Von dem Buch The Depth To Delve. Deep haben wir 3 gleiche oder sehr ähnliche Ausgaben identifiziert!
Falls Sie nur an einem bestimmten Exempar interessiert sind, können Sie aus der folgenden Liste jenes wählen, an dem Sie interessiert sind:
100%: Rote Writer: The Depth To Delve. Deep (ISBN: 9781122912730) 2017, in Englisch, auch als eBook.Nur diese Ausgabe anzeigen…
100%: Rote Writer: The Depth To Delve. Deep Paperback | Indigo Chapters (ISBN: 9780973418408) Rote Writer, Nanaimo, BC, Canada, in Englisch.Nur diese Ausgabe anzeigen…
65%: Rote Writer: The Depth To Delve. Deep als von (ISBN: 9780995241602) Rote Writer Publishing, in Englisch, Broschiert.Nur diese Ausgabe anzeigen…
The Depth To Delve. Deep - 13 Angebote vergleichen
Bester Preis: € 5,36 (vom 08.10.2017)1
The Depth To Delve. Deep (2017)
EN NW EB DLISBN: 9781122912730 bzw. 1122912730, in Englisch, Rote Writer Publishing, Rote Writer Publishing, Rote Writer Publishing, neu, E-Book, elektronischer Download.
Lieferung aus: Vereinigte Staaten von Amerika, in-stock.
He slips through the hedgerow and in no time is seen sitting on the bench surprised by it all. In the shadow of Old Sarum he sits. Salisbury is in sight. It slopes slowly from the old to the new. Now hungry and not too sure what to do about the rue he concludes…'I can live with the hunger for a bit… but the thirst I can't.'He finds a thrown water bottle and heads into town down a road sloping into Salisbury. Just short of the town, he passes by a park and spots a fountain. He doesn't think he just drinks, with thirsty urgency. He rinses then fills up his bottle. Rote returns to his hideaway without even venturing into the town proper. He's pickled by the predicament. He's embarrassed. His pride is really riding him. He's unable to make eye contact with people passing by. Back at the bench he crawls back into the bushes when no one's looking. He pulls out his orange plastic bag and his basically brand new sleeping bag that after last night looks old. It's not even midday yet. He doesn't want anyone to see him. He has no money. He has no food. He has water. He has a briar bush for a home. It's wet and always leaking. It's infested with all sorts of crawling things. And there's garbage strewn here and there. Some of it is blown in and then torn by dogs. He's fraught with the facts-he's fucked. That afternoon and night he stays burrowed in his bane going insane, wrestling with his dilemma. He's haunted and daunted by his hunger. He tries to ignore his starving stomach. He tries to hide his pride. The following morning he awakes slobbered with saliva, washed with froth from another friendly face, truly a restoring grace. Those dogs delight him in their exuberance upon discovering a bushwhacked bum. Aye, a found friend, wagging him well with a non-judgmental manner. It means a whole lot. They in their way, help to raise Rote's spirits by letting him know it's okay and to keep his chin up. Upon packing his pack with his makeshift shack, he burrows them back away and begins his day.
He slips through the hedgerow and in no time is seen sitting on the bench surprised by it all. In the shadow of Old Sarum he sits. Salisbury is in sight. It slopes slowly from the old to the new. Now hungry and not too sure what to do about the rue he concludes…'I can live with the hunger for a bit… but the thirst I can't.'He finds a thrown water bottle and heads into town down a road sloping into Salisbury. Just short of the town, he passes by a park and spots a fountain. He doesn't think he just drinks, with thirsty urgency. He rinses then fills up his bottle. Rote returns to his hideaway without even venturing into the town proper. He's pickled by the predicament. He's embarrassed. His pride is really riding him. He's unable to make eye contact with people passing by. Back at the bench he crawls back into the bushes when no one's looking. He pulls out his orange plastic bag and his basically brand new sleeping bag that after last night looks old. It's not even midday yet. He doesn't want anyone to see him. He has no money. He has no food. He has water. He has a briar bush for a home. It's wet and always leaking. It's infested with all sorts of crawling things. And there's garbage strewn here and there. Some of it is blown in and then torn by dogs. He's fraught with the facts-he's fucked. That afternoon and night he stays burrowed in his bane going insane, wrestling with his dilemma. He's haunted and daunted by his hunger. He tries to ignore his starving stomach. He tries to hide his pride. The following morning he awakes slobbered with saliva, washed with froth from another friendly face, truly a restoring grace. Those dogs delight him in their exuberance upon discovering a bushwhacked bum. Aye, a found friend, wagging him well with a non-judgmental manner. It means a whole lot. They in their way, help to raise Rote's spirits by letting him know it's okay and to keep his chin up. Upon packing his pack with his makeshift shack, he burrows them back away and begins his day.
