Isbn: 9798235094406 - what women keep (10 resultados)

Condición: New.

PAP. Condición: New. New Book. Shipped from UK. Established seller since 2000.

Paperback. Condición: New.

PAP. Condición: New. New Book. Shipped from UK. Established seller since 2000.

Paperback. Condición: new. Paperback. PrologueYoungstown, New York - October 2023She found it in the back of a closet, in a house she didn't yet own, in a town she'd arrived in without quite intending to stay.A cedar box. Old, dark wood; the brass latch tarnished to the color of old pennies. She almost didn't open it - it had the quality of something private, something that had been put somewhere safe by someone who meant to come back - but she was alone in a rental house on a river she could hear but not yet see, and the afternoon had the particular quality of October afternoons when the light comes in low and makes ordinary things look like they mean something.She lifted the latch.Inside, wrapped individually in cloth that had once been white and was now the color of old paper, were six bars of soap. Pale green, lighter than they looked. Each one stamped with a single letter 'S' pressed deep into the surface.She unwrapped one and held it. Brought it close and breathed in - lavender, clean and definite, and beneath that chamomile, and beneath that something greener and older that she couldn't name, something that made her think of forests and cold streams and mornings when the dew was still on everything. She sat down on the closet floor, which she hadn't planned to do.She sat there for a while, turning the bar in her hands, feeling the letter against her palm, not yet knowing what it stood for or who had pressed it there or how long the box had been waiting in the dark at the back of this particular closet in this particular house in this particular town. Not yet knowing any of it.Only that the lavender smell was still present and clean after what must have been a very long time. Only that the S was distinct and deliberate, made by someone who intended it to last. Only that she felt, in the specific way that writers sometimes feel things before they understand them, that she had been expected.She wrapped the bar carefully in its cloth and put it in the pocket of her cardigan. She got up. She went to the living room, where a paperback was shelved between a field guide to Niagara County birds and a Reader's Digest condensed novel from 1987. She pulled it out. "THE SOAPMAKER OF SALEM. The Life and Legacy of Sadie Thornbush." by Remington Foles - tucked there as if placed. As if someone had known she would come and choose it. She took it to bed.She opened to the first page.She began to read. This item is printed on demand. Shipping may be from multiple locations in the US or from the UK, depending on stock availability.…

Paperback. Condición: New.

Taschenbuch. Condición: Neu. nach der Bestellung gedruckt Neuware - Printed after ordering - PrologueYoungstown, New York - October 2023She found it in the back of a closet, in a house she didn't yet own, in a town she'd arrived in without quite intending to stay.A cedar box. Old, dark wood; the brass latch tarnished to the color of old pennies. She almost didn't open it - it had the quality of something private, something that had been put somewhere safe by someone who meant to come back - but she was alone in a rental house on a river she could hear but not yet see, and the afternoon had the particular quality of October afternoons when the light comes in low and makes ordinary things look like they mean something.She lifted the latch.Inside, wrapped individually in cloth that had once been white and was now the color of old paper, were six bars of soap. Pale green, lighter than they looked. Each one stamped with a single letter 'S' pressed deep into the surface.She unwrapped one and held it. Brought it close and breathed in - lavender, clean and definite, and beneath that chamomile, and beneath that something greener and older that she couldn't name, something that made her think of forests and cold streams and mornings when the dew was still on everything. She sat down on the closet floor, which she hadn't planned to do.She sat there for a while, turning the bar in her hands, feeling the letter against her palm, not yet knowing what it stood for or who had pressed it there or how long the box had been waiting in the dark at the back of this particular closet in this particular house in this particular town. Not yet knowing any of it.Only that the lavender smell was still present and clean after what must have been a very long time. Only that the S was distinct and deliberate, made by someone who intended it to last. Only that she felt, in the specific way that writers sometimes feel things before they understand them, that she had been expected.She wrapped the bar carefully in its cloth and put it in the pocket of her cardigan. She got up. She went to the living room, where a paperback was shelved between a field guide to Niagara County birds and a Reader's Digest condensed novel from 1987. She pulled it out. 'THE SOAPMAKER OF SALEM. The Life and Legacy of Sadie Thornbush.' by Remington Foles - tucked there as if placed. As if someone had known she would come and choose it. She took it to bed.She opened to the first page.She began to read.…

