SEARCH RESULTS
Here's what we've got on "the boy." If a book is not in the Book Glutton catalog yet, you can request it.
BOOKS & AUTHORS
7 Results
Philip never had headaches. It was a trait from a scrupulous father whose sole obsession was penalizing his only son for a limped wrist; whose homophobic tendencies due to Baptist beliefs had driven Philip to become the loser that he is now: a gay Physics teacher in his mid-40s with no sexual exploits whatsoever, whose existence became the example of a perfectly wasted life space.
TAGS:
GSTEPHENSJ read this last
"He just lies here tossing and moaning until he's so weak that he sinks into a kind of coma," said the boy's father huskily. "There doesn't seem anything particular the matter with him now but weakness.
No has read this book yet
A small boy who wanted to make a good impression once took his little sweetheart to an ice cream parlor. After he had vainly searched the list of edibles for something within his means, he whispered to the waiter, "Say, Mister, what you got that looks tony an' tastes nice for nineteen cents?"
This is precisely the predicament in which many thousand people are today. Like the boy, they have skinny purses, voracious appetites and mighty yearnings to make the best possible impression within their means.
TAGS:
TRVLBUGGY read this last
Take Lemmons, rub them upon a Grate, to make their rinds smooth, cut them in halves, take out the meat of them, and boyle them in faire water a good while, changing the water once or twice in the boyling, to take away the bitternesse of them, when they are tender take them out and scrape away all the meat (if any be left) very cleane, then cut them as thin as you can (to make them hold) in a long string, or in reasonable short pieces, and lay them in your glasse, and boyling some of the best White-wine vineger with shugar, to a reasonable thin Syrupe, powre it upon them into your glasse, and keep them for your use.
TDAWG read this last
I dipped through the filmy curtain into the boys' half of the dressing room and there was Sid sitting at the star's dressing table in his threadbare yellowed undershirt, the lucky one, not making up yet but staring sternly at himself in the bulb-framed mirror and experimentally working his features a little, as actors will, and kneading the stubble on his fat chin.
CHIRP read this last









