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 REPAIR MY LIFE
A NASTY BASTARDS MC NOVEL
HAYLEY FAIMAN
HAYLEY FAIMAN BOOKS, LLC
 CONTENTS

Also by Hayley Faiman

Stay Connected

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue

About the Author

Also by Hayley Faiman
Repair My Life

Copyright © 2022 by Hayley Faiman

All rights reserved.
Cover Designer: Pink Ink Designs. Cassy Roop.
Editor: My Brother’s Editor. Ellie McLove.

Proofreading: My Brothers Editor. Rosa Sharon.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,
recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief
quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Visit my website at: http://hayleyfaiman.com
Created with Vellum
ALSO BY HAYLEY FAIMAN

Men of Baseball Series—

Pitching for Amalie
Catching Maggie
Forced Play for Libby
Sweet Spot for Victoria

Russian Bratva Series —

Owned by the Badman
Seducing the Badman
Dancing for the Badman
Living for the Badman
Tempting the Badman
Protected by the Badman
Forever my Badman
Betrothed to the Badman
Chosen by the Badman
Bought by the Badman
Collared by the Badman

Notorious Devils MC —
Rough & Rowdy
Rough & Raw
Rough & Rugged
Rough & Ruthless
Rough & Ready
Rough & Rich
Rough & Real

Cash Bar Series —

Laced with Fear
Chased with Strength
Flamed with Courage
Blended with Pain
Twisted with Chaos
Mixed with trouble

SAVAGE BEAST MC —
 UnScrew Me
UnBreak Me
UnChain Me
UnLeash Me
UnTouch Me
UnHinge Me
UnWreck Me
UnCage Me

Unfit Hero Series —

CONVICT
HERO
FRAUD
KILLER
COWBOY

Zanetti Famiglia Series —

Becoming the Boss
Becoming his Mistress
Becoming his Possession
Becoming the Street Boss
Becoming the Hitman
Becoming his Wife
Becoming her Salvation

Prophecy Sisters Series —

Bride of the Traitor
Bride of the Sea
Bride of the Frontier
Bride of the Emperor

Astor Family Series —

Hypocritically Yours
Egotistically Yours
Matrimonially Yours
Occasionally Yours

Nasty Bastards MC —
Ruin My Life
Tame My Life
Start My Life
Dance into My Life
 Shake Up My Life
Repair My Life
Sweeten My Life

Underworld Sinners—
Stolen by the Sinner
Bound to the Sinner
Caught by the Sinner
F*cked by the Sinner
Stripped by the Sinner
Rejecting the Sinner
Loved by the Sinner

Offspring Legends—
Between Flaming Stars
Beautiful Unwanted Wildflower

Esquire Black Duet Series –

DISCOVERY
APPEAL

Forbidden Love Series —

Personal Foul
Kinetic Energy

Standalone Titles
Royally Relinquished: A Modern Day Fairy Tale
 STAY CONNECTED

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The time to repair the roof is when the sun is shining.
JOHN F. KENNEDY
 CHAPTER ONE

REBECCA

S tanding in front of the mirror, I stare at myself and wonder why the hell I am even here. What’s
the point anymore?
With a heavy sigh, I pull the cardigan over my arms, wrapping it around myself tightly to
cover up the marks. Though it’s become a uniform for me, anything that can cover marks.
It’s a hot day. Someone will probably ask me why I’m wearing it and I’ll have to lie and tell them
I’m always cold.
I’m not always cold.
But the bruises on my arms are too dark to try to ignore, and I can’t stay here a moment longer. I
can’t stay here long enough for them to fade away. It’s the same way I forget to take my sunglasses off
in buildings sometimes.
I’m trying to get away from Mitch, but it’s not working. I keep trying and he keeps dragging me
and the kids back, either physically or manipulatively—controllingly. All I want is my freedom. All I
want is my children’s freedom, but he won’t let us go.
Over and over again.
Tears prick my eyes as I look behind me to the bed where I see him sleeping peacefully. He won’t
wake up. After he grabbed me and threw me around last night, among other things, he took a bunch of
pills and drank some vodka. Thankfully, he passed out.
I don’t know when he’ll wake up again. But watching him, I wonder how the hell he looks so
good still? Mitch looks about the same as he did in high school. He still has the put-together all-
American hero vibe going on.
He’s got short, clipped and styled hair. When they’re open, his green eyes are almost
mesmerizing. He’s tall and fit from the time he spends in the gym. The countless hours he spends in
the gym. He doesn’t do much else, doesn’t even have a job, so he has plenty of time to stay fit.
Too bad he’s a complete piece of shit. A piece of shit that has forced four children on me, children
that I would never trade in any way, but children that I wasn’t aware I would be having mainly
because he kept poking holes in condoms in an effort to keep me dependent on him.
And it worked.
It’s worked for a decade, but now, I’m done.
 Walking out of the bedroom, I slowly and carefully close the door behind me so that I don’t wake
him up, just in case the pills and booze have somehow worn off from last night already.
The last thing that I want to do is wake him up. And that’s not only because I don’t want to be
dragged back to the bedroom and given more bruises, but because I’m leaving again.
I am gone.
Again.
I refuse to stay.
I will continue to leave over and over, never stopping, never giving up. One day I will be free. I
have hope that today is that day. Nobody should be forced to live this way, especially my children.
I am done. My kids are done—again.
Done. Done. Done.
I hold my breath as I tiptoe into the living room, then let it out slowly before I look over at my
children. Ten, eight, five, and two. The only reason I haven’t gotten pregnant again… yet, is for two
reasons. One, because I keep running. And two, I’ve been on birth control for two years, since my
youngest, Maisie, was born.
I should have been more suspicious earlier, but when I got pregnant with her, I became suspicious.
Three children from condoms, it just didn’t sit right with me, so I went on a hunt. And that was
when I found the box of condoms, taking them out of the box, and inspecting the foil wrappers, I
discovered that they had holes in them. He was poking holes in the condoms so that I would keep
getting pregnant.
When I was pregnant with Maisie, I saw all of the evidence with my own eyes. And I knew, I
knew what he had been doing, and I knew that he would do it again. That he had been doing it this
whole time, for a decade.
He wasn’t going to stop, and I wasn’t going to be able to take pills without him knowing. So, I
secretly went on birth control, an IUD that would be undetectable. I wouldn’t have to take pills and he
would never know. It’s been two years, and he hasn’t discovered it, but at the same time, I have also
tried to avoid sex with him in any way, shape, or form as much as possible.
Pressing my lips together, I inhale a deep breath. I have cash in my wallet that I have been
skimming off of him for years. I don’t know what he does to get money, but I don’t ask either, mainly
because it’s never much. He does give me a budget every week for the household. It’s not much, but
I’ve been taking a few dollars from that and hiding it away for this day. It will get me by for a few
weeks until I can figure out a plan.
I don’t take any credit cards or my phone. Both of them I leave in a drawer in the kitchen. I’m
taking no clothes, except for two brand-new outfits and one set of brand-new pajamas that I bought for
everyone and hid in my van three weeks ago in preparation.
Grabbing the diaper bag, I stuff it full of diapers for my two-year-old, I know that she’s close to
potty trained, so hopefully this will be the end of the diapers that I’ll need, and I can just start potty
training her when they run out so I won’t need to come up with the money to buy more.
This time, I didn’t tell the kids anything. They have no clue that today is the day. In the past, I’ve
made that mistake, and they have accidentally told Mitch or left little signs around the house, not
purposely, but because they’re just kids. It’s a lot for them anyway, it’s a burden that is too much for
them.
“We have a playdate with Miss Josephine. Are you guys ready?” I ask, trying to sound chirpy and
happy.
My oldest, Maddux, tilts his head, his eyes finding mine, and I know that he knows something is
up, but he doesn’t say anything to the littles. Instead, he helps me gather them up. I’m trembling,
shaking even, as I scoop Maisie up into my arms.
Wordlessly, the five of us leave this house of hell, hopefully for the last fucking time.

