Till this moment she had never seen or heard from d'Urberville since her departure from Trantridge. The rencounter came at a heavy moment, one of ...
Several days had passed since her futile journey, and Tess was afield. The dry winter wind still blew, but a screen of thatched hurdles erected in the...
It is the threshing of the last wheat-rick at Flintcomb-Ash Farm. The dawn of the March morning is singularly inexpressive, and there is nothing to sh...
In the afternoon the farmer made it known that the rick was to be finished that night, since there was a moon by which they could see to work, and the...
The appeal duly found its way to the breakfast-table of the quiet Vicarage to the westward, in that valley where the air is so soft and the soil so ri...
She plunged into the chilly equinoctial darkness as the clock struck ten, for her fifteen miles' walk under the steely stars. In lonely districts ...
At length it was the eve of Old Lady-Day, and the agricultural world was in a fever of mobility such as only occurs at that particular date of the yea...
During the small hours of the next morning, while it was still dark, dwellers near the highways were conscious of a disturbance of their night's r...
It was evening at Emminster Vicarage. The two customary candles were burning under their green shades in the Vicar's study, but he had not been si...
In a quarter of an hour Clare was leaving the house, whence his mother watched his thin figure as it disappeared into the street. He had declined to b...