Harvest
1928. That spring month it rained almost all the time. From inside, from the windows and doors of my small house, I watched it come down and could not then believe that there could be some place where the rain was worse. I did not learn until months later, when I read of it in paragraphs of a newsp...
Guardado en:
| Publicado en: | URI:https://journals.openedition.org/jsse, |
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| Autor principal: | |
| Formato: | Article ou chapitre numérique |
| Lenguaje: | Anglais |
| Publicado: |
Journal of the Short Story in English
2024
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| Acceso en línea: | Accès Université d'Orléans et IFPM |
| Sumario: | 1928. That spring month it rained almost all the time. From inside, from the windows and doors of my small house, I watched it come down and could not then believe that there could be some place where the rain was worse. I did not learn until months later, when I read of it in paragraphs of a newspaper itself already weeks old, that in other parts of the South there had been tremendous flooding and lives had been lost and that homes and livestock and people had gone floating down rivers that... |
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