IRONFIST

L ifting my hand, I scrub it down my face as I stare at the car in front of me. I have so much shit to
do and another all-day fucking transmission rebuild is not helping my schedule. But I’m the best
when it comes to trannies, so here I am.
The LA Mafia is breathing down our necks, inching in on us so fucking close that I can practically
see their eyes on us. They do not like the fact that we’ve amassed a potential army. They don’t like it
at all and they’re trying to stay one step ahead of us, but hopefully they’ll never get that far.
They’re smart, but I’m hoping that we get to them before they realize it’s happening. It’s almost
time to attempt to take them out. Though I don’t know that it will be a quick and fast thing.
Working with Country and Bans, we’re trying to do this slow, easy, and smart. Even though the
last thing I want to be when it comes to the LA Mafia is slow. Personally, I want to go in there and
fuck shit up immediately, if not sooner, but this is a game of chess, and I gotta be patient.
I’m about four hours into my workday when my stomach grumbles. The garage is pretty empty
today. Luella is at the front, but the rest of the guys are doing other things. They’re all busy on runs,
club shit, strip club shit and everything else, so there’s nobody around to grab lunch for me. Luella
can’t really go, because then nobody would be at the front counter.
Standing, I stretch as I look around. Bowie is balls deep into whatever he’s doing, so I call out to
him.
“You want some lunch? Gonna grab some burgers.” I call out.
He lifts his head, jerking his chin. “Yeah, Luella might too. She’s stuck here all day, no prospects
around to relieve her and run the counter.”
Jerking my chin, I walk out to the front of the garage and see her sitting behind the office counter,
fiddling around on the computer. She lets out a sigh and I can’t help but smile at her.
“You hungry?” I call out.
She spins around on her stool with wide eyes and a cookie hanging out of her mouth. “Starved,”
she announces.
Laughing, I shake my head. “I’m gonna get some burgers and fries. Anything else?” I ask.
She nods her head, swallowing the cookie bit in her mouth. “Yeah, a strawberry shake.”
“A strawberry shake?” I ask.
She nods her head, then places her hand on her belly. “I don’t know why, but I could fuck up a
strawberry shake right about now.”
Shaking my head, I leave her to her cookies. She’s pregnant, she wants a strawberry shake, that’s
what she’s gonna get. I walk over to Bowie’s pickup truck, knowing I won’t be able to bring back the
shake or anything else on my bike. I flip the visor down and the keys fall into my hand, and I shove
them into the ignition and start the beast.
Making my way toward town, toward the best burger place in East Texas, I’m listening to talk
radio. Why, I don’t know, but I am. And then I see a familiar van on the side of the road. I blink once
to make sure that it’s her before pulling over to the side and looking in my rearview mirror.
 It is definitely her, plus all four of her kids. Glancing down at my phone, I cringe at the
temperature. It’s over ninety degrees outside and fifty percent humidity. They’re just standing at the
back of the van, most likely burning to a fucking crisp out there.
Shifting the truck into reverse, I back up a few feet, then open the door and start to head toward
them. The kids are as far off the road as they can be by the back of the van, and Rebecca is standing
slightly on the shoulder, looking extremely fucking defeated.
“Hey, babe, you okay?” I call out.
Her head whips up and her lips part, then they press together in a thin line. “Hi,” she calls out,
almost too softly for me to hear. There are cars buzzing by, driving at least seventy miles an hour, and
are loud as fuck.
“It broke down again,” she says, but her voice is trembling.
Looking at the van, then at her, I shake my head. “I patched it up last time, babe, and it’s done for.
The last time was the last time, I can’t do any more. Why don’t you guys jump in the truck, and I’ll
take you to the garage? You can call your old man.”
She takes a step backward, stumbling slightly, and I reach out to grab her. The baby in her arms
clings tighter to her neck and that’s when I realize something is fucking wrong here. Really fucking
wrong.
Although haven’t I always known it?
I have, we all have, but seeing the sheer panic in her eyes, I know that whatever we all thought to
be true, it’s probably worse.
Fucking shit.
 CHAPTER TWO

