Rules:
*Grab a book, any book.
*Turn to page 56 or 56% in your eReader (If you have to improvise, that's ok.)
*Find any sentence, (or few, just don't spoil it)
*Post it.
I'm reading The Kill Artist
Rami stepped outside the guardhouse and watched the old man pounding down the drive. He was bald and thick, with steel-rimmed spectacles. His face was dry and deeply creviced--like the Negev, thought Rami. As usual he wore khaki trousers and an ancient leather bomber jacket with a tear on the right breast, just below the arm-pit. Within the service there were two theories about the tear. Some believed the jacket had been pierced by a bullet during a reprisal raid into Jordan in the fifties. Others argued that it had been torn by the dying fingers of a terrorist whom Shamron garroted in a Cairo back alley. Shamron always insisted gruffly that the truth was much more prosaic--the jacket had been torn on the corner of a car door--but no one within the service took him seriously.
2 comments:
You know, I don't think I've ever tried anything by Silva before. Maybe one of these days. I hope you enjoy it!
Lauren @ Always Me
Sounds like an intriguing read!! Happy weekend!
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