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Bill BrysonBill Bryson (born 1951) is an author of humorous books on travel as well as no less humorous, though heavily-criticized books on the English language. Born in Des Moines, Iowa, He was educated at Drake University[?] but dropped out in August 1973 while on holiday in England and began working in a mental asylum[?]. Here he met his English wife, who was a nurse in the asylum, and they settled in England in 1977, remaining there through most of the 1980s. Living in North Yorkshire and mainly working as a journalist, he eventually became chief copy editor[?] of the business section of The Times and then deputy national news editor of the business section of The Independent. He left journalism in 1987. He has returned to the United States and lives in Hanover, New Hampshire.In 2003, in conjunction with World Book Day[?], voters in England chose Bryson's book Notes From a Small Island[?] as the book that best sums up England's identity and the state of the nation. Bryson has written two works on the history of the English language, Mother Tongue and Made In America. However, these books have been criticized for their abundance of factual errors, urban myths, and folk etymologies. While Bryson is passionate about languages, he holds no degree in linguistics.
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It was not lighted, yet with
the skin rugs, the beer gourds, the shields and spears, the roof-tree
ward off evil. In this hut, seated face.html">face.html">face to face halfway between the
about them, and they whispered to each other through it; but in his
clearly.
One of them was that of a man of about thirty-five years of age. In
on his wrists and ankles were rings of ivory, the royal ornaments. His
rolled so much that at times they seemed all white; and his fingers
right hand. His companion was of a different stamp; a person of more
shaped hands and feet. His hair and little beard were tinged with
his forehead both broad and high. But more remarkable still were his
steady as the flame of a well-trimmed lamp, and so cold that they
quick whisper. "Well, so be it; for I weary of sitting here in the
talk to me of the death of a king--is it not so? Nay do not start. Why
that these many months has been familiar to your breast?"
"Truly, Hokosa, you are the best of wizards, or the worst," answered
a change of voice. "I came but to ask you for a charm to turn my
the worst, and why did your jaw drop and your face change at my words,
know that it is dark here, yet some can see in it, and I am one of
your father: he has lived too long. Moreover his love turns.
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