The North and South Trilogy: North and South, Love and War, and Heaven and Hell
This “entertaining [and] authentic dramatization” (The New York Times) is a thrilling tale of shifting loyalties, set during one of the darkest moments in American history.
Then dropped it on him.” “Fucking liar,” Brovnic screamed, writhing to get free of his captors. He would have if George hadn’t stormed up to him and jabbed a finger into his filthy shirt. “You’ve done nothing but cause trouble since the day I hired you, Brovnic. Collect your wages and get off this property. Now.” George’s heart was beating fast. Brovnic squinted down at him. “You better not do this—” George had to tilt his head back to return the other man’s stare. “I said leave right now.”.
The chase when the water rose to his thighs. How marvelous, he thought with a chuckle. The Almighty pricks your pretensions by blowing your hat away. Or was it a kind of warning? A warning that in the almost certain apocalypse, survival would be first and foremost a matter of small things? Practical things: Food. Shelter. A hat for the storm. He sloshed back to shore and hurried to the office, caught by an inspiration: since no respectable naval architect could be lured to Charleston in these.
The country, their only future meeting place might be a battlefield. With each of them on a different side. Damnation, don’t think that way and spoil everything. It’s been a rough enough day already. He managed the old reckless smile, lifted his hand, and stood waving as the train chugged off. Some passengers had come out to the platform of the last coach. As the coach went by, Charles heard an obscenity. Something flew past his face. He looked down to find a gob of spittle on the front of his.
Up and going away made her wake up to how much she cares for me. She says here that she’d entertain a marriage proposal.” “Congratulations, Gervais.” Impatient, Charles missed the point of the trooper’s imploring look. “I don’t believe you’d be permitted a furlough anytime soon, but that shouldn’t stop you from asking for her hand.” “Yes, sir, I want to do that.” “You don’t need my consent.” “I need your help, sir. Miss Sally Mills writes real well, but—” his face turned red as the new.
Possibility of rotten duty when he took the commission. There was nothing to be done except carry out orders. The longer he stayed at the crowded bar, the more depressed he became. He overheard conversations full of gloom and invective. Davis was a “damned dictator,” Judah Benjamin a “pet of the tyrant,” the war “fool’s business.” No doubt many of these same men had cheered the news of the bombardment of Sumter, Orry thought as he left. A more positive air pervaded the Saturday-night dinner.