Excerpt: ...the water better.... But I don't mind getting wet. All I mind is being bored. I'd like to run up this hill without a thing on-just feeling the good healthy real mist on my skin. But I'm afraid it isn't done." Mile after mile. Mostly she talked of the boulevards and Pere Dureon, of Debussy and artichokes, in little laughing sentences ...Read MoreExcerpt: ...the water better.... But I don't mind getting wet. All I mind is being bored. I'd like to run up this hill without a thing on-just feeling the good healthy real mist on my skin. But I'm afraid it isn't done." Mile after mile. Mostly she talked of the boulevards and Pere Dureon, of Debussy and artichokes, in little laughing sentences that sprang like fire out of the dimness of the mist. Dawn came. From a hilltop they made out the roofs of a town and stopped to wonder at its silence, as though through long ages past no happy footstep had echoed there. The fog lifted. The morning was new-born and clean, and they fairly sang as they clattered up to an old coaching inn and demanded breakfast of an amazed rustic pottering about the inn yard in a smock. He did not know that to a "thrilling" Mr. Wrenn he-or perhaps it was his smock-was the hero in an English melodrama. Nor, doubtless, did the English crisp bacon and eggs which a sleepy housemaid prepared know that they were theater properties. Why, they were English eggs, served at dawn in an English inn-a stone-floored raftered room with a starling hanging in a little cage of withes outside the latticed window. And there were no trippers to bother them! (Mr. Wrenn really used the word "trippers" in his cogitations; he had it from Istra.) When he informed her of this occult fact she laughed, "You know mighty well, Mouse, that you have a sneaking wish there were one Yankee stranger here to see our glory." "I guess that's right." "But maybe I'm just as bad." For once their tones had not been those of teacher and pupil, but of comrades. They set out from the inn through the brightening morning like lively boys on a vacation tramp. The sun crept out, with the warmth and the dust, and Istra's steps lagged. As they passed the outlying corner of a farm where a straw-stack was secluded in a clump of willows Istra smiled and sighed: "I'm pretty tired, dear. I'm going to sleep in that straw-stack. I've always...Read Less
Fair. No Dustjacket. 1936. 256 pages. Orange stripe card covers. Clean but yellowed pages with no markings or annotations. Partial crack to front hinge thus the lower portion is slack. Moderate creasing and edge wear to the card cover. Creasing to the spine. There is a vertical crease on the front cover.
Fair with no dust jacket. Cloth binding with decorative gilt boards. Boards have some spotting, edges have some fraying. Hinge cracked in the front and back. Frontipiece with tissue guard has some browning. 253 pages. Story involves a salesclerk, Mr. Wrenn, who worked in the New York store of the Souvenir and Art Novelty Company and his adventures. Copyright page states Published February, 1914 with C-O coding.
This is about a middle age man living
in NYC working for the same firm for
years and his mostly mundane activities
but the writing is excellent-it kind of reminds
me of a book written years ago titled:
The Diary of a Nobody-sadly the authors
wrote only one book but I keep rereading
it.. I know it sounds weird but actually
I have not read but 3 chapters so far of
our mr. wrenn as the seller sent it to me
dredged with the smell of mildew so I
am going to have to order another copy
from reputable seller.
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