By Clark Ashton Smith
Released in chronological order, with wide tale and bibliographic notes, this sequence not just offers entry to tales which have been out of print for years, yet provides them a historic and social context. sequence editors Scott Conners and Ronald S. Hilger excavated the still-existing manuscripts, letters and diverse released models of the tales, making a definitive "preferred text" for Smith's whole physique of labor. This 3rd quantity of the sequence brings jointly 21 of his fable tales.
Read or Download A Vintage from Atlantis (The Collected Fantasies of Clark Ashton Smith, Volume 3) PDF
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Caution: This anthology includes 28 tales of violence, sexual depravity, self-degradation, and different darkish matters taken to an severe you've by no means learn sooner than. If fed on, please seek advice a mortician.
*Blood sure Books doesn't in anyway condone or advise the activities defined within the tales of this booklet. You've been warned.
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Extra resources for A Vintage from Atlantis (The Collected Fantasies of Clark Ashton Smith, Volume 3)
I pictured him swimming underwater for a few more seconds, then bursting out, hurling himself onto the pool’s edge and dashing at my door. The door might slow him down, but it wouldn’t stop him. I mean, it was glass. I tried to prepare myself for the shock of a sudden assault. Don’t scream, just turn around and run like hell. Go for the kitchen. Grab one of the butcher knives. I saw him. Out near the middle of the pool, the back of his head and then his buttocks slid across the moonlight’s silver path.
The telephone rang. After midnight, and it suddenly let out a loud jangle in the silence and darkness of the den. I jumped and yelped. Out on the pool, the stranger’s head jerked sideways in the water. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I knew he was staring straight at me. 4 THE PHONE CALL Not that he could see me. If you’re in real darkness and someone else is out in the moonlight, he doesn’t stand a chance of spotting you. But I felt his eyes on me. I flinched as the phone rang again. A phone isn’t meant to ring that late at night.
It was about four feet long, and sharp. Out in the pool, the stranger turned around. He eased down into the water, his body disappearing until nothing was left except his face. Then he started swimming again, apparently on his way to the deep end. I stepped backward, turned away from the glass door and went to get the saber. I’d forgotten that the foyer light was on. It was halfway down the long corridor, too far away for its brightness to reach the doorway of the den. But I saw it the moment I stepped out.