New York Times Bestselling author Nick Tate brings together the latest cutting edge health information from the experts at HEALTH RADAR to help individuals and families stay healthy, live longer, and live better - naturally. Through a monthly newsletter and website, Health Radar is chock-full of valuable information about a variety of topics: Tips on how to lose weight and keep it off Articles covering significant, common issues such as cancer, memory loss, depression and allergies Education on less commonly known medical issues. Unlike more commercial “health” magazines, the well-researched content in Health Radar comes from medical studies, experts and professionals focused on giving you practical advice on how to improve your health. Health Radar helps you better understand your body and how its inner processes work. When you understand how your body works and why it works like it does, you will be better prepared and equipped to keep your body and your mind healthy. This book truly bulges from cover to cover with to-the-point tips, tricks, and strategies that can: Eliminate your health worries; Keep you out of the hospital — and your doctor's office Protect you from unnecessary treatments, dangerous pills and procedures, and sky-high medical costs And add many years of robust health and vitality to your life and the lives of your loved ones It's time to move beyond the limits of old-fashioned medicine. And move beyond those nagging health problems that make you feel old, sick, fat, weak, and stressed out. No matter what health issues you may be coping with, you'll discover every issue of Health Radar to be an outstanding source of useful action strategies that help you enjoy a fun-filled, active life.
He was never truly gone, only biding his time... Late on midsummer’s night there is a splash in the river Thames. A body is found on an island, asphyxiated and laced with strange markings. For DCI Craig Gillard it’s a baffling case. The victim’s identity is elusive, clues are scarce and every witness has something to hide. Meanwhile one of Britain’s deadliest serial killers is finally up for parole after a deal to reveal the location of two missing bodies. The felon has his own plans to get even with witnesses, accusers and the officer who caught him thirty years before. And who was that? A young trainee, by the name of Gillard. Don’t miss the new explosive crime thriller from master storyteller Nick Louth, perfect for fans of Mark Billingham, Cara Hunter and Robert Bryndza.
Uses biographical sketches to present record performances which have captivated the public in such areas as politics, sports, science, entertainment, daily life, and aviation.
Euripides, the last of the three great tragedians of ancient Athens, reached the height of his renown during the disastrous Peloponnesian War, when democratic Athens was brought down by its own outsized ambitions. His plays were shockers: he unmasked heroes, revealing them as foolish and savage, and he wrote about the powerless - women and children, slaves and barbarians - for whom tragedy was not so much exceptional as unending. Euripides' plays rarely won first prize in the great dramatic competitions of ancient Athens, but their combustible mixture of realism and extremism fascinated audiences throughout the Greek world." "Four of those tragedies are here presented in new translations by the contemporary poet and classicist Anne Carson. They are Herakles, in which the hero swaggers home to destroy his own family; Hekabe, set after the Trojan War, in which Hektor's widow takes vengeance on her Greek captors; Hippelytes, about love and the horror of love; and the strange tragicomic fable Alkestis, which tells of a husband who arranges for his wife to die in his place. The volume also contains brief introductions by Carson to each of the plays along with two remarkable framing essays: "Tragedy: A Curious Art Form" and "Why I Wrote Two Plays About Phaidra.""--BOOK JACKET.
IT had rained in torrents all the way down from Schenectady, so when Jack Duane glimpsed the lights of what looked to be a big house through the trees, he braked his battered, convertible sedan to a stop at the side of the road. Mud lay along the fenders and running boards; mud and water had spumed up and freckled Duane’s face and hat. He pulled off the latter—it was soggy—and slapped it on the seat beside him, leaning out and squinting through the darkness and falling water. He was on the last lap of a two weeks’ journey from San Francisco, his objective being New York City. There he hoped to wangle a job as foreign correspondent from an old crony, J. J. Molloy, now editor of the New York Globe. Adventurer, journalist, globetrotter, Duane was of the type that is always on the move. “It’s a place, anyway, Moses,” he said to the large black man beside him, his servitor and bodyguard, who had accompanied him everywhere for the past three years. “Somebody lives there; they ought to have some gas.” “Yasah,” said Moses, staring past Duane’s shoulder, “it’s a funny-looking place, suh.” Duane agreed. Considering that they were seventy miles from New York, in the foothills of the Catskills, with woods all around them and the rain pouring down, the thing they saw through the trees, some three hundred yards from the country road, was indeed peculiar. It looked more like a couple of Pullman cars coupled together and lighted, than like a farmer’s dwelling. “Fenced in, too,” said Duane, pointing to the high steel fence that bordered the road, separating them from the object of their vision. “And look there—” A fitful flash of lightning in the east, illuminating the distant treetops, showed up the towering steel and network of a high-voltage electric line’s tower. The roving journalist muttered something to express his puzzlement, and got out of the car. Moses followed him. “Well,” said Duane presently, when they had stared a moment longer, “whatever it is, I’m barging in. We’ve got to have some gas or we’ll never make New York tonight.” MOSES agreed. The two men started across the road—the big Negro hatless and wearing a slicker—the reporter in a belted trench coat, his brown felt hat pulled out of shape on his head. “It’s a big thing,” Duane said as he and Moses halted at the fence and peered through. Distantly, he could see now that the mysterious structure in the woods was at least a hundred yards long, flat-topped and black as coal except from narrow shafts of light that came from its windows. “And look at the light coming out of the roof.” That was, indeed, the most peculiar feature of this place they had discovered. From a section of the roof near the center, as though through a skylight, a great white light came out, illuminating the slanting rain and the bending trees.
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