The Swan of Vilamorta (Emilia Pardo Bazán) (Literary Thoughts Edition)

The Swan of Vilamorta (Emilia Pardo Bazán) (Literary Thoughts Edition)
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Literary Thoughts edition
presents
The Swan of Vilamorta by Emilia Pardo Bazán





The Swan of Vilamorta (El cisne de Vilamorta) is a novel written in 1885 by Emilia Pardo Bazán (1851-1921) and translated into English by Mary J. Serrano (18xx-1923) in 1891. It is situated in Vilamorta (Dead Town), which is a small Galician city modeled principally on Carballino, near which Pardo Bazán had spent the happy days of her early married life, and tells the story of the «swan», a young poet and lawyer named Segundo García.

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Emilia Pardo Bazán. The Swan of Vilamorta (Emilia Pardo Bazán) (Literary Thoughts Edition)

Literary Thoughts Edition presents. The Swan of Vilamorta, by Emilia Pardo Bazán

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIV

Chapter XXV

Chapter XXVI

Chapter XXVII

Chapter XXVIII

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Behind the pine grove the setting sun had left a zone of fire against which the trunks of the pine trees stood out like bronze columns. The path was rugged and uneven, giving evidence of the ravages wrought by the winter rains; at intervals loose stones, looking like teeth detached from the gum, rendered it still more impracticable. The melancholy shades of twilight were beginning to envelop the landscape; little by little the sunset glow faded away and the moon, round and silvery, mounted in the heavens, where the evening star was already shining. The dismal croaking of the frogs fell sharply on the ear; a fresh breeze stirred the dry plants and the dusty brambles that grew by the roadside; and the trunks of the pine trees grew momentarily blacker, standing out like inky bars against the pale green of the horizon.

A man was descending the path slowly, bent, apparently, on enjoying the poetry and the peace of the scene and the hour. He carried a stout walking-stick, and as far as one could judge in the fading light, he was young and not ill-looking.

.....

"I'll run and take it out of the pantry! I thought—the book says parsley! Wait, wait."

She overturned her chair in her haste. An instant later the jingling of her keys and the opening and closing of a couple of doors were heard in the distance. A husky voice muttered some unintelligible words in the kitchen. In two minutes she was back again.

.....

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