By Keith Donohue
"A magical story of affection and redemption that's as splendidly written because it is pleasing . . . Angels earns its wings."
Margaret Quinn lives on my own, quietly mourning the disappearance of her simply baby, who fled ten years previous to affix a thorough pupil staff often called the Angels of Destruction.
On a chilly winter’s evening, a nine-year-old woman arrives on Margaret’s doorstep, claiming to be an orphan with out position to move. This baby beguiles Margaret, and jointly they hatch a plan to go her off as her newly came upon granddaughter, Norah Quinn.
Their conspiracy is made weak through Norah’s magical revelations to the youngsters of the city, and by way of a lone determine shadowing the lady, who threatens to bare the child’s precise id and objective. who're those strangers fairly? and what's their connection to the prior, the Angels, and Margaret’s long-missing daughter?
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Additional resources for Angels of Destruction: A Novel
I have been lucky. ” She went to the closet and tugged out the cedar chest, which had been gathering dust for the better part of a decade. “These are old. You don't mind old, do you? From when she was your age, twenty years ago. ” “Do I have to go to school? ” “No, you have to stick to the plan. ” “I need to be invisible, at least for a while. Too many prying questions. The less they think about me, the better. If you're going to stay in my house, you must follow my rules. Tell them that I am a shut-in and cannot come into the school.
Perched in a chair by the wood-stove, the girl unbuttoned her coat and worked her arms from the sleeves. When her severe glasses fogged with condensation, she took them off, wiped the lenses on the hem of her dress, and then promptly returned them to her nose. The blood rushed back to her cheeks and set them ablaze. Her eyes brightened, and without a word, she took the mug and gulped down half her drink. “You'll have to excuse these buttered crackers, that's all I have. ” The saltines vanished.
The desire for the comforts of nothing had become a habit of mind, and over the months, he cultivated his solitude. Alongside the woods, he allowed a measure of free imagination, enjoying the small discoveries of the natural world. Head bent to the ground as he walked, he had found the body of a flicker, the bright yellow wings neatly folded against the mottled gray torso and the band of red feathers. The shin-bone of a fox or small dog swarming with red ants. And treasures he could keep: the perfect spiral of a giant snail's shell, a dozen rocks that glistened with quartz facets.
Angels of Destruction: A Novel by Keith Donohue