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  <title><![CDATA[The Long Night of Winchell Dear]]></title>
  <isbn><![CDATA[0307353087]]></isbn>
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  <description><![CDATA[The steady tick of an aged Regulator wall clock and the squeak of an overhead fan turning slowly are soft but insistent, counting down the night, while the high desert thrums like a half-remembered Victrola song. The sounds are below the consciousness of Winchell Dear, an old-time gambler, a Texas poker player on the southern circuit, as he waits for something . . . something vague that his life of chance tells him is evil and moving his way. He has gassed and oiled the Cadillac and adjusts the pistol in his right boot, then plays one of the six fiddle tunes he knows, thinking back to his good days with Lucinda Miller. Alone, he waits in his remote ranch house, while, just outside, an acquaintance named Luther hunts, unblinking and of nervous temperament and moving through yellow primrose bending in the night wind. <br/><br/>In Diablo Canyon, a distant part of Winchell Dear&#8217;s ranch, Peter Long Grass squats by a campfire, contemplating the profile he saw moving along the ridge of Guapa Mountain an hour ago, thinking about the gambler&#8217;s housekeeper, Sonia Dominguez, about the small, quiet world he has fashioned far from civilization and what undefined presence might now be threatening it. He gathers his tools and begins to run across the desert floor.<br/><br/>And boring toward all of them is a cream-colored Lincoln Continental with two men aboard. Traveling from Los Angeles on a mission they&#8217;ve been given, they are professionals, cool and implacable at the start, but becoming steadily more confused by the strange landscape they are passing through. Forty minutes from their task, they ready themselves, while a kitchen wall clock ticks its way through the long night of Winchell Dear.  <br/><br/>The Long Night of Winchell Dear finds master storyteller Robert James Waller at his best as he takes us through the wind and dust of the high desert mountains, into the shadowy world of high-stakes poker fought in the back rooms of Amarillo and Little Rock, and headlong toward the book&#8217;s stunning finale of chaotic terror, where an unexpected hero emerges.<br/><br/><br/><em>From the Hardcover edition.</em>]]></description>
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        <name><![CDATA[Robert James Waller]]></name>
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  <title>
    <![CDATA[The Long Night of Winchell Dear]]>
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    <![CDATA[The steady tick of an aged Regulator wall clock and the squeak of an overhead fan turning slowly are soft but insistent, counting down the night, while the high desert thrums like a half-remembered Victrola song. The sounds are below the consciousness of Winchell Dear, an old-time gambler, a Texas poker player on the southern circuit, as he waits for something . . . something vague that his life of chance tells him is evil and moving his way. He has gassed and oiled the Cadillac and adjusts the pistol in his right boot, then plays one of the six fiddle tunes he knows, thinking back to his good days with Lucinda Miller. Alone, he waits in his remote ranch house, while, just outside, an acquaintance named Luther hunts, unblinking and of nervous temperament and moving through yellow primrose bending in the night wind. <br/><br/>In Diablo Canyon, a distant part of Winchell Dear&#8217;s ranch, Peter Long Grass squats by a campfire, contemplating the profile he saw moving along the ridge of Guapa Mountain an hour ago, thinking about the gambler&#8217;s housekeeper, Sonia Dominguez, about the small, quiet world he has fashioned far from civilization and what undefined presence might now be threatening it. He gathers his tools and begins to run across the desert floor.<br/><br/>And boring toward all of them is a cream-colored Lincoln Continental with two men aboard. Traveling from Los Angeles on a mission they&#8217;ve been given, they are professionals, cool and implacable at the start, but becoming steadily more confused by the strange landscape they are passing through. Forty minutes from their task, they ready themselves, while a kitchen wall clock ticks its way through the long night of Winchell Dear.  <br/><br/>The Long Night of Winchell Dear finds master storyteller Robert James Waller at his best as he takes us through the wind and dust of the high desert mountains, into the shadowy world of high-stakes poker fought in the back rooms of Amarillo and Little Rock, and headlong toward the book&#8217;s stunning finale of chaotic terror, where an unexpected hero emerges.<br/><br/><br/><em>From the Hardcover edition.</em>]]>
  </description>
  <published>2006</published>
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    <rating>2</rating>
  <votes>1</votes>
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  <read_at>Tue Mar 17 00:00:00 -0700 2009</read_at>
  <date_added>Mon Mar 09 02:30:31 -0700 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Tue Mar 17 15:48:22 -0700 2009</date_updated>
