The Descent Of Man Edith Wharton

ISBN: 9781458870056

Published:

Paperback

130 pages


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The Descent Of Man  by  Edith Wharton

The Descent Of Man by Edith Wharton
| Paperback | PDF, EPUB, FB2, DjVu, AUDIO, mp3, ZIP | 130 pages | ISBN: 9781458870056 | 6.67 Mb

Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: THE OTHER TWO I WAYTHORN, on the drawing-room hearth, waited forMorePurchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: THE OTHER TWO I WAYTHORN, on the drawing-room hearth, waited for his wife to come down to dinner.

It was their first night under his own roof, and he was surprised at his thrill of boyish agitation. He was not so old, to be sure?his glass gave him little more than the five-and-thirty years to which his wife confessed?but he had fancied himself already in the temperate zone- yet here he was listening for her step with a tender sense of all it symbolised, with some old trail of verse about the garlanded nuptial door-posts floating through his enjoyment of the pleasant room and the good dinner just beyond it.

They had been hastily recalled from their honeymoon by the illness of Lily Haskett, the child of Mrs. Waythorns first marriage. The little girl, at Way- thorns desire, had been transferred to his house on the day of her mothers wedding, and the doctor, on their arrival, broke the news that she was ill with typhoid, but declared that all the symptoms were favourable. Lily could show twelve years of unblemished health, and the case promised to be a light one. The nurse spoke as reassuringly, and after a moment of alarm Mrs. Waythom had adjusted herself to the situation. She was very fond of Lily?her affection for the child had perhaps been her decisive charm in Waythorns eyes?but she had the perfectly balanced nerves which her little girl had inherited, and no woman ever wasted less tissue in unproductive worry.

Waythorn was therefore quite prepared to see her come in presently, a little late because of a last look at Lily, but as serene and well-appointed as if her good-night kiss had been laid on the brow of health. Her composure was restful to him- it acted as ballast to his somewhat unstable sensibilities. As he pictured her bending over the childs bed he though...



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