REBECCA

I ’m on my way out of town. Where I’m going, I have no clue. But I’m going as far and as fast as I
possibly can to get as far away from Mitch as humanly possible. Then it happens. The moment
I’ve been dreading since the last time it happened.
My van engine light turns on and I hear a rattling, then clunking noises. I press my foot as hard as I
can against the gas pedal, but nothing happens, and I coast it to the shoulder. We aren’t even out of the
city limits yet.
The kids are all silent, except for Maisie, who sings to herself in the back. They know as well as I
do that this was another failed attempt. I feel so defeated. My eyes instantly fill up with tears, because
I know that there is nothing to do now except go home and try to make up some bullshit story to tell
Mitch about why we were all gone when he woke up, if he woke up at all yet.
There’s also the fact that the new clothes that I have hidden in here, are in here and there is
absolutely no way that I can explain those or hide them again anywhere to get at a later date. I want to
cry. Maddux is sitting directly behind me, and I feel his little fingers wrap around my arm.
Blinking back the tears, I plaster on a fake smile and turn to look at him from over my shoulder.
He looks worried, then again, at ten years old, he knows what’s going on around him more than I wish
he did, and he is worried.
“We should get outside, it will be too hot in here pretty soon.”
Keeping my smile in place, I nod my head and gather the kids, making sure they’re far off the
road, but not too far into the grass because it’s hot and snakes always seem to be slithering around
when it’s hot like this.
I don’t know what I’m going to do. I have no cell phone, and even if I did, I have nobody to call.
Mitch made sure to isolate me years ago. It started in high school, but it didn’t become a true reality
until after we’d been married a few years.
When we started having kids and I didn’t have time to try to keep up friendships with anyone
anyway, he loved that shit. Which is probably one of the reasons he tried to keep me pregnant.
It hasn’t bothered me too much, not having a lot of friends, except right now when I need someone
that I can trust to pick me up and drop us off somewhere, anywhere, without Mitch finding out. It
would be nice to have someone, but anyone that I could call would tell him.
 Inwardly, I’m panicking, thinking, and coming up with nothing when a pickup truck comes to a
stop, and I watch as he jerks off to the side of the road. Shit. I don’t know what I’m going to do now.
This is Texas. You can sometimes rely on the kindness of a stranger, but it’s still the modern world
and I have literally nowhere to go and nobody to call.
Then I see him.
I recognize him from the garage that August works in. I don’t know his name. I don’t know
anything about the men there. August is always so nice and works on my van for parts only. I know he
does it out of pity for me, but I take it because I’m pathetic like that and couldn’t pay him the real cost
even if I wanted to.
The stranger walks up to me. He’s got short, clipped hair, he’s tall and lean, but he’s strong. His
arms aren’t huge, but they’re well defined. They aren’t gym-built either. They’re workingman’s arms.
He’s also covered in grease and oil, wearing jeans and a T-shirt with his leather vest over the top.
I don’t know his name, but I’ve seen him enough that he doesn’t scare me, not that a man that
handsome would anyway. I laugh at myself for thinking he’s handsome, or for even thinking he gives a
single shit about a fluffy mom of four in a shit relationship.
“Hey, babe, you okay?” he calls out.
I tell him that it’s my van, and something flashes across his face, pity maybe, probably. Everyone
pities me and it should bother me more than it does, but to be fair, I pity myself as well. Maybe there
will be a time when I don’t feel sorry for myself, where I can be a strong woman, but today is not it.
Then, he offers to take me to the garage to call Mitch. My eyes widen and I stumble backward. He
reaches out, grabbing hold of my arms and steadies me. Something electrifies my entire body. I’ve
never, not in my entire life, felt anything like this before.
It almost scares me, but the way that this man is looking at me, I wonder if I should be scared. I’m
not, not really, maybe a little about my own reaction, but he doesn’t scare me. None of the men down
at the garage do. They’ve all been so kind to me, I couldn’t imagine them being any other way.
“I’m heading to Jucys to get burgers for the garage. How about you guys tag along? Luella is at the
garage, and then maybe you can tell me what is going on when we get there?”
Looking at the kids, I know that this is the best option. This will give me some more time and
maybe August can help me get somewhere. Anywhere but here. Nodding my head, I gather the kids,
but Maddux hangs back slightly.
“C’mon, bud,” he says, looking down at Maddux, but he doesn’t budge.
Maddux’s head is tipped back, and he looks up into his eyes. Then finally he speaks and when he
does, my whole heart breaks into tiny pieces.
“Will you help us?”
He lifts his head, his eyes finding mine and something flashes in them before he shifts his attention
down to Maddux again.
“I’m gonna do everything I can, bud.”
And his words, I know that they are completely genuine. Almost too genuine. It’s kind of scary
and a lot nerve racking. What’s even scarier is that I want him to do just that. I want him to help us.

