Friday, March 1, 2019

Wine On the Desert by Max Brand

There was no hurry, except for the thirst, like clotted salt, in the back of his throat, and Durante rode on slowly, rather enjoying the last moments of dryness before he reached the cold water in Tony’s house. There was really no hurry at all.
The tale starts well, as most Brand will, but I confess that apparently I am unconstitutionally able to finish one of his works feeling satisfied. There is something a bit baroque in his work, and a hint of uninformed slap-dashedness that takes me out of the narrative
If you do not suffer from the same prejudice and have an affinity for Brand, well, this tale is highly regarded—you may win with it.

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