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    <body><![CDATA[I suppose the world is divided into people who love Robert James Waller and those who don't.  I'm of the latter persuasion.  I thought this book was weakly plotted, a lot of digressions that didn't contribute to the story, and implausible plot twists.   ]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/48673169]]></url>
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      <review>
  <id>15497431</id>
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    <![CDATA[The Long Night of Winchell Dear]]>
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  <average_rating>3.00</average_rating>
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    <![CDATA[The steady tick of an aged Regulator wall clock and the squeak of an overhead fan turning slowly are soft but insistent, counting down the night, while the high desert thrums like a half-remembered Victrola song. The sounds are below the consciousness of Winchell Dear, an old-time gambler, a Texas poker player on the southern circuit, as he waits for something . . . something vague that his life of chance tells him is evil and moving his way. He has gassed and oiled the Cadillac and adjusts the pistol in his right boot, then plays one of the six fiddle tunes he knows, thinking back to his good days with Lucinda Miller. Alone, he waits in his remote ranch house, while, just outside, an acquaintance named Luther hunts, unblinking and of nervous temperament and moving through yellow primrose bending in the night wind. <br/><br/>In Diablo Canyon, a distant part of Winchell Dear&#8217;s ranch, Peter Long Grass squats by a campfire, contemplating the profile he saw moving along the ridge of Guapa Mountain an hour ago, thinking about the gambler&#8217;s housekeeper, Sonia Dominguez, about the small, quiet world he has fashioned far from civilization and what undefined presence might now be threatening it. He gathers his tools and begins to run across the desert floor.<br/><br/>And boring toward all of them is a cream-colored Lincoln Continental with two men aboard. Traveling from Los Angeles on a mission they&#8217;ve been given, they are professionals, cool and implacable at the start, but becoming steadily more confused by the strange landscape they are passing through. Forty minutes from their task, they ready themselves, while a kitchen wall clock ticks its way through the long night of Winchell Dear.  <br/><br/>The Long Night of Winchell Dear finds master storyteller Robert James Waller at his best as he takes us through the wind and dust of the high desert mountains, into the shadowy world of high-stakes poker fought in the back rooms of Amarillo and Little Rock, and headlong toward the book&#8217;s stunning finale of chaotic terror, where an unexpected hero emerges.<br/><br/><br/><em>From the Hardcover edition.</em>]]>
  </description>
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    <rating>3</rating>
  <votes>0</votes>
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  <recommended_for><![CDATA[]]></recommended_for>
  <recommended_by><![CDATA[]]></recommended_by>
  <read_at>Mon Jan 01 00:00:00 -0800 2007</read_at>
  <date_added>Fri Feb 15 10:46:03 -0800 2008</date_added>
  <date_updated>Fri Feb 15 10:47:29 -0800 2008</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[The steady tick of an aged Regulator wall clock and the squeak of an overhead fan turning slowly are soft but insistent, counting down the night, while the high desert thrums like a half-remembered Victrola song. The sounds are below the consciousness of Winchell Dear, an old-time gambler, a Texas p...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/15497431">more...</a>]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/15497431]]></url>
  <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/15497431]]></link>
</review>
      <review>
  <id>38457637</id>
    <user>
    <id>77825</id>
    <name><![CDATA[Lucia]]></name>
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  <title>
    <![CDATA[The Long Night of Winchell Dear]]>
  </title>
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  <average_rating>3.00</average_rating>
  <ratings_count>32</ratings_count>
  <description>
    <![CDATA[The steady tick of an aged Regulator wall clock and the squeak of an overhead fan turning slowly are soft but insistent, counting down the night, while the high desert thrums like a half-remembered Victrola song. The sounds are below the consciousness of Winchell Dear, an old-time gambler, a Texas poker player on the southern circuit, as he waits for something . . . something vague that his life of chance tells him is evil and moving his way. He has gassed and oiled the Cadillac and adjusts the pistol in his right boot, then plays one of the six fiddle tunes he knows, thinking back to his good days with Lucinda Miller. Alone, he waits in his remote ranch house, while, just outside, an acquaintance named Luther hunts, unblinking and of nervous temperament and moving through yellow primrose bending in the night wind. <br/><br/>In Diablo Canyon, a distant part of Winchell Dear&#8217;s ranch, Peter Long Grass squats by a campfire, contemplating the profile he saw moving along the ridge of Guapa Mountain an hour ago, thinking about the gambler&#8217;s housekeeper, Sonia Dominguez, about the small, quiet world he has fashioned far from civilization and what undefined presence might now be threatening it. He gathers his tools and begins to run across the desert floor.