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时间: 2019年12月11日 00:52

Before starting to America I had completed Orley Farm, a novel which appeared in shilling numbers 鈥?after the manner in which Pickwick, Nicholas Nickleby, and many others had been published. Most of those among my friends who talk to me now about my novels, and are competent to form an opinion on the subject, say that this is the best I have written. In this opinion I do not coincide. I think that the highest merit which a novel can have consists in perfect delineation of character, rather than in plot, or humour, or pathos, and I shall before long mention a subsequent work in which I think the main character of the story is so well developed as to justify me in asserting its claim above the others. The plot of Orley Farm is probably the best I have ever made; but it has the fault of declaring itself, and thus coming to an end too early in the book. When Lady Mason tells her ancient lover that she did forge the will, the plot of Orley Farm has unravelled itself 鈥?and this she does in the middle of the tale. Independently, however, of this the novel is good. Sir Peregrine Orme, his grandson, Madeline Stavely, Mr. Furnival, Mr. Chaffanbrass, and the commercial gentlemen, are all good. The hunting is good. The lawyer鈥檚 talk is good. Mr. Moulder carves his turkey admirably, and Mr. Kantwise sells his tables and chairs with spirit. I do not know that there is a dull page in the book. I am fond of Orley Farm 鈥?and am especially fond of its illustrations by Millais, which are the best I have seen in any novel in any language. Till the lady for whose sake I came shall take it into her head to leave the place. I have been thinking, Allegra, putting his arm through hers, and pacing up and down the terrace, with the bright expanse of sea in front of them, and at their back the great curtain of hills encircling and defending them from the wintry world鈥?I have been thinking that Venice would be a charming place for you and me to spend next summer in鈥攊f鈥攊f鈥攜ou meant six months instead of twelve for my probation鈥攁s I really think you must have done. We could be married on the first of June鈥攕uch a pretty date for a wedding! So easy to remember! You would want to be married in Trelasco Church, of course; on our native soil. The church in which my great-grandfather was married, and in which I and all my race were christened! We could have the yacht at Marseilles ready to carry us off on our travels, through the delicious summer days and nights, all along this lovely coast, and away by Naples to the Adriatic. Allegra, why should we wait for the winter, the dreary winter, to begin our life journey? Let us begin it in the time of roses." � Is that the way you do business? asked Oliver. She carried a small parcel with her, of which she untied the string.{123} Again he waited for some reply, some expression of regret which she undoubtedly owed him, but none came. Then, looking up, while her pencil was busy, he saw that she did not reply because she could not. The reflection of the daffodils trembled violently on her chin, and her lower teeth were fast clenched on her upper lip to stifle the surrender of her mouth. And when he saw that, all his brutality, all the impulse that bade{294} him hurt the thing he loved, drained out of him, and left him hateful to himself. 日本一大免费高清,日本一大免费高清2019,久久爱在免费线看观看,天堂日本免费AV For what? For afternoon tea by your own fireside? Have you anybody waiting for you at the Angler's Nest, that you should be in such a hurry to get home? And I don't intend to, said Oliver firmly. "I am not in the habit of entertaining company in my chamber at midnight, and I prefer to be on my guard." November 11, 1848. By a strange coincidence, she and Oliver reached Chicago the same day. Of Can you Forgive Her? I cannot speak with too great affection, though I do not know that of itself it did very much to increase my reputation. As regards the story, it was formed chiefly on that of the play which my friend Mr. Bartley had rejected long since, the circumstances of which the reader may perhaps remember. The play had been called The Noble Jilt; but I was afraid of the name for a novel, lest the critics might throw a doubt on the nobility. There was more of tentative humility in that which I at last adopted. The character of the girl is carried through with considerable strength, but is not attractive. The humorous characters, which are also taken from the play 鈥?a buxom widow who with her eyes open chooses the most scampish of two selfish suitors because he is the better looking 鈥?are well done. Mrs. Greenow, between Captain Bellfield and Mr. Cheeseacre, is very good fun 鈥?as far as the fun of novels is. But that which endears the book to me is the first presentation which I made in it of Plantagenet Palliser, with his wife, Lady Glencora.