WILBUR SMITH THE SUNBIRD PDF

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The Sunbird - Wilbur Smith. Home · The Sunbird - Wilbur Smith Author: Smith Wilbur Smith, Wilbur - The Sunbird · Read more · Smith, Wilbur - The Sunbird. The Sunbird by Wilbur Smith; 6 editions; First published in ; Subjects: Archaeologists, Accessible book, Protected DAISY, In library, Fiction. A hazy aerial photograph and a sinister curse – known only to the Africans – and Dr Benjamin Kazin stumbles on the archaeological discovery of a lifetime.


Wilbur Smith The Sunbird Pdf

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The Sunbird by Wilbur Smith - An action-packed archaeological adventure from global bestseller Wilbur Smith“You should know of the legend. At a time when. The Sunbird book. Read reviews from the world's largest community for readers. In Wilbur Smith's The Sunbird, Dr. Ben Kazin is a brilliant archeologi. The Sunbird is a novel by Wilbur Smith about an archeological dig. The novel was a . Print/export. Create a book · Download as PDF · Printable version .

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Throwing surface patterns. He jumped up and strode to the screen, picked up an ebony pointer from the lectern and used it to spot the cell-like stippling around the outline of what he was pleased to presume was the main enclosure. You are without doubt the most miserable bloody pessimist in Africa. Forget it, Ben! Louren laughed again, but with the trace of uneasiness he shows whenever I move quickly or unleash the strength of my arms.

He stooped over me now, and eased my fingers that were sunk into the flesh of his forearm.

I want you to go out on a limb for once in your life. His laughter I cannot resist, and my own followed immediately. I was aware of its birdlike quality against his. It was years since I had seen him like this. There was a chart spread and pinned on the green baize. It was a high table, and I scrambled quickly onto a chair and leaned across it.

Now I was almost on equal terms with Louren who stood beside me.

We pored over the chart. It was looking better and better. The latitude was perfect, all the clues I had so painstakingly gathered over the years pointed to this general area. Then land at Maun.

Peter Larkin — you know him? He will service the expedition. We will go in light and fast — one Land-Rover and a pair of three-ton Unimogs.

Sunlight spilled in through the high windows, giving good light to the paintings and sculptures that decorated the gallery. Here works of the leading South African artists mingled easily with those of the great internationals living and dead. Louren Sturvesant, and his ancestors before him, had spent money wisely. Even now in the urgency of the moment, my eyes were tugged aside by the soft fleshy glow of a Renoir nude. Louren paced easily over the sound-deadening pile of Oriental carpets, and I matched stride for stride.

My legs are as long as his and as powerful. A permanent camp, airstrip, assistants of your choice, a full crew, and any equipment you call for. Louren and I grinned at each other like conspirators. We went down the staircase roaring and tittering, each in his own way. Elated and hyper-tense, we faced each other in the hall. In the meantime you get your end arranged. You have got a week to gloat over it. He turned to the doorway at the moment that Hilary Sturvesant came through it from the patio.

She wore a short white tennis dress, and her legs were long and achingly beautiful. A tall girl with gold-brown hair hanging shiny and soft to her shoulders.

Every time she does that she makes me her slave for another hundred years. Is it possible? He wants to rush into the desert now, this minute. For a long minute they were oblivious of my presence as they embraced. They are, for me, the epitome of beautiful woman and manhood, both of them tall and strong and well-favoured. Hilary is younger than he is by twelve years, his fourth wife and the mother of only the youngest of his seven children.

In her middle twenties she has the maturity and poise of a much older woman. Cable Larkin if you think of anything special we will need.

The Sunbird - Wilbur Smith

So long, partner. Hilary took my hand and led me out on to the wide flagged patio. Five acres of lawn and dazzling flowerbeds sloped gently down to the stream and artificial lake. Both tennis courts were occupied and a shrieking mob of small near-naked bodies thrashed the water of the swimming-pool to a sun-sparkled white. Two uniformed servants were laying out a cold buffet on the long patio trestle-table, and with a small squirming twinge of dread I saw a half-dozen young matrons in tennis dress sprawled in the lounging chairs beside the outside bar.

They were flushed with exertion, perspiration dampened the crisp white dresses and they sipped at long dewy, fruit-laden glasses of Pimms No. I steeled myself, trying to draw myself up to an extra inch of height as we moved towards the group.