2
Symbolbild
The Depth to Delve- Deep (Hardback) (2017)
EN HC NWISBN: 9780973418408 bzw. 0973418400, in Englisch, Rote Writer, United States, gebundenes Buch, neu.
Lieferung aus: Vereinigtes Königreich Großbritannien und Nordirland, Versandkostenfrei.
Von Händler/Antiquariat, Book Depository hard to find [63688905], London, United Kingdom.
Language: English . This book usually ship within 10-15 business days and we will endeavor to dispatch orders quicker than this where possible. Brand New Book. He slips through the hedgerow and in no time is seen sitting on the bench surprised by it all. In the shadow of Old Sarum he sits. Salisbury is in sight. It slopes slowly from the old to the new. Now hungry and not too sure what to do about the rue he concludes. I can live with the hunger for a bit. but the thirst I can t. He finds a thrown water bottle and heads into town down a road sloping into Salisbury. Just short of the town, he passes by a park and spots a fountain. He doesn t think he just drinks, with thirsty urgency. He rinses then fills up his bottle. Rote returns to his hideaway without even venturing into the town proper. He s pickled by the predicament. He s embarrassed. His pride is really riding him. He s unable to make eye contact with people passing by. Back at the bench he crawls back into the bushes when no one s looking. He pulls out his orange plastic bag and his basically brand new sleeping bag that after last night looks old. It s not even midday yet. He doesn t want anyone to see him. He has no money. He has no food. He has water. He has a briar bush for a home. It s wet and always leaking. It s infested with all sorts of crawling things. And there s garbage strewn here and there. Some of it is blown in and then torn by dogs. He s fraught with the facts--he s fucked. That afternoon and night he stays burrowed in his bane going insane, wrestling with his dilemma. He s haunted and daunted by his hunger. He tries to ignore his starving stomach. He tries to hide his pride. The following morning he awakes slobbered with saliva, washed with froth from another friendly face, truly a restoring grace. Those dogs delight him in their exuberance upon discovering a bushwhacked bum. Aye, a found friend, wagging him well with a non-judgmental manner. It means a whole lot. They in their way, help to raise Rote s spirits by letting him know it s okay and to keep his chin up. Upon packing his pack with his makeshift shack, he burrows them back away and begins his day. Out from behind his bespoken bench he crosses the park. Onto the road he strolls, stirring up a sense of purpose to feed his belly and starve his pride. His pride is like a life preserver; it will buoy him back on track. He passes through the subterranean pedestrian passage under the roundabout of traffic alongside the Avon River. He continues along the road now into Salisbury proper. Only to be stopped by his propped pride, a pill still too ill to swallow. He returns to wallow. Back in his burrow with a deep furrow, he struggles with it all. Oh his pride. And as the day turns into night he struggles some more. Unable to sleep, racked with rancour for the heel he has to hallow. As the sun rises so his spirits, and by the lavish licking, he surrenders too. It brings a smile to his face. Hunger soon supersedes all qualms with his pride. He proceeds to Salisbury proper. He s struggled enough and to no end, with the thought and the need thereof of begging. And boy is it a proud pill to swallow. It s in his best interest. At that point, he doesn t see any other way of collecting coins to curb his hunger pangs and his tobacco withdrawals. great motivating factors for sure. He s desperate. He s defiantly delayed any render to surrender that in turn will chide his pride. He tries to fend the facts, but faced with them there really is no other possible play. He s forced to say, Excuse me. but can you spare some change. A truly inspired story steeped in history that starts with Rote sending his manuscript overseas to London England.
Von Händler/Antiquariat, Book Depository hard to find [63688905], London, United Kingdom.