IRONFIST

F uck.
 Loading up the entire clan, including a car seat for the youngest one, I’m thankful that I brought
Bowie’s truck and that Luella wanted a fucking strawberry shake. Shoving my hand in my pocket, I
put in a call to Prez. It rings a couple of times, then I hear some shuffling around before he answers.
“Can you have a prospect come to the Loop and two-fifty-nine and tow Rebecca’s van to the
garage for me?”
“Again with that van?” he asks.
“Last time, it’s fucking toast now. I got her and her kids in Bowie’s truck. Gonna grab some
burgers, then head back to the garage. But I have a feeling we need this van gone as quickly as
possible.”
Prez doesn’t ask any questions and I’m thankful for that. “Got it. Sending two prospects now.”
He ends the call and I shove my phone into my pocket before opening up the truck door and
jumping inside. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this thing so packed with kids. Three of them sit in the
back. The little one is in the car seat I transferred over, one on each side of her, and the oldest sits up
front, but it’s Rebecca sitting in the middle, right next to me, that catches me off guard.
“I don’t know your name,” she says softly.
“Everyone calls me Ironfist,” I state.
She doesn’t say anything right away. She lifts her eyes to meet mine and then she nods once as if
she’s made some kind of decision with herself. I watch, fascinated by her. I’ve always watched her
from afar, fixed her shit van for her, though I doubt she knows it was me half the time.
“Ironfist,” she says, trying it out and scrunching up her nose when she does.
It doesn’t sound right coming from her. In fact, it doesn’t only sound forced, but it also sounds
straight-up wrong. “Neilson,” I say.
“Neilson?” she asks.
“My name. Nobody calls me that, but you can.”
Without another word, I shift the truck into drive and continue heading toward Jucys burgers. The
kids are quiet as we drive, a little too quiet for my taste. I don’t know kids that well, never been
around them much before, but the men at the clubhouse have started having them and bringing them
around.
I’ve discovered that they’re typically lively, they talk loud as fuck too, and Magnolia will talk
your fucking ear off if you let her. None of these kids are talking at all. Absolutely none of them. I’m
seeing red flags here and it causes me to feel… angry.
Instead of pulling through the drive-through, I decide to take everyone inside so that they can all
get what they want.
“You don’t have to do this,” Rebecca whispers.
She is too quiet too. Far too fucking quiet for my taste. In fact, I want to try to make her scream.
My cock twitches at the thought of that.
“I know that I don’t,” I state as I push the door open.
Opening the back door for the older kids, I watch as Rebecca fiddles with the little one’s car seat,
then places her feet down on the ground and holds her hand as she toddles up to the sidewalk. There
is something about this whole scene, the kids, her, all of it that is heartwarming in an equally
heartbreaking way.
I don’t say anything to her and when we walk into the restaurant, I smile at the kids’ expressions
of awe. I wonder if they’ve ever really been out to eat before. That’s not possible, right? All kids go
to fast-food places, don’t they? Judging by the way they’re looking around, I don’t think that they
have.
 It’s not that this place is anything fancy, but it’s several steps up from McDonald’s and about one
step down from a chain-type sit-down restaurant. When we get to the counter, they don’t really know
what they want and I have a feeling that they’re too shy to ask, so I order enough for a whole fucking
army.
The entire time I order, Rebecca is telling me that it’s too much, but I refuse to accept it, so I order
more. By the time we leave, every kid has a shake, fries, and a burger for themselves. I order extra
sides, tater tots, onion rings, and fried green tomatoes just in case. Then when I notice they have
cookies, I order a dozen of those too.
Walking out of Jucys, we load up in the truck and head toward the garage. The truck is still silent,
except for the sounds of kids slurping milkshakes, which makes me smile. Their bellies will probably
be too full of milk and ice cream by the time we get to the garage, but it doesn’t fucking matter, they’re
happy.
Parking in the back of the shop, I turn the engine off and put the keys back in the visor before I
open the door. Everyone unloads, and I swear to fuck, I wish there was a picture of us.
I’m in front, Rebecca is behind me carrying the little one, and then the rest are lined up behind her
like little ducklings, from youngest to oldest.
I have no doubt that it’s a sight to see, and when Bowie sticks his head out from the car he’s
working on, that thought is confirmed by the way his eyebrows rise and his lips part slightly before
they twitch into a small smile.
“Lunch is here,” I announce.
He flicks his gaze behind me and jerks his chin upward, but thankfully doesn’t say anything about
the ducklings behind me. Instead, he just smiles, then stands and takes off his coveralls before he
heads toward the office in front of us.
I don’t know what is going to happen when I talk to Rebecca, what she’s going to be willing to
tell me, but I need to know what the fuck is going on. I have a feeling that I’m not going to like it at all.
The whole thing with the LA Mafia is still brewing, we have a strip club and regular club business…
which means I do not have time for all of this.
But this woman and her kids? I’m going to need to make the time.
 CHAPTER THREE

REBECCA

A ugust’s eyes widen at the sight of us, but he doesn’t say anything. We all follow Neilson into the
small front office. I don’t know where we’re all going to spread this food out and eat, but it
doesn’t matter. We’ll eat on the floor if we have to.
Claire looks up at me, her chocolate shake straw firmly between her lips, then she takes it out and
takes a step closer to me, her eyes big and wide. She’s so innocent and yet, I can see in her eyes that
she’s already seen too much.
“Can we stay here?”
My heart slams against my chest. “This is a mechanic’s garage, honey. There are no beds or
anything.”
She looks around for a long moment, then shrugs a shoulder. “There’s always the floor.”
I’ve done this to her. This is my fault. I’ve made her want to sleep literally anywhere but our own
home. I didn’t even tell her we were leaving again, but she had to have known. She’s not stupid. She’s
smart, just like all of my babies. Too aware for their ages. Again, all my fault. I’ve ruined their lives.
I’ve ruined their childhoods.
Opening my mouth, I start to tell her that I’ll figure something out when Luella appears with a big
smile. She doesn’t even blink an eye at us walking into the room. Instead, she just starts shuffling kids
and food around.
Before I realize what’s happening, Maisie is taken from my arms by Luella, and I watch as she
sets her on her lap and opens up some food for her. Then she takes the little plastic knife and fork and
cuts up the burger into small pieces without a single word.
Luella turns to me with a smile. “You probably haven’t eaten a hot meal in years. Take
advantage,” she says with a wink.
She’s right, I haven’t. Not just because of kids, but also because of Mitch. I don’t tell her any of
that though. She doesn’t need to know, and she no doubt doesn’t want to know either. August
thankfully doesn’t ask any questions. In fact, nobody does.
Instead of a lunch full of questions, it’s a lunch full of small talk. August and Neilson even ask
Maddux some questions about school and sports. I hate that Maddux is wary around them, but then
when he tells them about baseball and how much fun he has playing during PE and recess, my heart
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
Their pity and chivalry aroused, all might have gone well, had it not
been for the bank robbery, of which Ralph is suspected. When Lorna
believes Ralph to be the thief because of his need of money, Tobias
feels that perhaps he may have overreached himself in his stories.
But fortunately the discovery of the part Conny Degger, Ralph’s
enemy, has played in the whole affair, puts the matter to rights, and
the prospect is bright for Ralph and Lorna, financially and
sentimentally.

