Download A Dirty Job: A Novel by Christopher Moore PDF
By Christopher Moore
Charlie Asher is a good looking basic man with an ordinary existence, married to a shiny and lovely girl who truly loves him for his normalcy. They're even approximately to have their first baby. convinced, Charlie's doing okay—until humans begin shedding lifeless round him, and far and wide he is going a dismal presence whispers to him from less than the streets. Charlie Asher, it kind of feels, has been recruited for a brand new place: as demise.
It's a filthy activity. yet, howdy! Somebody's gotta do it.
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Additional info for A Dirty Job: A Novel
The devil alone can tell. Nowadays anyone who rejects the bank’s valuation would have to solve complicated moral puzzles on his own several times a day. But these problems never seemed SPECIAL FISH 25 to baffle my grandfather nor cause him any anxiety; difficulties which in most people’s eyes would have led to endless complications were disposed of by my grandfather almost without thinking, with the easy assurance of a sleepwalker who strolls along a ledge halfway down a hundred-foot precipice—yes, I am tempted to say with the same disregard for the laws of nature as a ghost passing through locked doors.
But before I tell this story, I want above all to warn people against thinking that they are about to hear something epic or spectacular. The man laid his sack down on the paving at the cottage and seated himself upon it, wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. ” said my grandfather. “That was a wicked thing to do. ” “Yes, and I’ve scarcely slept a wink all night because of my conscience,” said the thief. “I didn’t even have any appetite for my coffee this morning. ” “Quite so,” said Björn of Brekkukot.
But Thór∂ur was now tired of giving small presents, and refused even to contemplate leaving any gift smaller than a Bible on his departure. ” “I don’t know how genuine your Bibles may be, my lad,” said Björn of Brekkukot. ” said my grandfather. “London,” said the Baptist. ” asked my grandfather. “It is the capital of the British Empire,” said the Baptist. “Well, that may be so,” said my grandfather. “I know nothing about that. The proper Bible here in Iceland was translated and print/ ed by the late Right Reverend Gu∂brandur at Hólar in the north.