Language: English . This book usually ship within 10-15 business days and we will endeavor to dispatch orders quicker than this where possible. Brand New Book. He slips through the hedgerow and in no time is seen sitting on the bench surprised by it all. In the shadow of Old Sarum he sits. Salisbury is in sight. It slopes slowly from the old to the new. Now hungry and not too sure what to do about the rue he concludes. I can live with the hunger for a bit. but the thirst I can t. He finds a thrown water bottle and heads into town down a road sloping into Salisbury. Just short of the town, he passes by a park and spots a fountain. He doesn t think he just drinks, with thirsty urgency. He rinses then fills up his bottle. Rote returns to his hideaway without even venturing into the town proper. He s pickled by the predicament. He s embarrassed. His pride is really riding him. He s unable to make eye contact with people passing by. Back at the bench he crawls back into the bushes when no one s looking. He pulls out his orange plastic bag and his basically brand new sleeping bag that after last night looks old. It s not even midday yet. He doesn t want anyone to see him. He has no money. He has no food. He has water. He has a briar bush for a home. It s wet and always leaking. It s infested with all sorts of crawling things. And there s garbage strewn here and there. Some of it is blown in and then torn by dogs. He s fraught with the facts--he s fucked. That afternoon and night he stays burrowed in his bane going insane, wrestling with his dilemma. He s haunted and daunted by his hunger. He tries to ignore his starving stomach. He tries to hide his pride. The following morning he awakes slobbered with saliva, washed with froth from another friendly face, truly a restoring grace. Those dogs delight him in their exuberance upon discovering a bushwhacked bum. Aye, a found friend, wagging him well with a non-judgmental manner. It means a whole lot. They in their way, help to raise Rote s spirits by letting him know it s okay and to keep his chin up. Upon packing his pack with his makeshift shack, he burrows them back away and begins his day. Out from behind his bespoken bench he crosses the park. Onto the road he strolls, stirring up a sense of purpose to feed his belly and starve his pride. His pride is like a life preserver; it will buoy him back on track. He passes through the subterranean pedestrian passage under the roundabout of traffic alongside the Avon River. He continues along the road now into Salisbury proper. Only to be stopped by his propped pride, a pill still too ill to swallow. He returns to wallow. Back in his burrow with a deep furrow, he struggles with it all. Oh his pride. And as the day turns into night he struggles some more. Unable to sleep, racked with rancour for the heel he has to hallow. As the sun rises so his spirits, and by the lavish licking, he surrenders too. It brings a smile to his face. Hunger soon supersedes all qualms with his pride. He proceeds to Salisbury proper. He s struggled enough and to no end, with the thought and the need thereof of begging. And boy is it a proud pill to swallow. It s in his best interest. At that point, he doesn t see any other way of collecting coins to curb his hunger pangs and his tobacco withdrawals. great motivating factors for sure. He s desperate. He s defiantly delayed any render to surrender that in turn will chide his pride. He tries to fend the facts, but faced with them there really is no other possible play. He s forced to say, Excuse me. but can you spare some change. A truly inspired story steeped in history that starts with Rote sending his manuscript overseas to London England.
3
The Depth To Delve. Deep Paperback | Indigo Chapters
~EN PB NWISBN: 9780973418408 bzw. 0973418400, vermutlich in Englisch, Taschenbuch, neu.
Lieferung aus: Kanada, Lagernd, zzgl. Versandkosten.
He slips through the hedgerow and in no time is seen sitting on the bench surprised by it all. In the shadow of Old Sarum he sits. Salisbury is in sight. It slopes slowly from the old to the new. Now hungry and not too sure what to do about the rue he concludes...'I can live with the hunger for a bit... but the thirst I can't.'He finds a thrown water bottle and heads into town down a road sloping into Salisbury. Just short of the town, he passes by a park and spots a fountain. He doesn't think he just drinks, with thirsty urgency. He rinses then fills up his bottle. Rote returns to his hideaway without even venturing into the town proper. He's pickled by the predicament. He's embarrassed. His pride is really riding him. He's unable to make eye contact with people passing by. Back at the bench he crawls back into the bushes when no one's looking. He pulls out his orange plastic bag and his basically brand new sleeping bag that after last night looks old. It's not even midday yet. He doesn't want anyone to see him. He has no money. He has no food. He has water. He has a briar bush for a home. It's wet and always leaking. It's infested with all sorts of crawling things. And there's garbage strewn here and there. Some of it is blown in and then torn by dogs. He's fraught with the facts-he's fucked. That afternoon and night he stays burrowed in his bane going insane, wrestling with his dilemma. He's haunted and daunted by his hunger. He tries to ignore his starving stomach. He tries to hide his pride. The following morning he awakes slobbered with saliva, washed with froth from another friendly face, truly a restoring grace. Those dogs delight him in their exuberance upon discovering a bushwhacked bum. Aye, a found friend, wagging him well with a non-judgmental manner. It means a whole lot. They in their way, help to raise Rote's spirits by letting him know it's okay and to keep his chin up. Upon packing his pack with his makeshift shack, he burrows them back away and begins his day. Out from behind his bespoken bench he crosses the park. Onto the road he strolls, stirring up a sense of purpose to feed his belly and starve his pride. His pride is like a life preserver; it will buoy him back on track. He passes through the subterranean pedestrian passage under the roundabout of traffic alongside the Avon River. He continues along the road now into Salisbury proper. Only to be stopped by his propped pride, a pill still too ill to swallow. He returns to wallow. Back in his burrow with a deep furrow, he struggles with it all. Oh his pride. And as the day turns into night he struggles some more. Unable to sleep, racked with rancour for the heel he has to hallow. As the sun rises so his spirits, and by the lavish licking, he surrenders too. It brings a smile to his face. Hunger soon supersedes all qualms with his pride. He proceeds to Salisbury proper. He's struggled enough and to no end, with the thought and the need thereof of begging. And boy is it a proud pill to swallow. It's in his best interest. At that point, he doesn't see any other way of collecting coins to curb his hunger pangs and his tobacco withdrawals... great motivating factors for sure. He's desperate. He's defiantly delayed any render to surrender that in turn will chide his pride. He tries to fend the facts, but faced with them there really is no other possible play. He's forced to say, "Excuse me... but can you spare some change."A truly inspired story steeped in history that starts with Rote sending his manuscript overseas to London England. | The Depth To Delve... Deep Paperback | Indigo Chapters.
