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Doc. Turner's Love Dream by Arthur Leo Zagat is a captivating blend of romance and psychological intrigue. When Dr. Turner, a brilliant but reclusive scientist, begins to experience vivid and unsettling dreams about a mysterious woman, he is drawn into a world of passion and mystery that defies explanation. As the lines between dream and reality blur, Dr. Turner embarks on a quest to uncover the truth behind these dreams, which leads him to unexpected revelations and emotional turmoil. Will he find the woman of his dreams, or will he be consumed by the labyrinth of his own mind? Dive into this enthralling story where love and mystery intertwine in the most unexpected ways.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
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Doc. Turner's Love Dream
Synopsis
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Cocaine—in a schoolboy's chewing gum—turned Doc Turner's thoughts from a vain dream of the long-dead past to the imperative, squalid present. And he learned that though Time is ruthless with the young, it can sometimes be exceedingly kind to the aged...
THERE was nostalgic, dreamy tenderness in Andrew Turner's low voice. "Her name was Madeleine Carstairs, Jack. I called her Mab." Even seated as he was before the time-darkened, roll-top desk in his prescription room, the old druggist's slight form seemed bowed under the weight of his long years.
"Mab," Jack Ransom repeated softly. Dingy light tangled in the white luster of Doc Turner's hair, inked the wrinkles of his weary countenance with lines of deep shadow, sifted down to fall on the yellow, faded photograph in his gnarled fingers. Jack, barrel-bodied, carrot-topped and powerful, peered at a pictured drugstore-front, shaded by tall trees. Before it stood a young man—anachronistic in the high, stiff collar and tight black trousers of the nineties. "She looked like that." The Andrew Turner of long ago was looking down at a girl whose delicate grace her shoe-length skirt and puff-sleeved shirtwaist could not conceal. From out of the dim past, an ineffable sweetness in the elfin face tugged at the youth's heart strings.
"She was like that," the old druggist said softly. "Fairy-like. Not quite real. I always felt that if I touched her, she would vanish..." Doc broke off, shrugged wearily. "But there are 'El' pillars out front now, instead of these elms, Jack. Morris Street is a bedraggled, rubbish-strewn slum thoroughfare—and I am an old man. Old and useless..."
"Not useless!" the other protested, straightening from his lounge against the prescription counter. "There isn't a person around here who wouldn't go to the mat with you on that. Helpless in their poverty, bewildered by the strange ways of a strange land, they've come to you with their troubles for forty years—and for forty years you've wet-nursed them. You've fought killers and crooks away from them till Morris Street has a deadline around it the Underworld don't dare cross."
"If it weren't for your help, my boy, and for Abe's..." The old man's fond gaze wandered from the freckle-faced youth poised above him to a Semitic-featured, swart urchin busy at the sink. "...I shouldn't have been able to..."
Glass-crash splintered into his sentence. Fragments of a large graduate flashed light as they showered over the sink-edge, clattered on the floor. Abe's shabby form quivered and his dark face was strangely convulsed, as he stared at the destruction he had wrought.
Doc Turner's tones were slightly—only slightly—rebuking: "That's the second one since you came from school, Abie. Those things are expensive, and I can't afford to buy them every day. I wish you'd be more careful..."