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Review: The Wyvern MysteryUser Review - Steve - Goodreads
So far the least inspiring of Le Fanu's writings. This would have been better left as the short story - "A Chapter in the History of a Tyrone Family" - it was originally intended. Read full review
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ain't Alice Maybell answered Archdale asked Bertha better candle carpet-bag Carwell Grange Charles Fairfield child Cressley Common dark darling dear doctor door dreadful Dutchwoman eyes face fellow fingers fire fool frightened girl gone Good-night hand Harry Boots Harry Fairfield Hatherton head hear heard heart horse hour Hoxton kitchen knew Lady Wyndale lass laughed light Lilly Dogger listened live looked ma'am mammy Marjory Daw Master Charles Master Harry Mildred Tarnley mind miserable never night nohow old Dulcibella old Mildred old Squire old woman pale pretty quiet round Sergeant Sergeant-Major shoulder sleep smile soger Squire Harry stairs stood suppose sure talk tall Tarnley's tell thank there's thought told Tom Orange Tom Ward took trees trouble turned twas twill Twyford walked wife window word Wykeford Wyvern ye know ye'll young lady
Page 22 - You'll be sneezing and coughing for this; won't you—sneezing and coughing—a moist, dark nook ye've chosen," said Squire Harry, placing himself, nevertheless, on the seat opposite. She started at the sound of his voice, and as she looked up in his face, he saw that she had been crying. The Squire said nothing, but stiffly scuffled and poked the weeds and grass at his feet, for a while, with the end of his stick, and whistled low, some dreary old bars to himself. At length he said abruptly, but...
Page 253 - Well, now Master Charles is under the mould, I wouldn't spare her. What for shouldn't Mrs. Fairfield make her pay for the pipe she danced to. It's her turn now— ' When you are anvil, hold you still, When you are hammer, strike your fill.' And if I was Mrs. Fairfield, maybe I wouldn't make her smoke for all.
Page 46 - em all out, neck and crop, out o' Wyvern doors. I'd rather fill my house wi' rats than the two-legged vermin. Let 'em pack away to Carwell and starve with that big pippin-squeezing ninny. I hope in God's justice he'll never live to put his foot in Wyvern. I could shoot myself, I think, but for that. She might 'a waited till the old man died, at any rate; I was kind to her—a fool— a fool.
Page 198 - ... on her knees she dragged her down upon it, and almost instantly struck at her throat with a knife. To make this blow she was compelled to withdraw one hand, and with a desperate spring, Alice evaded the stroke. The whole thing was like a dream. The room seemed all a cloud. She could see nothing but the white figure that was Still close, climbing swiftly over the bed, with one hand extended now and the knife in the other. Not knowing how she got there...
Page 40 - ... which began before he could remember. The virtues are respected; but such vices as pride, violence, and hard-heartedness in a father, are more respected still. Charles could approach a quarrel with that old despot; he could stand at the very brink, and with a resentful and defiant eye scan the abyss ; but he could not quite make up his mind to the plunge. The old beast was so utterly violent and incalculable in his anger that no one could say to what weapons and extremities he might be driven...
Page 295 - He had set it down on the table, and now, as he spoke, he laid his hand on her shoulder, and she thought she might have wronged Master Harry with his rough jests, and shrewd ways, .and that he had more of the Fairfield in his nature than she ' had always given him credit for. Out he went again, and talked with...
Page 326 - The boy had got into this large old-painted press, and coiled himself up between two shelves. There was hardly a moment to think; and yielding to the instinct of her desperate affection, and to the child's wild appeal, she locked the door, and put the key in her pocket. She sat down. She was half stunned by her own audacity. She scarcely knew what she had done. Before she could recover herself, the door darkened, a hand crossed the hatch and opened it, and ex-Sergeant-Major Archdale entered the cottage.
Page 231 - MAN, that is born of a woman, hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down like a flower ; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay.
Page 245 - WHEN a sick man dies he leaves his bed and his physic. His best friend asks him not to stay, and sweetheart and kindred concur in putting him out of doors, to lie in a bed of clay, under the sky, come frost, or storm, or rain ; a dumb outcast from fireside, tankard, and even the talk of others. Tall Charles...