Mary Derwent

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T.B. Peterson, 1858 - 408 Seiten
 

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Seite 131 - I stood in front of a beautiful cottage, out from the thickly inhabited portion of Richmond. A light broke softly through the wreathing foliage which draped the windows of a lower room, and I could distinguish the shadow of a man walking to and fro within. I knew that it was Murray, and that I should see him once more that night, yet my heart beat slow and regularly, without a throb to warn me of tha deep feeling which still lived there in its undying strength.
Seite 62 - ... not of a kind to satisfy her ambition ; for, into this passion had a thousand others merged themselves. She understood the nature of her influence over her husband and his tribe too perfectly to receive pleasure from it. She felt that it was not that of a great mind over its own compeers, but of the intellectual over the animal. It was the power of a resolute mind, crafty and unhesitating in its means, over the ignorance, superstition, and brute strength of a savage and almost barbarous race....
Seite 75 - ... never yet have I seen a spot of such quiet loveliness as my own birth-place. No traveller ever passed through that village without stopping to admire its verdant and secluded tranquillity. There was something picturesque and holy in the little stone church, with its porch overrun with ivy, and its narrow, gothic windows half obscured by the soft moss and creeping plants which had gathered about them from age to age — something that hushed the pulsations of the gayest heart in the deathly stillness...
Seite 45 - ... motion. She watched him while he moored the canoe in the little cove, and then she caught another glimpse of him as he turned a corner of her dwelling, and mingled with the group of young persons who were drinking tea [ on the green sward in front. It was a weary hour to the deformed girl, before the ! party broke up, and were transported to the opposite ! shore ; where farm wagons stood ready to convey them to Wilkesbarre.
Seite 82 - I was .Km. with my dead — alone in the dear sanctuary of our domestic affections. " As I looked around the apartment, gentle associations crowded on my heart, and partially aroused it to a sense of its bereavement. The scent of withered flowers was shed from the neglected vases, and a soft night wind came through the sash-doors, wafting in a cloud of perfume from the garden.

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