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Category： Author：Carl Ewald
From the first, your interest in Carl Ewald has been kindly, gracious and insistent; as Michael Finsbury might have said, "you were his friend through thick and thin;" and it is very much due to you (not to mention Betty and Charles) that this volume has seen the light of day.
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Category： Author：Louise Jamison
Ruth climbed to her favourite perch in the old willow tree, and settled Belinda in a crotch beside her.
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Category： Author：novel
A dark night on the banks of the Thames; the south-west wind, heavily charged with sleet, was blowing strongly, causing little waves to lap against the side of a punt moored by the bank. Its head-rope was tied round a weeping willow which had shed most of its leaves, and whose pendent boughs swayed and waved in the gusts, sending...
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Category： Author：novel
Sam was meditating. Tipped back in a chair made of river alder and willow, he leaned against the log wall of his cabin. His shoeless feet were swathed in wrinkled socks of the kind that come to a point at the toe where a tuft of thread keeps the cotton yarn from unraveling. Sam’s blue shirt was faded from too many washings in the...
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Category： Author：novel
The clear water of the little river, in which the willows were mirrored quiveringly, shallowed where a tiny bar of silver-white sand thrust the ripples aside. Thus confined, the stream sulked for a moment in a deep, pellucid pool, and then, with sudden rush and gurgle, swept through a miniature narrows and swirled about the naked...
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Category： Author：novel
After leaving Vienna, and long before you come to Budapest, the Danube enters a region of singular loneliness and desolation, where its waters spread away on all sides regardless of a main channel, and the country becomes a swamp for miles upon miles, covered by a vast sea of low willow-bushes. On the big maps this deserted area ...
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Category： Author：novel
Two big willow-trees guarded the entrance to Captain Saulsby’s place, willow-trees with such huge, rough trunks and such thick, gnarled branches that they might almost have been oaks. For fifty years they had bent and rocked before the furious winter storms, had bowed their heads to the showers of salt spray and had trembled under the ...
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Category： Author：novel
MARCH had come in like a lion, and showed no sign of going out like a lamb. The pussy willows knew that it was, or ought to be, spring, but although it takes a deal to discourage a New England pussy willow, they shivered in their brown skins and despaired of making their annual appearance even by April Fool’s Hay.
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Category： Author：novel
So this was to be her home—and for three long months! Patricia Meade dropped her suitcase on a convenient chair and gazed curiously about her. A hotel bedroom, with stiff-looking twin brass beds, two willow rockers, one straight chair, an imposing mahogany bureau and one small table—absolutely all the furniture, if one excepted the sti...
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Category： Author：Kate Douglas Wiggin
It was not long after sunrise, and Stephen Waterman, fresh from his dip in the river, had scrambled up the hillside from the hut in the alder-bushes where he had made his morning toilet. An early ablution of this sort was not the custom of the farmers along the banks of the Saco, but the Waterman house was hardly a stone's throw from ...
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