The Devil Wears Prada Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada. Lauren WeisbergerЧитать онлайн книгу.
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The Devil Wears Prada
Revenge Wears Prada
Lauren Weisberger
Table of Contents
The Devil Wears Prada
Lauren Weisberger
Dedicated to the only three
people alive who genuinely believe it rivals War and Peace:
my mother, Cheryl, the mom ‘a million girls would die for’;
my father, Steve, who is handsome, witty, brilliant, and talented, and who insisted on writing his own dedication;
my phenomenal sister, Dana, their favorite (until I wrote a book).
Table of Contents
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‘Material Girl’ by Peter Brown and Robert Rans © 1984 by Candy Castle Music. Warner/Chappell North America, London W6 8BS. Reproduced by permission of International Music Ltd. All Rights Reserved.
‘WANNABE’ Words and Music by Emma Bunton, Geri Halliwell, Melanie Chisholm, Victoria Beckham, Richard Stannard, Matthew Rowbottom, Melanie Gulzar © 1995. Reproduced by permission of EMI Music Publishing Ltd/Polygram Music Publishing Ltd, London WC2H 0QY (50%).
© Copyright 1996 Universal Music Publishing Limited (50%).
Used By Permission Of Music Sales Limited.
All Rights Reserved. International Copyright Secured.
‘I THINK WE’RE ALONE NOW’ Words and Music by Ritchie Cordell. © 1967 (Renewed 1995) EMI Longitude Music, USA. Reproduced by permission of EMI Music Publishing Ltd, London WC2H 0QY © Copyright 1967, 1987 Longitude Music Company, USA. EMI Music Publishing (WP) Limited, for the United Kingdom and the Republic of Ireland.
Used By Permission Of Music Sales Limited.
All Rights Reserved. International Copyright Secured.
AMERICAN PIE
Words & Music by Don McLean © Copyright 1971 Mayday Music, USA. Universal/MCA Music Limited.
Used By Permission Of Music Sales Limited.
All Rights Reserved. International Copyright Secured.
Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes.
HENRY DAVID THOREAU, WALDEN 1854
The light hadn’t even officially turned green at the intersection of 17th and Broadway before an army of overconfident yellow cabs roared past the tiny deathtrap I was attempting to navigate around the city streets. Clutch, gas, shift (neutral to first? Or first to second?), release clutch, I repeated over and over in my head, the mantra offering little comfort and even less direction amid the screeching midday traffic. The little car bucked wildly twice before it lurched forward through the intersection. My heart flip-flopped in my chest. Without warning, the lurching evened out and I began to pick up speed. Lots of speed. I glanced down to confirm visually that I was only in second gear, but the rear end of a cab loomed so large in the windshield that I could do nothing but jam my foot on the brake pedal so hard that my heel snapped off. Shit! Another pair of seven-hundred-dollar