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Un tros de paper Two Volumes by Various
Un tros de paper Two Volumes by Various
La Barcelona alegre, ociosa, la Barcelona movedissa, no la busquin sinó al Passeig de Gràcia, i ara més que mai d'en?à de l'ensanche, ?malviatge la paraula!
El passeig de Gràcia és més passeig que la Rambla, perquè és molt més ample; perquè té vistes més dilatades i amenes; perquè els edificis ara comencen a vorejar-lo. No recorden, com els de la Rambla, el càstig del treball i la codícia de la industria, sinó el grat descans, el benestar, la riquesa, el luxo.
Per allí s'esplaia el cor veient les temptatives artístiques de les fatxades, sisquera no sempre el bon gust hagi inspirat a l'arquitecte: els ulls no es troben mai tra?dorament ofesos per un carreró asquerós com el de detràs del Correu ni l'arc de Trentaclaus.
No es desvaneix el plaer de la contemplació amb les reflexions que inspiren vint perruquers que amb sos grans rètols, sos fanals il·luminats, sos aparadors, sos cartells i ses cues penjades, fan meditar en els afanys de lloguer, la contribució, els aliments i el vestit, i qui diu perruquers diu sastres, guanters, cafeters i tota aquella gent que viu del que guanya, treballant per for?a.
El passeig de Gràcia ens ofereix a la vista el mig cèrcol de muntanyes guardant un pla deliciós, ara cobert de blat verd i roselles, ara daurat pel brillant rostoll. En tot son àmbit no s'hi veu ningú que sembli estar-hi per for?a, sinó al contrari, per acte propi de voler, encaminat a proporcionar un goig.
Gent que va, gent que ve, gent que va i ve, ningú porta en son aspecte les senyals d'agitació for?osa que regna en la ciutat. El corredor va tan a poc a poc con l'hisendat; l'estudiant no es recorda dels llibres; el malalt se sent aliviat per lo sa de l'aire i el panorama que el rodeja.
?Que diguin el que vulguin, no hi ha com el passeig de Gràcia!
A l'hivern se va de tarda al passeig de Gràcia.
A l'estiu, dematí i vespre, es va al passeig de Gràcia.
Per anar al numerosos poblets dels voltants, s'aprofita, sempre que es pot, la proporció de passar pel passeig de Gràcia.
A tot foraster se li pregunta: -?Ja ha vist el passeig de Gràcia?
Le Tour du Monde; d'Alexandrette au coude de l'Euphrate by Various
It was a grand success. Every one said so; and moreover, every one who witnessed the experiment predicted that the Mermaid would revolutionize naval warfare as completely as did the world-famous Monitor. Professor Rivers, who had devoted the best years of his life to perfecting his wonderful invention, struggling bravely on through innumerable disappointments and failures, undaunted by the sneers of those who scoffed, or the significant pity of his friends, was so overcome by his signal triumph that he fled from the congratulations of those who sought to do him honour, leaving to his young assistants the responsibility of restoring the marvellous craft to her berth in the great ship-house that had witnessed her construction. These assistants were two lads, eighteen and nineteen years of age, who were not only the Professor's most promising pupils, but his firm friends and ardent admirers. The younger, Carlos West Moranza, was the only son of a Cuban sugar-planter, and an American mother who had died while he was still too young to remember her. From earliest childhood he had exhibited so great a taste for machinery that, when he was sixteen, his father had sent him to the United States to be educated as a mechanical engineer in one of the best technical schools of that country. There his dearest chum was his class-mate, Carl Baldwin, son of the famous American shipbuilder, John Baldwin, and heir to the latter's vast fortune. The elder Baldwin had founded the school in which his own son was now being educated, and placed at its head his life-long friend, Professor Alpheus Rivers, who, upon his patron's death, had also become Carl's sole guardian. In appearance and disposition young Baldwin was the exact opposite of Carlos Moranza, and it was this as well as the similarity of their names that had first attracted the lads to each other. While the young Cuban was a handsome fellow, slight of figure, with a clear olive complexion, impulsive and rash almost to recklessness, the other was a typical Anglo-Saxon American, big, fair, and blue-eyed, rugged in feature, and slow to act, but clinging with bulldog tenacity to any idea or plan that met with his favour. He invariably addressed his chum as "West," while the latter generally called him "Carol."
