Sea Of Stone Michael Ridpath Pdf & Flip

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Sea Of Stone Michael Ridpath book is truly amazing to Read. So, we have indeed prepared this book for you to Download for free in FLIP or PDF version. So, you don’t need ANY Software to open up a FLIP file because your system alone is capable of doing so. Therefore this FLIP version of the book runs on any Computer/Laptop hassle free!

Therefore we highly recommend downloading FLIP version of the Sea Of Stone Michael Ridpath’s book.

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Michael Ridpath Sea Of Stone

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Sea-Of-Stone-By-Michael-Ridpath

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Below is the brief introduction of the book, don’t forget to read it.

Brief Introduction To Sea Of Stone Michael Ridpath Book

 

 October 1988
BLESS.
Much later, when Óli was an American with an American name, that was the one Icelandic word that he would remember. Bless.
Goodbye.
Bless, Mamma.

He followed his mother out of the church by his grandparents’ farm, trying desperately not to cry. Óli was ten and he was terrified. On one side of the tiny churchyard, right next to the turf wall that enclosed it, lurked an open hole.

Óli had watched the men digging it two days before, struggling with the stone and the frost-hardened earth. The pallbearers carried his mother towards the hole.

The church was far too small to hold everyone who had come, but the priest’s booming voice had easily carried out to the gathering of the sad, the respectful and the curious who stood outside. The priest had a big beard, a big ruff around his neck, a big belly and a big rich voice of authority.

He told everyone what a wonderful, beautiful and good person Óli’s mamma was. Óli knew all that to be true. But he was glad the priest didn’t mention the shouting, the falling, the slurring, the throwing up.

The crowd formed around the hole in the ground, Óli right at the front. He wanted to cry; he wanted so desperately to cry. He also wanted to pee; why hadn’t he gone to the toilet before? How had he been so stupid? He had wet his sheets for the previous two nights, as he knew he would.

There is more to it…

He couldn’t pee his pants at his own mother’s funeral, could he?
He reached for his big brother’s hand.

Óli was too old to hold hands, but he didn’t care and, if he did it stealthily, Afi wouldn’t notice. Magnús gripped his brother’s fingers in his own. Óli looked up at him.

Magnús was two years older and fifteen centimetres taller than Óli. He was standing straight, chin out, mouth firm, eyes dry.

Afi had told them not to cry and snivel. And Óli always, always, did what Afi said. Magnús disobeyed him sometimes and got beaten for it. Óli seemed to get beaten anyway.

The pallbearers, including Óli’s three uncles, were lining up his mother above the hole. A puffy black cloud rolled away from the sun, which shot pale beams onto the damp grass. “

 

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