Chantry House
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Оглавление
Yonge Charlotte Mary. Chantry House
CHAPTER I. A NURSERY PROSE
CHAPTER II. SCHOOLROOM DAYS
CHAPTER III. WIN AND SLOW
CHAPTER IV. UBI LAPSUS, QUID FECI
CHAPTER V. A HELPING HAND
CHAPTER VI. THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION
CHAPTER VII. THE INHERITANCE
CHAPTER VIII. THE OLD HOUSE
CHAPTER IX. RATS
CHAPTER X. OUR TUNEFUL CHOIR
CHAPTER XI ‘THEY FORDYS.’
CHAPTER XII. MRS. SOPHIA’S FEUD
CHAPTER XIII. A SCRAPE
CHAPTER XIV. THE MULLION CHAMBER
CHAPTER XV. RATIONAL THEORIES
CHAPTER XVI. CAT LANGUAGE
CHAPTER XVII. THE SIEGE OF HILLSIDE
CHAPTER XVIII. THE PORTRAIT
CHAPTER XIX. THE WHITE FEATHER
CHAPTER XX. VENI, VIDI, VICI
CHAPTER XXI. THE OUTSIDE OF THE COURTSHIP
CHAPTER XXII. BRISTOL DIAMONDS
CHAPTER XXIII. QUICKSANDS
CHAPTER XXIV. AFTER THE TEMPEST
CHAPTER XXV. HOLIDAY-MAKING
CHAPTER XXVI. C. MORBUS, ESQ
CHAPTER XXVII. PETER’S THUNDERBOLT
CHAPTER XXVIII. A SQUIRE OF DAMES
CHAPTER XXIX. LOVE AND OBEDIENCE
CHAPTER XXX. UNA OR DUESSA
CHAPTER XXXI. FACILIS DESCENSUS
CHAPTER XXXII. WALY, WALY
CHAPTER XXXIII. THE RIVER’S BANK
CHAPTER XXXIV. NOT IN VAIN
CHAPTER XXXV. GRIFF’S BIRD
CHAPTER XXXVI. SLACK WATER
CHAPTER XXXVII. OUTWARD BOUND
CHAPTER XXXVIII. TOO LATE
CHAPTER XXXIX. A PURPOSE
CHAPTER XL. THE MIDNIGHT CHASE
CHAPTER XLI. WILLS OLD AND NEW
CHAPTER XLII. ON A SPREE
CHAPTER XLIII. THE PRICE
CHAPTER XLIV. PAYING THE COST
CHAPTER XLV. ACHIEVED
CHAPTER XLVI. RESTITUTION
CHAPTER XLVII. THE FORDYCE STORY
CHAPTER XLVIII. THE LAST DISCOVERY
Отрывок из книги
Looking back, I think my mother was the leading spirit in our household, though she never for a moment suspected it. Indeed, the chess queen must be the most active on the home board, and one of the objects of her life was to give her husband a restful evening when he came home to the six o’clock dinner. She also had to make both ends meet on an income which would seem starvation at the present day; but she was strong, spirited, and managing, and equal to all her tasks till the long attendance upon me, and the consequent illness, forced her to spare herself—a little—a very little.
Previously she had been our only teacher, except that my father read a chapter of the Bible with us every morning before breakfast, and heard the Catechism on a Sunday. For we could all read long before young gentlefolks nowadays can say their letters. It was well for me, since books with a small quantity of type, and a good deal of frightful illustration, beguiled many of my weary moments. You may see my special favourites, bound up, on the shelf in my bedroom. Crabbe’s Tales, Frank, the Parent’s Assistant, and later, Croker’s Tales from English History, Lamb’s Tales from Shakespeare, Tales of a Grandfather, and the Rival Crusoes stand pre-eminent—also Mrs. Leicester’s School, with the ghost story cut out.
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My mother’s embrace was in a sort of mechanical obedience to her husband’s gesture, and her voice was not perhaps meant to be so severe as it sounded when she said, ‘You are very cold—come and warm yourself.’
They made room for him by the fire, and my father stood up in front of it, giving particulars of the journey. Emily and Martyn were at tea in the nursery, in a certain awe that hindered them from coming down; indeed, Martyn seems to have expected to see some strange transformation in his brother. Indeed, there was alteration in the absence of the blue and gold, and, still more, in the loss of the lightsome, hopeful expression from the young face.
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