Paperback. Condición: new. Paperback. PrologueYoungstown, New York - October 2023She found it in the back of a closet, in a house she didn't yet own, in a town she'd arrived in without quite intending to stay.A cedar box. Old, dark wood; the brass latch tarnished to the color of old pennies. She almost didn't open it - it had the quality of something private, something that had been put somewhere safe by someone who meant to come back - but she was alone in a rental house on a river she could hear but not yet see, and the afternoon had the particular quality of October afternoons when the light comes in low and makes ordinary things look like they mean something.She lifted the latch.Inside, wrapped individually in cloth that had once been white and was now the color of old paper, were six bars of soap. Pale green, lighter than they looked. Each one stamped with a single letter 'S' pressed deep into the surface.She unwrapped one and held it. Brought it close and breathed in - lavender, clean and definite, and beneath that chamomile, and beneath that something greener and older that she couldn't name, something that made her think of forests and cold streams and mornings when the dew was still on everything. She sat down on the closet floor, which she hadn't planned to do.She sat there for a while, turning the bar in her hands, feeling the letter against her palm, not yet knowing what it stood for or who had pressed it there or how long the box had been waiting in the dark at the back of this particular closet in this particular house in this particular town. Not yet knowing any of it.Only that the lavender smell was still present and clean after what must have been a very long time. Only that the S was distinct and deliberate, made by someone who intended it to last. Only that she felt, in the specific way that writers sometimes feel things before they understand them, that she had been expected.She wrapped the bar carefully in its cloth and put it in the pocket of her cardigan. She got up. She went to the living room, where a paperback was shelved between a field guide to Niagara County birds and a Reader's Digest condensed novel from 1987. She pulled it out. "THE SOAPMAKER OF SALEM. The Life and Legacy of Sadie Thornbush." by Remington Foles - tucked there as if placed. As if someone had known she would come and choose it. She took it to bed.She opened to the first page.She began to read. This item is printed on demand. Shipping may be from our Sydney, NSW warehouse or from our UK or US warehouse, depending on stock availability.…

Paperback. Condición: new. Paperback. PrologueYoungstown, New York - October 2023She found it in the back of a closet, in a house she didn't yet own, in a town she'd arrived in without quite intending to stay.A cedar box. Old, dark wood; the brass latch tarnished to the color of old pennies. She almost didn't open it - it had the quality of something private, something that had been put somewhere safe by someone who meant to come back - but she was alone in a rental house on a river she could hear but not yet see, and the afternoon had the particular quality of October afternoons when the light comes in low and makes ordinary things look like they mean something.She lifted the latch.Inside, wrapped individually in cloth that had once been white and was now the color of old paper, were six bars of soap. Pale green, lighter than they looked. Each one stamped with a single letter 'S' pressed deep into the surface.She unwrapped one and held it. Brought it close and breathed in - lavender, clean and definite, and beneath that chamomile, and beneath that something greener and older that she couldn't name, something that made her think of forests and cold streams and mornings when the dew was still on everything. She sat down on the closet floor, which she hadn't planned to do.She sat there for a while, turning the bar in her hands, feeling the letter against her palm, not yet knowing what it stood for or who had pressed it there or how long the box had been waiting in the dark at the back of this particular closet in this particular house in this particular town. Not yet knowing any of it.Only that the lavender smell was still present and clean after what must have been a very long time. Only that the S was distinct and deliberate, made by someone who intended it to last. Only that she felt, in the specific way that writers sometimes feel things before they understand them, that she had been expected.She wrapped the bar carefully in its cloth and put it in the pocket of her cardigan. She got up. She went to the living room, where a paperback was shelved between a field guide to Niagara County birds and a Reader's Digest condensed novel from 1987. She pulled it out. "THE SOAPMAKER OF SALEM. The Life and Legacy of Sadie Thornbush." by Remington Foles - tucked there as if placed. As if someone had known she would come and choose it. She took it to bed.She opened to the first page.She began to read. This item is printed on demand. Shipping may be from our UK warehouse or from our Australian or US warehouses, depending on stock availability.…

Taschenbuch. Condición: Neu. What Women Keep | R. A. Freedman (u. a.) | Taschenbuch | Englisch | 2026 | RAF Publications | EAN 9798235094406 | Verantwortliche Person für die EU: Libri GmbH, Europaallee 1, 36244 Bad Hersfeld, gpsr[at]libri[dot]de | Anbieter: preigu Print on Demand.