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I want one of my own on the premises. Is there a ghost at Lyng? How has it managed to preserve its incognito? One just has to wait.
Stair they were established at Lyng, and the life they had yearned for to the point of planning it out in all its daily details had actually begun for them.
It was to sit, in the thick December dusk, by just such a wide-hooded fireplace, under just such black Ghosts in afterward by edith wharton essay rafters, with the sense that beyond the mullioned panes the downs were darkening to a deeper solitude: They had never for a moment meant their new state to be one of idleness; but they meant to give themselves only to harmonious activities.
Dorsetshire had attracted them from the first by a semblance of remoteness out of all proportion to its geographical position.
But to the Boynes it was one of the ever-recurring wonders of the whole incredibly compressed island — a nest of counties, as they put it — that for the production of its effects so little of a given quality went so far: The mere fact that it was neither large nor exceptional made it, to the Boynes, abound the more richly in its special sense — the sense of having been for centuries a deep, dim reservoir of life.
The life had probably not been of the most vivid order: The feeling had never been stronger than on the December afternoon when, waiting in the library for the belated lamps, she rose from her seat and stood among the shadows of the hearth. Her husband had gone off, after luncheon, for one of his long tramps on the downs.
Certainly the book was not going as smoothly as she had imagined it would, and the lines of perplexity between his eyes had never been there in his engineering days. Yet the few pages he had so far read to her — the introduction, and a synopsis of the opening chapter — gave evidences of a firm possession of his subject, and a deepening confidence in his powers.
Unless it were his health, then? But physically he had gained since they had come to Dorsetshire, grown robuster, ruddier, and fresher-eyed. It was only within a week that she had felt in him the undefinable change that made her restless in his absence, and as tongue-tied in his presence as though it were she who had a secret to keep from him!
The thought that there was a secret somewhere between them struck her with a sudden smart rap of wonder, and she looked about her down the dim, long room.
The room itself might have been full of secrets. They seemed to be piling themselves up, as evening fell, like the layers and layers of velvet shadow dropping from the low ceiling, the dusky walls of books, the smoke-blurred sculpture of the hooded hearth.
The elusive specter had apparently never had sufficient identity for a legend to crystallize about it, and after a time the Boynes had laughingly set the matter down to their profit-and-loss account, agreeing that Lyng was one of the few houses good enough in itself to dispense with supernatural enhancements.
Now, as she stood on the hearth, the subject of their earlier curiosity revived in her with a new sense of its meaning — a sense gradually acquired through close daily contact with the scene of the lurking mystery.
Perhaps, in his long solitary hours in this very room, where she never trespassed till the afternoon, her husband had acquired it already, and was silently carrying the dread weight of whatever it had revealed to him. Mary was too well-versed in the code of the spectral world not to know that one could not talk about the ghosts one saw: But this explanation did not really satisfy her.
Well, supposing Ned had seen one when they first came, and had known only within the last week what had happened to him? More and more under the spell of the hour, she threw back her searching thoughts to the early days of their tenancy, but at first only to recall a gay confusion of unpacking, settling, arranging of books, and calling to each other from remote corners of the house as treasure after treasure of their habitation revealed itself to them.
It was in this particular connection that she presently recalled a certain soft afternoon of the previous October, when, passing from the first rapturous flurry of exploration to a detailed inspection of the old house, she had pressed like a novel heroine a panel that opened at her touch, on a narrow flight of stairs leading to an unsuspected flat ledge of the roof — the roof which, from below, seemed to slope away on all sides too abruptly for any but practised feet to scale.
The view from this hidden coign was enchanting, and she had flown down to snatch Ned from his papers and give him the freedom of her discovery. She remembered still how, standing on the narrow ledge, he had passed his arm about her while their gaze flew to the long, tossed horizon-line of the downs, and then dropped contentedly back to trace the arabesque of yew hedges about the fish-pond, and the shadow of the cedar on the lawn.
Distinctly, yes, she now recalled she had seen, as she glanced, a shadow of anxiety, of perplexity, rather, fall across his face; and, following his eyes, had beheld the figure of a man — a man in loose, grayish clothes, as it appeared to her — who was sauntering down the lime-avenue to the court with the tentative gait of a stranger seeking his way.
A slight tendency to dizziness obliged her, after a provisional clutch at the chimney against which they had been leaning, to follow him down more cautiously; and when she had reached the attic landing she paused again for a less definite reason, leaning over the oak banister to strain her eyes through the silence of the brown, sun-flecked depths below.
She lingered there till, somewhere in those depths, she heard the closing of a door; then, mechanically impelled, she went down the shallow flights of steps till she reached the lower hall. The front door stood open on the mild sunlight of the court, and hall and court were empty.Ghost Essays and Research Papers.
Title: Ghosts in Edith wharton and henry james short stories Total Pages: 3; Words: ; "The Lady Maid's Bell." Ghost Stories of Edith Wharton. Wharton, Edith. "Afterward." Ghost Stories of Edith Wharton. Order Custom Essay On This Topic.
Title: Ghost Surgery. periodicals spiritual texts: print copies: authors are listed in alphabetical order by last name. titles are listed in alphabetical order excluding the words a, an, and the. spaces and punctuation are ignored in alphabetical ordering.
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Free ebooks by authors who died before and whose work is therefore in the public domain in Australia. Edith WHARTON ( - ) Tales of Men and Ghosts was published as a collection in , though the first eight of the stories had earlier appeared in Scribner's and the last two in the Century Magazine. Archives and past articles from the Philadelphia Inquirer, Philadelphia Daily News, and regardbouddhiste.com
Download-Theses Mercredi 10 juin The Ghost Stories of Edith Wharton. Highly recommended.I was unaware that Edith Wharton, known for such insightful novels as The Age of Innocence, The House of Mirth, and Ethan Frome (as well as the popular movies these novels inspired), had indulged in writing ghost stories other than "Afterward" until I found this collection.5/5(5).
Among Edith Wharton’s work is a volume of paranormal tales, "The Ghost Stories of Edith Wharton," and it’s the most chilling work of art I’ve experienced.