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A Prayer for My Son by Hugh Walpole

A Prayer for My Son by Hugh Walpole

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Title: A Prayer for my SonAuthor: Hugh WalpoleeBook No.: 0600041.txtEdition: 1Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: Latin-1(ISO-8859-1)--8 bitDate first posted: January 2006Date most recently updated: January 2006***** A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook *****This eBook was produced by: Don Lainson dlainson@sympatico.caProject Gutenberg of Australia eBooks are created from printed editionswhich are in the public domain in Australia, unless a copyright noticeis included. We do NOT keep any eBooks in compliance with a particularpaper edition.Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check thecopyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing thisfile.This eBook is made available at no cost and with almost no restrictionswhatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the termsof the Project Gutenberg of Australia License which may be viewed online athttp://gutenberg.net.au/licence.htmlTo contact Project Gutenberg of Australia go to http://gutenberg.net.auTitle: A Prayer for my SonAuthor: Hugh WalpoleFORCOLONEL W. A. T. FERRISTO WHOM TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS AGO MY FIRST NOVEL WAS DEDICATED--THIS STORY IS OFFERED IN GRATITUDE FOR A SPLENDID FRIENDSHIPMy homeward course led up a long ascent,Where the road's watery surface, to the topOf that sharp rising, glittered to the moonAnd bore the semblance of another streamStealing with silent lapse to join the brookThat murmured in the vale. All else was still:No living thing appeared in earth or air,And, save the flowing water's peaceful voice,
Sound there was none--but lo! an uncouth shape . . .WORDSWORTH, The Prelude.No characters or incidents in this book have been in any waysuggested by characters or incidents outside this book.CONTENTSPART ITHE QUIET ENTRYI. Snow-shine for ArrivalII. Heart and Soul of a Young ManIII. Birthday PartyIV. Life and Death of Janet FawcusV. Glory of this WorldVI. John listeningPART IITHROUGH A GLASS DARKLYVII. The Party returnedVIII. Threshold of Danger--or isn't it?IX. Conquest of Janet--The House has a Cold--Mr. Rackstraw is NotWell--Rose lights a CandleX. Flight from Despotism--with RumpXI. Inside the Colonel as far as one DaresXII. Janet comes to Life and is ImprisonedPART IIIFIVE DAYSXIII. May 14th: How Mr. Rackstraw quoted Landor, Michael tore his
Trousers, and Janet counted the DaisiesXIV. May 15th: How the Colonel had a BirthdayXV. May 16th: This Day belongs to JanetXVI. May 17th-18th: Flight out of EgyptXVII. The Trembling SkyPART ITHE QUIET ENTRYCHAPTER ISNOW-SHINE FOR ARRIVALThis moment of anticipation was the worst of her life--never beforehad she been so utterly alone.Her loneliness now was emphasized by the strange dead-white glowthat seemed to bathe her room. She had just switched off theelectric light, and the curtains were not drawn upon the long gauntwindows. Although it was after five on that winter afternoon, thelight of the snow still illuminated the scene. Beyond the windowsa broad field ran slowly up to a thin bare hedge; above the hedge,the fell, thick in snow, mounted to a grey sky which lay like oneshadow upon another against the lower flanks of Blencathra.Rose had learnt the name of this mountain from the first instant ofher arrival at the Keswick station. She had not known whether shewould be met or not, and she had asked a porter whether he knew ofScarfe Hall. He knew of it well enough. It lay near theSanatorium right under Saddleback. And then, because she wasobviously a stranger, and he unlike many of his countrymen wasloquacious, he explained to her that Saddleback was the common namefor Blencathra. 'What a pity,' she murmured. 'Blencathra is muchfiner.' But he was not interested in that. He found the motor-carfrom the Hall and soon she was moving downhill from the station,turning sharply to the left by the river, and so to herdestination.She had had tea alone with Janet Fawcus in the drawing-roomdownstairs; such a strange, old-fashioned, overcrowded room, withphotographs in silver frames and a large oil painting over themarble fireplace of Humphrey's father. So odd, Rose thought, tohave so large a painting of yourself so prominently displayed. Shehad seen before, of course, photographs of Humphrey's father andhad always liked the kindliness, the good-humour in his roundchubby face, the beautiful purity of his white hair, his broadmanly shoulders, but this oil painting, made obviously a number of

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