- Libros en formato MOBI -
An
International Episode
Four years
ago—in 1874—two young Englishmen had occasion to
go to the United States. They crossed the ocean
at midsummer, and, arriving in New York on the
first day of August, were much struck with the
fervid temperature of that city. Disembarking
upon the wharf, they climbed into one of those
huge high-hung coaches which convey passengers
to the hotels, and with a great deal of bouncing
and bumping, took their course through Broadway.
The midsummer aspect of New York is not, perhaps,
the most favorable one; still, it is not without
its picturesque and even brilliant side. Nothing
could well resemble less a typical English
street than the interminable avenue, rich in
incongruities, through which our two travelers
advanced—looking out on each side of them at the
comfortable animation of the sidewalks, the high-colored,
heterogeneous architecture, the huge white
marble facades glittering in the strong, crude
light, and bedizened with gilded lettering, the
multifarious awnings, banners, and streamers,
the extraordinary number of omnibuses, horsecars,
and other democratic vehicles, the vendors of
cooling fluids, the white trousers and big straw
hats of the policemen, the tripping gait of the
modish young persons on the pavement, the
general brightness, newness, juvenility, both of
people and things...
 A
London Life and Other Tales
It was raining, apparently, but she
didn't mind—she would put on stout shoes and
walk over to Plash. She was restless and so
fidgety that it was a pain; there were strange
voices that frightened her—they threw out the
ugliest intimations—in the empty rooms at home.
She would see old Mrs. Berrington, whom she
liked because she was so simple, and old Lady
Davenant, who was staying with her and who was
interesting for reasons with which simplicity
had nothing to do. Then she would come back to
the children's tea—she liked even better the
last half-hour in the schoolroom, with the bread
and butter, the candles and the red fire, the
little spasms of confidence of Miss Steet the
nursery-governess, and the society of Scratch
and Parson (their nicknames would have made you
think they were dogs) her small, magnificent
nephews, whose flesh was so firm yet so soft and
their eyes so charming when they listened to
stories. Plash was the dower-house and about a
mile and a half, through the park, from Mellows.
It was not raining after all, though it had been;
there was only a grayness in the air, covering
all the strong, rich green, and a pleasant damp,
earthy smell, and the walks were smooth and hard,
so that the expedition was not arduous...

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