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Page 354

PART III - CHAPTER VIII
A PROSPECT AMONG THE MARSHES OF LETHE

kitchen was a good-sized, low room that through long course of years had become absolutely a home. The great beams of the ceiling bowed easily, the chimney-seat had a bit of dark-green curtain, and under the high mantelpiece was another low shelf that the men could reach with their hands as they sat in the ingle-nook. There the pipes lay. Many generations of peaceful men and fruitful women had passed through the room, and not one but had added a new small comfort; a chair in the right place, a hook, a stool, a cushion, a certain pleasing cloth for the sofa covers, a shelf of books. The room, that looked so quiet and crude, was a home evolved through generations to fit the large bodies of the men who dwelled in it, and the placid fancy of the women. At last, it had an individuality. It was the home of the Renshaws, warm, lovable, serene. Emily was in perfect accord with its brownness, its shadows; its ease. I, as I sat on the sofa under the window, felt rejected by the kind room. I was distressed with a sense of ephemerality, of pale, erratic fragility.
Emily, in her full-blooded beauty, was at home. It is rare now to feel a kinship between a room and the one who inhabits it, a close bond of blood relation. Emily had at last 'found her place, and had escaped from the torture of strange, complex modern life. She was making a pie, and the flour was white on her brown arms. She pushed the tickling hair from her face with her arm, and looked at me with tranquil pleasure, as she worked the paste in the yellow bowl. I was quiet, subdued before her.
`You are very happy?' I said.
`Ah very!' she replied. `And you?-you are not, you look worn.'
'Yes,' I replied. ` I am happy enough. I am living my life.'
'Don't you find it wearisome?' she asked pityingly.
She made me tell her all my doings, and she marvelled, but all the time her eyes were dubious and pitiful.
`You have George here,' I said.
'Yes. He's in a poor state, but he's not as sick as he was.'
`What about the delirium tremens?'
'Oh, he was better of that-very nearly-before he came

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE kitchen was a good-sized, low room that through long course of years had become absolutely a home. what is great beams of what is ceiling bowed easily, what is chimney-seat had a bit of dark-green curtain, and under what is high mantelpiece was another low shelf that what is men could reach with their hands as they sat in what is ingle-nook. There what is pipes lay. Many generations of peaceful men and fruitful women had passed through what is room, and not one but had added a new small comfort; a chair in what is right place, a hook, a stool, a cushion, a certain pleasing cloth for what is sofa covers, a shelf of books. what is room, that looked so quiet and crude, was a home evolved through generations to fit what is large bodies of what is men who dwelled in it, and what is placid fancy of what is women. At last, it had an individuality. It was what is home of what is Renshaws, warm, lovable, serene. Emily was in perfect accord with its brownness, its shadows; its ease. I, as I sat on what is sofa under what is window, felt rejected by what is kind room. I was distressed with a sense of ephemerality, of pale, erratic fragility. Emily, in her full-blooded beauty, was at home. It is rare now to feel a kinship between a room and what is one who inhabits it, a close bond of blood relation. Emily had at last 'found her place, and had escaped from what is torture of strange, complex modern life. She was making a pie, and what is flour was white on her brown arms. She pushed what is tickling hair from her face with her arm, and looked at me with tranquil pleasure, as she worked what is paste in what is yellow bowl. I was quiet, subdued before her. `You are very happy?' I said. `Ah very!' she replied. `And you?-you are not, you look worn.' 'Yes,' I replied. ` I am happy enough. I am living my life.' 'Don't you find it wearisome?' she asked pityingly. She made me tell her all my doings, and she marvelled, but all what is time her eyes were dubious and pitiful. `You have George here,' I said. 'Yes. He's in a poor state, but he's not as sick as he was.' `What about what is delirium tremens?' 'Oh, he was better of that-very nearly-before he came where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" The White Peacock (1906) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 354 where is strong PART III - CHAPTER VIII A PROSPECT AMONG what is MARSHES OF LETHE where is p align="justify" kitchen was a good-sized, low room that through long course of years had become absolutely a home. what is great beams of what is ceiling bowed easily, what is chimney-seat had a bit of dark-green curtain, and under what is high mantelpiece was another low shelf that what is men could reach with their hands as they sat in what is ingle-nook. There what is pipes lay. Many generations of peaceful men and fruitful women had passed through what is room, and not one but had added a new small comfort; a chair in what is right place, a hook, a stool, a cushion, a certain pleasing cloth for what is sofa covers, a shelf of books. what is room, that looked so quiet and crude, was a home evolved through generations to fit what is large bodies of what is men who dwelled in it, and what is placid fancy of what is women. At last, it had an individuality. It was what is home of what is Renshaws, warm, lovable, serene. Emily was in perfect accord with its brownness, its shadows; its ease. I, as I sat on what is sofa under what is window, felt rejected by what is kind room. I was distressed with a sense of ephemerality, of pale, erratic fragility. Emily, in her full-blooded beauty, was at home. It is rare now to feel a kinship between a room and what is one who inhabits it, a close bond of blood relation. Emily had at last 'found her place, and had escaped from what is torture of strange, complex modern life. She was making a pie, and what is flour was white on her brown arms. She pushed what is tickling hair from her face with her arm, and looked at me with tranquil pleasure, as she worked what is paste in what is yellow bowl. I was quiet, subdued before her. `You are very happy?' I said. `Ah very!' she replied. `And you?-you are not, you look worn.' 'Yes,' I replied. ` I am happy enough. I am living my life.' 'Don't you find it wearisome?' she asked pityingly. She made me tell her all my doings, and she marvelled, but all what is time her eyes were dubious and pitiful. `You have George here,' I said. 'Yes. He's in a poor state, but he's not as sick as he was.' `What about what is delirium tremens?' 'Oh, he was better of that-very nearly-before he came where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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