Envío gratis siempre a todo México.
Haz clic para hacer zoom
Not Available
Franklin W.
The House on the Cliff
Cargando comentarios…
Comparte
$135
$122
Envío gratis siempre
Comentarios
Cargando el resumen…
Cargando comentarios…
product
1446024The House on the Cliffhttps://www.gandhi.com.mx/the-house-on-the-cliff-7/phttps://gandhi.vtexassets.com/arquivos/ids/1423601/f7e62f75-b58d-40a9-84c2-6cb6aac016cb.jpg?v=638338089380270000https://gandhi.vtexassets.com/arquivos/ids/1421039/f7e62f75-b58d-40a9-84c2-6cb6aac016cb.jpg?v=638338085514970000122135MXNLibrary of AlexandriaInStock/Ebooks/<p>Three powerful motorcycles sped along the shore road that leads from the city of Bayport, skirting Barmet Bay, on the Atlantic coast. It was a bright Saturday morning in June, and although the city sweltered in the heat, cool breezes blew in from the bay. Two of the motorcycles carried an extra passenger. All the cyclists were boys of about fifteen and sixteen years of age and all five were students at the Bayport high school. They were enjoying their Saturday holiday by this outing, glad of the chance to get away from the torrid warmth of the city for a few hours. When the foremost motorcycle reached a place where the shore road formed a junction with another highway leading to the north, the rider brought his machine to a stop and waited for the others to draw alongside. He was a tall, dark youth of sixteen, with a clever, good-natured face. His name was Frank Hardy. "Where do we go from here?" he called out to the others. The two remaining motorcycles came to a stop and the drivers mopped their brows while the two other boys dismounted, glad of the chance to stretch their legs. One of the cyclists, a boy of fifteen, fair, with light, curly hair, was Joe Hardy, a brother of Franks, and the other lad was Chet Morton, a chum of the Hardy boys. The other youths were Jerry Gilroy and "Biff" Hooper, typical, healthy American lads of high school age. "Youre the leader," said Joe to his brother. "Well follow you." "Id rather have it settled. Weve started out without any particular place to go. Theres not much fun just riding around the countryside." "I dont much care where we go, as long as we keep on going," said Jerry. "We get a breeze as long as were traveling, but the minute we stop I begin to sweat."</p>...1431944The House on the Cliff122135https://www.gandhi.com.mx/the-house-on-the-cliff-7/phttps://gandhi.vtexassets.com/arquivos/ids/1423601/f7e62f75-b58d-40a9-84c2-6cb6aac016cb.jpg?v=638338089380270000https://gandhi.vtexassets.com/arquivos/ids/1421039/f7e62f75-b58d-40a9-84c2-6cb6aac016cb.jpg?v=638338085514970000InStockMXN99999DIEbook20259781465677204_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_<p>Three powerful motorcycles sped along the shore road that leads from the city of Bayport, skirting Barmet Bay, on the Atlantic coast. It was a bright Saturday morning in June, and although the city sweltered in the heat, cool breezes blew in from the bay. Two of the motorcycles carried an extra passenger. All the cyclists were boys of about fifteen and sixteen years of age and all five were students at the Bayport high school. They were enjoying their Saturday holiday by this outing, glad of the chance to get away from the torrid warmth of the city for a few hours. When the foremost motorcycle reached a place where the shore road formed a junction with another highway leading to the north, the rider brought his machine to a stop and waited for the others to draw alongside. He was a tall, dark youth of sixteen, with a clever, good-natured face. His name was Frank Hardy. "Where do we go from here?" he called out to the others. The two remaining motorcycles came to a stop and the drivers mopped their brows while the two other boys dismounted, glad of the chance to stretch their legs. One of the cyclists, a boy of fifteen, fair, with light, curly hair, was Joe Hardy, a brother of Franks, and the other lad was Chet Morton, a chum of the Hardy boys. The other youths were Jerry Gilroy and "Biff" Hooper, typical, healthy American lads of high school age. "Youre the leader," said Joe to his brother. "Well follow you." "Id rather have it settled. Weve started out without any particular place to go. Theres not much fun just riding around the countryside." "I dont much care where we go, as long as we keep on going," said Jerry. "We get a breeze as long as were traveling, but the minute we stop I begin to sweat."</p>...9781465677204_Library of Alexandrialibro_electonico_6cfc4a3f-10b3-3bb6-9065-6f0245510c2e_9781465677204;9781465677204_9781465677204Franklin W.InglésMéxicohttps://getbook.kobo.com/koboid-prod-public/markmoxford-epub-ed6ef619-2162-480b-88d7-7cc7def40eaa.epub2025-07-08T00:00:00+00:00Library of Alexandria