Mar 17, Tycoon PDF Book by Harold Robbins - Free Download. Tycoon PDF Book by Harold Robbins Tycoon is the 23rd novel of Harold Robbins and was published in It portrays the fanatically. Harold Robbins - Tycoon (retail) (epub) - dokument [*.epub] 'Harold Robbins is a master!' raved Playboy magazine of the consummate storyteller of our time.
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Harold Robbins (–) is one of the best-selling American fiction writers of all time, ranking 5th on the Harold Robbins Author cover image of Tycoon. Tycoon. byRobbins, Harold, Publication date Topics Television For print-disabled users. Borrow this book to access EPUB and PDF files. Tycoon book. Read 17 reviews from the world's largest community for readers. As a pioneering radio and television broadcaster, Jack Lear makes a fortune.
He means to dominate you. Besides, you're too intellectual to go into-all right, your words-to go into the junk business. An intellectual needs a career that offers a chance to be creative. He considered himself an intellectual. His father and his brother were intelligent-one might even say aggressively intelligent-but they were not deep thinkers who were given to study, reflection, and speculation.
Maybe he had inherited his intellectuality from his grandfather, Johann Lehrer, who had been a professor before he left Germany. Kimberly had also inherited an intellectual bent. There was a Yale professor of rhetoric on the maternal side of her family. And on her father's side, her great-great-grandfather had been an inspired Yankee tinkerer who had invented the simple device that extracted and expelled spent cartridges from firearms when they were opened after firing, thereby sparing the shooter the task of pulling each hot empty casing out with his fingernails.
On this invention the Wolcott family fortune had been established. It was the foundation of Kettering Arms, Incorporated, of which Kimberly's father was president. He's not going to take it temperately.
Our decision is made. They lay back against the pillows and snuggled. He was an intellectual by anyone's definition: Even though he was young, men came to him with questions of Judaic law and abided by his decisions.
He was a learned man, Kimberly. In he fled Germany because he was subject to Prussian universal military conscription and lived in fear of being called into the army. Can you imagine a Jewish professor and rabbi, wearing earlocks, as a private in a Prussian regiment? He couldn't. He left his home and country rather than risk it. And in America he wound up being what he called a 'junkman. He couldn't find work as a professor in this country.
He didn't speak English. So he became a junkman, at first with a pushcart. But he made a hell of a lot of money. My father runs the business now. When my grandfather retired, the last suggestion of ethics went out of the business. Among other things, my father is a union-buster. Like Henry Ford, he hires thugs. You're distracting me.
How can we talk about anything serious when your cock's standing up like a sailboat mast? She bent forward and gave it a quick, affectionate kiss. But you won't 'premature' the second time. Or the third.
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You've got to keep at it till I come. I'll work on it. Just the other day, Kimberly's doctor had told her she was in the early stage of her first pregnancy. Although Kimberly was petite and Jack's cock was imposing, they knew by now that she could accommodate all of him, though she did need for him to enter slowly at first, to give her time to stretch.
He pushed in a little and then a little more. She grunted, then nodded. He began slow strokes, and she opened gradually, until shortly all of him was in her. Their bellies slapped together as he thrust down and lifted her hips to meet him. It was as she'd predicted, though. He reached his orgasm very quickly and ejaculated a great flood, part of which ran out of her and glistened on her legs.
He went to the door and asked, "Who is it? She tossed Jack his navy-blue robe. She jumped out of bed, snatched up an orange silk wrapper and put it on. Jack opened the door. He had addressed his grandfather that way for years, knowing how much the old man liked it. Johann Lehrer glanced around the hotel room.
He smiled, more with his eyes than with his mouth.
Kimberly clutched her wrapper closer around her. Pulled tight, it revealed much more than it had when it was loose. May you have many, many times when you are not interrupted, even by an intruding thought. Johann Lehrer did not pretend he didn't know why she'd changed. His smile widened. Jack could not cease being surprised, and distressed, by the way the old man had deteriorated physically in recent years.
Every year he seemed to wear his trousers higher, until by now his suspenders drew them almost up to his armpits. He was still wearing the light-gray suit with black pinstripes that he had worn at dinner.
In the past he had never entirely uncovered his head. Now, when he put his hat aside, he revealed a bald, liver-spotted pate and no yarmulke. His eyes watered, and his lips trembled. At Kimberly's insistence, Johann Lehrer sat down in the hotel room's best chair. I have had your family history researched. Did you know that one of your Yankee ancestors was a peddler, going up and down the roads in a wagon, selling pots and pans, Bibles and almanacs, hats and shoes? Subsequently your family became manufacturers, making guns.
Also, later, in your mother's family, a Yale professor. He told me. Maybe you it does not yet bore. When I come to America, I was a ragpicker at first. Der Herr Professor Lehrer pushing a handcart!
Then scrap metal in a cart pulled by horse. But you know. When you collect a little junk, it's junk. When you collect a lot, it's salvage! Lehrer Salvage Company! When you tear apart old ships for the scrap metal, then you are a ship breaker.
