Name: Letters of a Woman Homesteader (en Inglés)
Price: 49380.00 COP
Availability: InStock
Author: Stewart, Elinore Pruitt
ISBN: 9781545078396

portada Letters of a Woman Homesteader (en Inglés)

Letters of a Woman Homesteader (en Inglés)

Formato

Libro Físico

Autor

Elinore Pruitt Stewart

Editorial

Createspace

Idioma

Inglés

N° páginas

130

Encuadernación

Tapa Blanda

Dimensiones

22.9 x 15.2 x 0.7 cm

Peso

0.18 kg.

ISBN13

9781545078396

Categorías

Ficción: general y literaria

Letters of a Woman Homesteader (en Inglés)

Elinore Pruitt Stewart (Autor) · Createspace · Tapa Blanda

Libro Nuevo Importado

Envío: 19 a 25 días háb.

$ 89.782$ 49.380

-45%

Costos de importación incluídos en el precio ✅

Libro Nuevo

Quedan 100 unidades

$ 49.380

Llega entre el 02 Sep y el 11 Sep a Bogota, Cundinamarca. Seleccionar ubicación

Agregar a lista de deseos

Reseña del libro "Letters of a Woman Homesteader (en Inglés)"

Are you thinking I am lost, like the Babes in the Wood? Well, I am not and I'm sure the robins would have the time of their lives getting leaves to cover me out here. I am 'way up close to the Forest Reserve of Utah, within half a mile of the line, sixty miles from the railroad. I was twenty-four hours on the train and two days on the stage, and oh, those two days! The snow was just beginning to melt and the mud was about the worst I ever heard of. The first stage we tackled was just about as rickety as it could very well be and I had to sit with the driver, who was a Mormon and so handsome that I was not a bit offended when he insisted on making love all the way, especially after he told me that he was a widower Mormon. But, of course, as I had no chaperone I looked very fierce (not that that was very difficult with the wind and mud as allies) and told him my actual opinion of Mormons in general and particular. Meantime my new employer, Mr. Stewart, sat upon a stack of baggage and was dreadfully concerned about something he calls his "Tookie," but I am unable to tell you what that is. The road, being so muddy, was full of ruts and the stage acted as if it had the hiccoughs and made us all talk as though we were affected in the same way. Once Mr. Stewart asked me if I did not think it a "gey duir trip." I told him he could call it gay if he wanted to, but it didn't seem very hilarious to me. Every time the stage struck a rock or a rut Mr. Stewart would "hoot," until I began to wish we would come to a hollow tree or a hole in the ground so he could go in with the rest of the owls.