit unctuous, like Brother Weldon, he could have told her many enlightening facts. But she was so trusting and childlike, so faithful by nature and so ignorant of life as he knew it, that it was hopeless to argue with her. He could shock her and make her fear the world even more than she did, but he could never make her understand. His mother was old-fashioned. She thought dancing and card-playing dangerous pastimes—only rough people did such things when she was a girl in Ver-mont—and "worldliness" only another word for wickedness.

According to her conception of education, one should learn, not think; and above all, one must not enquire. The history of the human race, as it lay behind one, was already explained; and so was its destiny, which lay before. The mind should remain obediently within the theological concept of history. Nat Wheeler didn't care where his son went to school, but he, too, took it for granted that the religious institution was cheaper than the State University; and that because the students there looked shabbier they were less likely to become too knowing, and to be offensively intelligent at home.

However, he referred the matter to Bayliss one day when he was in town. If he gets in with that fast football crowd at the State, there'll be no holding him. If Claude wants exercise, he might put in the fall wheat. That night Mr. Wheeler brought the subject up at supper, questioned Claude, and tried to get at the cause of his discontent. His manner was jocular, as usual, and Claude hated any public discussion of his personal affairs. He was afraid of his father's humour when it got too near him.

Claude might have enjoyed the large and somewhat gross cartoons with which Mr. Wheeler enlivened daily life, had they been of any other authorship. But he unreasonably wanted his father to be the most dignified, as he was certainly the handsomest and most intelligent, man in the community. Moreover, Claude couldn't bear ridicule very well. He squirmed before he was hit; saw it coming, invited it.

Wheeler had observed this trait in him when he was a little chap, called it false pride, and often purposely outraged his feelings to harden him, as he had hardened Claude's mother, who was afraid of everything but schoolbooks and prayer-meetings when he first married her. She was still more or less bewildered, but she had long ago got over any fear of him and any dread of living with him.

She accepted everything about her husband as part of his rugged masculinity, and of that she was proud, in her quiet way.


L'Heure Des Sorcieres / The Hour of Sorcieres - AbeBooks - Anne Rice:

Claude had never quite forgiven his father for some of his practical jokes. One warm spring day, when he was a boisterous little boy of five, playing in and out of the house, he heard his mother entreating Mr. Wheeler to go down to the orchard and pick the cherries from a tree that hung loaded. Claude remembered that she persisted rather complainingly, saying that the cherries were too high for her to reach, and that even if she had a ladder it would hurt her back. Wheeler was always annoyed if his wife referred to any physical weakness, especially if she complained about her back.

He got up and went out. After a while he returned. You and Claude can run along and pick 'em as easy as can be.

Wheeler trustfully put on her sunbonnet, gave Claude a little pail and took a big one herself, and they went down the pasture hill to the orchard, fenced in on the low land by the creek. The ground had been ploughed that spring to make it hold moisture, and Claude was running happily along in one of the furrows, when he looked up and beheld a sight he could never forget. The beautiful, round-topped cherry tree, full of green leaves and red fruit,—his father had sawed it through! It lay on the ground beside its bleeding stump. With one scream Claude became a little demon.

He threw away his tin pail, jumped about howling and kicking the loose earth with his copper-toed shoes, until his mother was much more concerned for him than for the tree.