Forsyte Saga, Volume II.  Indian Summer of a Forsyte  In Chancery
- 0 %
Der Artikel wird am Ende des Bestellprozesses zum Download zur Verfügung gestellt.

Forsyte Saga, Volume II. Indian Summer of a Forsyte In Chancery

 EPUB
Sofort lieferbar | Lieferzeit: Sofort lieferbar I

Unser bisheriger Preis:ORGPRICE: 2,19 €

Jetzt 2,18 €*

ISBN-13:
9782819941835
Einband:
EPUB
Seiten:
511
Autor:
John Galsworthy
eBook Typ:
Adobe Digital Editions
eBook Format:
EPUB
Kopierschutz:
Adobe DRM [Hard-DRM]
Sprache:
Englisch
Beschreibung:

pubOne.info present you this new edition. In the last day of May in the early 'nineties, about six o'clock of the evening, old Jolyon Forsyte sat under the oak tree below the terrace of his house at Robin Hill. He was waiting for the midges to bite him, before abandoning the glory of the afternoon. His thin brown hand, where blue veins stood out, held the end of a cigar in its tapering, long-nailed fingers- a pointed polished nail had survived with him from those earlier Victorian days when to touch nothing, even with the tips of the fingers, had been so distinguished. His domed forehead, great white moustache, lean cheeks, and long lean jaw were covered from the westering sunshine by an old brown Panama hat. His legs were crossed; in all his attitude was serenity and a kind of elegance, as of an old man who every morning put eau de Cologne upon his silk handkerchief. At his feet lay a woolly brown-and-white dog trying to be a Pomeranian- the dog Balthasar between whom and old Jolyon primal aversion had changed into attachment with the years
pubOne.info present you this new edition. In the last day of May in the early 'nineties, about six o'clock of the evening, old Jolyon Forsyte sat under the oak tree below the terrace of his house at Robin Hill. He was waiting for the midges to bite him, before abandoning the glory of the afternoon. His thin brown hand, where blue veins stood out, held the end of a cigar in its tapering, long-nailed fingers- a pointed polished nail had survived with him from those earlier Victorian days when to touch nothing, even with the tips of the fingers, had been so distinguished. His domed forehead, great white moustache, lean cheeks, and long lean jaw were covered from the westering sunshine by an old brown Panama hat. His legs were crossed; in all his attitude was serenity and a kind of elegance, as of an old man who every morning put eau de Cologne upon his silk handkerchief. At his feet lay a woolly brown-and-white dog trying to be a Pomeranian- the dog Balthasar between whom and old Jolyon primal aversion had changed into attachment with the years