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892233 the Woodlanders by Thomas Hardy

892233 the Woodlanders by Thomas Hardy

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PGCC Collection: The Woodlanders, by Thomas Hardy#7 in our series by Thomas HardyWorld eBook Library PGCC CollectionBringing the world's eBook Collection Togetherhttp://www.WorldLibrary.netProject Gutenberg Consortia Center is a member of theWorld eBook Library Consortia, http://WorldLibrary.net __________________________________________________ LimitationsBy accessing this file you agree to all the Terms andConditions, as stated here.This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no costand with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copyit, give it away or re-use it under the terms of theProject Gutenberg License included with this eBook oronline at www.gutenberg.netHere are 3 of the more major items to consider:1. The eBooks on the PG sites are NOT 100% public domain,some of them are copyrighted and used by permissionand thus you may charge for redistribution only viadirect permission from the copyright holders.2. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark [TM].For any other purpose than to redistribute eBookscontaining the entire Project Gutenberg file freeof charge and with the headers intact, permissionis required.3. The public domain status is per U.S. copyright law.This eBook is from the Project Gutenberg ConsortiumCenter of the United States.The mission of the Project Gutenberg Consortia Centeris to provide a similar framework for the collection
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of eBook collections as does Project Gutenberg forsingle eBooks, operating under the practices, andgeneral guidelines of Project Gutenberg.The major additional function of Project GutenbergConsortia Center is to manage the addition of largecollections of eBooks from other eBook creation andcollection centers around the world.The complete license details are online at:http://gutenberg.net/license__________________________________________________ The Woodlandersby Thomas HardyApril, 1996 [eBook #482]PGCC Collection: The Woodlanders, by Thomas Hardy*eBook File: woodl10.pdf or woodl10.htmCorrected EDITIONS, woodl11.pdf.Separate source VERSION, woodl10a.pdf.*Ver.04.29.93*THE WOODLANDERS
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by Thomas HardyCHAPTER I.The rambler who, for old association or other reasons, shouldtrace the forsaken coach-road running almost in a meridional linefrom Bristol to the south shore of England, would find himselfduring the latter half of his journey in the vicinity of someextensive woodlands, interspersed with apple-orchards. Here thetrees, timber or fruit-bearing, as the case may be, make the way-side hedges ragged by their drip and shade, stretching over theroad with easeful horizontality, as if they found theunsubstantial air an adequate support for their limbs. At oneplace, where a hill is crossed, the largest of the woods showsitself bisected by the high-way, as the head of thick hair isbisected by the white line of its parting. The spot is lonely.The physiognomy of a deserted highway expresses solitude to adegree that is not reached by mere dales or downs, and bespeaks atomb-like stillness more emphatic than that of glades and pools.The contrast of what is with what might be probably accounts forthis. To step, for instance, at the place under notice, from thehedge of the plantation into the adjoining pale thoroughfare, andpause amid its emptiness for a moment, was to exchange by the actof a single stride the simple absence of human companionship foran incubus of the forlorn.At this spot, on the lowering evening of a by-gone winter's day,there stood a man who had entered upon the scene much in theaforesaid manner. Alighting into the road from a stile hard by,he, though by no means a "chosen vessel" for impressions, wastemporarily influenced by some such feeling of being suddenly morealone than before he had emerged upon the highway.It could be seen by a glance at his rather finical style of dressthat he did not belong to the country proper; and from his air,after a while, that though there might be a sombre beauty in thescenery, music in the breeze, and a wan procession of coachingghosts in the sentiment of this old turnpike-road, he was mainlypuzzled about the way. The dead men's work that had been expendedin climbing that hill, the blistered soles that had trodden it,and the tears that had wetted it, were not his concern; for fatehad given him no time for any but practical things.He looked north and south, and mechanically prodded the groundwith his walking-stick. A closer glance at his face corroboratedthe testimony of his clothes. It was self-complacent, yet therewas small apparent ground for such complacence. Nothing
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