-
W empik go
Cunning Murrell - ebook
Wydawnictwo:
Data wydania:
27 października 2019
Format ebooka:
EPUB
Format
EPUB
czytaj
na czytniku
czytaj
na tablecie
czytaj
na smartfonie
Jeden z najpopularniejszych formatów e-booków na świecie.
Niezwykle wygodny i przyjazny czytelnikom - w przeciwieństwie do formatu
PDF umożliwia skalowanie czcionki, dzięki czemu możliwe jest dopasowanie
jej wielkości do kroju i rozmiarów ekranu. Więcej informacji znajdziesz
w dziale Pomoc.
Multiformat
E-booki w Virtualo.pl dostępne są w opcji multiformatu.
Oznacza to, że po dokonaniu zakupu, e-book pojawi się na Twoim koncie we wszystkich formatach dostępnych aktualnie dla danego tytułu.
Informacja o dostępności poszczególnych formatów znajduje się na karcie produktu.
Format
MOBI
czytaj
na czytniku
czytaj
na tablecie
czytaj
na smartfonie
Jeden z najczęściej wybieranych formatów wśród czytelników
e-booków. Możesz go odczytać na czytniku Kindle oraz na smartfonach i
tabletach po zainstalowaniu specjalnej aplikacji. Więcej informacji
znajdziesz w dziale Pomoc.
Multiformat
E-booki w Virtualo.pl dostępne są w opcji multiformatu.
Oznacza to, że po dokonaniu zakupu, e-book pojawi się na Twoim koncie we wszystkich formatach dostępnych aktualnie dla danego tytułu.
Informacja o dostępności poszczególnych formatów znajduje się na karcie produktu.
Multiformat
E-booki sprzedawane w księgarni Virtualo.pl dostępne są w opcji
multiformatu - kupujesz treść, nie format. Po dodaniu e-booka do koszyka
i dokonaniu płatności, e-book pojawi się na Twoim koncie w Mojej
Bibliotece we wszystkich formatach dostępnych aktualnie dla danego
tytułu. Informacja o dostępności poszczególnych formatów znajduje się na
karcie produktu przy okładce. Uwaga: audiobooki nie są objęte opcją
multiformatu.
czytaj
na tablecie
Aby odczytywać e-booki na swoim tablecie musisz zainstalować specjalną
aplikację. W zależności od formatu e-booka oraz systemu operacyjnego,
który jest zainstalowany na Twoim urządzeniu może to być np. Bluefire
dla EPUBa lub aplikacja Kindle dla formatu MOBI.
Informacje na temat zabezpieczenia e-booka znajdziesz na karcie produktu
w "Szczegółach na temat e-booka". Więcej informacji znajdziesz w dziale
Pomoc.
czytaj
na czytniku
Czytanie na e-czytniku z ekranem e-ink jest bardzo wygodne i nie męczy
wzroku. Pliki przystosowane do odczytywania na czytnikach to przede
wszystkim EPUB (ten format możesz odczytać m.in. na czytnikach
PocketBook) i MOBI (ten fromat możesz odczytać m.in. na czytnikach Kindle).
Informacje na temat zabezpieczenia e-booka znajdziesz na karcie produktu
w "Szczegółach na temat e-booka". Więcej informacji znajdziesz w dziale
Pomoc.
czytaj
na smartfonie
Aby odczytywać e-booki na swoim smartfonie musisz zainstalować specjalną
aplikację. W zależności od formatu e-booka oraz systemu operacyjnego,
który jest zainstalowany na Twoim urządzeniu może to być np. iBooks dla
EPUBa lub aplikacja Kindle dla formatu MOBI.
Informacje na temat zabezpieczenia e-booka znajdziesz na karcie produktu
w "Szczegółach na temat e-booka". Więcej informacji znajdziesz w dziale
Pomoc.