Ben, this is Marjory Phelps. I turned to each of them as she spoke their names, and I acknowledged the slightly over-effusive greetings, giving each my eyes and voice, they are my good things. It was as difficult for them as it was for me. You do not expect your hostess to spring a hunchback on you with the pre-lunch drinks. The children rescued me. Uncle Ben! I find it easier with children; they either do not seem to notice or they come straight out with it.

For once I was not very good value, I was too preoccupied to give them my full attention — and soon they drifted away, all but Bobby — for she is ever loyal.

Then Hilary took over from her stepdaughter and I was returned to the league of young mothers where I made a better impression. I cannot resist pretty women, once the first awkwardness wears off.

Louren Sturvesant, and his ancestors before him, had spent money wisely. Even now in the urgency of the moment, my eyes were tugged aside by the soft fleshy glow of a Renoir nude. Louren paced easily over the sound-deadening pile of Oriental carpets, and I matched stride for stride.

My legs are as long as his and as powerful. A permanent camp, airstrip, assistants of your choice, a full crew, and any equipment you call for. Louren and I grinned at each other like conspirators.

The Sunbird

We went down the staircase roaring and tittering, each in his own way. Elated and hyper-tense, we faced each other in the hall. In the meantime you get your end arranged. You have got a week to gloat over it. She wore a short white tennis dress, and her legs were long and achingly beautiful. A tall girl with gold-brown hair hanging shiny and soft to her shoulders.

Every time she does that she makes me her slave for another hundred years. Is it possible? He wants to rush into the desert now, this minute. For a long minute they were oblivious of my presence as they embraced. They are, for me, the epitome of beautiful woman and manhood, both of them tall and strong and well-favoured.

Hilary is younger than he is by twelve years, his fourth wife and the mother of only the youngest of his seven children. In her middle twenties she has the maturity and poise of a much older woman. Cable Larkin if you think of anything special we will need. So long, partner. Hilary took my hand and led me out on to the wide flagged patio.

Five acres of lawn and dazzling flowerbeds sloped gently down to the stream and artificial lake. Both tennis courts were occupied and a shrieking mob of small near-naked bodies thrashed the water of the swimming-pool to a sun-sparkled white. Two uniformed servants were laying out a cold buffet on the long patio trestle-table, and with a small squirming twinge of dread I saw a half-dozen young matrons in tennis dress sprawled in the lounging chairs beside the outside bar.

They were flushed with exertion, perspiration dampened the crisp white dresses and they sipped at long dewy, fruit-laden glasses of Pimms No. I steeled myself, trying to draw myself up to an extra inch of height as we moved towards the group.

The Sunbird by Wilbur Smith

Ben, this is Marjory Phelps. It was as difficult for them as it was for me. You do not expect your hostess to spring a hunchback on you with the pre-lunch drinks. The children rescued me. Uncle Ben! I find it easier with children; they either do not seem to notice or they come straight out with it.

Then Hilary took over from her stepdaughter and I was returned to the league of young mothers where I made a better impression. I cannot resist pretty women, once the first awkwardness wears off. Bobby Sturvesant pours Glen Grant malt whisky with the same heavy thirteen-year-old hand she uses to pour Coca-Cola. Consequently I floated into the Institute feeling very good indeed. Looks exciting! It was unbroken.

She calls it a fine inquiring scientific mind. I guessed she would arrive within the next five minutes so I found the packet of Three X peppermints in my top drawer and slipped one into my mouth to smother the whisky fumes before I opened the envelope and drew out the glossy twelve-by-twelve enlargement, switched on the desk light and adjusted it and the magnifying table lens over the print. Then I looked around at the hosts of the past that crowd my office.

All four walls are lined with shelves, and from floor to shoulder height — my shoulder height — these are filled with books: the tools of my trade, all bound in brown and green calf-skin, and titled in gold leaf. It is a big room, and there are many thousands of volumes.

The shelves above the books carry the plaster busts of all the creatures that preceded man.I finally ended up completing the remaining pages in a day. I also didn't really care for the over descriptive hunting scenes. It was unbroken.

The first part of the book sees the author in familiar territory: Combining adventure, suspense and a wealth of historical detail, The Sunbird is a brilliant imaginative feat.

There was a chart spread and pinned on the green baize. The Sunbird First edition. I did not speak again. Then Hilary took over from her stepdaughter and I was returned to the league of young mothers where I made a better impression.