The Innocent Moon (A Chronicle of Ancient Sunlight, Book 9)

The Innocent Moon (A Chronicle of Ancient Sunlight, Book 9)

Henry Williamson

Language: English

Pages: 360

ISBN: B01HCABJEQ

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


Phillip Maddison emerges from the war feeling overwhelmed by the powers of destruction. He resumes his old life but feels unsettled and, seeking solace, pursues a series of adventures with young women. Then he meets Barley, whose freshness and openness seem to offer something different.

Agorafabulous!: Dispatches from My Bedroom

The Story of My Life

A Mountain of Crumbs

I, Justine: An Analog Memoir

Lefty: An American Odyssey

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

did.” “Then why didn’t you?” “I knew it was wrong.” “In what way?” “Because I didn’t love him. It was only an attraction, as I told you. Besides, he was married already.” “If he hadn’t been married, would you have done?” “No, I don’t think so. Not until I was married, anyway.” He stopped and faced her. “What! You believe a wife should have lovers?” “Yes, if she wants them. I said if she wants them. Are you satisfied?” He strode on alone. She caught up with him and pulled him round to

such silly opinions. If it is healthier and easier for women to wear skirts half-way between ankle and knee, as they have since the war, why shouldn’t they? Sensible dress does not mean that a woman is flighty, and prepared to abandon all modesty.” “Of course not, sir.” He thanked the parson and went away, promising that he would read an exposure of The Daily Trident in next Sunday’s Weekly Courier. In the train he wrote a long and scornful article, and on arrival at Euston took a taxi to

Phillip could set his brass candle-stick on the table, and with back to the fire continue with the scene which had seemed so good and exciting. The book was writing itself: he never knew what would happen morc than a sentence ahead. Often as he wrote he chuckled, especially in the classroom scenes. The pen moved rapidly over the paper after the usual preliminary hesitations. Then the alarm clock went off with startling loudness and the fire was out. He felt tired, and opening the door, breathed

Sir Thomas Beecham appeared from under the stage, while clapping rippled against the tiny figure far down below. “Now! Get up on my back,” whispered Phillip, as he bent down beside the plastered pillar. “Hold on to the rim. I’ll bunk you up.” Having done this, with a jump he levered himself up and lay beside her, looking down upon the illumined figure with upraised baton. May 6. This is one of the most wonderful nights of my life. Within half a dozen bars of the opening I was face down on the

lying about; yet the owlery smelt fresh. There was no waste here, he said, as around a hawk’s nest or eyrie: the owls swallowed their prey whole, and the castings or pellets of indigestible stuff thrown up from their crops were clean feather, bone, and fur. He borrowed a basket to take two fledgelings back to show Irene. The farmer’s spinster sister, who kept the dairy, pale of face and gaunt, came out of her cool room with its heavy slate shelves whereon stood earthenware pans of milk, to see

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