Czytaj fragment
Pobierz fragment
Pobierz fragment w jednym z dostępnych formatów
LUB
24,99 zł za tytuł
Tytuł dostępny w abonamencie Empik Go już od 24,99 zł / 30 dni
Sprawdź
Słuchaj i czytaj w abonamencie Go Standard już za 24,99 zł / 30 dni. Subskrypcja Go Standard daje możliwość dodania do biblioteki 3 dowolne tytuły w danym okresie rozliczeniowym (30 dni). Wybierasz z ponad 200 tys. audiobooków, ebooków i podcastów.
Cunning Murrell - ebook
Spirit of Old Essex draws together Arthur Morrison’s lost treasure of a novel „Cunning Murrell”, a jocular tale of witchcraft, old salts, pugilists, smuggling and country life long lost, together with additional background information on Morrison’s research and inspiration. „Cunning Murrell” is a fictionalized biography of James Murrell, also known as Cunning Murrell, who was an English cunning man, or professional folk magician. In this capacity, he reportedly employed magical means to aid in healing both humans and animals, exorcising malevolent spirits, countering witches, and restoring lost or stolen property to its owner.
| Kategoria: | Classic Literature |
| Język: | Angielski |
| Zabezpieczenie: |
Watermark
|
| ISBN: | 978-83-8162-611-8 |
| Rozmiar pliku: | 2,7 MB |
FRAGMENT KSIĄŻKI
Contents
I. NEWS AND A BOTTLE
II. THE DISCOVERY OF WITCHCRAFT
III. PROLOGUE MISPLACED
IV. A DAY OF FEASTING
V. AN INTERRUPTED SONG
VI. A HOUSE APART
VII. A STRANGE CLIENT
VIII. DOUBTS AND A LETTER
IX. AMAZEMENT AND A PAIL
X. PROFITLESS DIPLOMACY
XI. SOUNDS IN THE WIND
XII. SHADOWS ON THE HILL
XIII. A TALE OF TUBS
XIV. AN INVITATION OVER A FENCE
XV. A PRIVATE DANCE
XVI. A DAY AT BANHAM’S
XVII. THE CALL OF TIME
XVIII. HEAVY TIDINGS
XIX. THE DEVIL AND HIS MASTER
XX. A GALLANT OFFER
XXI. MAN AND MASTER
XXII. THE BOTTLE AGAIN
XXIII. A FAULT PURGED
XXIV. IN THE QUEEN’S NAME
XXV. A WAKEFUL NIGHT
XXVI. AND AFTER
XVII. FINISII. THE DISCOVERY OF WITCHCRAFT
LINGOOD closed the smithy and came into the street. It was such a night as June brings, warm and clear and starry. Half Hadleigh was abed, and from the black stalls and booths that stood about at random in the street, waiting for to-morrow’s fair, there came neither sound nor streak of light. The smith walked along the middle of the street among these, and at last turned into a narrow passage by the side of the Castle Inn. Once clear of the house-walls, he traversed a path among small gardens distinguished by a great array of shadowy scarlet runners, and the mingled scents of bean and wallflower; and so came on a disorderly litter of sheds about a yard, with a large cottage, or small house, standing chief among them. The place was on the ridge that looked over the marshes and the Thames mouth; near by the Castle Lane, and between the village and the cottage, lower on the hill, where Roboshobery Dove had first delivered his tidings of war. Lights were in the lower parts of the house. The circumstance would have been remarkable at this late hour on most other nights of the year, but on the evening before fair day Hadleigh housewives were wont to be diligent in the making of Gooseberry Pie long after the common hour of sleep; Gooseberry Pie being the crown, glory, high symbol, and fetish of Hadleigh Fair, and having been so from everlasting. But it was no matter of gooseberry pie that kept awake the household of Banham the carrier. For on the sofa in the living room sat, or lay, or rolled, young Em Banham, moody or flushing, or sobbing or laughing, and sore bewitched, by every rule of Murrell’s science. Bed she would not go near, nor had done for two nights. Food she refused, and cried that all drink burned and choked her. Other troubles she had, too, and once had had a terrifying fit. A man of medical science would instantly have perceived it to be a case of extreme hysteria. But out in this forgotten backwater of civilisation, where such another case had never been heard of, the Hadleigh vocabulary could offer no better word for poor little Em’s affliction than that she was “took comical;” the word “comical” being generally useful to express anything uncommon, or beyond the speaker’s power of explanation, and implying nothing at all of comedy; often, indeed, telling of something much nearer tragedy.
