By Janette Oke
Will she ever observe the tale in the back of her strange identify? Fifteen-year-old Damaris can not remain on her family's farm and undergo her father's drunken rages. With the aid of her heartbroken mom, Damaris makes her get away, taking alongside kin treasures: her grandmother's lacy golden brooch and her grandfather's watch. these things and her identify are the single legacy she has from her prior. Her mom as soon as instructed her that "Damaris" got here from the Bible and had a unique that means. yet starting to be up with no ever seeing a Bible, Damaris doesn't understand what that which means is. faraway from domestic and feeling so on my own, she wonders if the Bible may also help her discover who she is and what the longer term may well carry for her.
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Additional resources for A Woman Named Damaris (Women of the West, Book 4)
Sarah and I moved our few possessions in. The big moment came. I sat the typewriter down on the desk and I put a piece of paper in there and I hit the keys. The typewriter still worked. And there was plenty of room for an ashtray, the radio and the bottle. Don’t let anybody tell you different. Life begins at 65. 63 13 Down at the Marina del Rey times were getting hard. For transportation Jon Pinchot was driving a green 1968 Pontiac convertible and François Racine drove a brown 1958 Ford. They also had two Kawasaki motorcycles, a 750 and a 1000.
Chinaski,” I heard another voice. A whiskey appeared before me. ” and I knocked it off. “Go easy,” said Sarah, “you know how you are. ” The bartender brought another whiskey. He was a little guy with dark red blotches all over his face. He looked meaner than anybody in there. He just stood there, staring at me. ” “If you insist,” I said and raised the glass of whiskey. Then I passed it to Sarah who knocked it off. She gave a little cough and set the glass down. ” Then there was a little group gathering slowly behind us.
She gave a little cough and set the glass down. ” Then there was a little group gathering slowly behind us. “Chinaski. ” I paid the barkeep and we backed off our stools and moved toward the door. Again I noticed the leather jackets and the blandness of 48 the faces and the feeling that there wasn’t much joy or daring in any of them. There was something totally missing in the poor fellows and something in me wrenched, for just a moment, and I felt like throwing my arms around them, consoling and embracing them like some Dostoyevsky, but I knew that would finally lead nowhere except to ridicule and humiliation, for myself and for them.
A Woman Named Damaris (Women of the West, Book 4) by Janette Oke