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The Portrait

By Oliphant, Margaret

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Book Id: WPLBN0000631958
Format Type: PDF eBook
File Size: 58.19 KB
Reproduction Date: 2005
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Title: The Portrait  
Author: Oliphant, Margaret
Volume:
Language: English
Subject: Literature, Literature & thought, Writing.
Collections: Blackmask Online Collection
Historic
Publication Date:
Publisher: Blackmask Online

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Oliphant, M. O. (n.d.). The Portrait. Retrieved from http://www.worldlibrary.org/


Description
Excerpt: THE PORTRAIT. Margaret Oliphant. AT the period when the following incidents occurred, I was living with my father at The Grove, a large old house in the immediate neighborhood of a little town. This had been his home for a number of years; and I believe I was born in it. It was a kind of house which, notwithstanding all the red and white architecture known at present by the name of Queen Anne, builders nowadays have forgotten how to build. It was straggling and irregular, with wide passages, wide staircases, broad landings; the rooms large but not very lofty; the arrangements leaving much to be desired, with no economy of space; a house belonging to a period when land was cheap, and, so far as that was concerned, there was no occasion to economize. Though it was so near the town, the clump of trees in which it was environed was a veritable grove. In the grounds in spring the primroses grew as thickly as in the forest. We had a few fields for the cows, and an excellent walled garden. The place is being pulled down at this moment to make room for more streets of mean little houses, the kind of thing, and not a dull house of faded gentry, which perhaps the neighborhood requires. The house was dull, and so were we, its last inhabitants; and the furniture was laded, even a little dingy, nothing to brag of I do not, however, intend to convey a suggestion that we were faded gentry, for that was not the case. My father, indeed, was rich, and had no need to spare any expense in making his life and his house bright if he pleased; but he did not please, and I had not been long enough at home to exercise any special influence of my own. It was the only home I had ever known; but except in my earliest childhood, and in my holidays as a schoolboy, I had in reality known but little of it. My mother had died at my birth, or shortly after, and I had grown up in the gravity and silence of a house without women. In my infancy, I believe, a sister of my father?s had lived with us, and taken charge of the household and of me; but she, too.

Table of Contents
Table of Contents: THE PORTRAIT, 1

 

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