<br/><br/>And boring toward all of them is a cream-colored Lincoln Continental with two men aboard. Traveling from Los Angeles on a mission they&#8217;ve been given, they are professionals, cool and implacable at the start, but becoming steadily more confused by the strange landscape they are passing through. Forty minutes from their task, they ready themselves, while a kitchen wall clock ticks its way through the long night of Winchell Dear.  <br/><br/>The Long Night of Winchell Dear finds master storyteller Robert James Waller at his best as he takes us through the wind and dust of the high desert mountains, into the shadowy world of high-stakes poker fought in the back rooms of Amarillo and Little Rock, and headlong toward the book&#8217;s stunning finale of chaotic terror, where an unexpected hero emerges.<br/><br/><br/><em>From the Hardcover edition.</em>]]>
  </description>
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</book>

    <rating>3</rating>
  <votes>0</votes>
  <spoiler_flag>false</spoiler_flag>
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  <recommended_for><![CDATA[]]></recommended_for>
  <recommended_by><![CDATA[]]></recommended_by>
  <read_at>Sun Nov 23 00:00:00 -0800 2008</read_at>
  <date_added>Sun Nov 23 10:54:15 -0800 2008</date_added>
  <date_updated>Sun Nov 23 10:57:34 -0800 2008</date_updated>
  <read_count>2</read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[I have read this book before and enjoyed listening to it. Sadly, the last CD messed up and I didn't get to hear the ending. I was so looking forward to all the killing going on live, like a late night radio show. The narrator had that kind of gravely voice. <br/><br/>This book doesn't have the sta...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/38457637">more...</a>]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/38457637]]></url>
  <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/38457637]]></link>
</review>
      <review>
  <id>59801405</id>
    <user>
    <id>2285730</id>
    <name><![CDATA[Brandon]]></name>
    <location><![CDATA[The United States]]></location>
    <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/2285730-brandon]]></link>
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  <title>
    <![CDATA[The Long Night of Winchell Dear]]>
  </title>
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  <average_rating>3.00</average_rating>
  <ratings_count>32</ratings_count>
  <description>
    <![CDATA[The steady tick of an aged Regulator wall clock and the squeak of an overhead fan turning slowly are soft but insistent, counting down the night, while the high desert thrums like a half-remembered Victrola song. The sounds are below the consciousness of Winchell Dear, an old-time gambler, a Texas poker player on the southern circuit, as he waits for something . . . something vague that his life of chance tells him is evil and moving his way. He has gassed and oiled the Cadillac and adjusts the pistol in his right boot, then plays one of the six fiddle tunes he knows, thinking back to his good days with Lucinda Miller. Alone, he waits in his remote ranch house, while, just outside, an acquaintance named Luther hunts, unblinking and of nervous temperament and moving through yellow primrose bending in the night wind. <br/><br/>In Diablo Canyon, a distant part of Winchell Dear&#8217;s ranch, Peter Long Grass squats by a campfire, contemplating the profile he saw moving along the ridge of Guapa Mountain an hour ago, thinking about the gambler&#8217;s housekeeper, Sonia Dominguez, about the small, quiet world he has fashioned far from civilization and what undefined presence might now be threatening it. He gathers his tools and begins to run across the desert floor.<br/><br/>And boring toward all of them is a cream-colored Lincoln Continental with two men aboard. Traveling from Los Angeles on a mission they&#8217;ve been given, they are professionals, cool and implacable at the start, but becoming steadily more confused by the strange landscape they are passing through. Forty minutes from their task, they ready themselves, while a kitchen wall clock ticks its way through the long night of Winchell Dear.  <br/><br/>The Long Night of Winchell Dear finds master storyteller Robert James Waller at his best as he takes us through the wind and dust of the high desert mountains, into the shadowy world of high-stakes poker fought in the back rooms of Amarillo and Little Rock, and headlong toward the book&#8217;s stunning finale of chaotic terror, where an unexpected hero emerges.<br/><br/><br/><em>From the Hardcover edition.</em>]]>
  </description>
  <published>2006</published>
</book>

    <rating>2</rating>
  <votes>0</votes>
  <spoiler_flag>false</spoiler_flag>
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          </shelves>
  <recommended_for><![CDATA[]]></recommended_for>
  <recommended_by><![CDATA[]]></recommended_by>
  <read_at>Tue Jun 16 00:00:00 -0700 2009</read_at>
