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The Man By: Bram Stoker (1847-1912) |
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BY
BRAM STOKER AUTHOR OF "DRACULA," ETC. LONDON: ROBERT HAYES, LTD.
SIXTY ONE FLEET STREET, E.C. Copyright, 1897, in the United States of America, according to Act of
Congress, by Bram Stoker. [ All rights reserved ]
FORE GLIMPSE
'I would rather be an angel than God!' The voice of the speaker sounded clearly through the hawthorn tree. The
young man and the young girl who sat together on the low tombstone looked
at each other. They had heard the voices of the two children talking,
but had not noticed what they said; it was the sentiment, not the sound,
which roused their attention. The girl put her finger to her lips to impress silence, and the man
nodded; they sat as still as mice whilst the two children went on
talking. The scene would have gladdened a painter's heart. An old churchyard. The
church low and square towered, with long mullioned windows, the yellow
grey stone roughened by age and tender hued with lichens. Round it
clustered many tombstones tilted in all directions. Behind the church a
line of gnarled and twisted yews. The churchyard was full of fine trees. On one side a magnificent cedar;
on the other a great copper beech. Here and there among the tombs and
headstones many beautiful blossoming trees rose from the long green
grass. The laburnum glowed in the June afternoon sunlight; the lilac,
the hawthorn and the clustering meadowsweet which fringed the edge of the
lazy stream mingled their heavy sweetness in sleepy fragrance. The
yellow grey crumbling walls were green in places with wrinkled
harts tongues, and were topped with sweet williams and spreading house
leek and stone crop and wild flowers whose delicious sweetness made for
the drowsy repose of perfect summer. But amid all that mass of glowing colour the two young figures seated on
the grey old tomb stood out conspicuously. The man was in conventional
hunting dress: red coat, white stock, black hat, white breeches, and top
boots. The girl was one of the richest, most glowing, and yet withal
daintiest figures the eye of man could linger on. She was in
riding habit of hunting scarlet cloth; her black hat was tipped forward
by piled up masses red golden hair. Round her neck was a white lawn
scarf in the fashion of a man's hunting stock, close fitting, and sinking
into a gold buttoned waistcoat of snowy twill. As she sat with the long
skirt across her left arm her tiny black top boots appeared underneath.
Her gauntleted gloves were of white buckskin; her riding whip was plaited
of white leather, topped with ivory and banded with gold. Even in her fourteenth year Miss Stephen Norman gave promise of striking
beauty; beauty of a rarely composite character. In her the various
elements of her race seemed to have cropped out. The firm set jaw, with
chin broader and more square than is usual in a woman, and the wide fine
forehead and aquiline nose marked the high descent from Saxon through
Norman. The glorious mass of red hair, of the true flame colour, showed
the blood of another ancient ancestor of Northern race, and suited well
with the voluptuous curves of the full, crimson lips. The purple black
eyes, the raven eyebrows and eyelashes, and the fine curve of the
nostrils spoke of the Eastern blood of the far back wife of the Crusader.
Already she was tall for her age, with something of that lankiness which
marks the early development of a really fine figure. Long legged, long
necked, as straight as a lance, with head poised on the proud neck like a
lily on its stem. Stephen Norman certainly gave promise of a splendid womanhood. Pride,
self reliance and dominance were marked in every feature; in her bearing
and in her lightest movement. Her companion, Harold An Wolf, was some five years her senior, and by
means of those five years and certain qualities had long stood in the
position of her mentor. He was more than six feet two in height, deep
chested, broad shouldered, lean flanked, long armed and big handed... Continue reading book >>
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Genres for this book |
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Fiction |
Horror/Ghost stories |
Literature |
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