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Category： Author：novel
It was about a week after Christmas, and we—my mother, my two sisters, and myself—were sitting, as usual, in the parlour of the little house at Islington. Tea was over, and Jenny had possession of the table, where she was engaged in making a watercolour sketch of still life by the light of the lamp, whose rays fell ef...
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Category： Author：novel
“Mamma,” said little Edith, looking up from the toys with which she was playing at the feet of her mother—“mamma, why does Motee Ayah never come in to prayers?” Mrs. Tuller was seated at her desk in the large room of her bungalow (house) in India. The day was hot; the blazing sun shone with fiery gl...
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Category： Author：novel
Anne Meredith looked at her mother, appalled. “Marry David Curtis!” she exclaimed. “Marry a man I have seen not more than a dozen times. Are you mad?” “No, but your uncle is,” bitterly. “God knows what has prompted this sudden philanthropy,” hesitating for a word. “This sudden desire to, as he expresses it, ‘square accounts’ with the...
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