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LibraryThing ReviewUser Review - BeyondEdenRock - LibraryThing
…. I can’t say that I liked it or that I didn’t like it, that you should read it or that you shouldn’t read it, but I can say that I was captivated and that even when I put the book down I went on ... Read full review
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Abel Albert ALGERNON BLACKWOOD arsk asked the suffragette believe blessing blue boat Brown Borough Caribbeania chair Chief M.S. colour course Courtesy's dance dear deck Delabole dener door earthquake eyes face feel feet felt gardener's gette girl grey Greyville hair hair shirt hand head heart Hilda knew lady novel lady novelist London looked militant suffragette mind Miss Brown Miss Wigsky mother never nigger night Park View Paul Rust Penny Street policeman poor portmanteau pose priest priest's sister Red Place replied the gardener round Rust's Samuel Rust Scottie seemed side smile sort soul Star Rover stood Stuff and nonsense suddenly suffra talk tell tesy theory there's thing thought threepenny bit tion to-morrow told Tra-la-la trees Tring Trinity Islands Union Town useter verandah voice walk women wonder word yerce
Page 1 - He never with bis own consent ran any risk of sudden death. Nobody would ever try to introduce him into a real book, for he was in no way suitable. He was not a philosopher. Not an adventurer. Not a gay dog. Not lively: but he lived, and that at least is a great merit. In appearance the gardener was a fairly mediocre study in black and white. He had a white and wooden face, black hair as smooth as a wet seal's back, thin arms and legs and enormous hands and feet. He was not indispensable to anybody,...
Page 85 - Courtesy, with flaming hair and crimson cheeks, "suffered from all the faults that you and I — poetic souls — cannot love. She was greedy. She was fat. She could not even lose a race without suspecting the timekeeper of corruption. All the same there was something so entirely healthy and human about her, that nobody had ever pointed out to her her lack of poetry, and of the more subtle virtues
Page 12 - ... She carried a mustard-coloured portmanteau. " I know what you are," said the gardener. " You are a suffragette, going to burn a house down." The woman raised her eyebrows. " How curious of you ! " she said. " You are perfectly right. Votes for women! " " Tra-la-la . . ." sang the gardener wittily. (You need not be afraid. There is not going to be so very much about the cause in this book.) They walked some way in silence.
Page 167 - Every experience in her eyes formed part of a printed page, surrounded by a halo of favourable reviews. She never wrote a letter without an eye on her posthumous biography . . ." (IP, S. 188). erweist er sich als anpassungsfähig und kompromissbereit. Während ihre Opposition die Suffragette unfrei macht, dh auf eine bestimmte Art des Handelns festlegt, bedeutet sie für den Gärtner ein Abenteuer. Er legt sich keineswegs fest, sondern wechselt sein Gesicht von Situation...
Page 14 - I have cried with disgust at the sound of my own name — I won't give it to you, but it might as well be Jane Brown.
Page 214 - ... 55). Von dieser Vergangenheit, die — wie es anderswo heisst — das gewöhnliche Leben einer jungen Frau war, hat sie sich gewaltsam geschieden. Now I am living a wide and gorgeous life of unwomanliness. (IP, S. 16) Wie sieht aber die an Stelle der verleugneten alten angenommene neue Identität aus? „The little ordinary fiery things of youth had been shorn out of her life, she had been crushed by the responsibility of being a woman . . . If one is a fanatic, one cannot also be a lover . ....
Page 149 - The High Street looked as if one side of it had charged the other with equally disastrous results to both. At different points in it, fire and heavy smoke were animating the scene. Distracted men and women panted and moaned and tore at the wreckage with bleeding hands. A little crying crowd was collected round a woman who lay nailed to the ground by a mountain of bricks, with her face fixed in a glare of terrible surprise.
Page 13 - A woman in her sphere — which is the home. One starts by thinking of one's dolls, later one thinks about one's looks, and later still about one's clothes. But nobody marries one. And then one finds that one's sphere — which is the home — has been a prison all along.