The Angels Weep
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In The Angels Weep by Wilbur Smith, on a continent of breathtaking beauty and bitter suffering, two vastly different cultures clashed, mingled, and recoiled. Here, amidst mist-shrouded mountains and gold-studded plateaus, ancient tribesmen lived close to the earth, as white men dug fortunes out from beneath them and laid plans for a new civilization.
Out of Southern Africa the enigmatic Cecil Rhodes built an empire in the late 1800s and attracted the brightest and bravest of a generation--including a remarkable far-flung family named Ballantyne. But for the natives, another day was dawning: a day of retribution...
From a courageous woman doctor to a fierce, one-eyed slave trader turned soldier, the whites of Africa were buffeted by two horrific waves of war. And just when a bloody peace seemed possible, the seeds of future turmoil were sown …
that served as a table, and a half-filled whisky bottle and enamel mug beside it. Ralph frowned at the open page of his journal, trying to focus in the flickering yellow candlelight. He was drunk. The bottle had been full half an hour before. He picked up the mug and drained it, set it down and poured from the bottle again. A few drops spilled onto the empty page of his journal. He wiped them away with his thumb and studied the wet mark it left with a drunkard’s ponderous concentration. He shook
by a mother’s teat. Two of the sentries met at the nearest corner of the laager, and their voices murmured for a while. Then they parted and she saw the silhouette of a slouch hat against the night sky as one of them passed close to where she sat. The candle still burned in the tent, and it must be past midnight by now. The flame drew her as though she were a moth. She rose and crossed to the tent. Silently, almost furtively. She lifted the flap and slipped in, letting it drop closed behind her.
officer on Monday, but I’ll stay the weekend, if that’s okay?’ ‘I’ll ring Trevor this evening and fix the interview.’ Trevor Pennington was the assistant commissioner of police. Jonathan believed in starting at the top. ‘I wish you wouldn’t, Jon-Jon.’ ‘Don’t be daft,’ Jonathan snapped. ‘You must learn to use every advantage, my boy, that’s the way life works.’ Jonathan picked up the first of the three volumes of manuscript and gloatingly stroked it with his gnarled brown fingers. ‘Now, you
blighter. Well, if you change your mind, let me know.’ He knocked a cigarette half out of its soft pack and then pulled it the rest of the way with his lips. ‘What do you think of Bugsy?’ The cigarette waggled as he asked the question, and he flicked his gold Ronson to it. ‘She’s all right,’ Craig said cautiously. ‘Only all right?’ Roland protested. ‘Try magnificent, try sensational, wonderful, super-great – wax lyrical, for you’re talking about the woman I love.’ ‘Number one thousand and ten
knew what was about to happen. ‘Stop, Constance, stop.’ She flew like a lovely moth in the light, the pink of her dress flitting between the trunks of the spathodea trees, and then the bullets ripped chunks of white wet wood from the trees about her, and she was no longer swift and graceful; it was as though the moth’s wings had been shredded by a spiteful child. Four soldiers carried her body back, each of them holding a leg or an arm. Constance’s head hung back almost to touch the ground, and