Past All Dishonor

Past All Dishonor

James M. Cain

Language: English

Pages: 232


Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

NY 1946 First and Second Editions Before Printing. Sm.8vo., 232pp., hardcover. VG in Good DJ, two small stains near folds, small closed tear on front fold, narrow chip at head of spine, a few chips along edges.

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The Postman Always Rings Twice and Double Indemnity, and I haven’t stopped rereading, and being remesmerized by, them since—along with most of his seventeen other novels. The body of work James M. Cain left behind has received a lion’s share of praise, and an almost equal amount of snobbish critical dismissal. Cain and his novels are nothing if not controversial. His writing disturbs, just as he meant it to. The authority, power and tension in his writing touch a nerve in readers and critics,

high, with a rectangular opening in the middle of the floor big enough to drop a ship in. It was the mine shaft, in four parts, with lifting cages at the top of three of them, and nothing at the top of the fourth except an iron rail to keep you from falling into the meanest hole I’d ever seen in my life. So of course that was our hole. And after we’d put on a couple of suits of overalls he took out of a closet, and put on miners hats with candles in them, and lit up, we started down a ladder that

I’ve told him.” “And he’ll wind up with no mine. You know what happens. They run bonanza a little while, then they run borrasca as long as they can, which means till they’ve spent the stake the bonanza piled up, and then some bank takes over.” “Stop talking about banks!” We had it again that night, with Hale, at the International Hotel, and he did just like Williams said he would. He wept, and told us how his mother was killed over in Hungary in 1848, and how much he loved America, because it

first I knew she’d been married to a Venezuelan general in Caracas, and only came to Virginia City when he got killed in a street fight. But I wanted those afternoons, and if I went back with Hale I couldn’t have them. I kept thinking about my shooting, and one evening I went back to the same old gully to see how it felt to use a gun again. But at the first shot, what that stock did to the palm of my hand almost knocked me over with pain. The next night, though, I tried it with a little leather

going downriver while the band played Oh! Susanna. We laughed. Then we laughed again, and I put my arm around her and she let me. Then she came close and kissed me and I kissed back and I knew I loved her and she had to be mine. 2 “WHAT DO I DO now?” “Your family live here?” “My family’s dead.” “Where did you figure to go from the boat?” “To a hotel.” “You can’t do that now. They’ll be looking for you.” “What you trembling about?” “I got a shack.” “Must be cold there, the way you

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