He slips through the hedgerow and in no time is seen sitting on the bench surprised by it all. In the shadow of Old Sarum he sits. Salisbury is in sight. It slopes slowly from the old to the new. Now hungry and not too sure what to do about the rue he concludes...'I can live with the hunger for a bit... but the thirst I can't.'He finds a thrown water bottle and heads into town down a road sloping into Salisbury. Just short of the town, he passes by a park and spots a fountain. He doesn't think he just drinks, with thirsty urgency. He rinses then fills up his bottle. Rote returns to his hideaway without even venturing into the town proper. He's pickled by the predicament. He's embarrassed. His pride is really riding him. He's unable to make eye contact with people passing by. Back at the bench he crawls back into the bushes when no one's looking. He pulls out his orange plastic bag and his basically brand new sleeping bag that after last night looks old. It's not even midday yet. He doesn't want anyone to see him. He has no money. He has no food. He has water. He has a briar bush for a home. It's wet and always leaking. It's infested with all sorts of crawling things. And there's garbage strewn here and there. Some of it is blown in and then torn by dogs. He's fraught with the facts-he's fucked. That afternoon and night he stays burrowed in his bane going insane, wrestling with his dilemma. He's haunted and daunted by his hunger. He tries to ignore his starving stomach. He tries to hide his pride. The following morning he awakes slobbered with saliva, washed with froth from another friendly face, truly a restoring grace. Those dogs delight him in their exuberance upon discovering a bushwhacked bum. Aye, a found friend, wagging him well with a non-judgmental manner. It means a whole lot. They in their way, help to raise Rote's spirits by letting him know it's okay and to keep his chin up. Upon packing his pack with his makeshift shack, he burrows them back away and begins his day. Out from behind his bespoken bench he crosses the park. Onto the road he strolls, stirring up a sense of purpose to feed his belly and starve his pride. His pride is like a life preserver; it will buoy him back on track. He passes through the subterranean pedestrian passage under the roundabout of traffic alongside the Avon River. He continues along the road now into Salisbury proper. Only to be stopped by his propped pride, a pill still too ill to swallow. He returns to wallow. Back in his burrow with a deep furrow, he struggles with it all. Oh his pride. And as the day turns into night he struggles some more. Unable to sleep, racked with rancour for the heel he has to hallow. As the sun rises so his spirits, and by the lavish licking, he surrenders too. It brings a smile to his face. Hunger soon supersedes all qualms with his pride. He proceeds to Salisbury proper. He's struggled enough and to no end, with the thought and the need thereof of begging. And boy is it a proud pill to swallow. It's in his best interest. At that point, he doesn't see any other way of collecting coins to curb his hunger pangs and his tobacco withdrawals... great motivating factors for sure. He's desperate. He's defiantly delayed any render to surrender that in turn will chide his pride. He tries to fend the facts, but faced with them there really is no other possible play. He's forced to say, "Excuse me... but can you spare some change."A truly inspired story steeped in history that starts with Rote sending his manuscript overseas to London England. | The Depth To Delve... Deep Paperback | Indigo Chapters.
4
The Depth To Delve. Deep
~EN NWISBN: 9780973418408 bzw. 0973418400, vermutlich in Englisch, neu.
Lieferung aus: Kanada, In Stock, plus shipping.