Young Folks Treasury, Volume 2 (of 12) by Various
Embracing a Flash-Light Sketch of the Holocaust, Detailed Narratives by Participants in the Horror, Heroic Work of Rescuers, Reports of the Building Experts as to the Responsibility for the Wholesale Slaughter of Women and Children, Memorable Fires of the Past, etc., etc.
Young Folks Treasury, Volume 3 (of 12) by Various
"Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress. With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap. Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell. On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered. When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling."
After three loveless years, Neil's betrayal deeply wounded Katelyn. She wasted no time in getting rid of that scoundrel! After the divorce, she devoted herself to career pursuits. Rising to prominence as a top designer, skilled doctor, and brilliant hacker, she became a revered icon. Neil, realizing his grave mistake, tried in vain to win her back, only to witness her magnificent wedding to another. As their vows were broadcast on the world's largest billboard, Vincent slid a ring onto Katelyn's finger and declared, "Katelyn is now my wife, a priceless treasure. Let all who covet her beware!"
"Cast out when the true heiress appeared, Eleanor was shoved back into her birth parents' cramped slum apartment and slapped with a bill for millions. Undaunted, she exposed her hidden identities and vowed to flip their fate. First, she gifted her swindled eldest brother a trillion-dollar conglomerate. Next, she wiped every smear on her canceled actor brother, shoving him to stardom. Then, she defended her youngest brother's design integrity. As wealth and fame piled up, the ""real"" heiress stormed back into her life, stirring chaos. But Eleanor effortlessly climbed to the top of the global wealth rankings. But how could she shake off that relentless, crazed mafia boss who was hot on her trail?!"
Janice, the long-forgotten legitimate heiress, made her way back to her family, pouring her heart into winning their hearts. Yet, she had to relinquish her very identity, her academic credentials, and her creative works to her foster sister. In return for her sacrifices, she found no warmth, only deeper neglect. Resolute, Janice vowed to cut off all emotional bonds. Transformed, she now stood as a master of martial arts, adept in eight languages, an esteemed medical expert, and a celebrated designer. With newfound resolve, she declared, "From this day forward, no one in this family shall cross me."
After five years of playing the perfect daughter, Rylie was exposed as a stand-in. Her fiancé bolted, friends scattered, and her adoptive brothers shoved her out, telling her to grovel back to her real family. Done with humiliation, she swore to claw back what was hers. Shock followed: her birth family ruled the town's wealth. Overnight, she became their precious girl. The boardroom brother canceled meetings, the genius brother ditched his lab, the musician brother postponed a tour. As those who spurned her begged forgiveness, Admiral Brad Morgan calmly declared, "She's already taken."
I went to the bank to set up a surprise trust fund for my twins' sixth birthday. For six years, I’d been the loving wife of tech mogul Gavyn Dunlap, and I believed my life was a perfect dream. But my application was rejected. The manager informed me that according to the official birth certificates, I wasn't their legal mother. Their mother was Iliana Dudley—my husband’s first love. I raced to his office, only to overhear the devastating truth from behind his door. My entire marriage was a sham. I was chosen because I resembled Iliana, hired as a surrogate to carry her biological children. For six years, I had been nothing more than a free nanny and a "comfortable placeholder" until she decided to return. That night, my children saw my heartbroken state and their faces twisted in disgust. "You look awful," my daughter sneered, before giving me a shove. I tumbled down the stairs, my head cracking against the post. As I lay there bleeding, they simply laughed. My husband walked in with Iliana, glanced at me on the floor, and then promised to take the kids for ice cream with their "real mom." "I wish Iliana was our real mom," my daughter said loudly as they left. Lying alone in a pool of my own blood, I finally understood. The six years of love I had poured into this family meant nothing to them. Fine. Their wish was granted.
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