The Princess and the Goblin
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George MacDonald. The Princess and the Goblin
CHAPTER 1. Why the Princess Has a Story About Her
CHAPTER 2. The Princess Loses Herself
CHAPTER 3. The Princess and—We Shall See Who
CHAPTER 4. What the Nurse Thought of It
CHAPTER 5. The Princess Lets Well Alone
CHAPTER 6. The Little Miner
CHAPTER 7. The Mines
CHAPTER 8. The Goblins
CHAPTER 9. The Hall of the Goblin Palace
CHAPTER 10. The Princess's King-Papa
CHAPTER 11. The Old Lady's Bedroom
CHAPTER 12. A Short Chapter About Curdie
CHAPTER 13. The Cobs' Creatures
CHAPTER 14. That Night Week
CHAPTER 15. Woven and Then Spun
CHAPTER 16. The Ring
CHAPTER 17. Springtime
CHAPTER 18. Curdie's Clue
CHAPTER 19. Goblin Counsels
CHAPTER 20. Irene's Clue
CHAPTER 21. The Escape
CHAPTER 22. The Old Lady and Curdie
CHAPTER 23. Curdie and His Mother
CHAPTER 24. Irene Behaves Like a Princess
CHAPTER 25. Curdie Comes to Grief
CHAPTER 26. The Goblin-Miners
CHAPTER 27. The Goblins in the King's House
CHAPTER 28. Curdie's Guide
CHAPTER 29. Masonwork
CHAPTER 30. The King and the Kiss
CHAPTER 31. The Subterranean Waters
CHAPTER 32. The Last Chapter
Отрывок из книги
I have said the Princess Irene was about eight years old when my story begins. And this is how it begins.
One very wet day, when the mountain was covered with mist which was constantly gathering itself together into raindrops, and pouring down on the roofs of the great old house, whence it fell in a fringe of water from the eaves all round about it, the princess could not of course go out. She got very tired, so tired that even her toys could no longer amuse her. You would wonder at that if I had time to describe to you one half of the toys she had. But then, you wouldn't have the toys themselves, and that makes all the difference: you can't get tired of a thing before you have it. It was a picture, though, worth seeing—the princess sitting in the nursery with the sky ceiling over her head, at a great table covered with her toys. If the artist would like to draw this, I should advise him not to meddle with the toys. I am afraid of attempting to describe them, and I think he had better not try to draw them. He had better not. He can do a thousand things I can't, but I don't think he could draw those toys. No man could better make the princess herself than he could, though—leaning with her back bowed into the back of the chair, her head hanging down, and her hands in her lap, very miserable as she would say herself, not even knowing what she would like, except it were to go out and get thoroughly wet, and catch a particularly nice cold, and have to go to bed and take gruel. The next moment after you see her sitting there, her nurse goes out of the room.
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'How do you get your dinner, then?'
'I keep poultry—of a sort.'
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