Springf’d Republican p11a Jl 25 ’20

180w

COPE, HENRY FREDERICK. Education for

democracy. *$2 (2c) Macmillan 370

20–8371

“Democracy is more than a form of government: it is a social ideal,

a mode of life and a quality of the human spirit; therefore it cannot
be imposed on a people; it must be acquired.” How it can be acquired
and how our educational plans and ideals can be made to express
personal-social values and a common good will in all phases of life is
the subject of these essays. A partial list of the contents is: Education
in a democracy; Democracy as a religious ideal; The spiritual nature
of education in a democracy; Beginning at home; the public schools
and democracy’s program; Spiritual values in school studies;
Organizing the community; Democracy in the crucial hour.
 “This little volume contains many excellent suggestions on the
subject of education for democracy, and is worth reading both by
teachers and by parents. But it is not always self-consistent, nor does
it seem to us well grounded in fundamental principles.”

+ − Outlook 126:334 O 20 ’20 270w

Reviewed by J. K. Hart

+ Survey 45:136 O 23 ’20 160w

The Times [London] Lit Sup p571 S 2
’20 70w

COPPLESTONE, BENNET. Last of the

Grenvilles. *$2.50 Dutton

20–1693

“Another story of naval adventure by the author of the widely read

tale entitled ‘The lost naval papers.’ Plot and war romance abound.
The area of activity covered is, as before, purely naval, and, like the
former book, this not only includes stories of spies and their
detection but also furnishes a true and amusing picture of the British
sailor in wartime.” (Outlook) “The hero is a descendant of Grenville
of the ‘Revenge,’ and his life is related from boyhood till he enters the
naval service and goes through the great war.” (Ath)

“The experienced author makes ‘history repeat itself’ in excellent

fashion for the youthful reader.”
 + Ath p1083 O 24 ’19 40w

Reviewed by M. E. Bailey

Bookm 51:208 Ap ’20 280w

“Mr Copplestone knows the sea and ships as few writers know it,
and ‘The last of the Grenvilles’ is a stirring example of his storytelling
power.”

+ N Y Times 25:23 Jl 18 ’20 320w

+ Outlook 124:291 F 18 ’20 60w

“No one who has read one of Mr Copplestone’s books will allow
another of them to pass him unread.”

+ Sat R 129:70 Ja 17 ’20 90w

“In the sentimental episode entitled ‘The warm haven’ the author
challenges comparisons with ‘Bartimeus’ and without success; a
lighter touch is needed. But with this deduction the book is a spirited
and enjoyable performance.”

+ − Spec 124:214 F 14 ’20 380w

CORBETT, ELIZABETH F. Puritan and pagan.

*$1.75 (1c) Holt
 20–20188

Nancy Desmond is the puritan, Mary Allen the pagan. Nancy is a

painter with a studio on Washington Square. Mary Allen is a
distinguished actress. Max Meredith, who has married one of
Nancy’s college friends, comes to New York on business and looks
her up. They see much of one another during his stay and find to
their dismay that they have fallen in love. True to her instincts and
her ideals Nancy sends Max away from her. In the meantime, Roger
Greene, Nancy’s friend and teacher, has become infatuated with
Mary and between these two there is no question of renunciation.
They accept their love as a fact altho Mary refuses marriage. When
Nancy learns of the affair she is crushed and finds how much Roger
has meant to her. Later after a long separation, after she has seen
Max again and after the other love has run its course, Nancy and
Roger come together.

“Her picture will prove fascinating to those who do not know that
it is not faithful.”

+ − Bookm 52:552 F ’21 90w

“There is a palpable unevenness in ‘Puritan and pagan.’ It is so

surprisingly good in spots that we should not expect that an author
could maintain that high level everywhere. The novel very frankly
contrasts the puritan and the pagan, but it is a contrast, fortunately,
which possesses no element of didacticism, no hint of moral
purpose.” D. L. M.

+ − Boston Transcript p7 D 4 ’20 1050w

 “The author has vividly portrayed several phases of New York life
and analyzed skilfully several original characters, without forgetting
that her main purpose was to tell a very old and very human story.”

+ N Y Evening Post p18 D 4 ’20 180w

“The plot is sound, the dramatis personae consistently interesting,

and the action logical and generally swift.”

+ N Y Times p25 D 26 ’20 340w

“All the plans, hopes, fears, regrets and dreams of three young
lives find their expression between the covers, and while there is
much that is bitter-sweet in the reading, the sympathetic reader will
follow with unflagging interest to the end.”

