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From bestselling author David Downing, master of historical espionage, comes a heart-wrenching depiction of Germany in the days leading up to World War II and the difficult choices of one man of conviction. In April 1938, a man calling himself Josef Hofmann arrives at a boarding house in Hamm, Germany, and lets a room from the widow who owns it. Fifty years later, Walter Gersdorff, the widow’s son, who was eleven years old in the spring of 1938, discovers the carefully hidden diary the boarder had kept during his stay, even though he never should have written any of its contents down. What Walter finds is a chronicle of one the most tumultuous years in German history, narrated by a secret agent on a deadly mission. Josef Hofmann was not the returned Argentinian immigrant he’d said he was—he was a communist spy under Moscow’s command trying to reconnect with remaining members of Germany’s suppressed communist party. Hofmann’s bosses believe the common workers are the only way to stop the German war machine from within. Posing as a railroad man, Hofmann sets out on his game of “Russian roulette,” approaching Hamm’s ex-party members one at a time and delicately feeling out their allegiances. He always knew his mission would most likely end in his death, and he was satisfied to make that sacrifice for the revolution if it could help stop Hitler and his abominable ideology. But as he grows close to the Gersdorffs, accidentally stepping into the role of the father Walter never had, Hofmann begins to wish for another kind of hope in his life.
At the same time that Matt and Parker find the body of the dead man in the creek, they recognize George Evans, the owner of the antique shop where Parker's mother works.
ALICE FEENEYS NEW YORK TIMES AND INTERNATIONAL BESTSELLER “Boldly plotted, tightly knotted—a provocative true-or-false thriller that deepens and darkens to its ink-black finale. Marvelous.” —AJ Finn, author of The Woman in the Window My name is Amber Reynolds. There are three things you should know about me: 1. I’m in a coma. 2. My husband doesn’t love me anymore. 3. Sometimes I lie. Amber wakes up in a hospital. She can’t move. She can’t speak. She can’t open her eyes. She can hear everyone around her, but they have no idea. Amber doesn’t remember what happened, but she has a suspicion her husband had something to do with it. Alternating between her paralyzed present, the week before her accident, and a series of childhood diaries from twenty years ago, this brilliant psychological thriller asks: Is something really a lie if you believe it's the truth?
“A novelistic mosaic that simultaneously reads like a thriller and like a strange, dreamlike excursion into the subconscious.” —The New York Times Years ago, when House of Leaves was first being passed around, it was nothing more than a badly bundled heap of paper, parts of which would occasionally surface on the Internet. No one could have anticipated the small but devoted following this terrifying story would soon command. Starting with an odd assortment of marginalized youth -- musicians, tattoo artists, programmers, strippers, environmentalists, and adrenaline junkies -- the book eventually made its way into the hands of older generations, who not only found themselves in those strangely arranged pages but also discovered a way back into the lives of their estranged children. Now this astonishing novel is made available in book form, complete with the original colored words, vertical footnotes, and second and third appendices. The story remains unchanged, focusing on a young family that moves into a small home on Ash Tree Lane where they discover something is terribly wrong: their house is bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. Of course, neither Pulitzer Prize-winning photojournalist Will Navidson nor his companion Karen Green was prepared to face the consequences of that impossibility, until the day their two little children wandered off and their voices eerily began to return another story -- of creature darkness, of an ever-growing abyss behind a closet door, and of that unholy growl which soon enough would tear through their walls and consume all their dreams.
A high-stakes fantasy rom-com about twin princesses separated at birth—one raised as the crown princess, and the other taken as an infant and raised to kidnap her sister, steal the crown, and avenge the parents' murders—the first novel in a new YA duology from bestselling UK authors Catherine Doyle and Katherine Webber. Perfect for fans of The Selection, My Lady Jane, and Caraval. Wren Greenrock has always known that one day she’d steal her sister’s place on the throne. Trained from birth to return to the palace and avenge her parents’ murder, she’ll do anything to become queen and protect the community of witches who raised her. Or she would, if only a certain guard wasn’t quite so distractingly attractive, and if her reckless magic would stop causing trouble. . . . Princess Rose Valhart knows that with power comes responsibility—and she won’t let a small matter like waking up in the desert with an extremely impertinent (and very handsome) kidnapper get in the way of her duty. But life outside the palace is wilder and more beautiful than she ever imagined, and the witches she has long feared might turn out to be the family she never had. But as coronation day looms and each sister strives to claim her birthright, an old enemy becomes increasingly determined that neither will succeed. Who will ultimately rise to power and wear the crown?
The literature purporting to describe the state of mankind after death, whether as Hades, Intermediate State, Purgatory, Hell, or Heaven, has mostly erred in the direction of too great detail. On the one hand, we have had those who with Swedenborg declare "that after death a man is so little changed that he even does not know but he is living in the present world; that the resemblances between the two worlds are so great, that in the spiritual world there are cities, with palaces and houses, and also writings and books, employments and merchandises." On the other hand, we have the picture drawn by the writer of "Letters from Hell," of imaginary houses and scenes, of seeming actions, of semblances of men compelled to appear to be doing after death the very things they did in life, despair all the while gnawing at their hearts. Archdeacon Farrar, in Chapter IV. of his "Mercy and Judgment," has given a varied and horrifying series of extracts from ancient and modern divines describing their detailed conceptions about the future of the wicked. As to the future of the beatified, no one needs reminding of the multitude of word-pictures, often mutually contradictory, in which their existence has been depicted. Thus we see that the human mind cannot choose but speculate in some fashion on the future state, while no man has the right to claim that he had said the last word on the subject. It may therefore be confidently anticipated that the remarkable narrative here presented, of which considerable portions have already appeared, serially, in the English edition of "Lippincott's Monthly Magazine," will find a very large number of interested readers, who will be glad to peruse it in the connected and completed form, in which it is best calculated to express the author's full meaning and experiences. It will not by its length or excess of detail overburden the reader, nor does it claim to be more than a narrative of experience which may be left to convey its own lessons. The writer, who prefers to remain anonymous, is one whose essays and stories have been received with high appreciation on both sides of the Atlantic. His narrative is put forth as his actual experience during a lengthened absence from the body, during which he was believed to be dead. Of course no other living person can confirm or deny his experiences, though many may deem them incredible, fictitious, or the imaginings or visions of a trancelike state. I do not pretend to decide to what category they belong, nor do I feel called upon to condemn or approve any of the assertions or opinions thus put forward. If any one holds theological convictions which appear to conflict with them, I would remark that the publishers, in letting the "Dead Man" speak for himself, do not hold themselves responsible for his opinions, merely having assured themselves of the serious spirit in which they are narrated.
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