Xingu: And Other Stories

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Charles Scribner's Sons, 1916 - New York (N.Y.) - 434 pages
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Page 421 - For the first time in her life she dimly faced the awful problem of the inutility of self-sacrifice. Hitherto she had never thought of questioning the inherited principles which had guided her life. Selfeffacement for the good of others had always seemed to her both natural and necessary; but then she had taken it for granted that it implied the securing of that good.
Page 241 - The Triumph of Night IT WAS clear that the sleigh from Weymore had not come; and the shivering young traveller from Boston, who had counted on jumping into it when he left the train at Northridge Junction, found himself standing alone on the open platform, exposed to the full assault of night-fall and winter. The blast that swept him came off New Hampshire snowfields and ice-hung forests. It seemed to have traversed interminable leagues of frozen silence, filling them with the same cold roar and...
Page 262 - No, don't bring back the filet. . . . Some terrapin; yes. ..." He looked affably about the table. "Sorry to have deserted you, but the storm has played the deuce with the wires, and I had to wait a long time before I could get a good connection. It must be blowing up for a blizzard." "Uncle Jack," young Rainer broke out, "Mr. Grisben's been lecturing me." Mr. Lavington was helping himself to terrapin. "Ah — what about?" "He thinks I ought to have given New Mexico a show." "I want him to go straight...
Page 241 - ... of Boston seemed no thicker than a sheet of paper on the bleak heights of Northridge. George Faxon said to himself that the place was uncommonly wellnamed. It clung to an exposed ledge over the valley from which the train had lifted him, and the wind combed it with teeth of steel that he seemed actually to hear scraping against the wooden sides of the station. Other building there was none: the village lay far down the road, and thither — since the Weymore sleigh had not come — Faxon saw...
Page 249 - ... to the smoothness of marble. At the end of the avenue the long house loomed up, its principal bulk dark, but one wing sending out a ray of welcome; and the next moment Faxon was receiving a violent impression of warmth and light, of hothouse plants, hurrying servants, a vast spectacular oak hall like a stage setting...
Page 144 - I'd done something which, at the time I did it, was condemned by society. My case has been passed on and classified: I'm the woman who has been cut for nearly twenty years. The older people have half forgotten why, and the younger ones have never really known: it's simply become a tradition to cut me. And traditions that have lost their meaning are the hardest of all to destroy.
Page 102 - It looked out at her from the face of every acquaintance, it appeared suddenly in the eyes of strangers when a word enlightened them: "Yes, the Mrs. Lidcote, don't you know?" It had sprung at her the first day out, when, across the dining-room, from the captain's table, she had seen Mrs. Lorin Boulger's revolving eye-glass pause and the eye behind it grow as blank as a dropped blind. The next day, of course, the captain had asked: "You know your ambassadress, Mrs. Boulger?" and she had replied that,...
Page 3 - Mrs. Ballinger is one of the ladies who pursue Culture in bands, as though it were dangerous to meet alone" — has the flash and glitter, and the agreeable artificiality, of polite comedy.
Page 121 - Mrs. Lidcote's thoughts fled back to what she had said to Ide the day before on the deck of the 'Utopia.' 'I didn't take up much room before, but now where is there a corner for me?' Where indeed in this crowded, topsy-turvy world, with its headlong changes and helterskelter readjustments, its new tolerances and indifferences and accommodations, was there room for a character fashioned by slower sterner processes and a life broken under their inexorable pressure? And then, in a flash, she viewed...
Page 275 - I'll get him inside first, and make them give him a hot drink. Then I'll see — I'll find an argument. . ." There was no answer to his knocking, and after an interval Rainer said: "Look here — we'd better go on." "No!" "I can, perfectly " "You sha'n't go to the house, I say!" Faxon furiously redoubled his blows, and at length steps sounded on the stairs. Rainer was leaning against the lintel, and as the door opened the light from the hall flashed on his pale face and fixed eyes. Faxon caught him...

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