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The Riddle of the Sands A Record of Secret Service [Paperback]

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  • Category: Books (Fiction)
  • Author:  Childers, Erskine
  • Author:  Childers, Erskine
  • ISBN-10:  0143106325
  • ISBN-10:  0143106325
  • ISBN-13:  9780143106326
  • ISBN-13:  9780143106326
  • Publisher:  Penguin Classics
  • Publisher:  Penguin Classics
  • Pages:  336
  • Pages:  336
  • Binding:  Paperback
  • Binding:  Paperback
  • Pub Date:  01-May-2011
  • Pub Date:  01-May-2011
  • SKU:  0143106325-11-SPLV
  • SKU:  0143106325-11-SPLV
  • Item ID: 100132338
  • List Price: $17.00
  • Seller: ShopSpell
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  • Delivery by: Jul 09 to Jul 11
  • Notes: Brand New Book. Order Now.
Loosely based on the author's own experiences, The Riddle of the Sands takes readers back to the early days of the twentieth century, when Britain shared a tense rivalry with the Kaiser's Germany. Tempted by the idea of duck shooting, Carruthers is lured by his friend Davies into a yachting expedition in the Baltic, only to discover that the itinerary involves more than killing fowl. Soon they're on a wild journey of intrigue, meeting danger at every turn, and ultimately unraveling Germany's secret plans to invade England. Tautly written and full of unexpected twists, this is a timeless work of espionage fiction.“This is a book of great renown. . . . Its beautifully sustained atmosphere . . . adds poetry, and . . . real mystery.” —Ian FlemingErskine Childers (1870-1922) was an expert yachtsman whose sailing experiences were fictionalized in The Riddle of the Sands. An Irish nationalist, he was executed by the authorities of the nascent Irish Free State during the Irish Civil War. Bernard Knox is director emeritus of Harvard's Center for Hellenic Studies in Washington, D.C.CHAPTER 1

The Letter

I have read of men who, when forced by their calling to live for long periods in utter solitude–save for a few black faces–have made it a rule to dress regularly for dinner in order to maintain their self-respect and prevent a relapse into barbarism. It was in some such spirit, with an added touch of self-consciousness, that, at seven o’clock in the evening of 23rd September in a recent year, I was making my evening toilet in my chambers in Pall Mall. I thought the date and the place justified the parallel; to my advantage even; for the obscure Burmese administrator might well be a man of blunted sensibilities and coarse fibre, and at least he is alone with nature, while I–well, a young man of condition and fashion, who knows the right people, belongs to the right clubs, has a safe, possibly a brillil3l
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