  <date_added>Mon Jun 15 16:43:06 -0700 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Wed Jun 17 13:18:52 -0700 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[I really enjoyed the story and the characters,but what kind of ending was that.  BOOOO.  So disappointing.<br/><br/>Could have been so much better.  <br/><br/>Kind of lame how everyone was linked together.  Way too forced.<br/><br/>I would recommend this, because it was quick and easy, too bad...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/59801405">more...</a>]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/59801405]]></url>
  <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/59801405]]></link>
</review>
      <review>
  <id>80401571</id>
    <user>
    <id>241540</id>
    <name><![CDATA[Donna]]></name>
    <location><![CDATA[The United States]]></location>
    <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/241540-donna]]></link>
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  <title>
    <![CDATA[The Long Night of Winchell Dear]]>
  </title>
  <image_url>http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1176670423m/643114.jpg</image_url>
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  <average_rating>3.00</average_rating>
  <ratings_count>32</ratings_count>
  <description>
    <![CDATA[The steady tick of an aged Regulator wall clock and the squeak of an overhead fan turning slowly are soft but insistent, counting down the night, while the high desert thrums like a half-remembered Victrola song. The sounds are below the consciousness of Winchell Dear, an old-time gambler, a Texas poker player on the southern circuit, as he waits for something . . . something vague that his life of chance tells him is evil and moving his way. He has gassed and oiled the Cadillac and adjusts the pistol in his right boot, then plays one of the six fiddle tunes he knows, thinking back to his good days with Lucinda Miller. Alone, he waits in his remote ranch house, while, just outside, an acquaintance named Luther hunts, unblinking and of nervous temperament and moving through yellow primrose bending in the night wind. <br/><br/>In Diablo Canyon, a distant part of Winchell Dear&#8217;s ranch, Peter Long Grass squats by a campfire, contemplating the profile he saw moving along the ridge of Guapa Mountain an hour ago, thinking about the gambler&#8217;s housekeeper, Sonia Dominguez, about the small, quiet world he has fashioned far from civilization and what undefined presence might now be threatening it. He gathers his tools and begins to run across the desert floor.<br/><br/>And boring toward all of them is a cream-colored Lincoln Continental with two men aboard. Traveling from Los Angeles on a mission they&#8217;ve been given, they are professionals, cool and implacable at the start, but becoming steadily more confused by the strange landscape they are passing through. Forty minutes from their task, they ready themselves, while a kitchen wall clock ticks its way through the long night of Winchell Dear.  <br/><br/>The Long Night of Winchell Dear finds master storyteller Robert James Waller at his best as he takes us through the wind and dust of the high desert mountains, into the shadowy world of high-stakes poker fought in the back rooms of Amarillo and Little Rock, and headlong toward the book&#8217;s stunning finale of chaotic terror, where an unexpected hero emerges.<br/><br/><br/><em>From the Hardcover edition.</em>]]>
  </description>
  <published>2006</published>
</book>

    <rating>0</rating>
  <votes>0</votes>
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  <recommended_for><![CDATA[]]></recommended_for>
  <recommended_by><![CDATA[]]></recommended_by>
  <read_at>Sun Nov 01 00:00:00 -0700 2009</read_at>
  <date_added>Wed Dec 09 07:46:44 -0800 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Wed Dec 09 07:46:44 -0800 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[I listened to this one on cd. If you're interested in the nuances of poker, this is the book for you!]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/80401571]]></url>
  <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/80401571]]></link>
</review>
      <review>
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    <name><![CDATA[Marcy]]></name>
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  <title>
    <![CDATA[The Long Night of Winchell Dear]]>
  </title>
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    <![CDATA[The steady tick of an aged Regulator wall clock and the squeak of an overhead fan turning slowly are soft but insistent, counting down the night, while the high desert thrums like a half-remembered Victrola song. The sounds are below the consciousness of Winchell Dear, an old-time gambler, a Texas poker player on the southern circuit, as he waits for something . . . something vague that his life of chance tells him is evil and moving his way. He has gassed and oiled the Cadillac and adjusts the pistol in his right boot, then plays one of the six fiddle tunes he knows, thinking back to his good days with Lucinda Miller. Alone, he waits in his remote ranch house, while, just outside, an acquaintance named Luther hunts, unblinking and of nervous temperament and moving through yellow primrose bending in the night wind. <br/><br/>In Diablo Canyon, a distant part of Winchell Dear&#8217;s ranch, Peter Long Grass squats by a campfire, contemplating the profile he saw moving along the ridge of Guapa Mountain an hour ago, thinking about the gambler&#8217;s housekeeper, Sonia Dominguez, about the small, quiet world he has fashioned far from civilization and what undefined presence might now be threatening it. He gathers his tools and begins to run across the desert floor.