He slips through the hedgerow and in no time is seen sitting on the bench surprised by it all.In the shadow of Old Sarum he sits. Salisbury is in sight. It slopes slowly from the old to the new. Now hungry and not too sure what to do about the rue he concludes…‘I can live with the hunger for a bit… but the thirst I can’t.’He finds a thrown water bottle and heads into town down a road sloping into Salisbury. Just short of the town, he passes by a park and spots a fountain. He doesn’t think he just drinks, with thirsty urgency. He rinses then fills up his bottle.Rote returns to his hideaway without even venturing into the town proper. He’s pickled by the predicament. He’s embarrassed. His pride is really riding him. He’s unable to make eye contact with people passing by.Back at the bench he crawls back into the bushes when no one's looking. He pulls out his orange plastic bag and his basically brand new sleeping bag that after last night looks old.It’s not even midday yet.He doesn’t want anyone to see him. He has no money. He has no food. He has water. He has a briar bush for a home. It’s wet and always leaking. It’s infested with all sorts of crawling things. And there’s garbage strewn here and there. Some of it is blown in and then torn by dogs.He’s fraught with the facts—he’s fucked.That afternoon and night he stays burrowed in his bane going insane, wrestling with his dilemma. He’s haunted and daunted by his hunger. He tries to ignore his starving stomach.He tries to hide his pride.The following morning he awakes slobbered with saliva, washed with froth from another friendly face, truly a restoring grace. Those dogs delight him in their exuberance upon discovering a bushwhacked bum. Aye, a found friend, wagging him well with a non-judgmental manner. It means a whole lot. They in their way, help to raise Rote’s spirits by letting him know it’s okay and to keep his chin up.Upon packing his pack with his makeshift shack, he burrows them back away and begins his day. Out from behind his bespoken bench he crosses the park. Onto the road he strolls, stirring up a sense of purpose to feed his belly and starve his pride. His pride is like a life preserver; it will buoy him back on track.He passes through the subterranean pedestrian passage under the roundabout of traffic alongside the Avon River. He continues along the road now into Salisbury proper. Only to be stopped by his propped pride, a pill still too ill to swallow. He returns to wallow.Back in his burrow with a deep furrow, he struggles with it all. Oh his pride. And as the day turns into night he struggles some more. Unable to sleep, racked with rancour for the heel he has to hallow.As the sun rises so his spirits, and by the lavish licking, he surrenders too. It brings a smile to his face.Hunger soon supersedes all qualms with his pride. He proceeds to Salisbury proper. He’s struggled enough and to no end, with the thought and the need thereof of begging. And boy is it a proud pill to swallow. It’s in his best interest. At that point, he doesn’t see any other way of collecting coins to curb his hunger pangs and his tobacco withdrawals... great motivating factors for sure.He’s desperate. He’s defiantly delayed any render to surrender that in turn will chide his pride. He tries to fend the facts, but faced with them there really is no other possible play.He’s forced to say,“Excuse me… but can you spare some change.”A truly inspired story steeped in history that starts with Rote sending his manuscript overseas to London England.
He slips through the hedgerow and in no time is seen sitting on the bench surprised by it all.In the shadow of Old Sarum he sits. Salisbury is in sight. It slopes slowly from the old to the new. Now hungry and not too sure what to do about the rue he concludes…‘I can live with the hunger for a bit… but the thirst I can’t.’He finds a thrown water bottle and heads into town down a road sloping into Salisbury. Just short of the town, he passes by a park and spots a fountain. He doesn’t think he just drinks, with thirsty urgency. He rinses then fills up his bottle.Rote returns to his hideaway without even venturing into the town proper. He’s pickled by the predicament. He’s embarrassed. His pride is really riding him. He’s unable to make eye contact with people passing by.Back at the bench he crawls back into the bushes when no one's looking. He pulls out his orange plastic bag and his basically brand new sleeping bag that after last night looks old.It’s not even midday yet.He doesn’t want anyone to see him. He has no money. He has no food. He has water. He has a briar bush for a home. It’s wet and always leaking. It’s infested with all sorts of crawling things. And there’s garbage strewn here and there. Some of it is blown in and then torn by dogs.He’s fraught with the facts—he’s fucked.That afternoon and night he stays burrowed in his bane going insane, wrestling with his dilemma. He’s haunted and daunted by his hunger. He tries to ignore his starving stomach.He tries to hide his pride.The following morning he awakes slobbered with saliva, washed with froth from another friendly face, truly a restoring grace. Those dogs delight him in their exuberance upon discovering a bushwhacked bum. Aye, a found friend, wagging him well with a non-judgmental manner. It means a whole lot. They in their way, help to raise Rote’s spirits by letting him know it’s okay and to keep his chin up.Upon packing his pack with his makeshift shack, he burrows them back away and begins his day. Out from behind his bespoken bench he crosses the park. Onto the road he strolls, stirring up a sense of purpose to feed his belly and starve his pride. His pride is like a life preserver; it will buoy him back on track.He passes through the subterranean pedestrian passage under the roundabout of traffic alongside the Avon River. He continues along the road now into Salisbury proper. Only to be stopped by his propped pride, a pill still too ill to swallow. He returns to wallow.Back in his burrow with a deep furrow, he struggles with it all. Oh his pride. And as the day turns into night he struggles some more. Unable to sleep, racked with rancour for the heel he has to hallow.As the sun rises so his spirits, and by the lavish licking, he surrenders too. It brings a smile to his face.Hunger soon supersedes all qualms with his pride. He proceeds to Salisbury proper. He’s struggled enough and to no end, with the thought and the need thereof of begging. And boy is it a proud pill to swallow. It’s in his best interest. At that point, he doesn’t see any other way of collecting coins to curb his hunger pangs and his tobacco withdrawals... great motivating factors for sure.He’s desperate. He’s defiantly delayed any render to surrender that in turn will chide his pride. He tries to fend the facts, but faced with them there really is no other possible play.He’s forced to say,“Excuse me… but can you spare some change.”A truly inspired story steeped in history that starts with Rote sending his manuscript overseas to London England.
5
Symbolbild
The Depth To Delve. Deep
EN PB NWISBN: 9780973418408 bzw. 0973418400, in Englisch, Rote Writer Publishing, Taschenbuch, neu.
