eBOOK [ ] My Sweet Audrina (The Audrina Series) >>DOWNLOAD Click button below to download or read this book. Description Audrina. Read eBook My Sweet Audrina By V C Andrews EPUB KINDLE PDF EBOOK. (c) - page 1 of 7 - Get Instant Access to PDF File: b4ff6 My. We offer one of the most needed book qualified My Sweet Audrina Pdf by dev. ronaldweinland.info Learning It is completely free both downloading or checking out online.
|Language:||English, Spanish, Japanese|
|ePub File Size:||20.88 MB|
|PDF File Size:||17.33 MB|
|Distribution:||Free* [*Register to download]|
Read My Sweet Audrina by V.C. Andrews for free with a 30 day free trial. My papa never forgot the first and best Audrina, and still hoped that someday I would . My sweet Audrina by Virginia Cleo Andrews, , Pocket Books edition, in English. Get Free Read & Download Files V C Andrews My Sweet Audrina PDF. V C ANDREWS MY SWEET AUDRINA. Download: V C Andrews My Sweet Audrina.
Andrews, author of the phenomenally successful Dollanganger series, has created a fascinating new cast of characters in this haunting story of love and deceit, innocence and betrayal, and the suffocating power of parental love. Audrina Adare wanted so to be as good as her sister. She knew her father could not love her as he loved her sister. Her sister was so special, so perfect -- and dead. Upstairs in the locked room were her sister's clothes and dolls, her animals and games -- and her sacred rocking chair, which held the secret of all her sister's gifts.
I will leave the site up for now, to serve as a "time capsule" for your reference. Take care, and happy reading! The Audrina Series: Andrews, author of the phenomenally successful Dollanganger series, has created a fascinating new cast of characters in this haunting story of love and deceit, innocence and betrayal, and the suffocating power of parental love.
Audrina Adare wanted so to be as good as her sister. She knew her father could not love her as he loved her sister. Her sister was so special, so perfect—and dead. Upstairs in the locked room were her sister's clothes and dolls, her animals and games—and her sacred rocking chair, which held the secret of all her sister's gifts.
Now Audrina will rock and rock and claim those gifts. Online shopping tips: See the site Help page for ordering info, shipping, return policy, etc. Be careful! Look here for identification tips, and always ask the seller questions before you download. Read descriptions carefully. Official Publisher's Website: Chapter Listing: Story Setting: Virginia, ss. Family Tree, Characters and Major Events: Spent 15 weeks total on the list.
Highest rank reached was 2. More About My Sweet Audrina: N M9 The Physical Object Pagination p. Readers waiting for this title: Check nearby libraries with: WorldCat Library.
download this book site. Share this book Facebook. History Created August 8, 13 revisions Download catalog record: Wikipedia citation Close. February 3, Edited by ImportBot.
January 27, January 25, His eyes were slick as oil, scary and wonderful, especially when they glittered. He had smooth, soft skin that often appeared ruddy in the winters, and richly bronze in the summers. I suspected she meant that my huge, powerful papa cared more about clothes than he cared about principles. He feared growing old, especially feared losing his hair. He checked his hairbrush each day, almost counting the hairs he found there. He saw the dentist four times a year.
He flossed his teeth so often Momma grew disgusted. His doctor checked him over as much as the dentist did. He fretted about minor flaws no one would ever notice but him, such as thick, horny toenails he had difficulty clipping.
Yet when he smiled, his charm was irresistible. Again I vaguely guessed she meant Papa wanted what he wanted, and no one had better get in his way and try to prevent him from taking what he had to have.
But only sometimes. There were other times—terrible other times. It had been agreed when my aunt came back to live here when Vera was only one year old that she would do all the housework in exchange for her board and keep, while my mother did the cooking. Unreasonably, my aunt wanted to do the cooking which she considered easier instead of the housework, but no one could eat anything my aunt prepared.
Momma despised housework, but she could throw anything into a pot or bowl without measuring and it would come out tasting divine. How my aunt glared when he said mean things like that. My aunt was a fearsome woman.
Not only did she have a sharp tongue, as mean for me as for Vera, but she also had her golden rule about sparing the rod and spoiling the child. Neither Vera nor I were spared when she was in charge.
Fortunately my parents seldom left us alone with her. In some ways, it seemed my aunt disliked her daughter even more than she disliked me. It had always been my belief that women were born to be loving mothers. You can give love to anything. It was so difficult to understand what was going on in our house. It was true my aunt was tall, her face was long and she was skinny, even if she did eat three times more than my mother. Sometimes when Papa said cruel things to my aunt, her already thin lips would purse together to become a fine line.
Maybe it was Aunt Ellsbeth who kept our city friends from coming more often. There had to be some reason why they came only when we threw a party.
Then, Momma said, our friends popped out of the woodwork like insects come to feast on the picnic. Papa adored all parties until they were over. Then, for one reason or another, he would jump on Momma and punish her for some trivial thing he called a social error, such as looking at a handsome man for too long, or dancing with him too many times.
Oh, it was difficult being a wife, I could tell. One never knew just what to do, or how friendly to be. Momma was expected to play the piano to entertain while people danced or sang.