+ Springf’d Republican p7a D 26 ’20

200w

CORBETT, SIR JULIAN STAFFORD. Naval

operations. *$6.50 Longmans 940.45

20–8648

“In the official history of the great war prepared by direction of the
historical section of the British committee of imperial defense, this is
the first volume devoted to naval operation, and concludes with the
battle of the Falklands in December, 1914. It gives a detailed account
of all the activities of the British navy during the first five months of
the war, and this account is entirely based on official reports and
other documents. Besides the maps, plans and diagrams inserted in
this volume, there is a separate case containing eighteen maps and
charts.”—R of Rs

“The pictures presented are consecutive and clear. The efforts of

the author to produce a plain and interesting narrative are ably
seconded by the publishers; for the make-up of the book is admirable
in the highest degree, and presents a model that makes the work of
most American publishers seem crude. In comparison with this
book, any other book, even though it deal with mighty armies, seems
modelled on microscopic lines.” B. A. Fiske

+ Am Hist R 26:94 O ’20 1150w

“Sir Julian Corbett had a moving tale to tell, and he has told it well.
It is not altogether impossible to imagine it better written. But the
story is at least clear and objective. His judgments err in being a little
over-kind.”

+ Ath p412 Mr 26 ’20 1850w

“Scrupulous care in the presentation of facts and reticence in

criticizing them characterize this very detailed, well documented
history.”

+ Booklist 17:64 N ’20

+ Boston Transcript p6 S 1 ’20 420w

Reviewed by Reginald Custance

 + Eng Hist R 35:460 Jl ’20 2600w

“Sir Julian Corbett is a master of naval lore; he is deeply versed in

the strategy and the tactics of the great captains of the old days. The
maps are of the highest value and importance.”

+ Nature 105:546 Jl 1 ’20 250w

“Sir Julian’s style is clear and concise, his treatment of the subject
admirable in every way. A more thrillingly interesting book would be
hard to find, or one more valuable.”

+ Review 4:36 Ja 12 ’21 1150w

R of Rs 62:223 Ag ’20 90w

“The chief merit of Sir Julian Corbett’s volume consists in its

exposition of the interplay of naval and military considerations.”

+ Sat R 129:370 Ap 17 ’20 1250w

“The author’s lucid and dispassionate works on the past history of

our navy had shown that he was specially qualified to record its
greatest undertaking, and his new book is all that we had expected it
to be as a narrative, even if some of his occasional remarks and
deductions may provoke dissent.”

+ Spec 124:348 Mr 13 ’20 1250w

 “Sir Julian S. Corbett reveals himself a student of detail, a
scholarly narrator, and a man who is not impatient of research.
These virtues, together with an ability to retain throughout a
comprehensive view of the worldwide field of operations and the
political or military necessity governing many moves that were
unavailing, give this history an uncommon value.”

+ Springf’d Republican p9a Ag 15 ’20

170w

“In our judgment Sir Julian has accomplished his extremely

difficult task with very great skill. The difficulty of the task is, indeed,
in large measure concealed by the skill of its accomplishment. No
naval historian has ever had to paint on so large a canvas. None has
ever had such intricate and far-reaching operations to describe.”

+ The Times [London] Lit Sup p206 Ap 1

’20 3200w

[2]
CORIAT, ISADORE HENRY. Repressed
emotions. *$2 Brentano’s 130

20–19840

“Defining emotional repression as ‘the defense of conscious

thinking from mental processes which are painful’ the author goes on
to explain the nature of repression, its relation to the unconscious,
the part it plays in mental disorders and the manner in which it may
be treated through psychoanalysis. He gives a description of the
unconscious, emphasizing its importance in the light of the new
psychology, and states that it ‘originated not only in the childhood of
man but in the childhood of the world,’ and that in it ‘is condensed
and capitulated the cultural history of mankind.’ The process of
psychoanalysis is outlined, and its value, not only in the treatment of
neuroses, but also for the insight it furnishes into certain character
defects, is pointed out. The author lays special stress on the fact that
psychoanalysis is largely educational since it serves to further the
development of character.”—Survey

Nation 111:694 D 15 ’20 30w

“Dr Coriat has made good his promise of adding to the knowledge
of the race. A simpler vocabulary would sublimate the complexities
of his thought.”

+ N Y Evening Post p12 D 31 ’20 110w

“On the whole the book is very well written, avoiding terminology
which might confuse the lay reader, and while it contains nothing
especially new, it does help to clarify one’s ideas on the subject and is
well worth reading.” J. J. Joslyn

+ Survey 45:546 Ja 8 ’21 270w

[2]
CORNELL, FRED C. Glamour of prospecting. il
*$6 (6c) Stokes 916

The volume is a record of the “wanderings of a South African

prospector in search of copper, gold, emeralds, and diamonds.” (Sub-
title) The book was written before the outbreak of the war, and the
country has since undergone many changes and many of the waste
places, difficult of travel, can now be reached by rail. But this still
leaves vast untapped spaces for the lover of adventure. It was the
love of adventure more than the mineral riches that tempted the
author and his book is, therefore, no handbook for the would-be
prospector, neither is it intended to discourage him with discomforts
and hardships, for these “were richly compensated for by the glorious
freedom and adventure of the finest of outdoor lives, spent in one of
the finest countries and climates of the world.” (Preface) The book is
well illustrated from photographs and contains an insert map.

+ Ath p612 N 5 ’20 640w

“The author has a keen sense of humor and an equally marked

facility in description. And his experiences furnish him ample
opportunity to give full play to both of these powers.”

+ N Y Times p22 Ja 16 ’21 550w

“His story may be taken as a treasure hunt; but it is something

more permanently satisfying than fiction, for it treats of real things.”

