By Clark Ashton Smith
Released in chronological order, with wide tale and bibliographic notes, this sequence not just offers entry to tales which were out of print for years, yet offers them a old and social context. sequence editors Scott Conners and Ronald S. Hilger excavated the still-existing manuscripts, letters and numerous released models of the tales, making a definitive "preferred text" for Smith's complete physique of labor. This 3rd quantity of the sequence brings jointly 21 of his fable tales.
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Extra resources for A Vintage from Atlantis (The Collected Fantasies of Clark Ashton Smith, Volume 3)
The kind of place where people double-checked the locks at night or pulled their kids closer in the grocery store. They hung horseshoes over their front doors and put up bells instead of wind chimes. They wore crosses made from stainless steel instead of gold because gold couldn’t protect them from people like me. Maybe the brave ones buried quartz and agate in their gardens or left a saucer of milk out for luck—a little backyard offering for whatever might be waiting in the shadows. If 38 THE REPLACEMENT someone called them on it, they’d shrug or laugh, but they didn’t stop doing it because hey, we lived in a place where people kept their porch lights on and didn’t smile at strangers.
From Natalie Stewart’s funeral. His face was round and generally friendly, but right now it looked sort of raw. I wanted to ask about the service but didn’t know what to say. He was ﬂipping through a pile of old sermons and making notes on them. His suit coat was slung over the back of a chair. He glanced up when I came in but didn’t put his pen down. He looked tired and sort of exasperated, like he could hardly wait for the day to be over. ” he said. “They had the blood drive at school. . ” He watched my face, rolling the pen between his ﬁngers.
If you assessed our family dynamic based on just the kitchen, you would probably assume it was sitcom quality. I leaned my elbows on the table like I was checking to see if it would take my weight. The smell of his aftershave was so strong that it kept getting in my mouth, making it hard to swallow. On the wall, the clock was ticking softly, inching toward eleven. 32 THE REPLACEMENT No. It wasn’t a crisis. Except someone had scratched Freak on my locker door. But there was no way to tell him about that.
A Vintage from Atlantis (The Collected Fantasies of Clark Ashton Smith, Volume 3) by Clark Ashton Smith