<br/><br/>And boring toward all of them is a cream-colored Lincoln Continental with two men aboard. Traveling from Los Angeles on a mission they&#8217;ve been given, they are professionals, cool and implacable at the start, but becoming steadily more confused by the strange landscape they are passing through. Forty minutes from their task, they ready themselves, while a kitchen wall clock ticks its way through the long night of Winchell Dear.  <br/><br/>The Long Night of Winchell Dear finds master storyteller Robert James Waller at his best as he takes us through the wind and dust of the high desert mountains, into the shadowy world of high-stakes poker fought in the back rooms of Amarillo and Little Rock, and headlong toward the book&#8217;s stunning finale of chaotic terror, where an unexpected hero emerges.<br/><br/><br/><em>From the Hardcover edition.</em>]]>
  </description>
  <published>2006</published>
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    <rating>3</rating>
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  <read_at>Thu Oct 01 00:00:00 -0700 2009</read_at>
  <date_added>Sat Nov 07 17:32:54 -0800 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Sat Nov 07 17:33:28 -0800 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[Book moved slowly, but the end was quick and perfect.]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/77050949]]></url>
  <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/77050949]]></link>
</review>
      <review>
  <id>34226146</id>
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    <![CDATA[The Long Night of Winchell Dear]]>
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    <![CDATA[The steady tick of an aged Regulator wall clock and the squeak of an overhead fan turning slowly are soft but insistent, counting down the night, while the high desert thrums like a half-remembered Victrola song. The sounds are below the consciousness of Winchell Dear, an old-time gambler, a Texas poker player on the southern circuit, as he waits for something . . . something vague that his life of chance tells him is evil and moving his way. He has gassed and oiled the Cadillac and adjusts the pistol in his right boot, then plays one of the six fiddle tunes he knows, thinking back to his good days with Lucinda Miller. Alone, he waits in his remote ranch house, while, just outside, an acquaintance named Luther hunts, unblinking and of nervous temperament and moving through yellow primrose bending in the night wind. <br/><br/>In Diablo Canyon, a distant part of Winchell Dear&#8217;s ranch, Peter Long Grass squats by a campfire, contemplating the profile he saw moving along the ridge of Guapa Mountain an hour ago, thinking about the gambler&#8217;s housekeeper, Sonia Dominguez, about the small, quiet world he has fashioned far from civilization and what undefined presence might now be threatening it. He gathers his tools and begins to run across the desert floor.<br/><br/>And boring toward all of them is a cream-colored Lincoln Continental with two men aboard. Traveling from Los Angeles on a mission they&#8217;ve been given, they are professionals, cool and implacable at the start, but becoming steadily more confused by the strange landscape they are passing through. Forty minutes from their task, they ready themselves, while a kitchen wall clock ticks its way through the long night of Winchell Dear.  <br/><br/>The Long Night of Winchell Dear finds master storyteller Robert James Waller at his best as he takes us through the wind and dust of the high desert mountains, into the shadowy world of high-stakes poker fought in the back rooms of Amarillo and Little Rock, and headlong toward the book&#8217;s stunning finale of chaotic terror, where an unexpected hero emerges.<br/><br/><br/><em>From the Hardcover edition.</em>]]>
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  <date_added>Tue Sep 30 15:24:37 -0700 2008</date_added>
  <date_updated>Tue Sep 30 15:25:20 -0700 2008</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[Robert James Waller really knows how to do romance. Aww, screw that-he's just a good storyteller period!<br/><br/>This one is a funny tale of the new west meeting the old west. The protaganist is a retired professional gambler who is always ready to go with the flow. So good luck with trying to ca...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/34226146">more...</a>]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/34226146]]></url>
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      <review>
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  <title>
    <![CDATA[The Long Night of Winchell Dear]]>
