2015, ISBN: 9781330342220

Excerpt from A Simpleton: A Story of the Day A young lady sat pricking a framed canvas in the drawing-room of Kent Villa, a mile from Gravesend. She was making, at a cost of time and tint… More...

Excerpt from A Simpleton: A Story of the Day A young lady sat pricking a framed canvas in the drawing-room of Kent Villa, a mile from Gravesend. She was making, at a cost of time and tinted wool, a chair-cover, admirably unfit to be sat upon - except by some peevish artist bent on obliterating discordant colors. To do her justice, her mind was not in her work; for she rustled softly with restlessness as she sat, and she rose three times in twenty minutes, and went to the window. Thence she looked down over a trim flowery lawn, and long sloping meadows, on to the silver Thames, alive with steamboats ploughing, white sails bellying, and great ships carrying to and fro the treasures of the globe. From this fair landscape and epitome of commerce she retired each time with listless disdain. She was waiting for somebody. Yet she was one of those whom few men care to keep waiting. Rosa Lusignan was a dark but dazzling beauty, with coal-black hair and glorious dark eyes that seemed to beam with soul all day long; her eyebrows, black, straightish, and rather thick, would have been majestic, and too severe, had the other features followed suit; but her black brows were succeeded by long silky lashes, a sweet oval face, two pouting lips studded with ivory, and an exquisite chin, as feeble as any man could desire in the partner of bis bosom. Person straight, elastic, and rather tall. Mind, nineteen. Accomplishments, numerous: a poor French scholar, a worse German, a worst English; an admirable dancer, an inaccurate musician, a good rider, a bad draughtswoman; a bad hairdresser, at the mercy of her maid; a hot theologian, knowing nothing; a sorry accountant, no housekeeper, no seamstress, a fair embroideress, a capital geographer, and no cook. Collectively, namely, mind and body, the girl we kneel to. This ornamental member of society now glanced at the clock once more, and then glided to the window for the fourth time. She peeped at the side a good while with superfluous slyness, or shyness; and presently she drew back, blushing crimson: then she peeped again, still more furtively, then retired softly to her frame, and, for the first time, set to work in earnest. As she plied her harpoon, smiling now, the large and vivid blush that had suffused her face and throat turned from carnation to rose, and melted away slowly but perceptibly, and ever so sweetly; and somebody knocked at the street-door. The blow seemed to drive her deeper into her work. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works. A Story of the Day (Classic Reprint) Bücher > Fremdsprachige Bücher > Englische Bücher > Kinder- & Jugendbücher Taschenbuch 27.09.2015, Forgotten Books, .201<

ISBN: 9781330342220

[ED: Taschenbuch], [PU: Forgotten Books], Excerpt from A Simpleton: A Story of the Day A young lady sat pricking a framed canvas in the drawing-room of Kent Villa, a mile from Gravesend. … More...

[ED: Taschenbuch], [PU: Forgotten Books], Excerpt from A Simpleton: A Story of the Day A young lady sat pricking a framed canvas in the drawing-room of Kent Villa, a mile from Gravesend. She was making, at a cost of time and tinted wool, a chair-cover, admirably unfit to be sat upon - except by some peevish artist bent on obliterating discordant colors. To do her justice, her mind was not in her work for she rustled softly with restlessness as she sat, and she rose three times in twenty minutes, and went to the window. Thence she looked down over a trim flowery lawn, and long sloping meadows, on to the silver Thames, alive with steamboats ploughing, white sails bellying, and great ships carrying to and fro the treasures of the globe. From this fair landscape and epitome of commerce she retired each time with listless disdain. She was waiting for somebody. Yet she was one of those whom few men care to keep waiting. Rosa Lusignan was a dark but dazzling beauty, with coal-black hair and glorious dark eyes that seemed to beam with soul all day long her eyebrows, black, straightish, and rather thick, would have been majestic, and too severe, had the other features followed suit but her black brows were succeeded by long silky lashes, a sweet oval face, two pouting lips studded with ivory, and an exquisite chin, as feeble as any man could desire in the partner of bis bosom. Person straight, elastic, and rather tall. Mind, nineteen. Accomplishments, numerous: a poor French scholar, a worse German, a worst English an admirable dancer, an inaccurate musician, a good rider, a bad draughtswoman a bad hairdresser, at the mercy of her maid a hot theologian, knowing nothing a sorry accountant, no housekeeper, no seamstress, a fair embroideress, a capital geographer, and no cook. Collectively, namely, mind and body, the girl we kneel to. This ornamental member of society now glanced at the clock once more, and then glided to the window for the fourth time. She peeped at the side a good while with superfluous slyness, or shyness and presently she drew back, blushing crimson: then she peeped again, still more furtively, then retired softly to her frame, and, for the first time, set to work in earnest. As she plied her harpoon, smiling now, the large and vivid blush that had suffused her face and throat turned from carnation to rose, and melted away slowly but perceptibly, and ever so sweetly and somebody knocked at the street-door. The blow seemed to drive her deeper into her work. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works. Versandfertig in 3-5 Tagen, [SC: 0.00], Neuware, gewerbliches Angebot<

2015, ISBN: 9781330342220

Erscheinungsdatum: 27.09.2015, Medium: Taschenbuch, Einband: Kartoniert / Broschiert, Titel: A Simpleton, Titelzusatz: A Story of the Day (Classic Reprint), Autor: Reade, Charles, Verlag:… More...

Erscheinungsdatum: 27.09.2015, Medium: Taschenbuch, Einband: Kartoniert / Broschiert, Titel: A Simpleton, Titelzusatz: A Story of the Day (Classic Reprint), Autor: Reade, Charles, Verlag: Forgotten Books, Sprache: Englisch, Schlagworte: JUVENILE FICTION // General, Rubrik: Kinder- und Jugendbücher, Seiten: 306, Informationen: 23:B&W 6 x 9 in or 229 x 152 mm Perfect Bound on White w/Gloss Lam, Gewicht: 413 gr, Verkäufer: averdo Belletristik<

ISBN: 9781330342220

A Story of the Day (Classic Reprint) A Story of the Day (Classic Reprint) Buch (fremdspr.) Bücher>Fremdsprachige Bücher>Englische Bücher>Kinder- & Jugendbücher, Forgotten Books

2015, ISBN: 1330342224

Kartoniert / Broschiert JUVENILE FICTION / General, mit Schutzumschlag neu, [PU:Forgotten Books]