Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 29, 2025
'In discharge of a trust, I have handed Mr. Edwin Drood a ring of diamonds and rubies. You see? Edwin reproduced the little case, and opened it; and Bazzard looked into it. 'I follow you both, sir, returned Bazzard, 'and I witness the transaction. Evidently anxious to get away and be alone, Edwin Drood now resumed his outer clothing, muttering something about time and appointments. Mr.
A lady of our acquaintance remembers, when a schoolgirl at Rochester, exploring part of a vaulted tunnel running in the direction of the castle from Eastgate House, which in those days was a school, and had not yet received the distinction of being the "Nun's House" of Edwin Drood. Some way along, the passage was blocked by the skeleton of a donkey!
Until very lately until now, when you are nearly, but not quite, as much under the influence of cloves again you have had a vague general idea that somebody else must have killed Mr. DROOD and stolen your umbrella.
'But if Mr. Drood knew all that lies behind me, far away from here, he might know better how it is that sharp- edged words have sharp edges to wound me. 'Perhaps, says Jasper, in a soothing manner, 'we had better not qualify our good understanding. We had better not say anything having the appearance of a remonstrance or condition; it might not seem generous.
Later he resumed the public readings, with their public triumph and applause, which soon came to be a necessity to one who craved popularity as a hungry man craves bread. These excitements exhausted Dickens, physically and spiritually, and death was the inevitable result. He died in 1870, over his unfinished Edwin Drood, and was buried in Westminster Abbey.
Sapsea to suggest that the river should be dragged, that its banks should be rigidly examined, that particulars of the disappearance should be sent to all outlying places and to London, and that placards and advertisements should be widely circulated imploring Edwin Drood, if for any unknown reason he had withdrawn himself from his uncle's home and society, to take pity on that loving kinsman's sore bereavement and distress, and somehow inform him that he was yet alive.
"I was sure your gray matter would be stimulated by its favorite poison." "Charles, this should be an easy thing." "I'm not so sure. Dead men tell no tales, and Fenley himself could probably supply many chapters of an exciting story. They will be missing. Look at the repeated failures of eminent authors to complete 'Edwin Drood. How would they have fared if asked to produce the beginning?"
Something more seems hinted at in the cutting short of Edwin Drood by Dickens than the mere cutting short of a good novel by a great man. It seems rather like the last taunt of some elf, leaving the world, that it should be this story which is not ended, this story which is only a story. The only one of Dickens's novels which he did not finish was the only one that really needed finishing.
The two young men, having seen the damsels, their charges, enter the courtyard of the Nuns' House, and finding themselves coldly stared at by the brazen door-plate, as if the battered old beau with the glass in his eye were insolent, look at one another, look along the perspective of the moonlit street, and slowly walk away together. 'Do you stay here long, Mr. Drood? says Neville.
"Doesn't that describe it exactly?" exclaimed Mrs. Pitt, with enthusiasm. "That house always fascinated me, too. When Dickens last visited Rochester, it is said that he was seen gazing long at this old place, and some have thought that the result of those reflections would have appeared in the next chapter of 'Edwin Drood, which novel, as you know, he never finished.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking