دانلود رمان انگلیسی “سال آکسفورد من”

Next!” The customs agent beckons the person in front of me and I approach the big red line, absently toeing the curling tape, resting my hand on the gleaming pipe railing. No adjustable ropes at Heathrow, apparently; these lines must always be long if they require permanent demarcation. My phone, which I’ve been tapping against my leg, rings. I glance at the screen. I don’t know the number. “Hello?” I answer. “Is this Eleanor Durran?” “Yes?” “This is Gavin Brookdale.” My first thought is that this is a prank call. Gavin Brookdale just stepped down as White House chief of staff. He’s run every major political campaign of the last twenty years. He’s a legend. He’s my idol. He’s calling me? “Hello?” “Sorry, I—I’m here,” I stammer. “I’m just—” “Have you heard of Janet Wilkes?”