+ The Times [London] Lit Sup p533 Ag

19 ’20 1750w

CORWIN, EDWARD SAMUEL. Constitution

and what it means today. $1.50 Princeton univ. press
342.7

20–26748

“Within the compass of only one hundred fourteen pages,

Professor Corwin has combined with the full text of the Constitution
of the United States a series of concise explanations elucidating as far
as necessary every paragraph of this document. In a brief
introduction he states his purpose to be, not merely to explain the
original intentions of the founders of our government, but to show
what in the course of time the constitution has come to mean and
does actually mean today.”—Review

Am Pol Sci R 14:738 N ’20 40w

Booklist 17:11 O ’20

“The task set for this volume has been performed skillfully,
concisely, and unostentatiously. There is in this book no citation of
cases or decisions, which would deflect its purpose, and no intrusion
of private opinion.” D: J. Hill

+ Review 3:212 S 8 ’20 1000W

“The idea of the book is excellent. A greater proportion of

quotations from decisions of the supreme court would be welcome.
And the comment on the question whether the president should pay
an income tax savors of personal opinion.”
 + Springf’d Republican p8 Jl 10 ’20 130w

CORY, GEORGE EDWARD. Rise of South

Africa. 4v v 3 il *$9 (*25s) Longmans 968

“Professor Cory in the new volume of his excellent history of South

Africa, deals fully with the critical era that followed the abolition of
slavery and that saw the great trek. The author states with much
force the case of the colonists, and especially the Dutch farmers,
against a most unsympathetic and tactless government.” (Spec)
“What was said and written and done at this particular critical time
shaped and coloured the whole subsequent history of South Africa;
and the mischief then wrought never has been, and possibly never
will be, wholly eliminated. As Professor Cory shows, the great trek
did not take place because the Dutch did not like their British
neighbors, but because they wanted to be quit of the British
government, as that government was directed from England.” (The
Times [London] Lit Sup) Descriptive note for volume 1 will be found
in the Book Review Digest for 1910; for volume 2 in 1914.

“Allowing for the restricted scope of the treatment, both in time

and area, the author has made a valuable contribution of far more
general interest than the particular incidents he actually describes.”
A. L. Cross

+ Am Hist R 26:357 Ja ’21 500w

Brooklyn 12:69 Ja ’20 30w

“The conclusions reached by Mr Cory are those already familiar;

but, assuredly, they have never before been based on such a
background of well-digested and well-marshalled authority. In more
than one instance the author has been able to interview survivors of
the events narrated; whilst, throughout, the best evidence available is
dispassionately put forward. Undoubtedly the author’s extreme
moderation renders more impressive the judgment at which he
arrives.” H. E. Egerton

+ Eng Hist R 35:289 Ap ’20 460w

+ Spec 123:663 N 15 ’19 200w

“It is a book of high merit, clearly written, attractively illustrated,

bearing evidence of tireless research and of information derived from
first-hand sources, so far as such sources still exist. For South
African readers it provides a reasoned and whole-hearted defence of
a past generation of colonists, both British and Dutch. From the
point of view of a wider public it lends itself to some criticism, on the
double ground that the author, as is natural from his surroundings, is
over much an advocate, and that his book, from its minuteness and
wealth of detail, is too much of a chronicle and too little of a history.”

+ − The Times [London] Lit Sup p703 D 4

’19 1500w

CORY, HERBERT ELLSWORTH. Intellectuals

and the wage workers. $2 Sunwise turn 304

20–1365

“Mr Herbert Ellsworth Cory’s ‘The Intellectuals and the wage

workers’ is an attempt to present the terms upon which intellectuals
and wage workers should unite in the task of social reconstruction.
But Mr Cory sees modern society, the labor movement, and the
purpose of revolution in psychoanalytic terms. He states his purpose
thus: ‘I have been trying to make some forecast of the processes by
which intellectuals and wage workers will unite to break down
rationally those institutions which are but hysterical symptoms,
compromises, bad habit-formations from competitive random
activities, morbid complexes and inertia.’”—Nation

“His apparently easy references to the most diverse contributors in

half a dozen fields of human knowledge, philosophy, psychology,
education, the labor movement, economics, the physical sciences, are
amazing. Yet a full integration seems to be lacking. The members of
the proletariat, to whom, it is evident, he dedicates his volume, will
be least likely to grasp Mr Cory’s message because it is so heavily
weighted with scientific terms.”

+ − Nation 110:338 Mr 13 ’20 350w

“He has revealed the tragedy of modern thought, but has lacked
the force to bring it into touch with the tragedy of modern life, and
has produced half a book instead of a whole one. The half book that
he has written could hardly be done better.” Gilbert Cannan

+ − N Y Times 25:2 Mr 7 ’20 1650w

“I hope that it will be widely read; for there is need for all to know
what fantastic speculation is constantly issuing from the
revolutionary fold. Among thinking persons the book will prove its
own best antidote.” W. J. Ghent

− Review 2:229 Mr 6 ’20 260w

 “It is to be hoped that Professor Cory will work out his theory in
more detail in its relation to the labor union movement. He
sometimes gives the impression of a man seeing it through a golden
haze. In avoiding the cocksure pedantry of the typical college
professor he has now and then fallen into an uncritical acceptance of
unprofessional things.” W: E. Bohn

+ − Socialist R 8:247 Mr ’20 900w

The Times [London] Lit Sup p91 F 5
’20 200w

COSTER, CHARLES THEODORE HENRI

DE. Flemish legends. il *$3 Stokes 398.2

20–26992

These legends, translated from the French by Harold Taylor and

supplied with eight woodcuts by Albert Delstanche, are taken from
the folk-lore current in the middle ages in Brabant and Flanders. The
translator’s note contains a brief survey of De Coster’s career as a
writer. The first tale of “The brotherhood of the cheerful
countenance,” tells how the inn-keeper Pieter Gans, of Uccle, was
tempted by the devil to set up the image of Bacchus in his hall and
form the above brotherhood, whereupon there were nightly
carousings by the male population of Uccle; and how, therefore, it
fell to the lot of the women of Uccle, to form themselves into an
archery club, under the protection of the Virgin Mary, and save the
city from brigands. The other tales are: The three sisters; Sir
Halewyn; Smetse Smee.
 + Booklist 17:93 D ’20

“They are Rabelaisian in form but without the coarseness and

rollicking humor of the great French satirist. There is much of
somber beauty in the stories, but also much of the blood-lust of the
period.”

