Amorce 1 Thème : Entrer
dans la guerre, s'engager.
‘You’ve got the right spirit for a soldier, young
man,’ said the officer, taking off his peaked cap and wiping his brow with the
back of his hand. He had black curly hair and a kind open look on his face.
‘You’ve got the spirit but you haven’t got the years. You’re too young and you
know it. Seventeen’s the youngest we take. Come back in a year or so and then
we’ll see.’
‘I look
seventeen,’ Albert said, almost pleading. ‘I’m bigger than most seventeen year
olds.’ But even as he spoke he could see he was getting nowhere. ‘You won’t
take me then sir? Not even as a stable boy? I’ll do anything, anything.’
‘What’s
your name, young man? Captain Nicholls asked.
‘Narracott,
sir. Albert Narracott.’
‘Well, Mr
Narracott. I’m sorry I can’t help you.’ The officer shook his head and replaced
his cap. ‘I’m sorry, young man, regulations.’
Michael Morpurgo War Horse Egmont Books Ltd.
Amorce 2
Michael spent long hours on the telephone to his
ex-wife in London.
“I’m
missing you terribly,” she said. “Do you think we’ve done the right thing?”
“Ask your
boyfriend,” he said, and then changed the subject to the cat. “That cat.”
“It looks
so sweet,” she said. “That photograph you sent me. Really sweet.”
“Appearances can be deceptive,” he retorted. “It is definitely not a
sweet cat. Not at all.”
“Are you
being kind enough to it? You have to win their affection you know.”
He
explained about the tripping up. “Do you think it possible that a cat might
decide to harm its owner?”
She laughed.
“Impossible. Cats don’t do that. No matter how intelligent. Cats know which
side their bread’s buttered on.”
Alexander McCall Smith Animal Intelligence - The Mammoth Book of Best
British Crime Vol. 7 2010
Amorce 3
“I thought it was an amazing coincidence, that the
same woman was wherever you were in this picture four years ago and also in
Cyprus this summer. So I got the other albums out and had a look. I couldn’t
believe it. In each one, she’s in at least nine or ten of the photos. See for
yourselves.”
I saw the
woman, once, twice. In Siena, at a taverna. Walking behind me in a street
market in Morocco. Three times. She stood beside Timothy outside the Tate
Modern.
“But… this can’t
be a coincidence!” I said, expecting to have to convince Becky, or Timothy.
Nobody disagreed with me. I felt sharp, piercing fear.
“What does
it mean?” Timothy asked Becky. He rarely asked anybody for advice or an
opinion, let alone a nineteen-year-old babysitter. His lips were thin and pale.
“She must be following us. She’s some sort of stalker. But… for nearly ten
years! I don’t like this at all. I’m ringing the police.”
Sophie Hannah The Octopus Nest - The Mammoth Book
of Best British Crime Vol. 7 2010
Amorce 4
One morning - it was nearing
the end of November - I was sent for to Herr Wilhelm's private room. There I
found him and Herr Gerhardt before a table spread with papers covered with
figures and calculations, and sheets of beautifully executed diagrams.
'Lutz,'
said Herr Wilhelm. He had known me from childhood, and often called me by the
abbreviation of my Christian name, which is Ludwig, or Louis. 'Lutz, we are
going to confide to you a matter of extreme importance. You must be prepared to
start for London tomorrow.'
'All right, sir,' I said, 'I shall be ready.'
'You will take the express through to Calais - on the whole it is the best
route, especially at this season. By travelling all night you will catch the
boat there, and arrive in London so as to have a good night's rest, and be
clear-headed for work the next morning.'
I
need not attempt to give all the details of the matter with which I was
entrusted. Indeed, to 'lay' readers it would be impossible. Suffice it to say,
the whole concerned a patent - that of a very remarkable and wonderful
invention.
Mary Louisa Molesworth The Man with the Cough
www.eastoftheweb.com
Amorce 5
“I suppose it has occurred to you, Holmes,” I
remarked, tartly, “that thus far in this case, everyone who has owned a
painting by Algeron Redfern has died the most horrible death … and you are the
latest owner of a Redfern?”
Holmes’s
mood during our cab journey back to Baker Street had been irrepressibly
cheerful, and he refused to allow my grim observation to spoil his mood. “You
know my methods, Watson – I am well known to be indestructible. Besides, I
trust that the two of us will be able to see danger coming in any direction.”
Matthew J. Elliott Art in the Blood – The
Mammoth Book of Best British Crime Vol. 8 2011
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