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    <![CDATA[The steady tick of an aged Regulator wall clock and the squeak of an overhead fan turning slowly are soft but insistent, counting down the night, while the high desert thrums like a half-remembered Victrola song. The sounds are below the consciousness of Winchell Dear, an old-time gambler, a Texas poker player on the southern circuit, as he waits for something . . . something vague that his life of chance tells him is evil and moving his way. He has gassed and oiled the Cadillac and adjusts the pistol in his right boot, then plays one of the six fiddle tunes he knows, thinking back to his good days with Lucinda Miller. Alone, he waits in his remote ranch house, while, just outside, an acquaintance named Luther hunts, unblinking and of nervous temperament and moving through yellow primrose bending in the night wind. <br/><br/>In Diablo Canyon, a distant part of Winchell Dear&#8217;s ranch, Peter Long Grass squats by a campfire, contemplating the profile he saw moving along the ridge of Guapa Mountain an hour ago, thinking about the gambler&#8217;s housekeeper, Sonia Dominguez, about the small, quiet world he has fashioned far from civilization and what undefined presence might now be threatening it. He gathers his tools and begins to run across the desert floor.<br/><br/>And boring toward all of them is a cream-colored Lincoln Continental with two men aboard. Traveling from Los Angeles on a mission they&#8217;ve been given, they are professionals, cool and implacable at the start, but becoming steadily more confused by the strange landscape they are passing through. Forty minutes from their task, they ready themselves, while a kitchen wall clock ticks its way through the long night of Winchell Dear.  <br/><br/>The Long Night of Winchell Dear finds master storyteller Robert James Waller at his best as he takes us through the wind and dust of the high desert mountains, into the shadowy world of high-stakes poker fought in the back rooms of Amarillo and Little Rock, and headlong toward the book&#8217;s stunning finale of chaotic terror, where an unexpected hero emerges.<br/><br/><br/><em>From the Hardcover edition.</em>]]>
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    <rating>4</rating>
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  <read_at>Sun Jan 01 00:00:00 -0800 2006</read_at>
  <date_added>Sat Jan 12 09:28:59 -0800 2008</date_added>
  <date_updated>Sat Jan 12 09:29:59 -0800 2008</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[Not a big fan of Waller's, but the story was pretty interesting.  A little bit of a ramble, but I enjoyed it.]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/12326705]]></url>
  <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/12326705]]></link>
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      <review>
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    <![CDATA[The Long Night of Winchell Dear]]>
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  <average_rating>3.00</average_rating>
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    <![CDATA[The steady tick of an aged Regulator wall clock and the squeak of an overhead fan turning slowly are soft but insistent, counting down the night, while the high desert thrums like a half-remembered Victrola song. The sounds are below the consciousness of Winchell Dear, an old-time gambler, a Texas poker player on the southern circuit, as he waits for something . . . something vague that his life of chance tells him is evil and moving his way. He has gassed and oiled the Cadillac and adjusts the pistol in his right boot, then plays one of the six fiddle tunes he knows, thinking back to his good days with Lucinda Miller. Alone, he waits in his remote ranch house, while, just outside, an acquaintance named Luther hunts, unblinking and of nervous temperament and moving through yellow primrose bending in the night wind. <br/><br/>In Diablo Canyon, a distant part of Winchell Dear&#8217;s ranch, Peter Long Grass squats by a campfire, contemplating the profile he saw moving along the ridge of Guapa Mountain an hour ago, thinking about the gambler&#8217;s housekeeper, Sonia Dominguez, about the small, quiet world he has fashioned far from civilization and what undefined presence might now be threatening it. He gathers his tools and begins to run across the desert floor.<br/><br/>And boring toward all of them is a cream-colored Lincoln Continental with two men aboard. Traveling from Los Angeles on a mission they&#8217;ve been given, they are professionals, cool and implacable at the start, but becoming steadily more confused by the strange landscape they are passing through. Forty minutes from their task, they ready themselves, while a kitchen wall clock ticks its way through the long night of Winchell Dear.  <br/><br/>The Long Night of Winchell Dear finds master storyteller Robert James Waller at his best as he takes us through the wind and dust of the high desert mountains, into the shadowy world of high-stakes poker fought in the back rooms of Amarillo and Little Rock, and headlong toward the book&#8217;s stunning finale of chaotic terror, where an unexpected hero emerges.<br/><br/><br/><em>From the Hardcover edition.</em>]]>
  </description>
  <published>2006</published>
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    <rating>3</rating>
  <votes>0</votes>
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  <recommended_for><![CDATA[Cormac McCarthy fans]]></recommended_for>
  <recommended_by><![CDATA[librarian at our school]]></recommended_by>