But it's the same thing. We are still in the junk business. But some of us want to move into other things. The movies! Jack's brother has gone into this business.
Once I thought the younger grandson might become a rabbi or a teacher. Marrying you, my grandson has done well. But not so well if he does not escape from my son. Erich is a good man. But he thinks he has made all Jack's decisions for him.
He has laid out his life for him. He cares little what Robert does.
It is Jack that he cares about. He wants you to become a junkman. It is the family business. You don't like that, huh, shiksa? Well, why should you? It was a bargain. The last one cost me three fifty. I flipped my cigarette over the side of the car and started the motor.
I pulled the car out into traffic and headed toward Malibu.
Hey, where you going? I looked over at her. To the beach house, We might as well make the most of the situation. She began to laugh and drew closer to me. She looked up into my face.
I wonder what Mother would say if she knew just how far I went to get you. She told me not to miss a trick. I laughed. She shook her head. Poor Mother. She had the wedding all planned. Maybe if the old bitch had kept her mouth shut, her daughter might have been alive today. It was the night after that, about eleven thirty, that my telephone began to ring.
I had just about fogged off and I cursed, reaching for the phone. Her voice came through in a scared whisper. The sleep shot out of my head like a bullet. I sat up in bed. Where are you?
I checked into the Westwood Hotel this afternoon. Room nine-o-one. Get back into bed. Please hurry, Joney. The Westwood is a commercial hotel in downtown L. Nobody even looked twice when I went up in the elevator without announcing myself at the desk.
I stopped in front of Room and tried the door. It was unlocked. I went in. I never saw so much blood in my life.
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It was all over the cheap carpeting on the floor, the chair in which she had sat when she called me, the white sheets on the bed. She was lying on the bed and her face was as white as the pillow under her head. Her eyes had been closed but they flickered open when I came over.
Her lips moved but no sound came out.
I bent over her. She closed her eyes and I went over to the phone. There was no use in just calling a doctor. I called McAllister.
His butler called him to the phone. I tried to keep my voice calm. I need a doctor and an ambulance quick. In less than a moment, I understood why my father used Mac. Just where, when and who. No why. His voice was precise. A doctor and an ambulance will be there in ten minutes. I advise you to leave now. I thanked him and put down the phone. I glanced over at the bed.
Her eyes were closed and she appeared to be sleeping. I started for the door and her eyes opened. I went back to the bed and sat down beside it. I took her hand and she closed her eyes again. The ambulance was there in ten minutes. I could feel the momentary stoppage of work as I walked by and I could hear the subdued murmur of voices following me. El hijo. The son. That was how they knew me. They spoke of me with a fondness and a pride, as their ancestors had of the children of their patrones.
It gave them a sense of identity and belonging that helped make up for the meager way in which they had to live. I started up the steps and looked back at them. A hundred faces smiled up at me. I waved my hand and smiled back at them in the same way I had always done, ever since I first climbed those steps when I was a kid. I went through the door at the top of the stairway and the noise was gone as soon as the door closed behind me.
Denby was sitting at his desk, scribbling a note in his usual fluttery fashion. A girl sat at a desk across from him, beating hell out of a typewriter.
A man and a woman. The woman was dressed in black and she was twisting a small white handkerchief in her hands. She looked up at me as I stood in the doorway. The girl looked enough like her mother. I met her eyes and she turned her head away. Denby got up nervously. He closed the door behind me. I looked around the office. Nevada was leaning against the left wall bookcase, his eyes half closed in that deceptive manner of alertness peculiar to him.
McAllister was seated in a chair across from my father. He turned his head to look at me. My father sat behind the immense old oak desk and glared. Outside of that, the office was just as I remembered it. The dark oak-paneled walls, the heavy leather chairs. The green velvet drapes on the windows and the picture of my father and President Wilson on the wall behind the desk. The whisky bottle was about one-third filled. I checked my watch. It was ten after three.
My father was a bottle-a-day man.
I crossed the office and stopped in front of him. I looked down and met his angry glare. Hello, Father. His ruddy face grew even redder.
Your message was to get down here in a hurry. I got here as quickly as I could, sir. But there was no stopping him now. He was raging. My father had that kind of a temper.
One moment he would be still and quiet, and the next, higher than a kite. What did you go to the hospital for? Left yourself wide open for criminal charges as an accomplice abetting an abortion.
I was angry now. I had every bit as much of a temper as my father. What was I supposed to do? The girl was bleeding to death and afraid. Was I supposed to just walk out of there and leave her to die alone? This is the third girl in a year you got caught with! It was the twenty grand.El hijo. It started out graphic from the start and I felt as though he was trying to continually raise the stakes through the book which, when coming towards the end of the book, left him with nowhere to go.
Description eBook Details Click on the cover image above to read some pages of this book! You must log in to edit Common Knowledge data. He had addressed his grandfather that way for years, knowing how much the old man liked it. I got to my feet. This book is not yet featured on Listopia.