Wilfrid Cumbermede
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Оглавление
George MacDonald. Wilfrid Cumbermede
INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER I. WHERE I FIND MYSELF
CHAPTER II. MY UNCLE AND AUNT
CHAPTER III. AT THE TOP OF THE CHIMNEY-STAIR
CHAPTER IV. THE PENDULUM
CHAPTER V. I HAVE LESSONS
CHAPTER VI. I COBBLE
CHAPTER VII. THE SWORD ON THE WALL
CHAPTER VIII. I GO TO SCHOOL, AND GRANNIE LEAVES IT
CHAPTER IX. I SIN AND REPENT
CHAPTER X. I BUILD CASTLES
CHAPTER XI. A TALK WITH MY UNCLE
CHAPTER XII. THE HOUSE-STEWARD
CHAPTER XIII. THE LEADS
CHAPTER XIV. THE GHOST
CHAPTER XV. AWAY
CHAPTER XVI. THE ICE-CAVE
CHAPTER XVII. AMONG THE MOUNTAINS
CHAPTER XVIII. AGAIN THE ICE-CAVE
CHAPTER XIX. CHARLEY NURSES ME
CHAPTER XX. A DREAM
CHAPTER XXI. THE FROZEN STREAM
CHAPTER XXII. AN EXPLOSION
CHAPTER XXIII. ONLY A LINK
CHAPTER XXIV. CHARLEY AT OXFORD
CHAPTER XXV. MY WHITE MARE
CHAPTER XXVI. A RIDING LESSON
CHAPTER XXVII. A DISAPPOINTMENT
CHAPTER XXVIII. IN LONDON
CHAPTER XXIX. CHANGES
CHAPTER XXX. PROPOSALS
CHAPTER XXXI. ARRANGEMENTS
CHAPTER XXXII. PREPARATIONS
CHAPTER XXXIII. ASSISTANCE
CHAPTER XXXIV. AN EXPOSTULATION
CHAPTER XXXV. A TALK WITH CHARLEY
CHAPTER XXXVI. TAPESTRY
CHAPTER XXXVII. THE OLD CHEST
CHAPTER XXXVIII. MARY OSBORNE
CHAPTER XXXIX. A STORM
CHAPTER XL. A DREAM
CHAPTER XLI. A WAKING
CHAPTER XLII. A TALK ABOUT SUICIDE
CHAPTER XLIII. THE SWORD IN THE SCALE
CHAPTER XLIV. I PART WITH MY SWORD
CHAPTER XLV. UMBERDEN CHURCH
CHAPTER XLVI. MY FOLIO
CHAPTER XLVII. THE LETTERS AND THEIR STORY
CHAPTER XLVIII. ONLY A LINK
CHAPTER XLIX. A DISCLOSURE
CHAPTER L. THE DATES
CHAPTER LI. CHARLEY AND CLARA
CHAPTER LII. LILITH MEETS WITH A MISFORTUNE
CHAPTER LIII. TOO LATE
CHAPTER LIV. ISOLATION
CHAPTER LV. ATTEMPTS AND COINCIDENCES
CHAPTER LVI. THE LAST VISION
CHAPTER LVII. ANOTHER DREAM
CHAPTER LVIII. THE DARKEST HOUR
CHAPTER LIX. THE DAWN
CHAPTER LX. MY GREAT-GRANDMOTHER
CHAPTER LXI. THE PARISH REGISTER
CHAPTER LXII. A FOOLISH TRIUMPH
CHAPTER LXIII. A COLLISION
CHAPTER LXIV. YET ONCE
CHAPTER LXV. CONCLUSION
Отрывок из книги
No wisest chicken, I presume, can recall the first moment when the chalk-oval surrounding it gave way, and instead of the cavern of limestone which its experience might have led it to expect, it found a world of air and movement and freedom and blue sky—with kites in it. For my own part, I often wished, when a child, that I had watched while God was making me, so that I might have remembered how he did it. Now my wonder is whether, when I creep forth into ‘that new world which is the old,’ I shall be conscious of the birth, and enjoy the whole mighty surprise, or whether I shall become gradually aware that things are changed and stare about me like the new-born baby. What will be the candle-flame that shall first attract my new-born sight? But I forget that speculation about the new life is not writing the history of the old.
I have often tried how far back my memory could go. I suspect there are awfully ancient shadows mingling with our memories; but, as far as I can judge, the earliest definite memory I have is the discovery of how the wind is made; for I saw the process going on before my very eyes, and there could be, and there was, no doubt of the relation of cause and effect in the matter. There were the trees swaying themselves about after the wildest fashion, and there was the wind in consequence visiting my person somewhat too roughly. The trees were blowing in my face. They made the wind, and threw it at me. I used my natural senses, and this was what they told me. The discovery impressed me so deeply that even now I cannot look upon trees without a certain indescribable and, but for this remembrance, unaccountable awe. A grove was to me for many years a fountain of winds, and, in the stillest day, to look into a depth of gathered stems filled me with dismay; for the whole awful assembly might, writhing together in earnest and effectual contortion, at any moment begin their fearful task of churning the wind.
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‘Will you bring it me just as it is. I want to look for something in it.’
I went and brought it with shame. He took it, and having found the passage he wanted, turned the volume once over in his hands, and gave it me back without a word.
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