Were the inventors of automatic machines to be ranged according to the excellence of their devices for producing sound, artistic torture, the creator of the man-trap would occupy a very respectable, if not a very high place.
It should rather, however, be said, the inventor...
Fitzpiers had hardly been gone an hour when Grace began to sicken. The next day she kept her room. Old Jones was called in: he murmured some statements in which the words “feverish symptoms” occurred. Grace heard them, and guessed the means by which...
She re-entered the hut, flung off her bonnet and cloak, and approached the sufferer. He had begun anew those terrible mutterings, and his hands were cold. As soon as she saw him there returned to her that agony of mind which the stimulus of...
The mare paced along with firm and cautious tread through the copse where Winterborne had worked, and into the heavier soil where the oaks grew: thence towards Marshcombe Bottom, intensely dark now with overgrowth, and popularly supposed to be haunted by spirits....
She walked up the soft grassy ride, screened on either hand by nut-bushes, just now heavy with clusters of twos and threes and fours. A little way on the track she pursued was crossed by a similar one at right angles. Here Grace stopped;...
The doctor’s professional visit to Hintock House was promptly repeated the next day and the next. He always found Mrs. Charmond reclining on a sofa, and behaving generally as became a patient who was in no great hurry to lose that title. On each...
Grace approached the house. Her knock, always soft in virtue of her nature, was softer to-day by reason of her strange errand. However it was heard by the farmer’s wife who kept the house, and Grace was admitted. Opening the door of the doctor’s...
When Melbury heard what had happened he seemed much moved, and walked thoughtfully about the premises. On South’s own account he was genuinely sorry; and on Winter-borne’s he was the more grieved in that this catastrophe had so closely followed the somewhat...
“’Tis a pity—a thousand pities!” her father kept saying next morning at breakfast, Grace being still in her bedroom.
Here was the fact which could not be disguised: since seeing what an immense change her last twelvemonths of absence had produced in his daughter, after...
Supper-time came, and with it the hot-baked meats from the oven, laid on a snowy cloth fresh from the press, and reticulated with folds as in Flemish Last-Suppers.* Creedle and the boy fetched and carried with amazing alacrity; the latter, to mollify...