Lieferung aus: Deutschland, Versandkostenfrei.
Von Händler/Antiquariat, buecher.de GmbH & Co. KG, [1].
He slips through the brush and in no time is seen sitting on the bench surprised by it all. In the shadow of Old Sarum he sits. Salisbury is in sight. It slopes slowly from the old to the new. Now hungry and not too sure what to do about the rue he concludes... 'I can live with the hunger for a bit... but the thirst I can't.' He finds a thrown water bottle and heads into town down a road sloping into Salisbury. Just short of the borough, he passes by a park and spots a fountain. He doesn't think he just drinks, with thirsty urgency. He rinses then fills up his bottle. Rote returns to his hideaway without even venturing into the town proper. He's pickled by the predicament. He's embarrassed. His pride is really riding him. He's unable to make eye contact with people passing by. Back at the bench he crawls back into the bush when no one is looking. He pulls out his orange plastic bag and his basically brand new sleeping bag that after last night looks old. It's not even midday yet. He doesn't want anyone to see him. He has no money. He has no food. He has water. He has a briar bush for a home. It's wet and always leaking. It's infested with all sorts of crawling things. And there's garbage strewn here and there. Some of it is blown in and then torn by dogs. He's fraught with the facts-he's fucked. That afternoon and night he stays burrowed in his bane going insane, wrestling with his dilemma. He's haunted and daunted by his hunger. He tries to ignore his starving stomach. He tries to hide his pride. The following morning he awakes slobbered with saliva, washed with froth from another friendly face, truly a restoring grace. Those dogs delight him in their exuberance upon discovering a bushwhacked bum. Aye, a found friend, wagging him well with a non-judgmental manner. It means a whole lot. They in their way, help to raise Rote's spirits by letting him know it's okay and to keep his chin up. Upon packing his pack with his makeshift shack, he burrows them back away and begins his day. Out from behind his bespoken bench he crosses the park. Onto the road he strolls, stirring up a sense of purpose to feed his belly and starve his pride. His pride is like a life preserver it will buoy him back on track. He passes through the subterranean pedestrian passage under the roundabout of traffic alongside the Avon River. He continues along the road now into Salisbury proper. Only to be stopped by his propped pride, a pill still too ill to swallow. He returns to wallow. Back in his burrow with a deep furrow, he struggles with it all. Oh his pride. And as the day turns into night he struggles some more. Unable to sleep, racked with rancour for the heel he has to hallow. As the sun rises so his spirits, and by the lavish licking, he surrenders too. It brings a smile to his face. Hunger soon supersedes all qualms with his pride. He proceeds to Salisbury proper. He's struggled enough and to no end, with the thought and the need thereof of begging. And boy is it a proud pill to swallow. It's in his best interest. At that point, he doesn't see any other way of collecting coins to curb his hunger pangs and his tobacco withdrawals... great motivating factors for sure. He's desperate. He's defiantly delayed any render to surrender that in turn will chide his pride. He tries to fend the facts, but faced with them there really is no other possible play. He's forced to say, "Excuse me... but can you spare some change." A truly inspired story steeped in history that starts with Rote Writer sending his manuscript overseas to London England. Versandfertig in 3-5 Tagen, Taschenbuch, Neuware, offene Rechnung (Vorkasse vorbehalten).
Von Händler/Antiquariat, buecher.de GmbH & Co. KG, [1].
He slips through the brush and in no time is seen sitting on the bench surprised by it all. In the shadow of Old Sarum he sits. Salisbury is in sight. It slopes slowly from the old to the new. Now hungry and not too sure what to do about the rue he concludes... 'I can live with the hunger for a bit... but the thirst I can't.' He finds a thrown water bottle and heads into town down a road sloping into Salisbury. Just short of the borough, he passes by a park and spots a fountain. He doesn't think he just drinks, with thirsty urgency. He rinses then fills up his bottle. Rote returns to his hideaway without even venturing into the town proper. He's pickled by the predicament. He's embarrassed. His pride is really riding him. He's unable to make eye contact with people passing by. Back at the bench he crawls back into the bush when no one is looking. He pulls out his orange plastic bag and his basically brand new sleeping bag that after last night looks old. It's not even midday yet. He doesn't want anyone to see him. He has no money. He has no food. He has water. He has a briar bush for a home. It's wet and always leaking. It's infested with all sorts of crawling things. And there's garbage strewn here and there. Some of it is blown in and then torn by dogs. He's fraught with the facts-he's fucked. That afternoon and night he stays burrowed in his bane going insane, wrestling with his dilemma. He's haunted and daunted by his hunger. He tries to ignore his starving stomach. He tries to hide his pride. The following morning he awakes slobbered with saliva, washed with froth from another friendly face, truly a restoring grace. Those dogs delight him in their exuberance upon discovering a bushwhacked bum. Aye, a found friend, wagging him well with a non-judgmental manner. It means a whole lot. They in their way, help to raise Rote's spirits by letting him know it's okay and to keep his chin up. Upon packing his pack with his makeshift shack, he burrows them back away and begins his day. Out from behind his bespoken bench he crosses the park. Onto the road he strolls, stirring up a sense of purpose to feed his belly and starve his pride. His pride is like a life preserver it will buoy him back on track. He passes through the subterranean pedestrian passage under the roundabout of traffic alongside the Avon River. He continues along the road now into Salisbury proper. Only to be stopped by his propped pride, a pill still too ill to swallow. He returns to wallow. Back in his burrow with a deep furrow, he struggles with it all. Oh his pride. And as the day turns into night he struggles some more. Unable to sleep, racked with rancour for the heel he has to hallow. As the sun rises so his spirits, and by the lavish licking, he surrenders too. It brings a smile to his face. Hunger soon supersedes all qualms with his pride. He proceeds to Salisbury proper. He's struggled enough and to no end, with the thought and the need thereof of begging. And boy is it a proud pill to swallow. It's in his best interest. At that point, he doesn't see any other way of collecting coins to curb his hunger pangs and his tobacco withdrawals... great motivating factors for sure. He's desperate. He's defiantly delayed any render to surrender that in turn will chide his pride. He tries to fend the facts, but faced with them there really is no other possible play. He's forced to say, "Excuse me... but can you spare some change." A truly inspired story steeped in history that starts with Rote Writer sending his manuscript overseas to London England. Versandfertig in 3-5 Tagen, Taschenbuch, Neuware, offene Rechnung (Vorkasse vorbehalten).
6
The Depth to Delve. Deep (2017)
EN PB NWISBN: 9780973418408 bzw. 0973418400, in Englisch, Rote Writer Publishing, Taschenbuch, neu.
Neu ab: $15.39 (6 Angebote)
Zu den weiteren 6 Angeboten bei Amazon.com
Lieferung aus: Vereinigte Staaten von Amerika, Usually ships in 1-2 business days.
Von Händler/Antiquariat, super_star_seller.
He slips through the hedgerow and in no time is seen sitting on the bench surprised by it all.In the shadow of Old Sarum he sits. Salisbury is in sight. It slopes slowly from the old to the new. Now hungry and not too sure what to do about the rue he concludes...'I can live with the hunger for a bit... but the thirst I can't.'He finds a thrown water bottle and heads into town down a road sloping into Salisbury. Just short of the town, he passes by a park and spots a fountain. He doesn't think he just drinks, with thirsty urgency. He rinses then fills up his bottle.Rote returns to his hideaway without even venturing into the town proper. He's pickled by the predicament. He's embarrassed. His pride is really riding him. He's unable to make eye contact with people passing by.Back at the bench he crawls back into the bushes when no one's looking. He pulls out his orange plastic bag and his basically brand new sleeping bag that after last night looks old.It's not even midday yet.He doesn't want anyone to see him. He has no money. He has no food. He has water. He has a briar bush for a home. It's wet and always leaking. It's infested with all sorts of crawling things. And there's garbage strewn here and there. Some of it is blown in and then torn by dogs.He's fraught with the facts--he's fucked.That afternoon and night he stays burrowed in his bane going insane, wrestling with his dilemma. He's haunted and daunted by his hunger. He tries to ignore his starving stomach.He tries to hide his pride.The following morning he awakes slobbered with saliva, washed with froth from another friendly face, truly a restoring grace. Those dogs delight him in their exuberance upon discovering a bushwhacked bum. Aye, a found friend, wagging him well with a non-judgmental manner. It means a whole lot. They in their way, help to raise Rote's spirits by letting him know it's okay and to keep his chin up.Upon packing his pack with his makeshift shack, he burrows them back away and begins his day. Out from behind his bespoken bench he crosses the park. Onto the road he strolls, stirring up a sense of purpose to feed his belly and starve his pride. His pride is like a life preserver; it will buoy him back on track.He passes through the subterranean pedestrian passage under the roundabout of traffic alongside the Avon River. He continues along the road now into Salisbury proper. Only to be stopped by his propped pride, a pill still too ill to swallow. He returns to wallow.Back in his burrow with a deep furrow, he struggles with it all. Oh his pride. And as the day turns into night he struggles some more. Unable to sleep, racked with rancour for the heel he has to hallow.As the sun rises so his spirits, and by the lavish licking, he surrenders too. It brings a smile to his face.Hunger soon supersedes all qualms with his pride. He proceeds to Salisbury proper. He's struggled enough and to no end, with the thought and the need thereof of begging. And boy is it a proud pill to swallow. It's in his best interest. At that point, he doesn't see any other way of collecting coins to curb his hunger pangs and his tobacco withdrawals... great motivating factors for sure.He's desperate. He's defiantly delayed any render to surrender that in turn will chide his pride. He tries to fend the facts, but faced with them there really is no other possible play.He's forced to say, "Excuse me... but can you spare some change."A truly inspired story steeped in history that starts with Rote sending his manuscript overseas to London England., Paperback, Label: Rote Writer Publishing, Rote Writer Publishing, Produktgruppe: Book, Publiziert: 2017-09-06, Studio: Rote Writer Publishing.
