Tono-Bungay. H. G. Wells

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       H. G. Wells

      Tono-Bungay

      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4057664646675

Table of Contents

       BOOK THE FIRST

       THE DAYS BEFORE TONO-BUNGAY WAS INVENTED

       CHAPTER THE FIRST

       OF BLADESOVER HOUSE, AND MY MOTHER; AND THE CONSTITUTION OF SOCIETY

       CHAPTER THE SECOND

       OF MY LAUNCH INTO THE WORLD AND THE LAST I SAW OF BLADESOVER

       CHAPTER THE THIRD

       THE WIMBLEHURST APPRENTICESHIP

       BOOK THE SECOND

       THE RISE OF TONO-BUNGAY

       CHAPTER THE FIRST

       HOW I BECAME A LONDON STUDENT AND WENT ASTRAY

       CHAPTER THE SECOND

       THE DAWN COMES, AND MY UNCLE APPEARS IN A NEW SILK HAT

       CHAPTER THE THIRD

       HOW WE MADE TONO-BUNGAY HUM

       CHAPTER THE FOURTH

       MARION I

       BOOK THE THIRD

       THE GREAT DAYS OF TONO-BUNGAY

       CHAPTER THE FIRST

       THE HARDINGHAM HOTEL, AND HOW WE BECAME BIG PEOPLE

       CHAPTER THE SECOND

       OUR PROGRESS FROM CAMDEN TOWN TO CREST HILL

       CHAPTER THE THIRD

       SOARING

       CHAPTER THE FOURTH

       HOW I STOLE THE HEAPS OF QUAP FROM MORDET ISLAND

       BOOK THE FOURTH

       THE AFTERMATH OF TONO-BUNGAY

       CHAPTER THE FIRST

       THE STICK OF THE ROCKET

       CHAPTER THE SECOND

       LOVE AMONG THE WRECKAGE

       CHAPTER THE THIRD

       NIGHT AND THE OPEN SEA

BOOK THE FIRST

       Table of Contents

THE DAYS BEFORE TONO-BUNGAY WAS INVENTED

       Table of Contents

CHAPTER THE FIRST

       Table of Contents

OF BLADESOVER HOUSE, AND MY MOTHER; AND THE CONSTITUTION OF SOCIETY

       Table of Contents

      I

      Most people in this world seem to live “in character”; they have a beginning, a middle and an end, and the three are congruous one with another and true to the rules of their type. You can speak of them as being of this sort of people or that. They are, as theatrical people say, no more (and no less) than “character actors.” They have a class, they have a place, they know what is becoming in them and what is due to them, and their proper size of tombstone tells at last how properly they have played the part. But there is also another kind of life that is not so much living as a miscellaneous tasting of life. One gets hit by some unusual transverse force, one is jerked out of one’s stratum and lives crosswise for the rest of the time, and, as it were, in a succession of samples. That has been my lot, and that is what has set me at last writing something in the nature of a novel. I have got an unusual series of impressions that I want very urgently to tell. I have seen life at very different levels, and at all these levels I have seen it with a sort of intimacy and in good faith. I have been a native in many social countries. I have been the unwelcome guest of a working baker, my cousin, who has since died in the Chatham infirmary; I have eaten illegal snacks—the unjustifiable gifts of footmen—in pantries, and been despised for my want of style