  <read_at>Tue Jan 01 00:00:00 -0800 2008</read_at>
  <date_added>Thu Feb 07 19:54:19 -0800 2008</date_added>
  <date_updated>Sun Feb 10 19:42:07 -0800 2008</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[Like Cormac McCarthy but not as grim.  Quick read.]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/14874672]]></url>
  <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/14874672]]></link>
</review>
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    <![CDATA[The Long Night of Winchell Dear]]>
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    <![CDATA[The steady tick of an aged Regulator wall clock and the squeak of an overhead fan turning slowly are soft but insistent, counting down the night, while the high desert thrums like a half-remembered Victrola song. The sounds are below the consciousness of Winchell Dear, an old-time gambler, a Texas poker player on the southern circuit, as he waits for something . . . something vague that his life of chance tells him is evil and moving his way. He has gassed and oiled the Cadillac and adjusts the pistol in his right boot, then plays one of the six fiddle tunes he knows, thinking back to his good days with Lucinda Miller. Alone, he waits in his remote ranch house, while, just outside, an acquaintance named Luther hunts, unblinking and of nervous temperament and moving through yellow primrose bending in the night wind. <br/><br/>In Diablo Canyon, a distant part of Winchell Dear&#8217;s ranch, Peter Long Grass squats by a campfire, contemplating the profile he saw moving along the ridge of Guapa Mountain an hour ago, thinking about the gambler&#8217;s housekeeper, Sonia Dominguez, about the small, quiet world he has fashioned far from civilization and what undefined presence might now be threatening it. He gathers his tools and begins to run across the desert floor.<br/><br/>And boring toward all of them is a cream-colored Lincoln Continental with two men aboard. Traveling from Los Angeles on a mission they&#8217;ve been given, they are professionals, cool and implacable at the start, but becoming steadily more confused by the strange landscape they are passing through. Forty minutes from their task, they ready themselves, while a kitchen wall clock ticks its way through the long night of Winchell Dear.  <br/><br/>The Long Night of Winchell Dear finds master storyteller Robert James Waller at his best as he takes us through the wind and dust of the high desert mountains, into the shadowy world of high-stakes poker fought in the back rooms of Amarillo and Little Rock, and headlong toward the book&#8217;s stunning finale of chaotic terror, where an unexpected hero emerges.<br/><br/><br/><em>From the Hardcover edition.</em>]]>
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  <date_added>Sat Dec 12 18:22:42 -0800 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Thu Dec 24 15:49:10 -0800 2009</date_updated>
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  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/80806760]]></url>
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    <![CDATA[The Long Night of Winchell Dear]]>
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  <average_rating>3.00</average_rating>
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    <![CDATA[The steady tick of an aged Regulator wall clock and the squeak of an overhead fan turning slowly are soft but insistent, counting down the night, while the high desert thrums like a half-remembered Victrola song. The sounds are below the consciousness of Winchell Dear, an old-time gambler, a Texas poker player on the southern circuit, as he waits for something . . . something vague that his life of chance tells him is evil and moving his way. He has gassed and oiled the Cadillac and adjusts the pistol in his right boot, then plays one of the six fiddle tunes he knows, thinking back to his good days with Lucinda Miller. Alone, he waits in his remote ranch house, while, just outside, an acquaintance named Luther hunts, unblinking and of nervous temperament and moving through yellow primrose bending in the night wind. <br/><br/>In Diablo Canyon, a distant part of Winchell Dear&#8217;s ranch, Peter Long Grass squats by a campfire, contemplating the profile he saw moving along the ridge of Guapa Mountain an hour ago, thinking about the gambler&#8217;s housekeeper, Sonia Dominguez, about the small, quiet world he has fashioned far from civilization and what undefined presence might now be threatening it. He gathers his tools and begins to run across the desert floor.<br/><br/>And boring toward all of them is a cream-colored Lincoln Continental with two men aboard. Traveling from Los Angeles on a mission they&#8217;ve been given, they are professionals, cool and implacable at the start, but becoming steadily more confused by the strange landscape they are passing through. Forty minutes from their task, they ready themselves, while a kitchen wall clock ticks its way through the long night of Winchell Dear.  <br/><br/>The Long Night of Winchell Dear finds master storyteller Robert James Waller at his best as he takes us through the wind and dust of the high desert mountains, into the shadowy world of high-stakes poker fought in the back rooms of Amarillo and Little Rock, and headlong toward the book&#8217;s stunning finale of chaotic terror, where an unexpected hero emerges.<br/><br/><br/><em>From the Hardcover edition.</em>]]>
