The Angry Hills
The Angry Hills by Leon Uris, 1924-2003 Published: 1956 Allan Wingate Ltd. J J J J J I I I I I Table of Contents ▓ PART I … NNNN. One … thru … Twelve ▓ PART II … NNNN. One … thru … Nine ▓ PART III … NNNN. One … thru … Thirteen ▓ PART IV … NNNN. One … thru … Eight J J J J J I I I I I PART I One Only five days ago the Kifissia Hotel had been almost deserted. Now it bulged with British Empire troops. In the lobby a crowd in khaki uniforms set up a steady bass hum in the variety of tongues of an international army. The uniforms were of the same drab wool but the shoulder patches told a story of the gathering of Aussies and Britons and New Zea-landers and Arabs and Cyprians and Palestinians. From the bar, which stood to the right of the lobby, there came a continuous tinkle of glasses intermittently punctuated by the clang and sliding drawer of the cash register. Over in the corner by the window, a lone civilian sat slumped in an overstuffed chair, oblivious of the hustle and bustle about him. His feet were propped on the window sill, his hat was shoved down over his eyes and an unlit pipe hung upside down from his teeth. He wore an expensive but unpressed tweed suit which looked quite in place, and his heavy wool tie was loosened at the throat. He was neither awake nor asleep—aware nor unaware—he was a study in boredom. Perhaps, if you moved in literary circles or were just an avid reader of minor novels, you would recognize him on sight.
[Show full text]