Von Händler/Antiquariat, super_star_seller.
He slips through the hedgerow and in no time is seen sitting on the bench surprised by it all.In the shadow of Old Sarum he sits. Salisbury is in sight. It slopes slowly from the old to the new. Now hungry and not too sure what to do about the rue he concludes...'I can live with the hunger for a bit... but the thirst I can't.'He finds a thrown water bottle and heads into town down a road sloping into Salisbury. Just short of the town, he passes by a park and spots a fountain. He doesn't think he just drinks, with thirsty urgency. He rinses then fills up his bottle.Rote returns to his hideaway without even venturing into the town proper. He's pickled by the predicament. He's embarrassed. His pride is really riding him. He's unable to make eye contact with people passing by.Back at the bench he crawls back into the bushes when no one's looking. He pulls out his orange plastic bag and his basically brand new sleeping bag that after last night looks old.It's not even midday yet.He doesn't want anyone to see him. He has no money. He has no food. He has water. He has a briar bush for a home. It's wet and always leaking. It's infested with all sorts of crawling things. And there's garbage strewn here and there. Some of it is blown in and then torn by dogs.He's fraught with the facts--he's fucked.That afternoon and night he stays burrowed in his bane going insane, wrestling with his dilemma. He's haunted and daunted by his hunger. He tries to ignore his starving stomach.He tries to hide his pride.The following morning he awakes slobbered with saliva, washed with froth from another friendly face, truly a restoring grace. Those dogs delight him in their exuberance upon discovering a bushwhacked bum. Aye, a found friend, wagging him well with a non-judgmental manner. It means a whole lot. They in their way, help to raise Rote's spirits by letting him know it's okay and to keep his chin up.Upon packing his pack with his makeshift shack, he burrows them back away and begins his day. Out from behind his bespoken bench he crosses the park. Onto the road he strolls, stirring up a sense of purpose to feed his belly and starve his pride. His pride is like a life preserver; it will buoy him back on track.He passes through the subterranean pedestrian passage under the roundabout of traffic alongside the Avon River. He continues along the road now into Salisbury proper. Only to be stopped by his propped pride, a pill still too ill to swallow. He returns to wallow.Back in his burrow with a deep furrow, he struggles with it all. Oh his pride. And as the day turns into night he struggles some more. Unable to sleep, racked with rancour for the heel he has to hallow.As the sun rises so his spirits, and by the lavish licking, he surrenders too. It brings a smile to his face.Hunger soon supersedes all qualms with his pride. He proceeds to Salisbury proper. He's struggled enough and to no end, with the thought and the need thereof of begging. And boy is it a proud pill to swallow. It's in his best interest. At that point, he doesn't see any other way of collecting coins to curb his hunger pangs and his tobacco withdrawals... great motivating factors for sure.He's desperate. He's defiantly delayed any render to surrender that in turn will chide his pride. He tries to fend the facts, but faced with them there really is no other possible play.He's forced to say, "Excuse me... but can you spare some change."A truly inspired story steeped in history that starts with Rote sending his manuscript overseas to London England., Paperback, Label: Rote Writer Publishing, Rote Writer Publishing, Produktgruppe: Book, Publiziert: 2017-09-06, Studio: Rote Writer Publishing.
7
The Depth to Delve- Deep (2008)
EN PB USISBN: 9780973418408 bzw. 0973418400, in Englisch, Rote Writer, Nanaimo, BC, Canada, Taschenbuch, gebraucht.
Von Händler/Antiquariat, Kugh Enterprises [114833], Whitehorse, YT, Canada.
New and protected in plastic; an international travel story based on actual events and a young author's romp through Europe; haphazard and homeless. A self printed and bound book on standard 20# paper with frequent ink smudging at page ends. It is a heavy book and subject to postage surcharge.
New and protected in plastic; an international travel story based on actual events and a young author's romp through Europe; haphazard and homeless. A self printed and bound book on standard 20# paper with frequent ink smudging at page ends. It is a heavy book and subject to postage surcharge.
10
Symbolbild
The Depth To Delve. Deep (2017)
EN PB NW RPISBN: 9780973418408 bzw. 0973418400, in Englisch, Rote Writer Publishing, Taschenbuch, neu, Nachdruck.
Von Händler/Antiquariat, Ria Christie Collections [59718070], Uxbridge, United Kingdom.
PRINT ON DEMAND Book; New; Publication Year 2017; Not Signed; Fast Shipping from the UK.
PRINT ON DEMAND Book; New; Publication Year 2017; Not Signed; Fast Shipping from the UK.
Lade…