دانلود رمان انگلیسی “پسر هیچکس”

Once there was a clay pot and it fell and broke. Once there was a man and he too fell. Let’s start with the first, Helen. A few years back, I came upon the jagged remains of a clay pot. This was at Oxford, where I would be spending a year. As part of my introduction to the Faculty of Classics, I had met the curator of the Classical Greece Collections at the Ashmolean Museum, a fellow Canadian as it happens. She’d invited me to have a peek at the museum’s vast trove, of which only a fraction is on public display. And so I made my way to that fine museum one September morning, still blearyeyed with jet lag, and came to be standing in a windowless, neon-lit room with a table in the centre and walls lined with cabinets of wide, shallow metal drawers. The curator had time to say, “This is the Antiquities Study Room. Most of the artifacts here date from the Archaic period, that is, from the eighth to the fifth centuries BCE, when—” when her cell phone rang.