Excerpt: ... time thrusts a morsel between the fresh, rosy lips. Then he puts aside the bowl and takes the little fellow upon his knee. It is a pretty child, --and perhaps in honour of the father's return home--wonderfully clean, but even were this not the case---- Most of the children tumbling about before the huts on this sultry August evening are neither pretty nor clean; they are dirty, ragged, dishevelled; many are sickly, and some are crippled; but there is hardly one among them to whom this hour does not bring a ...
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Excerpt: ... time thrusts a morsel between the fresh, rosy lips. Then he puts aside the bowl and takes the little fellow upon his knee. It is a pretty child, --and perhaps in honour of the father's return home--wonderfully clean, but even were this not the case---- Most of the children tumbling about before the huts on this sultry August evening are neither pretty nor clean; they are dirty, ragged, dishevelled; many are sickly, and some are crippled; but there is hardly one among them to whom this hour does not bring a caress. An atmosphere of mutual human sympathy seems to brood in silence above the resting earth, while the bells ring on, --ding-dong, ding-dong. Lato has left the village behind him, and is trotting along the road beneath the tall walnuts. The noise of wagons, heavily laden with the harvest, and the tramp of men upon the road fall upon his ear, --everything is going home. There is a languor in the aromatic summer air, somewhat that begets in every human being a desire for companionship, a longing to share the burden of existence with another. Even the flowers seem to bend their heads nearer to one another. Now the bells are hushed, the road is deserted; Lato alone is still pursuing his way home. Home? Is it possible that he has accustomed himself to call his mother-in-law's castle home? In many a hotel--at The Lamb, for example, in Vienna he has felt much more at home. Where, then, is his home? He vainly asks himself this question. Has he ever had a home? The question is still unanswered. His thoughts wander far back into the past, and find nothing, not even a few tender memories. Poor Lato He recalls his earliest years, his childhood. His parents were considered the handsomest couple in Austria. The Count was fair, tall, slender, with an apparent delicacy of frame that concealed an amount of physical strength for which he was famous, and with nobly-chiselled features. His duels and his love-affairs were numerous. He was rashly...
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Seller's Description:
Fair. Hardcover with some general age-related wear to dark cloth cover, mainly at edges, corners; no dust jacket, possibly as issued; dark brown endpapers separating at front, back hinges, but still intact and holding well; interior very good with crisp, apparently unmarked text pages; showing its age (125+ years! ), but still a very serviceable copy of this collectible late 19th-century work of fiction, "Translated from the German of Ossip Schubin by Mrs. A. L. Wister"; 429 pgs.; published by J. B. Lippincott, 1890, possible First Edition as no newer printings are noted (see picture of my book within this description)
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Seller's Description:
Very Good. 12mo 7"-7½" tall; 429 pages; 1st US edition. Solid clean copy soundly bound in attractively gilt and black stamped pictorial boards. Sharp square corners, no marks. Just a little shelf covked in the spine. VG to VG+
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Seller's Description:
Very Good + First American Edition. c.1890. Hardcover. Cloth, gilt titles. 12mo. 429pp. Very Good+. Light general shelfwear, mild rubbing at corners and spine-ends, mild brown spotting to edges of text block.