Before Adam

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McKinlay, Stone & Mackenzie, 1915 - Boxers (Sports) - 410 pages
 

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LibraryThing Review

User Review  - OccassionalRead - www.librarything.com

My name is Adam so this slim softcover, obviously old and from whence it came, who knows?, had always dimly called out to me, "read me, read me." But I never did, for decades. But happy childhood ... Read full review

LibraryThing Review

User Review  - la2bkk - LibraryThing

A brief and interesting "firsthand" account of our ancient ancestor's daily life experiences. I have never found London's works to be sophisticated, and certainly this book is more fantasy than real science based fiction. Nonetheless, an enjoyable and easy read worth your time. Read full review

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Page 221 - Post-Office, was already a waste of smoking ruins. Here and there through the smoke, creeping warily under the shadows of tottering walls, emerged occasional men and women. It was like the meeting of the handful of survivors after the day of the end of the world.
Page 3 - It was cf a quality and kind that transcended all my experiences. For instance, I was a city boy, a city child, rather, to whom the country was an unexplored domain. Yet I never dreamed of cities; nor did a house ever occur in any of my dreams. Nor, for that matter, did any of my human kind ever break through the wall of my sleep.
Page 7 - Ah, those endless forests, and their horror-haunted gloom! For what eternities have I wandered through them, a timid, hunted creature, starting at the least sound, frightened of my own shadow, keyedup, ever alert and vigilant, ready on the instant to dash away in mad flight for my life. For I was the prey of all manner of fierce life that dwelt in the forest, and it was in ecstasies of fear that I fled before the hunting monsters.
Page 170 - All the fleeing strength in his body gathered itself together for the lightning lucky punch. Even as Joe slipped, the other smote him, fairly on the point of the chin. He went over backward. Genevieve saw his muscles relax while he was yet in the air, and she heard the thud of his head on the canvas.
Page 27 - Every bit of flesh an* blood an' muscle is clean right down to the bones — and they're clean, too. No soap and water only on the skin, but clean all the way in. I tell you it feels clean. It knows it's clean itself. When I wake up in the morning an* go to work, every drop of blood and bit of meat is shouting right out that it is clean.
Page 169 - He was the beast incarnate, roaring and raging and being destroyed. He was smashed down to his knees, but refused to take the count, staggering to his feet only to be met stiff-handed on the mouth and sent hurling back against the ropes. " In sore travail — gasping, reeling, panting, with glazing eyes and sobbing breath, grotesque and heroic, fighting to the last, striving to get at his antagonist — he surged and was driven about the ring. And in that moment Joe's foot slipped on the wet canvas....
Page 117 - Dresden china, to be handled gently and with care, liable to be shattered to fragments by the first rough touch. John Ponta, stripped of his white sweater by the pulling and hauling of two of his seconds, came to the centre of the ring. She knew terror as she looked at him. Here was the fighter — the beast with a streak for a forehead, with beady eyes under lowering and bushy brows, flat-nosed, thick-lipped, sullenn8 THE GAME mouthed.
Page 227 - I often wonder about this line of descent. I, the modern, am incontestably a man; yet I, Big-Tooth, the primitive, am not a man. Somewhere, and by straight line of descent, these two parties to my dual personality were connected. Were the Folk, before their destruction, in the process of becoming men ? And did I and mine carry through this process ? On the other hand, may not some descendant of mine have gone in to the Fire People and become one of them ? I do not know. There is no way of learning.
Page 11 - Ogres and bugaboos and I had been happy bed-fellows, compared with these terrors that made their bed with me throughout my childhood, and that still bed with me, now, as I write this, full of years.
Page 179 - This, then, was the end of it all — of the carpets, and furniture, and the little rented house ; of the meetings and walking out, the thrilling nights of starshine, the deliciousness of surrender, the loving and the being loved. She was stunned by the awful facts of this Game she did not understand...

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