It was the month of December; the wind blew, and the rain fell. People - the few that were out of doors - could not keep their hats on their heads, nor their cloaks on their umbrellas were out of the question, and it was so dark that, except immediately under the dim street-lamps, they could scarcely distinguish the ground they walked upon. The gusts blew the rain in their faces, and almost blinded them; and there was such a whistling, howling, and pattering, that they could not hear themselves speak. The hackney coachmen abandoned their stands for the shelter of the public-house, leaving their horses with their drooping heads to the care of the waterman, who stood dripping in oil-skin under the lintel of a door. In short, every body said there had never been such a night before; and certainly there had not been many worse.
Whilst all this clatter was going on outside, in a small poorly-furnished room in the neighbourhood of Golden-square, a respectable-looking elderly man was tying a comforter round his throat, and thrusting his arms into a brown great-coat, the lining of which was torn.
"Didn't I beg you, Jane," he said to his wife, who was seated by the fire reading a novel - "didn't I beg you to mend this pocket?"
"I'll do it now," she said.
About the Publisher
Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com
Language
English
Pages
289
Format
Paperback
Release
July 16, 2015
ISBN 13
9781331506409
Linny Lockwood, Vol. 1 of 2: A Novel (Classic Reprint)
It was the month of December; the wind blew, and the rain fell. People - the few that were out of doors - could not keep their hats on their heads, nor their cloaks on their umbrellas were out of the question, and it was so dark that, except immediately under the dim street-lamps, they could scarcely distinguish the ground they walked upon. The gusts blew the rain in their faces, and almost blinded them; and there was such a whistling, howling, and pattering, that they could not hear themselves speak. The hackney coachmen abandoned their stands for the shelter of the public-house, leaving their horses with their drooping heads to the care of the waterman, who stood dripping in oil-skin under the lintel of a door. In short, every body said there had never been such a night before; and certainly there had not been many worse.
Whilst all this clatter was going on outside, in a small poorly-furnished room in the neighbourhood of Golden-square, a respectable-looking elderly man was tying a comforter round his throat, and thrusting his arms into a brown great-coat, the lining of which was torn.
"Didn't I beg you, Jane," he said to his wife, who was seated by the fire reading a novel - "didn't I beg you to mend this pocket?"
"I'll do it now," she said.
About the Publisher
Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com