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Lee's Last Retreat: The Flight to Appomattox

Lee's Last Retreat: The Flight to Appomattox

5.0 4
by William Marvel

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Few events in Civil War history have generated such deliberate mythmaking as the retreat that ended at Appomattox. William Marvel offers the first history of the Appomattox campaign written primarily from contemporary source material, with a skeptical eye toward memoirs published well after the events they purport to describe.

Marvel shows that during the final

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Lee's Last Retreat: The Flight to Appomattox 5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 4 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Ever since we moved to this creepy house, there's been this large, square wood polished dresser sitting in the cornor of my bedroom. <br> Every day I folded a paper crane and set it in the lower drawer of the dresser, each one with a different type of pattern, paper or color. I wrote names of my dead relatives in each crane, in the ones where I thought the paper matched their look or personality. It was special to me. Relaxing. Soothing. <br> "We'll have to get rid of that old thing." My mother, or, as she wants me to call her, Monique finally declared. "It doesn't go with your adorable theme. And wood-polish is such a last years trend. Maybe even the year before THAT." <br> It was bolted to the floor, to the wall. She found that out the hard way. I suggested painting over the dresser with mint green. Everyone loves mint green. But my mother said otherwise. "Darling, no. Just no. The dresser simply doesn't go with your round pieces. Do you even know how much it cost me to get those?" <br> Maybe some days later, Monique hired somebody to remove the dresser and take it away. Far away. <br> And so the dresser was removed from the wall. Each paper crane was put under my round, state of the art chair. But they didnt feel as special. They felt out of place, and every night I thought I heard them squawking for their true home. It was a trouble to get out of my room, because the dresser didn't fit through the door. The men that Monique hired had to take the dresser apart, each drawer, each knob, each plank going through the door seperately. <br><br> "Great to get that old thing faaar away from our nice place, right, hon?" My mother asked, kicking up her designer boots onto the couch, so very unlike her. <br> Almost a month later we were out garage saling. Monique was a professional shopper. We'd found a decent Chanel bag, and things had only improved from there. At our ninth garage sale, we came across a large mansion that we expected lots from, seeing how the owners were probably wealthy and had lots of good stuff for sale. <br><br> Sitting in their driveway was a large, square, wood-polished dresser. My mother chuckled at the sight of it. "Whaddya know." She simply said, before waddling off to inspect a white grandfathers clock. I, however, approached the dresser. <br> I opened the bottom drawerer. <br> Paper cranes. Beautifully folded ones, cranes more precise than my rumpled ones. <br> I unfolded a crane- the only crane with the same type of paper as one of my own. <br> Inside the paper, written in blue ink, was my name.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
*speechless*.... &hearts
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Awwww :)
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Beautiful. Very well written