Life's Little Ironies. Томас Харди

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       Thomas Hardy

      Life's Little Ironies

      A set of tales with some colloquial sketches entitled A Few Crusted Characters

      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4057664653178

Table of Contents

       THE SON’S VETO

       CHAPTER I

       CHAPTER II

       CHAPTER III

       FOR CONSCIENCE’ SAKE

       CHAPTER I

       CHAPTER II

       CHAPTER III

       A TRAGEDY OF TWO AMBITIONS

       CHAPTER I

       CHAPTER II

       CHAPTER III

       CHAPTER IV

       CHAPTER V

       ON THE WESTERN CIRCUIT

       CHAPTER I

       CHAPTER II

       CHAPTER III

       CHAPTER IV

       CHAPTER V

       CHAPTER VI

       TO PLEASE HIS WIFE

       CHAPTER I

       CHAPTER II

       CHAPTER III

       THE MELANCHOLY HUSSAR OF THE GERMAN LEGION

       CHAPTER I

       CHAPTER II

       CHAPTER III

       CHAPTER IV

       CHAPTER V

       THE FIDDLER OF THE REELS

       A TRADITION OF EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND FOUR

       A FEW CRUSTED CHARACTERS

       TONY KYTES, THE ARCH-DECEIVER

       THE HISTORY OF THE HARDCOMES

       THE SUPERSTITIOUS MAN’S STORY

       ANDREY SATCHEL AND THE PARSON AND CLERK

       OLD ANDREY’S EXPERIENCE AS A MUSICIAN

       ABSENT-MINDEDNESS IN A PARISH CHOIR

       THE WINTERS AND THE PALMLEYS

       INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF MR. GEORGE CROOKHILL

       NETTY SARGENT’S COPYHOLD

THE SON’S VETO

       Table of Contents

CHAPTER I

       Table of Contents

      To the eyes of a man viewing it from behind, the nut-brown hair was a wonder and a mystery. Under the black beaver hat, surmounted by its tuft of black feathers, the long locks, braided and twisted and coiled like the rushes of a basket, composed a rare, if somewhat barbaric, example of ingenious art. One could understand such weavings and coilings being wrought to last intact for a year, or even a calendar month; but that they should be all demolished regularly at bedtime, after a single day of permanence, seemed a reckless waste of successful fabrication.

      And she had done it all herself, poor thing. She had no maid, and it was almost the only accomplishment she could boast of. Hence the unstinted pains.

      She was a young invalid lady—not so very much of an invalid—sitting in a wheeled chair, which had been pulled up in the front part of a green enclosure, close to a bandstand, where a concert was going on, during a warm June afternoon. It had place in one of the minor parks or private gardens that are to be found in the suburbs of London, and was the effort of a local association to