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Get Thee Behind Me... My Life as a Preacher's Son by Hartzell Spence
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Binding: Hardcover
Whittlesey House
Fifth Printing November 1942
Illustrated by Donald McKay
Pages: 375
Ex Library
Item Condition: This book has some wear. There are a few faded spots on the cover (pencil eraser size). There is a donation message inside the front cover with the date 1944. There is a 1/2 inch tear in the top of the cover page. There is a tear in the top of page 3. The last page has red ink over the last word of the book. This book was a library book and has cardholder, stamp, and reference sticker.
"The parsonage was quiet. Not even the scrape of a carpet sweeper or the sizzle of roasting meat desecrated the silence.
In two big Douglas fir trees that framed the front door's vista of snow-capped mountains, birds perched songless. A grocer's boy on a bicycle stopped whistling at the corner and did not resume until he had passed the parsonage and was well down the block. The postman tiptoed up the porch steps, eased his letters in to the box, and cat footed away.
The upstairs windows were open, their curtains swaying in an almost guilty flirtation with the morning breeze. A screen swung outward on its hinges. A dust mop emerged, shook vigorously but without throat. Holding the mop handle in both hands, a boy watched the petals of dust drop like parachutes to the hedge below. Then he pulled in his head and noiselessly latched the screen hook."
Binding: Hardcover
Whittlesey House
Fifth Printing November 1942
Illustrated by Donald McKay
Pages: 375
Ex Library
Item Condition: This book has some wear. There are a few faded spots on the cover (pencil eraser size). There is a donation message inside the front cover with the date 1944. There is a 1/2 inch tear in the top of the cover page. There is a tear in the top of page 3. The last page has red ink over the last word of the book. This book was a library book and has cardholder, stamp, and reference sticker.
"The parsonage was quiet. Not even the scrape of a carpet sweeper or the sizzle of roasting meat desecrated the silence.
In two big Douglas fir trees that framed the front door's vista of snow-capped mountains, birds perched songless. A grocer's boy on a bicycle stopped whistling at the corner and did not resume until he had passed the parsonage and was well down the block. The postman tiptoed up the porch steps, eased his letters in to the box, and cat footed away.
The upstairs windows were open, their curtains swaying in an almost guilty flirtation with the morning breeze. A screen swung outward on its hinges. A dust mop emerged, shook vigorously but without throat. Holding the mop handle in both hands, a boy watched the petals of dust drop like parachutes to the hedge below. Then he pulled in his head and noiselessly latched the screen hook."
