Another Green World: A Novel by Richard Grant

By Richard Grant

In 1929, at a formative years summit within the Weimar Republic, a bunch of younger american citizens meet on a distant mountaintop. Their moving alliances, rivalries and sexual intrigues foreshadow the turmoil and violence that may quickly engulf Europe.

Fifteen years later, those women and men are unexpectedly reunited as one in all them discovers an incendiary record from Heinrich Himmler, supplying evidence of Hitler's ultimate answer. A trip from the confusions of juvenile into the chaos of struggle, Another eco-friendly global reaches from the final shimmering summer season ahead of the nice melancholy into the darkest precincts of the 20th century.

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But although I never drank vodka when I was living with her I was sort of drunk every day. My boy, so far as we revolutionaries are concerned women are pure opium for the people. I'd have that written into the Party constitution in capi­ tal letters, and I'd have every Party member, every true Com­ munist and sympathizer read that great saying every night be­ fore going to bed and every morning three times on an empty stomach. And then you'd never have any devils getting into the mess our Comrade Davidov is in now.

He had much t o think about! Even before their quarrel on the steppe she had come to his room more than once as dusk was £a11ing, had sat in the room for a little while, and then said in a loud voice: "See me home, Sie­ mion. It's getting dark, and I'm afraid to go alone. It's terrible how nervous I am. " He pulled a fearful face and glanced at the board dividing the room. On the other side the housekeeper, an old and pious woman, sniffed indignantly, like a cat, and rattled the dishes nois­ ily as she prepared her husband's and Davidov's supper.

It swelled and broadened until it filled half the sky; its dark underwings whitened ominously, and then it dropped till its lower fringes, as translucent as muslin, clung to the ricks standing in the steppe, to the burial mounds, to the windmills; thunder rolled somewhere very high, and good­ naturedly, quietly; and a copious rain began to fall. The rain fell plentifully, as warm as fresh milk, on the earth waiting in the misty stillness. The drops danced in white bubbles on the foaming puddles, and so gentle and peaceable was the summer shower that it did not bow the heads of the flowers.

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