Tree of Smoke: A NovelFarrar, Straus and Giroux, 2007 M09 4 - 624 páginas Once upon a time there was a war . . . and a young American who thought of himself as the Quiet American and the Ugly American, and who wished to be neither, who wanted instead to be the Wise American, or the Good American, but who eventually came to witness himself as the Real American and finally as simply the Fucking American. That's me. |
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... seconds, the bugs found him and whined around his head. He propped the rifle against a stunted banana plant and removed his headband and wrung it out and wiped his face and stood there awhile, waving away the mosquitoes with the cloth.
... stood there splayfooted, holding the towel together at his hip with one hand, staring at some close but invisible thing, and swaying. An officer, probably. He took his cigarette between his thumb and finger and drew on it and let out a ...
... stood behind the bar. “Shut up, shut up,” he said. He lifted his hand, in which he happened to be holding a spatula. “What'd I say?” Houston asked. “Excuse.” Sam tilted his head toward the radio, concentrating on its sound like a blind ...
... stood up like a very old man and bent to grip the soldier's arm. “Nothing happening, son.” The soldier was deaf. “Get up. Get up, son. Come on, now, son. Get up.” The youngster, finding life in his body, overcame some of his shock and ...
... stood by politely while the visitors reloaded their gear and radioed the encampment on Good Luck Mountain. “We'll scoot on up the hill,” the colonel said. “Good. There it's more secure,” Hao agreed. In minutes a patrol of three jeeps ...
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