The Portrait of a Lady: in three volumes; volume three

Forsideomslag
Macmillan and Company, 1883 - 225 sider
Isabel Archer is a young woman of daring independence and equally fierce desires. But her head-strong innocence is no match for the manipulations of her duplicitous friend Madame Merle and the devious Gilbert Osmond.
 

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II
1
III
26
IV
55
V
72
VI
85
VII
98
VIII
114
IX
133
X
148
XI
187
XII
197
XIII
209

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Side 208 - Certain obligations were involved in the very fact of marriage, and were quite independent of the quantity of enjoyment extracted from it. Isabel thought of her husband as little as might be; but now that she was at a distance, beyond its spell, she thought with a kind of spiritual shudder of Rome. There was a penetrating chill in the image, and she drew back into the deepest shade of Gardencourt. She lived from day to day, postponing, closing her eyes, trying not to think. She knew she must decide,...
Side 220 - There were lights in the windows of the house ; they shone far across the lawn. In an extraordinarily short time — for the distance was considerable — she had moved through the darkness (for she saw nothing) and reached the door. Here only she paused. She looked all about her; she listened a little ; then she put her hand on the latch. She had not known where to turn ; but she knew now. There was a very straight path.
Side 146 - She replied that her stepdaughter was close at hand, and she could only give him five minutes ; whereupon he took out his watch and sat down upon a broken block. " It's very soon told,
Side 30 - Between those four walls she had lived ever since; they were to surround her for the rest of her life. It was the house of darkness, the house of dumbness, the house of suffocation. Osmond's beautiful mind gave it neither light nor air; Osmond's beautiful mind, indeed, seemed to peep down from a small high window and mock at her. Of course it was not physical suffering; for physical suffering there might have been a remedy.
Side 185 - It couldn't be that she was to live only to suffer; she was still young, after all, and a great many things might happen to her yet. To live only to suffer — only to feel the injury of life repeated and enlarged — it seemed to her that she was too valuable, too capable, for that. Then she wondered whether it were vain and stupid to think so well of herself. When had it ever been a guarantee to be valuable?
Side 157 - Your cousin's nothing to you; he's nothing to us. You smile most expressively when I talk about us, but I assure you that we, we, Mrs. Osmond, is all I know. I take our marriage seriously; you appear to have found a way of not doing so.
Side 30 - But when, as the months elapsed, she followed him further, and he led her into the mansion of his own habitation, then, — then she had seen where she really was. She could live it over again, the incredulous terror with which she had taken the measure of her dwelling. Between those four walls she had lived ever since ; they were to surround her for the rest of her life. It was the house of darkness, the house of dumbness, the house of suffocation. Osmond's beautiful mind gave it neither light nor...
Side 33 - The real offence, as she ultimately perceived, was her having a mind of her own at all. Her mind was to be his — attached to his own like a small garden-plot to a deer-park. He would rake the soil gently and water the flowers ; he would weed the beds and gather an occasional nosegay.
Side 218 - It would be an insult to you to assume that you care for the look of the thing, for what people will say, for the bottomless idiocy of the world. We've nothing to do with all that; we're quite out of it; we look at things as they are.
Side 34 - But there were certain things she could never take in. To begin with, they were hideously unclean. She was not a daughter of the Puritans, but for all that she believed in such a thing as chastity and even as decency.

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