By Charlotte Wood
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The way forward for Xanth is in frightful peril. a robust magical poultry named Ragna Roc has launched into a crusade to turn into absolute ruler of that mystical realm. those that swear loyalty to him are spared. the remaining have easily disappeared. So strong are Ragna’s sorceries that even the nice Magician Humfrey dares now not confront him without delay.
The Ghost within the bone-white masks who haunts the Ankh-Morpork Opera condo used to be consistently thought of a benign presence -- a few may even say fortunate -- till he all started killing humans. The unexpected rash of surprising behind the scenes deaths now threatens to mar the operatic debut of state woman Perdita X. (nee Agnes) Nitt, she of the plentiful physique and ampler voice.
From Benjamin Bunny to Peter Cottontail, the Velveteen Rabbit to the Flopsy Bunnies, the Rabbit of Caerbannog to insects Bunny and Roger Rabbit, the winsome long-eared animal is an enduring fixture of our childhoods. we all know rabbits for his or her position in our tales, myths, and legends, and in addition for the way they helped us discover ways to tie our sneakers.
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Extra info for Brothers and Sisters
I spend a lot of time peering at their big soft eyes and kind smiles, noticing the way they seem to be looking at men like they love them. I never even look at my brothers, or my father, without turning my head away, just as they, too, avoid looking at me. One day I put my wall mirror on the floor and try to smile just like the girls with my legs open wide, but my forehead looks stern and my tummy thick and white—also I have a birthmark on my thigh that looks like dirt. ‘Don’t worry. Everything will grow.
Weary of manners and adult directions, first one boy then another broke away from the game and began running up the hill and rolling down again. Soon all of them were rolling and shrieking and somersaulting down the slope. Late-afternoon shadows were stretching across the park but the day’s clamminess seemed to have increased. In the heat, with the river so close, this fierce prickly game looked like madness. Over and over, hysterical, they rolled and climbed. Behind the main clump of boys, Anthony, less quick and agile, dizzy and red-faced, grass sticking to his shirt, picked himself up and staggered up the incline once more.
Looking down I see my smart school tunic rising to the surface, the wide green pleats swaying like leaves, brushed cotton ballooning on my arms, long white socks still standing stiff to attention. And now, surrounded by defeat and wetness, I sob for my loss of dignity. Quietly, like a final word on the matter, one of the boys looks down on me. His lips fat with contempt, he says, ‘Who will marry that? ’ Of everything that has been said and done in the last five to ten minutes, this is what makes my breath stop, for I realise he doesn’t see a little girl dumped in a tub of water, but rather the beginnings of a madwoman.
Brothers and Sisters by Charlotte Wood