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Даниэла Стил

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Открывайте «Lone eagle» и читайте — текст лежит здесь целиком, бесплатно, без регистраций и подтверждений номера. Жанр — Легкое чтение, Любовные романы, Современные любовные романы. Никаких обрезанных глав и предложений «оплати подписку, чтобы узнать, чем всё кончится»: книга представлена в том виде, в каком её написал Даниэла Стил.

Прежде чем нырять в первую главу, гляньте аннотацию или авторское предисловие — обычно там в двух абзацах понятно, о чём вообще речь, какой настрой и стоит ли это вашего вечера. Предисловие публикуем как есть, без редакторских пересказов от себя. Если описания пока нет или оно куцее — оставьте коммент, найдём и добавим.

Текст разбит на страницы: глазам так комфортнее, чем листать бесконечную ленту, и читается дольше без усталости. Место, где остановились, сохраняется автоматически — закрыли вкладку, вернулись через неделю, и страница откроется ровно та же. Шрифт регулируется, фон переключается между светлой и тёмной темой: вечером с тёмной экран меньше слепит, днём светлая привычнее.

Под книгой — отзывы тех, кто уже прочёл. Туда заглядывать полезно: иногда вылезают спорные смыслы, которые сам пропустил, иногда — категоричные «не моё, не тратьте время», и тоже информация. Дочитали «Lone eagle» — оставьте пару строк, кому-то это поможет решить.

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She just had to go on what she knew and what she felt, and appreciate that, for whatever reason, he had wanted to spend these last hours with her. But she also reminded herself that he had no one else to spend them with. Other than his cousins whom he hadn't seen in years, he had no other relatives, and no girlfriend. The only person who seemed to matter to him was Charles Lindbergh. Other than that, he was alone in the world. And he had wanted to be with her.

It occurred to her as they sat close to each other on the couch, talking softly, that he hadn't had to come to Boston.

He had only done that because he wanted to see her, and had stayed in close contact with her, ever since they'd heard the news, when Pearl Harbor had been attacked.

Kate told him, as they sat there, that her parents had canceled the coming-out party they'd been planning for her. She hadn't told him about it yet, but had planned to. She hadn't wanted to seem too anxious, but it was irrelevant now. All three Jamisons had agreed that it would have been in terrible taste to give a big party, and there probably wouldn't be many young men there anyway.

Her father had promised to give a party for her after the war.

“It really doesn't matter now,” she told Joe, as he nodded.

“Was it going to be like the party where we met last year?” he asked with interest, it was a good topic to distract her. She looked so sad that it touched his heart. He realized more than ever that he'd been lucky to meet her when he did.

He almost hadn't gone to the ball with Charles Lindbergh the year before. And the fact that he had had obviously been fate, for both of them.

Kate smiled at his question about her canceled party. “Nothing as fancy as that.” It was going to be at the Copley, for about two hundred people. There had been seven hundred people at the ball where they had met, with enough caviar and champagne to supply an entire village for a year. “I'm glad my parents canceled,” she said quietly. Thinking about Joe in England, risking his life every day, was all she cared about now.

She had already volunteered for the Red Cross, for whatever war effort they organized in the next few weeks. And Elizabeth had volunteered with her.

“You'll go back to school though, won't you?” he asked, and she nodded.

They sat quietly and talked for hours, and after a while, her mother brought them two plates of food. She didn't ask the young people to join them in the kitchen.