Reproduction of the original. The publishing house Megali specialises in reproducing historical works in large print to make reading easier for people with impaired vision.

Reproduction of the original.

The biting cold and the aching silence of the far North become an unforgettable backdrop for Jack London's vivid, rousing, superbly realistic wilderness adventure stories featuring the author's unique knowledge of the Yukon and the behavior of humans and animals facing nature at its cruelest.

The Blue Lattice Network is a collection of short stories that all reside in the Bluebird Territory. A man-made nation that divides people by talents and personalities.

Rather than a full-length novel, The Spy Who Died Twice and Other Stories is a series of short stories with my protagonist, Kiefer Fagan. It takes him on assignments to several locations, each far-flung from the others.

In a land of wind and willows, two canoeists encounter some other-worldly wind turbines. From The Sentinels: Dunn: He said that he was taking the way of the wind and the sky, and that he was going in—to Them—by which I presume he meant going into the tower and scaling the ladder. And he said other things: That our thoughts made patterns in their world—left ‘prints,’ as it were—as did theirs in ours; and that that was how they’d found us, by listening to our thoughts, zeroing in on our patterns. And he said that Bobby was merely a bundle of sensory organs wrapped in a skin of decaying matter and so wasn’t important, wasn’t needed. That only they mattered—they, the beings attached to and inhabiting the turbines. And that … that … Detective Shaw: What, Mrs. Dunn? Say it. Dunn: But … don’t you see? It doesn’t matter what he said, because it wasn’t him speaking, not really. Bobby would never have described a human being as just a bundle of sensory organs; he truly believed, with every fiber of his being, that we were more than that—more than just the sum of our parts—it was what inspired him to become a doctor in the first place. And knowing what I knew, knowing what kind of man he was, I pressed him, telling him that Bobby did matter—that he mattered to his patients and that he mattered to me—more than I would ever be able to describe. And then I approached him and embraced him and told him I loved him—feeling, for the briefest of moments, the spirals beginning to close on his back—and he smiled, his eyes returning to normal, after which he said, or started to say, “I love …” (room tone) Detective Shaw: (inaudible) He—he told you he loved you? Dunn: No. He … his eyes rolled back … and then his face, it … it simply imploded. In a spiral. Like someone had flushed a toilet full of blood and brains.

The original story upon which the film Shadows in the Garden is based ... and 7 other tales. A vignette of dream shimmers briefly in my mind. I remember I was crouched in a dark yard, this yard—staring at that same clothesline. I was cold, so cold, and frightened, and I didn't know why. It was far too dark to see anything clearly. I could tell only that there was something hung from the line. Approaching it, I saw how it swung back and forth in the night-wind heavily. It wasn't until I was close enough almost to touch it that I realized what it was. It was the pale woman's head …