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The broad highway de Jeffery Farnol
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The broad highway (1910 original; edició 1911)

de Jeffery Farnol

Sèrie: The Vibarts (1)

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835323,281 (3.55)26
Excerpt: ... Jarge beant theer to elp ye." "Yet the work remains, Ancient." "Why then, if you m goin, Ill go wi ye, Peter." So we presently set out together. All about us, as we walked, were mute evidences of the fury of last nights storm: trees had been uprooted, and great branches torn from others as if by the hands of angry giants; and the brook was a raging torrent. Down here, in the Hollow, the destruction had been less, but in the woods, above, the giants had worked their will, and many an empty gap showed where, erstwhile, had stood a tall and stately tree. "Trees be very like men," said the Ancient, nodding to one that lay prone beside the path, "ere to-day an gone to-morrer, Peter-gone to-morrer. The man in the Bible, im as was cured of is blindness by our blessed Lord, e said as men was like trees walkin, but, to my mind, Peter, trees is much more like men a-standin still. Ye see, Peter, trees be such companionable things; its very seldom as you see a tree growin all by itself, an when you do, if you look at it you cant elp but notice ow lonely it do look. Ay, its very leaves seem to ave a down-earted sort o drop. I knowed three on em once-elm-trees they was growin all close together, so close that their branches used to touch each other when the wind blew, jest as if they was a-shakin ands wi one another, Peter. You could see as they was uncommon fond of each other, wi half an eye. Well; one day, along comes a storm and blows one on em down-kills it dead, Peter; an a little while later, they cuts down another-Lord knows why-an theer was the last one, all alone an solitary. Now, I used to watch that theer tree-an heres the curus thing, Peter-day by day I see that tree a-droopin an droopin, a-witherin an a-pinin for them other two-brothers you might say-till one day I come by, an theer it were, Peter, a-standin up so big an tall as ever-but dead Ay, Peter, dead it were, an never put...… (més)
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» Mira també 26 mencions

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paperback
  SueJBeard | Feb 14, 2023 |
http://nwhyte.livejournal.com/1794675.html

This was the best-selling novel of 1911, a romantic tale set in about 1811 where you know what is going to happen from the very first page, when Peter Vibart is promised a vast legacy if he will marry Sophia Sefton, but declares he would rather not. He flees metropolitan life to the village of Sissinghurst in Kent, where he encounters many good-hearted comic yokels and falls in love with a mysterious woman who comes to live with him in his cottage. She has firm, well-rounded arms. (That's arms, I say, arms.) It takes Peter (unlike the reader) most of the book to work out her real identity, and to deal with his rival for the marital legacy, his rather two-dimensionally villainous cousin, though I guess he is distracted by the occasional staggering coincidence and his anachronistic inclination towards Christian Science doctrine. I had never heard of Farnol before but apparently he was one of the most successful popular novelists of the first half of the twentieth century, and I suppose I can see the attraction of his undemanding yet breathless style. (Sissinghurst, by the way, was called Milkstreet in 1811 and changed its name only later in the century; more anachronism.) ( )
1 vota nwhyte | Aug 13, 2011 |
The best selling historical romance of 1910. The first and best. ( )
  EMHudson | Jan 7, 2011 |
The first book in which we meet Peter Vibart and Charmian Brown. ( )
  gmillar | Jun 14, 2007 |
Excellent relaxation ( )
  nholmes | Nov 5, 2006 |
Es mostren totes 5
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Nom de l'autorCàrrecTipus d'autorObra?Estat
Jeffery Farnolautor primaritotes les edicionscalculat
Brock, C. E.Il·lustradorautor secundarialgunes edicionsconfirmat

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To
Shirley Byron Jevons
The friend of my boyish ambitions
This book is dedicated
As a mark of my gratitude, affection and esteem
J. F.
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As I sat of an early summer morning in the shade of a tree, eating friend bacon with a tinker, the thought came to me that I might some day write a book of my own: a book that should treat of the roads and by-roads, of trees, and wind in lonely places, of rapid brooks and lazy streams, of the glory of dawn, the glow of evening, and the purple solitude of night; a book of wayside inns and sequestered taverns; a book of country things and ways and people.
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Excerpt: ... Jarge beant theer to elp ye." "Yet the work remains, Ancient." "Why then, if you m goin, Ill go wi ye, Peter." So we presently set out together. All about us, as we walked, were mute evidences of the fury of last nights storm: trees had been uprooted, and great branches torn from others as if by the hands of angry giants; and the brook was a raging torrent. Down here, in the Hollow, the destruction had been less, but in the woods, above, the giants had worked their will, and many an empty gap showed where, erstwhile, had stood a tall and stately tree. "Trees be very like men," said the Ancient, nodding to one that lay prone beside the path, "ere to-day an gone to-morrer, Peter-gone to-morrer. The man in the Bible, im as was cured of is blindness by our blessed Lord, e said as men was like trees walkin, but, to my mind, Peter, trees is much more like men a-standin still. Ye see, Peter, trees be such companionable things; its very seldom as you see a tree growin all by itself, an when you do, if you look at it you cant elp but notice ow lonely it do look. Ay, its very leaves seem to ave a down-earted sort o drop. I knowed three on em once-elm-trees they was growin all close together, so close that their branches used to touch each other when the wind blew, jest as if they was a-shakin ands wi one another, Peter. You could see as they was uncommon fond of each other, wi half an eye. Well; one day, along comes a storm and blows one on em down-kills it dead, Peter; an a little while later, they cuts down another-Lord knows why-an theer was the last one, all alone an solitary. Now, I used to watch that theer tree-an heres the curus thing, Peter-day by day I see that tree a-droopin an droopin, a-witherin an a-pinin for them other two-brothers you might say-till one day I come by, an theer it were, Peter, a-standin up so big an tall as ever-but dead Ay, Peter, dead it were, an never put...

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