The Lions of the Lord: A Tale of the Old West

The Lions of the Lord: A Tale of the Old West

Harry Leon Wilson

Humor / Literature & Fiction

The city without life lay handsomely along a river in the early sunlight of a September morning. Death had seemingly not been long upon it, nor had it made any scar. No breach or rent or disorder or sign of violence could be seen. The long, shaded streets breathed the still airs of utter peace and quiet. From the half-circle around which the broad river bent its moody current, the neat houses, set in cool, green gardens, were terraced up the high hill, and from the summit of this a stately marble temple, glittering of newness, towered far above them in placid benediction.
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Ruggles of Red Gap

Ruggles of Red Gap

Harry Leon Wilson

Humor / Literature & Fiction

In Ruggles of Red Gap, Lord Burnstead gambles away his eminently correct English butler, Marmaduke Ruggles. Ruggles\' new \'owners\', crude nouveau riche Americans Egbert and Effie Floud, bring Ruggles back to Red Gap, Washington, a remote Western boomtown. When the butler is mistaken for a wealthy Englishman, he becomes a small-town celebrity. As Ruggles attempts to adjust to this rough new community, he learns to live life on his own terms, achieving a fulfilling independence as a result.
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Ma Pettengill

Ma Pettengill

Harry Leon Wilson

Humor / Literature & Fiction

Unlike some other reproductions of classic texts (1) We have not used OCR(Optical Character Recognition), as this leads to bad quality books with introduced typos. (2) In books where there are images such as portraits, maps, sketches etc We have endeavoured to keep the quality of these images, so they represent accurately the original artefact. Although occasionally there may be certain imperfections with these old texts, we feel they deserve to be made available for future generations to enjoy.
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The Wrong Twin

The Wrong Twin

Harry Leon Wilson

Humor / Literature & Fiction

An establishment in Newbern Center, trading under the name of the Foto Art Shop, once displayed in its window a likeness of the twin sons of Dave Cowan. Side by side, on a lavishly fringed plush couch, they confronted the camera with differing aspects. One sat forward with a decently, even blandly, composed visage, nor had he meddled with his curls. His mate sat back, scowling, and fought the camera to the bitter end. His curls, at the last moment, had been mussed by a raging hand.
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