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The Lost Valley

ebook

James Morgan Walsh (1897-1952) was one of Australia's most prolific authors, noted for his mysteries and thrillers. The Lost Valley (1921) is set in Victoria, Australia's Western District. Other books of note include The Man Behind the Curtain (1927) and The League of Missing Men (1927).

The Lost Valley

I came upon the place quite unexpectedly. Centuries of wind and wave had carved a little nook out of the foot of the cliff and fashioned it so cunningly that I did not see it until I was right on top of it. After the warmth of the open beach and the glare of the white road I had recently travelled its shade looked so inviting that I limped in under the overhang of the cliff and dropped joyfully on to the cool patch of sand. It was the first moment of contentment I had known for many weary months, and, needless to say, I set myself out to make the most of it. I was absolutely sick of tramping about. My left boot had burst and, by the feel of it, there wasn't too much left of my right sole. I had been crawling along the road since daylight—and for many days before for that matter—searching for a job that failed to materialise...


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Publisher: Wildside Press

Kindle Book

  • Release date: September 5, 2006

OverDrive Read

  • Release date: September 5, 2006

PDF ebook

  • File size: 747 KB
  • Release date: September 5, 2006

Formats

Kindle Book
OverDrive Read
PDF ebook
Kindle restrictions

subjects

Fiction Mystery

Languages

English

James Morgan Walsh (1897-1952) was one of Australia's most prolific authors, noted for his mysteries and thrillers. The Lost Valley (1921) is set in Victoria, Australia's Western District. Other books of note include The Man Behind the Curtain (1927) and The League of Missing Men (1927).

The Lost Valley

I came upon the place quite unexpectedly. Centuries of wind and wave had carved a little nook out of the foot of the cliff and fashioned it so cunningly that I did not see it until I was right on top of it. After the warmth of the open beach and the glare of the white road I had recently travelled its shade looked so inviting that I limped in under the overhang of the cliff and dropped joyfully on to the cool patch of sand. It was the first moment of contentment I had known for many weary months, and, needless to say, I set myself out to make the most of it. I was absolutely sick of tramping about. My left boot had burst and, by the feel of it, there wasn't too much left of my right sole. I had been crawling along the road since daylight—and for many days before for that matter—searching for a job that failed to materialise...


Expand title description text