The first reading of 2011?
The stories of ghosts Montague Rhodes James : With Maremagnum (you know? It is a great site if you want to recover rare books and out of print) I managed to find the volume of 520 pages - released in 1989, edited by Malcolm Skey poor, for the types of Theoria - which collects them all, but everyone.
MRJ (you signed it), born in 1862 and died in 1936, it was a really nice guy: great medievalist, palaeography, archaeologist, a polyglot of those drugs - taught himself Italian, German, Ethiopian, Danish (also translated Hans Christian Andersen), Swedish, Coptic, Hebrew, Syriac - and writer almost lost time of shivering (but seriously!) ghost stories.
MRJ (you signed it), born in 1862 and died in 1936, it was a really nice guy: great medievalist, palaeography, archaeologist, a polyglot of those drugs - taught himself Italian, German, Ethiopian, Danish (also translated Hans Christian Andersen), Swedish, Coptic, Hebrew, Syriac - and writer almost lost time of shivering (but seriously!) ghost stories.
The man had the habit of reading his stories to friends who went to see him at Christmas, "the group pre the evening she found herself waiting for a long while, usually around eleven," Monty "did not appear with the ink still wet on the last page. All the lights were off except one, and this gave rise to the reading of the story. "
In short these nights of January, in my opinion, are full of haunted houses, ancient spells, vengeful witches, treasures guarded by fierce demons, hotel rooms that do not exist but rather then yes, pictures are animated figures hooded hidden in the dark, wind gusts that seem to scream, dark omens and curses inexorable.
Outside my window, ever present, the mists of the English countryside, under my bed, a horrible creature waiting ...
In short these nights of January, in my opinion, are full of haunted houses, ancient spells, vengeful witches, treasures guarded by fierce demons, hotel rooms that do not exist but rather then yes, pictures are animated figures hooded hidden in the dark, wind gusts that seem to scream, dark omens and curses inexorable.
Outside my window, ever present, the mists of the English countryside, under my bed, a horrible creature waiting ...
Urge reprint, my gosh!
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