By Terry Pratchett
Threat sur le paisible et douillet quotidien des mages : si l'Université de l'Invisible ne renoue pas avec los angeles culture du fouteballe, d'intolérables regulations sont à prévoir dans leur teach de vie.
Il reste à former un employees et une équipe compétitifs. Par bonheur, l'université dispose, parmi le petit group of workers, d'individualités remarquables. Citons Trevor possible — inouï ce qu'on obtient d'une boîte de preserve —, Glenda, los angeles reine des tourtes, Juliette, ravissante nunuche promise à un bel avenir dans l'univers de l. a. mode, et le mystérieux monsieur Daingue. Qui est Monsieur Daingue ? Le sait-il lui-même ? Toujours est-il qu'on le surveille en haut lieu.
Tandis que le fit fatidique approche, quatre vies s’entremêlent et quatre destins basculent. vehicle ce qu’il faut savoir du fouteballe – ce qu’il faut savoir d’important sur le fouteballe –, c’est qu’il dépasse le cadre du fouteballe.
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Extra resources for Allez les mages ! (Les annales du Dique-monde, Tome 37)
Anger boiled within me, waves of shame and humiliation. If Albert had handed me the eighteen dollars at that moment, I would have torn it into shreds and tossed it into the wind. Yes, I understood now. Our family farm was broken. I made up my mind that, somehow, we were going to fix it. Chapter Two I t came to my attention rather quickly that I had no idea what I was doing. As I laced up my work boots the following morning, I didn’t even know where to begin. The harvest was complete, and Albert was finished with our farm for the season.
Believe me . . I’m as disappointed as you. Probably more so. ” “But there were so many trucks! Full trucks, Albert. ” Albert removed his hat, pointlessly crimped the brim several times, and pulled it tightly back onto his head. Shoulders slumped, he had the air of a defeated man. “Yes ma’am. Somebody probably is. ” They continued to talk, pouring over the numbers, but I’m certain that’s the last I heard, and the last I was able to see, for quite some time. So this is what society was trying to tell me.
This new arrangement with Albert left us cautiously optimistic, but my sister and I couldn’t help but be influenced by decades of desultory results. Six years older than I, she had studied horticulture during her first year of college, but family and teachers talked her out of the farming life. She pursued nursing school instead. In my sophomore year of college, I walked a wooded campus path with my future wife, Nancy, trying to explain my own conflicted emotions. “More and more, I’m thinking of becoming a farmer,” I told her, kicking absently at the autumn leaves that swirled around our feet.