Download E-books The Night of the Hunter (Vintage Movie Classics) PDF
By Davis Grubb
The bestselling, nationwide e-book Award--finalist novel that encouraged Charles Laughton's expressionist horror vintage starring Robert Mitchum and Shelley Winters.
Two youngsters, Pearl and John Harper, are being raised by myself through their mom in Cresap's touchdown, Ohio. Their father Ben has simply been accomplished for killing males during an armed theft. Ben by no means instructed a person the place he concealed the 10 thousand money he stole; now not his widow Willa, no longer his attorney, nor his cell-mate Henry "Preacher" Powell. yet Preacher, together with his lengthy background of captivating his means into widows' hearts and lives, has an inkling that Ben's cash should be inside his succeed in. once he's unfastened, Preacher makes his manner up the river to go to the Harper kin where--he hopes--a little baby shall lead him to the fortune that he seeks.
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Additional info for The Night of the Hunter (Vintage Movie Classics)
It had no longer moved, it had now not fled; it had easily dissolved without notice from the deep tobacco-dark water after which there has been not anything however the solar dapples back. Meanest, orneriest, sneakinest son of a whinge within the entire rattling river, boy! A gar! Did you notice him? Yep. And he stole your bait, Uncle Birdie? You noticeable me plunk that there crawdad at the hook, boy. then you definately visible me cast—and while I pulled her within the bait used to be long past. Ain’t no tobacco field can do this, Cap. Ain’t no little sunfish can swipe bait like that. It used to be that sneakin’, egg-suckin’ son of a whinge. Uncle Birdie blew his nostril opposed to one scarred, sexy finger and cocked a sensible blue eye sidelong on the boy within the boat. Your ma don’t be aware of I cuss—does she, boy? Shucks, sighed John. She don’t even recognize I’m right here part the time. good, you ain’t adversarial are ye? —to cussin’, I suggest? No. inform you why I ask, boy—your step-pa bein’ a preacher and all that I— John’s lips grew skinny as string and the previous shadow flickered again in the back of his eyes back: the darkish gar within the river of his brain. Birdie filled his cheek filled with clean Mail Pouch and stared off into the shore willows, draped softly out over the nonetheless shallows fresh to the bend less than the orchard. by no means used to be a lot of a one for preachers myself, acknowledged the previous guy, with one other sidelong look, quickly as a robin’s eye. yet then I reckon there's every type. John swallowed fast and his extensive eyes have been misplaced within the river. Now Uncle Birdie reached out a scaly, hook-scarred finger and became the child’s face to fulfill his eyes. Stepped in your ft that point, didn’t I, boy? good, regardless of. I don’t comprehend what’s flawed up at your house and that i don’t determine to invite. yet simply you take into account something, Cap—if ever you wish assist you jus’ holler out or come a-runnin’. Ol’ Uncle Birdie’s your good friend. Now succeed in me that could of hooks yonder and I’ll make it easier to trap Mister Gar as neat as snappin’ a tick off a redbone’s ear. John comfortable and his face shone as he passed the outdated guy the hooks. They understood each other that day as a result of an exceptional many stuff that neither of them may say and since, for a few fabulous and old cause, whilst males are by myself in a ship on a river it's nigh most unlikely for them to not comprehend each other, whether no note is expounded in any respect. larger choose a massive un, Uncle Birdie. mammoth un, hell! I’ll choose the littlest one of many lot! the single factor you were given to appreciate approximately previous Mister Gar is that this, boy—he is a artful kind. Why, there hain’t nary hook within the land shrewdpermanent adequate to hook Mister Gar. What a feller wishes is— He tugged his greasy hat from his shaggy white head and sought one of the motley flies and hooks and lures and almost immediately plucked a protracted grey hair from the greasy, frayed band. —is mom wit—and a horsehair. A horsehair! You heard me, Cap. A horsehair. A horse tail hair, brain ye—a stable lengthy one like this right here. Now watch! First you loop your outdated horsehair and make a bit lasso. See there? —And you then dangle your baited hook correct down in the midst of it—like so! —See? John the previous man’s speedy arms with brooding, enchanted eyes.