Publisher's Synopsis
Excerpt from The Portreeve
Beside the road that enters this Village from the neighbouring market-town of Okehampton, a dark browed cottage shall still be seen. Its strip of garden on this summer day was a?ame with crimson phloxes, and along with them strong clumps of Michaelmas daisies were preparing future bloom. Over the wicket gate a mountain rowan had been trained upon an arch, like a wild thing tamed and taught to do a stupid trick. Already its fruit reddened to scarlet.
Before the door of this little house there stood a man. No dewy grave nor dry skeleton threw any shadow on his life's feast, for he was, at once, the serenest and loneliest spirit in his native Village. But the days of his solitude were numbered, and for that reason joy filled him until, among many other cheerful hearts, his was the gladdest. Because, where happy mothers moved and old folks sat in the sun, content ment spread unconsciously and the fair weather and good harvest diffused an objective and general spirit and scent of hope; but in the case of this man his ecstasy was personal: he had reached the threshold of his fortune, and the future promised nothing but pros perity. He was successful; he was healthy; a woman he clearly loved had just promised to marry him; and this climax accrued from his own energy, resource and good sense.
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