The White Peacock. D. H. Lawrence

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       D. H. Lawrence

      The White Peacock

      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4057664651341

       PART I

       CHAPTER I THE PEOPLE OF NETHERMERE

       CHAPTER II DANGLING THE APPLE

       CHAPTER III A VENDOR OF VISIONS

       CHAPTER IV THE FATHER

       CHAPTER V THE SCENT OF BLOOD

       CHAPTER VI THE EDUCATION OF GEORGE

       CHAPTER VII LETTIE PULLS DOWN THE SMALL GOLD GRAPES

       CHAPTER VIII THE RIOT OF CHRISTMAS

       CHAPTER IX LETTIE COMES OF AGE

       PART II

       CHAPTER I STRANGE BLOSSOMS AND STRANGE NEW BUDDING

       CHAPTER II A SHADOW IN SPRING

       CHAPTER III THE IRONY OF INSPIRED MOMENTS

       CHAPTER IV KISS WHEN SHE'S RIPE FOR TEARS

       CHAPTER V AN ARROW FROM THE IMPATIENT GOD

       CHAPTER VI THE COURTING

       CHAPTER VII THE FASCINATION OF THE FORBIDDEN APPLE

       CHAPTER VIII A POEM OF FRIENDSHIP

       CHAPTER IX PASTORALS AND PEONIES

       PART III

       CHAPTER I A NEW START IN LIFE

       CHAPTER II PUFFS OF WIND IN THE SAIL

       CHAPTER III THE FIRST PAGES OF SEVERAL ROMANCES

       CHAPTER IV DOMESTIC LIFE AT THE RAM

       CHAPTER V THE DOMINANT MOTIF OF SUFFERING

       CHAPTER VI PISGAH

       CHAPTER VII NETHERMTHE SCARP SLOPEERE

       CHAPTER VIII A PROSPECT AMONG THE MARSHES OF LETHE

      PART I

       Table of Contents

      CHAPTER I

       THE PEOPLE OF NETHERMERE

       Table of Contents

      I stood watching the shadowy fish slide through the gloom of the mill-pond. They were grey, descendants of the silvery things that had darted away from the monks, in the young days when the valley was lusty. The whole place was gathered in the musing of old age. The thick-piled trees on the far shore were too dark and sober to dally with the sun; the weeds stood crowded and motionless. Not even a little wind flickered the willows of the islets. The water lay softly, intensely still. Only the thin stream falling through the mill-race murmured to itself of the tumult of life which had once quickened the valley.

      I was almost startled into the water from my perch on the alder roots by a voice saying:

      "Well, what is there to look at?" My friend was a young farmer, stoutly built, brown eyed, with a naturally fair skin burned dark and freckled in patches. He laughed, seeing me start, and looked down at me with lazy curiosity.

      "I was thinking the place seemed old, brooding over its past."

      He looked at me with a lazy indulgent smile, and lay down on his back on the bank, saying: "It's all right for a doss—here."

      "Your life is nothing else but a doss. I shall laugh when somebody jerks you awake," I replied.

      He smiled comfortably and put his hands over his eyes because of the light.

      "Why shall you laugh?" he drawled.

      "Because you'll be amusing," said I.

      We were silent for a long time, when he rolled over and began to poke with his finger in the bank.

      "I thought," he said in his leisurely fashion, "there was some cause for all this buzzing."

      I

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