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Travelling Companions (1870)

de Henry James

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Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: PROFESSOR FARGO THE little town of P is off the railway, and reached by a coach drive of twenty-five miles, which the primitive condition of the road makes a trial to the flesh, and the dulness of the landscape a weariness to the spirit. It was therefore not balm to my bruises, physical or intellectual, to find, on my arrival, that the gentleman for whose sake I had undertaken the journey had just posted off in a light buggy for a three days' holiday. After venting my disappointment in a variety of profitless expletives, I decided that the only course worthy of the elastic philosophy of a commercial traveller was to take a room at the local tavern and await his return. P was obviously not an exhilarating place of residence, but I had outweathered darker hours, and I reflected that having, as the phrase is, a bone to pick with my correspondent, a little accumulated irritation would arm me for the combat. Moreover, I had been rattling ' about for three months by rail; I was mortally tired, and the prospect of spending a few days beyond earshot of the steam whistle was not unwelcome. A certain audible, rural hush seemed to hang over the little town, and there was nothing apparently to prevent my giving it the whole of my attention. I lounged awhile in the tavern porch, but my presence seemed only to deepen the spell of silence on that customary group of jaundiced ruminants who were tilting their chairs hard by. I measured thrice, in its length, the dusty plank sidewalk of the main street, counted the hollyhocks in the front yards, and read the names on the little glass door plates; and finally, in despair, I visited the cemetery. Although we were at the end of September, the day was hot, and this youthful institution boasted but a scanty growth of funereal umbrage. No wee...… (mais)
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Exibindo 3 de 3
$250. First edition of this collection of James' short stories. Octavo, original cloth. In very good condition. Henry James was particularly interested in the short narrative form of fiction and produced dozens of what he called the "beautiful and blest nouvelle". Travelling Companions contains a collection of stories which had previously never appeared in book form including The Sweetheart of M. Briseaux, Adina, Guest's Confession, and At Isella.
  susangeib | Oct 30, 2022 |
Cuento inteligente y didáctico nos presenta aMr.Brooke un americano afincado en Alemania que en su viaje por Italia coincide con el Sr. Evans y su hija Charlotte. Los tres prosiguen su periplo italiano en el que les acompañaremos por Milán, Padua, Venecia y Florencia mientras por la mañana visitan iglesias y obras de arte y por la tarde se dedican a disfrutar de paseos y terrazas, típica vida fácil de adinerados de finales del diecinueve.Un par de sucesos darán emoción al relato: el ofrecimiento a Mr. Brooke de un falso Caravaggio y la pérdida de un tren en Padua que tendrán consecuencias inesperadas que sólo el lector capaz de concluirlo llegará a comprender.James se retrata en parte a sí mismo en sus viajes mientras desarrolla su forma de escribir con ejercicios literarios como este que no vería la luz hasta después de su muerte.
  docuhistorias | Dec 2, 2013 |
Early stories, beautifully written, not yet his best. ( )
  xine2009 | Sep 25, 2009 |
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Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: PROFESSOR FARGO THE little town of P is off the railway, and reached by a coach drive of twenty-five miles, which the primitive condition of the road makes a trial to the flesh, and the dulness of the landscape a weariness to the spirit. It was therefore not balm to my bruises, physical or intellectual, to find, on my arrival, that the gentleman for whose sake I had undertaken the journey had just posted off in a light buggy for a three days' holiday. After venting my disappointment in a variety of profitless expletives, I decided that the only course worthy of the elastic philosophy of a commercial traveller was to take a room at the local tavern and await his return. P was obviously not an exhilarating place of residence, but I had outweathered darker hours, and I reflected that having, as the phrase is, a bone to pick with my correspondent, a little accumulated irritation would arm me for the combat. Moreover, I had been rattling ' about for three months by rail; I was mortally tired, and the prospect of spending a few days beyond earshot of the steam whistle was not unwelcome. A certain audible, rural hush seemed to hang over the little town, and there was nothing apparently to prevent my giving it the whole of my attention. I lounged awhile in the tavern porch, but my presence seemed only to deepen the spell of silence on that customary group of jaundiced ruminants who were tilting their chairs hard by. I measured thrice, in its length, the dusty plank sidewalk of the main street, counted the hollyhocks in the front yards, and read the names on the little glass door plates; and finally, in despair, I visited the cemetery. Although we were at the end of September, the day was hot, and this youthful institution boasted but a scanty growth of funereal umbrage. No wee...

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