All Sorts and Conditions of Men: An Impossible Story
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Walter Besant. All Sorts and Conditions of Men: An Impossible Story
PREFACE
PROLOGUE. – Part I
PROLOGUE. – Part II
CHAPTER I. NEWS FOR HIS LORDSHIP
CHAPTER II. A VERY COMPLETE CASE
CHAPTER III. ONLY A DRESSMAKER
CHAPTER IV. UNCLE BUNKER
CHAPTER V. THE CARES OF WEALTH
CHAPTER VI. A FIRST STEP
CHAPTER VII. THE TRINITY ALMSHOUSE
CHAPTER VIII. WHAT HE GOT BY IT
CHAPTER IX. THE DAY BEFORE THE FIRST
CHAPTER X. THE GREAT DAVENANT CASE
CHAPTER XI. THE FIRST DAY
CHAPTER XII. SUNDAY AT THE EAST END
CHAPTER XIII. ANGELA'S EXPERIMENT
CHAPTER XIV. THE TENDER PASSION
CHAPTER XV. A SPLENDID OFFER
CHAPTER XVI. HARRY'S DECISION
CHAPTER XVII. WHAT LORD JOCELYN THOUGHT
CHAPTER XVIII. THE PALACE OF DELIGHT
CHAPTER XIX. DICK THE RADICAL
CHAPTER XX. DOWN ON THEIR LUCK
CHAPTER XXI. LADY DAVENANT
CHAPTER XXII. DANIEL FAGG
CHAPTER XXIII. THE MISSING LINK
CHAPTER XXIV. LORD JOCELYN'S TROUBLES
CHAPTER XXV. AN INVITATION
CHAPTER XXVI. LORD DAVENANT'S GREATNESS
CHAPTER XXVII. THE SAME SIGNS
CHAPTER XXVIII. HARRY FINDS LIBERTY
CHAPTER XXIX. THE FIGUREHEADS
CHAPTER XXX. THE PROFESSOR'S PROPOSAL
CHAPTER XXXI. CAPTAIN COPPIN
CHAPTER XXXII. BUNKER AT BAY
CHAPTER XXXIII. MR. BUNKER'S LETTER
CHAPTER XXXIV. PROOFS IN PRINT
CHAPTER XXXV. THEN WE'LL KEEP COMPANY
CHAPTER XXXVI. WHAT WILL BE THE END?
CHAPTER XXXVII. TRUTH WITH FAITHFULNESS
CHAPTER XXXVIII. I AM THE DRESSMAKER
CHAPTER XXXIX. THRICE HAPPY BOY
CHAPTER XL. SWEET NELLY
CHAPTER XLI. BOXING-NIGHT
CHAPTER XLII. NOT JOSEPHUS, BUT ANOTHER
CHAPTER XLIII. O MY PROPHETIC SOUL!
CHAPTER XLIV. A FOOL AND HIS MONEY
CHAPTER XLV. LADY DAVENANT'S DINNER-PARTY
CHAPTER XLVI. THE END OF THE CASE
CHAPTER XLVII. A PALACE OF DELIGHT
CHAPTER XLVIII. MY LADY SWEET
CHAPTER XLIX "UPROUSE YE THEN, MY MERRY, MERRY MEN."
Отрывок из книги
It was the evening of a day in early June. The time was last year, and the place was Cambridge. The sun had been visible in the heavens, a gracious presence, actually a whole week – in itself a thing remarkable; the hearts of the most soured, even of landlords and farmers, were coming to believe again in the possibility of fine weather; the clergy were beginning to think that they might this year hold a real Harvest Thanksgiving instead of a sham; the trees at the Backs were in full foliage; the avenues of Trinity and Clare were splendid; beside them the trim lawns sloped to the margin of the Cam, here most glorious and proudest of English rivers, seeing that he laves the meadows of those ancient and venerable foundations, King's, Trinity, and St. John's, to say nothing of Queen's and Clare and Magdalen; men were lazily floating in canoes, or leaning over the bridges, or strolling about the walks, or lying on the grass; and among them – but not – oh! not with them – walked or rested many of the damsels of learned Newnham, chiefly in pairs, holding sweet converse not neglecting the foundations of the Christian faith and other fashionable topics, which ladies nowadays handle with so much learning, originality, dexterity, and power.
We have, however, to do with only one pair, who were sitting together on the banks opposite Trinity. These two were talking about a subject far more interesting than any concerning mind, or art, or philosophy, or the chances of the senate-house, or the future of Newnham: for they were talking about themselves and their own lives, and what they were to do each with that one life which happened, by the mere accident of birth, to belong to herself. It must be a curious subject for reflection in extreme old age, when everything has happened that is going to happen, including rheumatism, that, but for this accident, one's life might have been so very different.
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"And your project?"
"It is very simple. I efface myself. I vanish. I disappear."
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