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About experiencing earthquakes between two book binders

ORIENTERING 9 AUGUST 1969 /

(THIS ARTICLE IS ONLY MACHINE TRANSLATED by Google from Norwegian)

It should preferably be murder – many, imaginative and fit
sadistic and refreshing murders, often described in great detail after the times
taste. In the holiday reading, I mean. No Norwegian with self-respect, and
that is, respect for their well-being and thus their need for relaxation,
fails to provide adequate crime in the suitcase or backpack, so much
more like he in the summer weeks may have to do without the weekly doses of detective series
and Gunpowder smoke on TV.

The
my part there were only two books this summer, but they made up the total
nearly a thousand pages, and the total number of murders was 26 million.
The number is not exact, because it was real and not
fictional people, and then it goes away so quickly and generously in our century
that there can almost never be any pertinent enumeration, if one disregards
rare accountant talents like Adolf Eichmann. It must be a round estimate for them
murdered by meat. . .

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