  </description>
  <published>2006</published>
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  <date_added>Sat Oct 31 07:25:43 -0700 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Sat Oct 31 07:25:43 -0700 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
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  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/76290076]]></url>
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      <review>
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    <![CDATA[The Long Night of Winchell Dear]]>
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    <![CDATA[The Long Night of Winchell Dear]]>
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    <![CDATA[The steady tick of an aged Regulator wall clock and the squeak of an overhead fan turning slowly are soft but insistent, counting down the night, while the high desert thrums like a half-remembered Victrola song. The sounds are below the consciousness of Winchell Dear, an old-time gambler, a Texas poker player on the southern circuit, as he waits for something . . . something vague that his life of chance tells him is evil and moving his way. He has gassed and oiled the Cadillac and adjusts the pistol in his right boot, then plays one of the six fiddle tunes he knows, thinking back to his good days with Lucinda Miller. Alone, he waits in his remote ranch house, while, just outside, an acquaintance named Luther hunts, unblinking and of nervous temperament and moving through yellow primrose bending in the night wind. <br/><br/>In Diablo Canyon, a distant part of Winchell Dear&#8217;s ranch, Peter Long Grass squats by a campfire, contemplating the profile he saw moving along the ridge of Guapa Mountain an hour ago, thinking about the gambler&#8217;s housekeeper, Sonia Dominguez, about the small, quiet world he has fashioned far from civilization and what undefined presence might now be threatening it. He gathers his tools and begins to run across the desert floor.<br/><br/>And boring toward all of them is a cream-colored Lincoln Continental with two men aboard. Traveling from Los Angeles on a mission they&#8217;ve been given, they are professionals, cool and implacable at the start, but becoming steadily more confused by the strange landscape they are passing through. Forty minutes from their task, they ready themselves, while a kitchen wall clock ticks its way through the long night of Winchell Dear.  <br/><br/>The Long Night of Winchell Dear finds master storyteller Robert James Waller at his best as he takes us through the wind and dust of the high desert mountains, into the shadowy world of high-stakes poker fought in the back rooms of Amarillo and Little Rock, and headlong toward the book&#8217;s stunning finale of chaotic terror, where an unexpected hero emerges.<br/><br/><br/><em>From the Hardcover edition.</em>]]>
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    <![CDATA[The steady tick of an aged Regulator wall clock and the squeak of an overhead fan turning slowly are soft but insistent, counting down the night, while the high desert thrums like a half-remembered Victrola song. The sounds are below the consciousness of Winchell Dear, an old-time gambler, a Texas poker player on the southern circuit, as he waits for something . . . something vague that his life of chance tells him is evil and moving his way. He has gassed and oiled the Cadillac and adjusts the pistol in his right boot, then plays one of the six fiddle tunes he knows, thinking back to his good days with Lucinda Miller. Alone, he waits in his remote ranch house, while, just outside, an acquaintance named Luther hunts, unblinking and of nervous temperament and moving through yellow primrose bending in the night wind. <br/><br/>In Diablo Canyon, a distant part of Winchell Dear&#8217;s ranch, Peter Long Grass squats by a campfire, contemplating the profile he saw moving along the ridge of Guapa Mountain an hour ago, thinking about the gambler&#8217;s housekeeper, Sonia Dominguez, about the small, quiet world he has fashioned far from civilization and what undefined presence might now be threatening it. He gathers his tools and begins to run across the desert floor.<br/><br/>And boring toward all of them is a cream-colored Lincoln Continental with two men aboard. Traveling from Los Angeles on a mission they&#8217;ve been given, they are professionals, cool and implacable at the start, but becoming steadily more confused by the strange landscape they are passing through. Forty minutes from their task, they ready themselves, while a kitchen wall clock ticks its way through the long night of Winchell Dear.  <br/><br/>The Long Night of Winchell Dear finds master storyteller Robert James Waller at his best as he takes us through the wind and dust of the high desert mountains, into the shadowy world of high-stakes poker fought in the back rooms of Amarillo and Little Rock, and headlong toward the book&#8217;s stunning finale of chaotic terror, where an unexpected hero emerges.<br/><br/><br/><em>From the Hardcover edition.</em>]]>
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