|Publisher:||Columbia University Press|
|Product dimensions:||1.06(w) x 5.50(h) x 8.50(d)|
|Age Range:||18 Years|
About the Author
Christopher Lane is professor of English at Northwestern University. He is the author of The Ruling Passion and The Burdens of Intimacy: Psychoanalysis and Victorian Masculinity and the editor of The Psychoanalysis of Race (Columbia, 1998).
Table of Contents
Introduction: Victorian Hatred, a Social Evil and a Social Good Bulwer's Misanthropes and the Limits of Victorian Sympathy Dickensian Malefactors Charlotte Brontâ on the Pleasure of Hating George Eliot and Enmity Life Envy in Robert Browning's Poetry Epilogue: Joseph Conrad and the Illusion of Solidarity
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He stepped in curiously, and sat in an empty stool in the corner. He pulled out his sketchbook and let the lines flow freely from his mind, to his hands, to the page.
She peeks in and finds herself alone. Everything is stacked neatly on shelves. She picks up some long scissors and white paper with the intent of making a snowflake for some reason. ew. After a minutes she grabbes some some glitter and glue. She knew would probably be repetative of her but that was fine. Choosing a random stool to work at ,she let her mind wander. Cutting long thin strips. She wondered why she hadn't been claimed yet. It having been 3 days. She sat admiring what she'd already done. She used a glue stick. She carelessly dumped multicolored glitter into her hand spilling a lot more than the glue could handle. Then she experimentally blew it from her palm. Admireing how it glittered like light reflecting off real snow. Touching it she jumped and found she was right. She paniced and stupidly told it to stop. It melted and splashed like real water to the touch. She eyed it incredulously and said "freeze." It promptly did. She picked it up and it shattered after she slammed it against he table. Suddenly tired she pocketed a few shards she turned and went to her hammock at Thalia's pine, still pondering what had happened....