No casual callers ever came to our doors. No salesmen were allowed either. Signs were posted everywhere: Trespassers will be Prosecuted. I often went to bed feeling unhappy with my life, feeling an undercurrent that was pulling my feet from under me, and I was floundering, floundering, bound to sink and drown. I woke up and heard the tinkle of the whispering wind chimes telling me over and over that I belonged where I was, and here I would stay forevermore, and nothing I did would matter in the long run.
Shivering, I hugged my arms over my thin chest. Why did I have to have an older sister dead and in her grave at the age of nine? Why did I have to be named after a dead girl?
It seemed peculiar, unnatural. In the morning I ran to Papa and right away he picked me up and held me close as the grandfather clocks in the hallways relentlessly ticked on. All about us the house was as silent as a grave, as if waiting for death to come and take us all, as it had taken the First and Best Audrina.
Oh, how I hated and envied my older dead sister.
How cursed I felt to bear her name. Out in the yard, he said, hugging me closer. Time is never important to special people with unusual gifts. Yet for me the weekend hours are the best ones. We are all victims of dual heritages, he said softly, stroking my hair and gently rocking me back and forth in the rocker that my great-great-great-grandmother had used to nurse her twelve children in.
Each child inherits genes from both parents, and that determines his or her hair color, eye color and personality traits. Babies come into the world to be controlled by those genes and by the particular environment that surrounds them. When you do, all that is good and beautiful in this world will belong to you, as it belonged to her.
While you and I wait for that marvelous day when your empty pitcher is filled, I am doing my damnedest to give you the very best.
At that moment my aunt and mother came into the kitchen, trailed by Vera, who carried a basket of freshly picked butter beans. Aunt Ellsbeth must have overheard most of what Papa had just said, because she remarked sarcastically, You should have been a philosopher instead of a stockbroker, Damian. Then maybe someone would care to listen to your words of wisdom. I stared at her, dredging up from my treacherous memory something I might or might not have dreamed.
But before I could capture any illusive memory, all were gone, gone. I sighed, unhappy with myself, unhappy with the adults who ruled me, with the cousin who insisted she was really my only sister because she wanted to steal my place, when already my place had been stolen by the First and Best Audrina, who was a dead Audrina. Sunday came, and as soon as the church services were over, Papa drove, as he always did, straight to the family cemetery near our house where the name Whitefern was engraved on a huge arching gateway through which we slowly drove.
Beyond the archway the cemetery itself had to be approached on foot. We were all dressed in our best, and bearing expensive flowers. Papa tugged me from the car.
It seemed this was the first time I could clearly remember the words Papa must have said many times before. There she lies, my first Audrina. Sorrowfully, he stared down at the flat grave with the slender white-marble headstone bearing my very own name, but her birth and death dates. I wondered when my parents would recover from the shock of her mysterious death. This was the kind of perspective I would never have once I grew up, seeing his strong, square chin from underneath, next his heavy pouting lower lip, then his flaring nostrils and the fringe of his long lower dark lashes meeting with the upper ones as he blinked back his tears.
It was just like looking up at God. He seemed so powerful, so much in control. He smiled at me again. My first Audrina is in that grave, dead at nine years of age. That wonderful, special Audrina—just as you are wonderful and special.
Believe in what Papa tells you and you will never go wrong. I swallowed. Visiting this grave and hearing about this Audrina always made my throat hurt. In my childish way I figured my value to him depended on just how special and wonderful I turned out to be later on.
Oh, Papa, cried Vera, stumbling over to his side and clutching at his hand. I loved her so much, so very much. She was so sweet and wonderful and special. And so beautiful. She flashed a wicked smile my way to tell me again that never would I be as pretty as the First and Best and Most Perfect Audrina. And she was so brilliant in school, too. Shut up! He hurried then to put his pot of flowers on that grave, and then he seized my hand and pulled me toward his car.
Already I knew Vera was right. Whatever wonderful specialness the First Audrina had possessed was buried in the grave with her. Not wanted, not worthy, not pretty and not special enough were the words I thought as I went up the stairs and into the attic. I wished the First Audrina had never been born. I had to wade through the clutter of old dusty junk before I came to the rusty, iron, spiraling stairs that would take me through a square opening in the floor that once had a rickety iron guardrail that someday Papa was going to replace.
In that octagon room there was a rectangular Turkey rug, all crimsons, golds and blues. Each day I visited I combed that fringe with my fingers, as Papa often raked through his dark hair with his fingers when he was enraged or frustrated.
There were no furnishings in the cupola, only a pillow for me to sit on. The sunlight through the stained-glass windows fell upon the carpet in swirls like bright peacock feathers and confused the designs with patterns of colored light. My legs and arms were patterned, too, like impermanent tattoos. High above, dangling down from the apex of the pointed roof, were long rectangles of painted glass—Chinese wind chimes that hung from scarlet silken cords.
They hung so high the wind never made them move, yet I often heard them tinkle, tinkle. I fell down on the cushion on the rug and began to play with the old paper dolls that I kept lined up around the walls.
But only one was named Audrina. It seemed I could vaguely remember once there had been men and boy dolls, but now I had only girls and ladies.
My head jerked around.
There stood Vera in the haunted, colored lights of the cupola. The cupola was a magic place.