The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne BrontĂ« (sci fi books to read TXT) đ
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The Tenant of Wildfell Hall was the second novel written by Anne BrontĂ«, the youngest of the BrontĂ« sisters. First released in 1848 under the pseudonym Acton Bell, it was considered shocking by the standards of the time due to its themes of domestic disharmony, drunkenness and adultery. Perhaps this was why it quickly became a publishing success. However, when Anne died from tuberculosis her sister Charlotte prevented its republication until 1854, perhaps fearing for her sisterâs reputation, though some attributed her actions to jealousy.
The story is framed as a series of letters by the protagonist Gilbert Markham to his friend Halford. Markham tells of the arrival of a young widow, Mrs. Graham, in his rural neighborhood. She brings with her her five year old son Arthur and takes up residence in the partly-ruined Wildfell Hall. Gossip soon begins to swirl around her, questioning her mysterious background and the closeness of her relationship with her landlord Frederick Lawrence. Dismissing these concerns, Gilbert Markham becomes deeply enamored of Helen Graham, and she seems to return his affection strongly. He however becomes increasingly suspicious and jealous of Lawrence, who makes frequent visits to the Hall. He secretly espies them walking together one night, apparently in a romantic relationship. After he confronts Helen over this, she gives him her diary of the last few years and tells him to read it to understand everything. Much of the rest of the novel is made up of extracts from Helenâs diary, which tells the story of her unhappy marriage.
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- Author: Anne Brontë
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I wiped his eyes with his frock, told him he was all right and called Sancho to pacify him. He was just putting little hand on the dogâs neck and beginning to smile through his tears, when I heard behind me a click of the iron gate, and a rustle of female garments, and lo! Mrs. Graham darted upon meâ âher neck uncovered, her black locks streaming in the wind.
âGive me the child!â she said, in a voice scarce louder than a whisper, but with a tone of startling vehemence, and, seizing the boy, she snatched him from me, as if some dire contamination were in my touch, and then stood with one hand firmly clasping his, the other on his shoulder, fixing upon me her large, luminous dark eyesâ âpale, breathless, quivering with agitation.
âI was not harming the child, madam,â said I, scarce knowing whether to be most astonished or displeased; âhe was tumbling off the wall there; and I was so fortunate as to catch him, while he hung suspended headlong from that tree, and prevent I know not what catastrophe.â
âI beg your pardon, sir,â stammered she;â âsuddenly calming downâ âthe light of reason seeming to break upon her beclouded spirit, and a faint blush mantling on her cheekâ ââI did not know you;â âand I thoughtâ ââ
She stooped to kiss the child, and fondly clasped her arm round his neck.
âYou thought I was going to kidnap your son, I suppose?â
She stroked his head with a half-embarrassed laugh, and repliedâ ââI did not know he had attempted to climb the wall.â âI have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Markham, I believe?â she added, somewhat abruptly.
I bowed, but ventured to ask how she knew me.
âYour sister called here, a few days ago, with Mrs. Markham.â
âIs the resemblance so strong then?â I asked, in some surprise, and not so greatly flattered at the idea as I ought to have been.
âThere is a likeness about the eyes and complexion I think,â replied she, somewhat dubiously surveying my face;â ââand I think I saw you at church on Sunday.â
I smiled.â âThere was something either in that smile or the recollections it awakened that was particularly displeasing to her, for she suddenly assumed again that proud, chilly look that had so unspeakably roused my aversion at churchâ âa look of repellent scorn, so easily assumed, and so entirely without the least distortion of a single feature, that, while there, it seemed like the natural expression of the face, and was the more provoking to me, because I could not think it affected.
âGood morning, Mr. Markham,â said she; and without another word or glance, she withdrew, with her child, into the garden; and I returned home, angry and dissatisfiedâ âI could scarcely tell you why, and therefore will not attempt it.
I only stayed to put away my gun and powder-horn, and give some requisite directions to one of the farming-men, and then repaired to the vicarage, to solace my spirit and soothe my ruffled temper with the company and conversation of Eliza Millward.
I found her, as usual, busy with some piece of soft embroidery (the mania for Berlin wools had not yet commenced), while her sister was seated at the chimney-corner, with the cat on her knee, mending a heap of stockings.
âMaryâ âMary! put them away!â Eliza was hastily saying, just as I entered the room.
âNot I, indeed!â was the phlegmatic reply; and my appearance prevented further discussion.
âYouâre so unfortunate, Mr. Markham!â observed the younger sister, with one of her arch, sidelong glances. âPapaâs just gone out into the parish, and not likely to be back for an hour!â
âNever mind; I can manage to spend a few minutes with his daughters, if theyâll allow me,â said I, bringing a chair to the fire, and seating myself therein, without waiting to be asked.
âWell, if youâll be very good and amusing, we shall not object.â
âLet your permission be unconditional, pray; for I came not to give pleasure, but to seek it,â I answered.
However, I thought it but reasonable to make some slight exertion to render my company agreeable; and what little effort I made, was apparently pretty successful, for Miss Eliza was never in a better humour. We seemed, indeed, to be mutually pleased with each other, and managed to maintain between us a cheerful and animated though not very profound conversation. It was little better than a tĂȘte-Ă -tĂȘte, for Miss Millward never opened her lips, except occasionally to correct some random assertion or exaggerated expression of her sisterâs, and once to ask her to pick up the ball of cotton that had rolled under the table. I did this myself, however, as in duty bound.
âThank you, Mr. Markham,â said she, as I presented it to her. âI would have picked it up myself; only I did not want to disturb the cat.â
âMary, dear, that wonât excuse you in Mr. Markhamâs eyes,â said Eliza; âhe hates cats, I daresay, as cordially as he does old maidsâ âlike all other gentlemen. Donât you, Mr. Markham?â
âI believe it is natural for our unamiable sex to dislike the creatures,â replied I; âfor you ladies lavish so many caresses upon them.â
âBless themâ âlittle darlings!â cried she, in a sudden burst of enthusiasm, turning round and overwhelming her sisterâs pet with a shower of kisses.
âDonât, Eliza!â said Miss Millward, somewhat gruffly, as she impatiently pushed her away.
But it was time for me to be going: make what haste I would, I should still be too late for tea; and my mother was the soul of order and punctuality.
My fair friend was evidently unwilling to bid me adieu. I tenderly squeezed her little hand at parting; and she repaid me
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