Haworth's

by Frances Hodgson Burnett

Overview

' Haworth's' is a product of genius of a very high order, a piece of work which will hold a permanent place in literature; one of those masterly performances that rise wholly above the plane of light literature upon which novels are generally placed."—- Evening Post. "It is but faint praise to speak of 'Haworth's' as merely a good novel. It is one of the few great novels. . . . As a story it is alive throughout with a thrilling interest which does not flat; from beginning to end, and, besides the story, there is in it a wonderfully clever study of human nature."—Hartford Courant. ''' Haworth's' will unquestionably be acknowledged one of the great literary achievements of the day. The chief feature is its intense dramatic power. It consists almost wholly of vividly-presented pictures, which so impress themselves on the mind of the reader, that the effect is more that of seeing the story acted than of reading it."—Boston Post.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9783849648930
Publisher:	Jazzybee Verlag
Publication date:	04/27/2017
Sold by:	Bookwire
Format:	eBook
Pages:	468
File size:	452 KB

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER IV. JANEY BRIARLEY. A Week later Hilary Murdoch returned from the Brox- ton grave-yard in a drizzling rain, and made his way to the bare, cleanly swept chamber upstairs. Since the night on which he had cried out to his mother that she must not enter, the table at which the dead man had been wont to sit at work had been pushed aside. Some one had thrown a white cloth over it. Murdoch went to it and drew this cloth away. He stood and looked down at the little skeleton of wood and steel. It had been nothing but a curse from first to last, and yet it fascinated him. He found it hard to do the thing he had come to do. " It is not finished," he said to the echoes of the empty room. " It never will be." He slowly replaced it in its case, and buried it out of sight at the bottom of the trunk which, from that day forward, would stand unused and locked. When he arose, after doing this, he unconsciously struck his hands together as he had seen grave-diggers do when they brushed the damp soil away. The first time Haworth saw his new hand he regarded him with small favor. In crossing the yard one day at noon, he came upon him disposing of his middaymeal and reading at the same time. He stopped to look at him. " Who's that ? " he asked one of the men. The fellow grinned in amiable appreciation of the rough tone of the query. " That's th' 'Merican," he answered. " An' a soft nn he is." " What's that he's reading ? " " Sunimat about engineering loike as not. That's his crank." In the rush of his new plans and the hurry of the last few months, Haworth had had time to forget the man who had wished him " good luck," and whose pathetic figure had been a shadow upon the first glow of histriumph. He did not connect him at all with the young fellow before ...