Novel & Cerita Books Like Evelyn Hugo

Viviane insisted. “Do as you wish,” Arthur grumbled. Then, looking at Eliza, he asked, “Are you hungry? The hens are laying good eggs these days. There’s still a few scrambled in that pan.” Since she normally woke up ravenous, Eliza was surprised to realize that she actually felt full. Not wanting to bring any more attention to her that might renew their questions about where she’d been and why, she smiled and made her way to the stove. Lifting the cover off the fry pan, she lowered her face over the eggs and sniffed long and deep. They smelled especially delicious that morning.

Evan’s grip tightened on his gun, every step driven by the need to find her—and make Hugo pay. Evan reached the room but found it deserted, lined only with barrels of wine stacked against the damp concrete walls. He cursed under his breath, climbing the stairs back to the main house, his pistol still drawn. Hugo wasn’t there—he’d slipped away. Evan pushed into Hugo’s private room, a lavish space with a four-poster bed and heavy curtains, but it was empty, the desk scattered with papers, a half-drunk glass of whiskey glinting in the morning light.

He was currently snoring. "I found a good book this morning but unfortunately it's not in braille. Mother read me the title and I'm very intrigued by it. But in my rush to get here I left it on the library table." Eva sighed in disappointment. "What was the title?" "Vampires and Their Beloveds" "I'm not Author but I'm pretty sure the book is based on Vampires and their beloveds." Alana snickered out. "Why do you insist on ruining things with your words?" Eva questioned in annoyance. If she knew how she would roll her eyes at her best friend. Not that it really mattered anyway.

squealed her father. Evelina, who was already in her room, was sighing. Because she knew for sure her father’s nagging must be long enough for men. She sat in her chair that she wanted to read a book, but she didn’t have time to read since earlier. She opens a page on the novel “You’re My Butterfly“ feeling familiar when looking and holding it. “I think ... I’ve read this book somewhere, but I don’t really remember,” she thought.

“Do you read?” Evelyn hesitated, then smiled faintly. “When I can. Nothing like this, though.” She gestured at the endless shelves. “Mostly novels, things I can carry in a bag.” Gregory chuckled, a low, warm sound that surprised her. “That’s how I started too. Cheap paperbacks, stolen hours at night when I should’ve been sleeping. Books are companions. The kind that never leave you, even when the people do.” Evelyn blinked. She hadn’t expected that kind of honesty from him. “I didn’t think someone like you would…” She stopped herself, embarrassed.

I closed the door behind me, noticing how Evie gleefully gasped, striding over to the full bookcase where she found the book, "The Art of Profanity." "You remembered," she stated, pulling the crude book from the bookshelf, noticing it had been bookmarked in the middle. "And you've been reading it?" I chuckled. "Yes. Explains a lot about you. I also have another wardrobe with the clothes you picked from Elijah's shop." She put the book down, beaming as she stepped to the second wardrobe, taking in her taste in clothing. Evelyn turned, her wide skirt billowing around her. "I missed you."

With nothing left to say, Hugo held her close to him and the both of them went down the stairs together, walking into the night silently. The silence was killing Evelyn, she wanted to talk but anytime she looked at him and saw his tightly held jaw or the throbbing vein in his head, she'd zip up her mouth and change her mind. But they've been walking for a long time with no destination in sight and Evelyn was starting to get scared that Hugo might just be leading her to the perfect place to commit murder. Stupid! Hugo would never harm you… That's what you think, until we're dead and buried in a shallow grave…

said Hilda; "when he's sober he only pronounces my mother's name and tells me to get out of the way; when he's mad he only talks to himself, and pays even less attention to me." Evelyn: "...... like this." "If I get the chance later, I can teach you." Evelyn's gaze fell longingly on a particular line in the book, and she just stared at it without moving before speaking, "Speaking of which, the only reason I know how to write here is because a demon taught me, and he gave me a book he wrote himself." "I left that book where I lived back then, I don't know if it's still there," Evelyn said softly, "If it's still there, I could use it to teach you. It was a good book."

“You do. You always have.” I look down at my cup, watching steam curl upward, and wonder how someone can see you so clearly and still not see you at all. We wander into a bookstore next. Eva heads straight for the travel section, flipping through glossy pages of places she wants to go. I linger by the fiction shelves, pulling a book at random, letting the weight of it settle in my hands. “Found anything?” she asks, appearing beside me. “Maybe,” I say. “I like the way this one feels.”