+ Outlook 126:378 O 27 ’20 50w

The Times [London] Lit Sup p638 S 30
’20 60w

“If, like Rabelais, and Balzac after Rabelais, he uses his mastery in
that old French the richness and breadth of which were not yet shorn
by the correct and academical, he is wholly Belgian, and comparable
at most and best with Jordaens, or rather with Rubens, who to
robust sensuousness could add the heroic, lavish the while of colour
and exuberance.”

+ The Times [London] Lit Sup p663 O 14

’20 1450w

COTTER, WINIFRED. Sheila and others. *$2

Dutton

20–18386

“Subtitled ‘The simple annals of an unromantic household,’ this

unpretentious little volume relates some of the experiences of a
Canadian family, experiences principally concerned with dogs and
servants. There are some fourteen sketches in the volume, several of
them being concerned with the parrot and the dog who were the pets
of the household. The succession of ‘wash ladies,’ the peculiar
behavior of the seamstress, the ‘Suppression of a cuckoo clock,’ the
point of view maintained by the vacuum cleaner agent ... these and
others of the kind provide the author with themes.”—N Y Times

“Most of the papers are very mildly humorous, and all of them are
pleasantly written.”

+ N Y Times p16 N 28 ’20 320w

“Sketches of merit, but menaced as a collection by a certain excess

of ‘brightness.’ On the whole the whimsies of housekeeping are
relatively wearisome to the male; I suspect this volume will fare best
as read aloud in purely feminine circles.” H. W. Boynton

+ − Review 3:502 N 24 ’20 110w

COTTERILL, HENRY BERNARD. Italy from

Dante to Tasso (1300–1600). il *$5 Stokes 945

20–2716

This volume follows “Medieval Italy during a thousand years,”

published in 1915. It is a review of the political history of Italy from
1300–1600 “as viewed from the standpoint of the chief cities, with
descriptions of important episodes and personalities and of the art
and literature of the three centuries.” (Subtitle)
 “We should be inclined to trust Mr Cotterill further in art than in
literature. His style improves noticeably as he proceeds, and he lays
aside to some extent his irritating habit of breaking into the historic
present on the slightest provocation. As a whole the book is
thoroughly sound and useful. The photographs are suitably chosen,
and there are good chronological tables, lists of artists and
genealogies of the chief reigning houses.” L. C.-M.

+ − Ath p1254 N 28 ’19 1600w

“The great mass of materials relating to a disorganized country and

to the achievements in art are so interwoven as to form a scholarly,
clear whole.”

+ Booklist 16:198 Mr ’20

Brooklyn 12:106 Mr ’20 30w

“The author has adopted an excellent and satisfactory plan for

compassing his enormous field and clarifying the immense detail
that goes to make up the history of these perhaps most significant
centuries in the world’s history. The book was evidently written
during the war and the author is frequently rather amusingly,
pleased to find German authorities in error.” B. B. Amram

+ Review 2:544 My 22 ’20 1300w

“The author’s bias in favour of republicanism is unfortunate in its

results upon his work.... It is useless, however, to discuss differences
of opinion in a book the subject of which is so immense; we can only
repeat our conviction that a reader who expects to find a general
book on the art, literature and history of all the Italian states during
their most important period will find Mr Cotterill’s book useful,
though he will be well advised to supplement its judgments with
other and more detailed works, and to make free use of the historical
lists and tables provided at the end of the book, and of the useful
index.”

+ − Sat R 128:561 D 13 ’19 1050w

COUPERUS, LOUIS MARIE ANNE.

Inevitable; tr. by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos. *$2
(2c) Dodd

20–18761

The title of the story indicates its fatalism. At the age of twenty-
three Cornélie de Retz van Loo was a divorced woman. She had
passionately loved the handsome Baron Brox when she married him,
but their temperaments had clashed from the beginning. He had
gone so far in his masterful, brutal way, as to beat her and she had
run away. She went to Italy to be alone and to reconstruct her life.
She became a feminist and achieved some fame in the woman
movement by her pamphlet on “The social position of divorced
women.” Also she met Duco van der Staal, the painter and dreamer
and formed a free union. They were a most harmonious couple,
complementing and stimulating each other; helping each other to
find their “line of life.” But Cornélie will not hear of marriage. She is
through with marriage. Impecuniosity enjoins a temporary
separation. Cornélie takes a position as companion. There she meets
her former husband who at once exerts hypnotic power over her and
commands her to return to him. Cornélie flees and returns to Duco,
but even in his arms and knowing that she loves only him, her
inexorable fate is upon her. She follows the call of him whom she
does not love, but whose property and chattel she is because she was
once his wife.

“Of the four other Couperus novels which have now been
published in this country, ‘The inevitable’ is decidedly the best from
the mere standpoint of novel writing.” D. L. M.

+ Boston Transcript p4 N 6 ’20 1250w

“Taken as a whole, it is rich in beauty, rich in passion, has much of

gentle dreaming and superb awakening; yet it contains a certain
sadness which oftimes borders close to melancholy—a splendid woof
woven together with a warp of morbidity.” M. D. Walker

+ N Y Call p5 Ja 9 ’21 1050w

“There are many chapters in ‘The inevitable,’ aside from the

concluding one, which mark the book as an exquisite example of the
fictionist’s art. The author’s touch is always delicate and sure in
handling the lights and shades of thought and emotion. The author’s
powers of characterization are excellent.”

+ N Y Times p20 N 21 ’20 1300w

“‘Inevitable’ is decidedly well written and translated; it is

extremely attractive in its pictures of Rome, of Italian society, and of
the foreign colonists.” R. D. Townsend

+ − Outlook 127:31 Ja 5 ’21 130w