Lingood clicked the latch, and a man opened the door. It was Banham himself, a shortish, shaven man, with weak eyes and an infirm mouth. The light fell on Lingood’s face, and Banham turned his head doubtfully and reported within, “‘Tis Steve Lingood.”
“Arl right; let him in, can’t ye?” answered a female voice, in which weariness, anxiety, and natural ill-temper had their parts. So Banham pulled the door wider, and said, with a vague cordiality: “O, come yow in, Steve; come yow in. ‘Tare rare fanteegs we’re in; but the missis, she–she” and the sentence tailed away to nothing, as was the way of many of the unimportant Banham’s sentences.
Lingood stepped straight into the keeping-room and into the presence of the Banham family, of which the majority, as to number, was ranged up the staircase at a corner of the room; those of ten or eleven on the lower stairs, and the rest, in order of juniority, on those above; the smallest and last of the babies signifying his presence on the upper landing by loud wails. Mrs Banham, a large, energetic, but slatternly woman, whose characteristic it always seemed to grow more slatternly and to spread more general untidiness the more energetic she showed herself, sat in a chair with her hands in her lap and a blue glass smelling bottle in one of them. Opposite her stood Mag Banham, the first-born, a stout, fair, blowzy girl of twenty or so. Both were contemplating the sufferer, a girl of sixteen, haggard and flushed, who sat on a sofa, rocking her head and shoulders, looking piteously from one face to another, and now and again twitching one cheek with the monstrous semblance of a wink.
“O, mother! O, Mag!” she moaned indistinctly, “I do fare that bad! Yow woan’t let me suffer mother, will ye? Mag, yow love me, doan’t ye? An’ father–”
“Ah, my gal, we’ll see ye better soon,” said the mother, and Mag murmured sympathetically.
“Yow den’t ote to give way so, deary,” Mrsnham went on. “Master Murr’ll’s to putt ye aw to rights.”
“Yow doan’t pity me, mother,” the girl pursued, beseeching all present with her eyes; “yow doan’t pity me!”
“Ees, deary, us do, all on us. Take a drink o’ barley watter, do, to squench the fever;” and Mrs Banham offered a quart jug. But the patient would have none of it, thrust it away angrily, indeed, and moaned anew. “An’ when I’m dead you’ll arl say ye’re sorry, p’r’aps–no, yow woan’t, you’ll be glad I’m a-gone!”
Mrs Banham looked despairingly up at Lingood.
This is a free sample. Please purchase full version of the book to continue.
I. NEWS AND A BOTTLE
II. THE DISCOVERY OF WITCHCRAFT
III. PROLOGUE MISPLACED
IV. A DAY OF FEASTING
V. AN INTERRUPTED SONG
VI. A HOUSE APART
VII. A STRANGE CLIENT
VIII. DOUBTS AND A LETTER
IX. AMAZEMENT AND A PAIL
X. PROFITLESS DIPLOMACY
XI. SOUNDS IN THE WIND
XII. SHADOWS ON THE HILL
XIII. A TALE OF TUBS
XIV. AN INVITATION OVER A FENCE
XV. A PRIVATE DANCE
XVI. A DAY AT BANHAM’S
XVII. THE CALL OF TIME
XVIII. HEAVY TIDINGS
XIX. THE DEVIL AND HIS MASTER
XX. A GALLANT OFFER
XXI. MAN AND MASTER
XXII. THE BOTTLE AGAIN
XXIII. A FAULT PURGED
XXIV. IN THE QUEEN’S NAME
XXV. A WAKEFUL NIGHT
XXVI. AND AFTER
XVII. FINISII. THE DISCOVERY OF WITCHCRAFT
LINGOOD closed the smithy and came into the street. It was such a night as June brings, warm and clear and starry. Half Hadleigh was abed, and from the black stalls and booths that stood about at random in the street, waiting for to-morrow’s fair, there came neither sound nor streak of light. The smith walked along the middle of the street among these, and at last turned into a narrow passage by the side of the Castle Inn. Once clear of the house-walls, he traversed a path among small gardens distinguished by a great array of shadowy scarlet runners, and the mingled scents of bean and wallflower; and so came on a disorderly litter of sheds about a yard, with a large cottage, or small house, standing chief among them. The place was on the ridge that looked over the marshes and the Thames mouth; near by the Castle Lane, and between the village