By John Galsworthy
John Galsworthy OM (1867-1933) used to be an English novelist and playwright. he's considered as one of many first writers of the Edwardian period; demanding in his works a number of the beliefs of society depicted within the preceeding literature of Victorian England. He gained the Nobel Prize for literature in 1932. striking works contain The Forsyte Saga (1906-1921) and its sequels, a contemporary Comedy and finish of the bankruptcy. From the 4 Winds was once Galsworthy's first released paintings in 1897, a suite of brief tales. those, and a number of other next works, have been released lower than the pen identify John Sinjohn and it'll no longer be until eventually The Island Pharisees (1904) that he may start publishing below his personal identify. His first play, The Silver field (1906) turned successful, and he it up with the fellow of estate (1906), the 1st within the Forsyte trilogy. besides different writers of the time akin to Shaw his performs addressed the category procedure and social matters, of the simplest identified being Strife (1909) and the outside video game (1920).
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Extra resources for A Bit O' Love (Dodo Press)
Touching his stomach] I was sad, meself, once. 'Twas a funny scrabblin'−−like feelin'. GLADYS. If 'e go away, whu's goin' to finish us for confirmation? CONNIE. The Rector and the old grey mare. MERCY. I don' want no more finishin'; I'm confirmed enough. CLYST. Ya−as; yu'm a buty. GLADYS. Suppose we all went an' asked 'im not to go? IVY. 'Twouldn't be no gude. CONNIE. Where's 'e goin'? MERCY. He'll go to London, of course. IVY. He's so gentle; I think 'e'll go to an island, where there's nothin' but birds and beasts and flowers.
O−oooo! STRANGWAY. [Turning−−startled] Who's that? Who is it? TIBBY. O−oh! A ghosty! Oo−ooo! STRANGWAY. [Going to her quickly] It's me, Tibby−−Tib only me! TIBBY. I seed a ghosty. STRANGWAY. [Taking her up] No, no, my bird, you didn't! It was me. TIBBY. [Burying her face against him] I'm frighted. It was a big one. [She gives tongue again] O−o−oh! STRANGWAY. There, there! It's nothing but me. Look! TIBBY. No. ] STRANGWAY. See! It's the moonlight made me all white. See! You're a brave girl now? TIBBY.
BRADMERE. [Startled−softly] Don't turn sway from these who want to help you! I'm a grumpy old woman, but I can feel for you. Don't try and keep it all back, like this! A woman would cry, and it would all seem clearer at once. Now won't you let me−−−−? STRANGWAY. No one can help, thank you. MRS. BRADMERE. Come! Things haven't gone beyond mending, really, if you'll face them. [Pointing to the photograph] You know what I mean. We dare not foster immorality. STRANGWAY. [Quivering as at a jabbed nerve] Don't speak of that!