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The next day Jude Fawley was pausing in his bedroom with the sloping ceiling, looking at the books on the table, and then at the black mark on the plaster above them, made by the smoke of his lamp in
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The next day Jude Fawley was pausing in his bedroom with the sloping ceiling, looking at the books on the table, and then at the black mark on the plaster above them, made by the smoke of his lamp in
The last pages to which the chronicler of these lives would ask the reader’s attention are concerned with the scene in …
Despite himself Jude recovered somewhat, and worked at his trade for several weeks. After Christmas, however, he broke …
On the platform stood Arabella. She looked him up and down. “You’ve been to see her?” she asked. “I have,” said Jude, l…
Michaelmas came and passed, and Jude and his wife, who had lived but a short time in her father’s house after their rem…
Arabella was preparing breakfast in the downstairs back room of this small, recently hired tenement of her father’s. Sh…
The place was the door of Jude’s lodging in the out-skirts of Christminster—far from the precincts of St. Silas’ where …
The next afternoon the familiar Christminster fog still hung over all things. Sue’s slim shape was only just discernibl…
The man whom Sue, in her mental volte-face , was now regarding as her inseparable husband, lived still at Marygreen. On…
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