and the cottage, lower on the hill, where Roboshobery Dove had first delivered his tidings of war. Lights were in the lower parts of the house. The circumstance would have been remarkable at this late hour on most other nights of the year, but on the evening before fair day Hadleigh housewives were wont to be diligent in the making of Gooseberry Pie long after the common hour of sleep; Gooseberry Pie being the crown, glory, high symbol, and fetish of Hadleigh Fair, and having been so from everlasting. But it was no matter of gooseberry pie that kept awake the household of Banham the carrier. For on the sofa in the living room sat, or lay, or rolled, young Em Banham, moody or flushing, or sobbing or laughing, and sore bewitched, by every rule of Murrell’s science. Bed she would not go near, nor had done for two nights. Food she refused, and cried that all drink burned and choked her. Other troubles she had, too, and once had had a terrifying fit. A man of medical science would instantly have perceived it to be a case of extreme hysteria. But out in this forgotten backwater of civilisation, where such another case had never been heard of, the Hadleigh vocabulary could offer no better word for poor little Em’s affliction than that she was “took comical;” the word “comical” being generally useful to express anything uncommon, or beyond the speaker’s power of explanation, and implying nothing at all of comedy; often, indeed, telling of something much nearer tragedy.
Lingood clicked the latch, and a man opened the door. It was Banham himself, a shortish, shaven man, with weak eyes and an infirm mouth. The light fell on Lingood’s face, and Banham turned his head doubtfully and reported within, “‘Tis Steve Lingood.”
“Arl right; let him in, can’t ye?” answered a female voice, in which weariness, anxiety, and natural ill-temper had their parts. So Banham pulled the door wider, and said, with a vague cordiality: “O, come yow in, Steve; come yow in. ‘Tare rare fanteegs we’re in; but the missis, she–she” and the sentence tailed away to nothing, as was the way of many of the unimportant Banham’s sentences.
Lingood stepped straight into the keeping-room and into the presence of the Banham family, of which the majority, as to number, was ranged up the staircase at a corner of the room; those of ten or eleven on the lower stairs, and the rest, in order of juniority, on those above; the smallest and last of the babies signifying his presence on the upper landing by loud wails. Mrs Banham, a large, energetic, but slatternly woman, whose characteristic it always seemed to grow more slatternly and to spread more general untidiness the more energetic she showed herself, sat in a chair with her hands in her lap and a blue glass smelling bottle in one of them. Opposite her stood Mag Banham, the first-born, a stout, fair, blowzy girl of twenty or so. Both were contemplating the sufferer, a girl of sixteen, haggard and flushed, who sat on a sofa, rocking her head and shoulders, looking piteously from one face to another, and now and again twitching one cheek with the monstrous semblance of a wink.
“O, mother! O, Mag!” she moaned indistinctly, “I do fare that bad! Yow woan’t let me suffer mother, will ye? Mag, yow love me, doan’t ye? An’ father–”
“Ah, my gal, we’ll see ye better soon,” said the mother, and Mag murmured sympathetically.
“Yow den’t ote to give way so, deary,” Mrsnham went on. “Master Murr’ll’s to putt ye aw to rights.”
“Yow doan’t pity me, mother,” the girl pursued, beseeching all present with her eyes; “yow doan’t pity me!”
“Ees, deary, us do, all on us. Take a drink o’ barley watter, do, to squench the fever;” and Mrs Banham offered a quart jug. But the patient would have none of it, thrust it away angrily, indeed, and moaned anew. “An’ when I’m dead you’ll arl say ye’re sorry, p’r’aps–no, yow woan’t, you’ll be glad I’m a-gone!”
Mrs Banham looked despairingly up at Lingood.
This is a free sample. Please purchase full version of the book to continue.
więcej..
