Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 2, 2025
And, loud through the quiet house, she heard the sound of crying and Essy's voice scolding her little son, avenging on him the cruelty of life. On Greffington Edge, under the risen moon, the white thorn-trees flowered in their glory. The following pages contain advertisements of Macmillan books by the same author, and new fiction. The Return of the Prodigal Cloth, 12mo. $1.35 net.
And she saw Morfe, gray as iron, on its hill, bearing the square crown and the triple pendants of its lights; she saw the long straight line of Greffington Edge, hiding the secret moon, and Karva with the ashen west behind it.
Roddy hated Greffington Edge. He hated Morfe. He wanted to get away. It would be all right. The klomp-klomping sounded close behind her. Two shafts of light shot out in front, white on the grey road. Dr. Kendal drove past in his dog-cart. He leaned out over the side, peering. She heard him say something to himself. The wheels slowed down with a grating noise. The lights stood still.
Really unrestrained emotion that forces its way through and breaks down your intellectual defences and saturates you with itself it hasn't any words.... It hasn't any words; or very few." The mown fields over there, below Greffington Edge, were bleached with the sun: the grey cliffs quivered in the hot yellow light. "It might be somewhere in the South of France." "Not Agaye." "No. Not Agaye.
As for Morfe Manor, and Garth Manor and Greffington Hall, they were nearly always empty, so that he had not very much chance of improving his acquaintance there.
It would be worth while doing it for nothing, for the sake of knowing him. She had read his Euripides. She wondered: Supposing he kept her, how long would it last? He was in the middle of his First Series of Studies in Greek Literature; and there would be two, or even three if he went on. He had taken Greffington Hall for four months.
Roddy was saying something. Sprawling out from the corner of the window-seat, he stared with sulky, unseeing eyes into the little room. "Roddy, what did you say that hill was?" "Greffington Edge. You aren't listening." His voice made a jagged tear in the soft, quiet evening. "And the one beyond it?" "Sarrack. Why can't you listen?" Greffington Edge. Sarrack. Sarrack.
It was up Rathdale he was going, or to Greffington, or to smoke a pipe with Ned Alderson, or to turn in for a game of billiards at the village club. And whenever he lied to her she saw through him. She was prepared for the lie. She said to herself, "He is going to see Gwenda. He can't keep away from her." And then she remembered what Alice had said to her. "You'll know some day." She knew.
He thought of Veronica running about the house and crying, "Where's Nicky? I want him." Monday was like Sunday, except that he walked up Karva Hill in the morning and up Greffington Edge in the afternoon, instead of Renton Moor. Whichever way he went his thoughts went the same way as yesterday. The images were, if anything, more crowded and more horrible; but they had lost their hold.
And on the high roads where they went abreast she was apt to be carried away by the pageant of earth and sky; the solid darkness that came up from the moor; the gray, aerial abysses of the dale; the awful, blank withdrawal of Greffington Edge into the night.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking