A Week in Winter: A Novel

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Macmillan, 2002 M05 6 - 352 páginas

Any reader who has ever fallen in love with a house will understand the attraction of Moorgate, a light-and-fresh-air-filled old farmhouse on the edge of the moor in Cornwall. The enchanting house now belongs to seventy-something Maudie Todhunter, the late Lord Todhunter's free-spirited second wife. (The first wife, Hilda, was supposedly a paragon of virtue, and Maudie has always felt second-best.) The light of Maudie's life is her vivacious stepgranddaughter, Posy, who begs Maudie to board a giant English mastiff whom Posy's mean-spirited mother has banned from the house. (The large and ungainly Polonius is an impossibly lovable canine who outshines Lassie by a mile and is destined to become a favorite of readers worldwide.)

When Maudie decides to sell Moorgate, all kinds of old family secrets come to light, and so the saga begins. Along the way, Rob, the contractor of Moorhouse, falls in love with a woman who has a sad secret. Posy's father falls in love with someone kinder than his shrewish wife. Maudie must reevaluate someone she'd fallen in love with years ago. And as the connections intertwine between the past and the present, many unexpected alliances form.

Vivid, lushly written, and entirely unforgettable, this all-absorbing novel provides the kind of abundant reading experience that will leave readers eagerly looking forward to more from this newly discovered and superbly talented author. A Week in Winter achieves a combined richness of character and circumstance that raises it above most modern contemporary fiction, and Marcia Willett is a writer to discover and to celebrate.

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LibraryThing Review

Crítica de los usuarios  - clprice - LibraryThing

Ah, a wonderful winter story with love, tragedy and a happy ever after ending. Listened to it on Audible.com. Excellent narrator. Leer comentario completo

LibraryThing Review

Crítica de los usuarios  - wareagle78 - LibraryThing

A lovely British novel with wonderful characterizations, evocative scenery, and intriguingly intertwined storylines. Leer comentario completo

Contenido

Sección 1
5
Sección 2
13
Sección 3
23
Sección 4
31
Sección 5
41
Sección 6
51
Sección 7
61
Sección 8
71
Sección 23
229
Sección 24
239
Sección 25
249
Sección 26
257
Sección 27
267
Sección 28
275
Sección 29
285
Sección 30
297

Sección 9
81
Sección 10
89
Sección 11
101
Sección 12
111
Sección 13
121
Sección 14
131
Sección 15
145
Sección 16
155
Sección 17
165
Sección 18
173
Sección 19
181
Sección 20
191
Sección 21
211
Sección 22
221
Sección 31
307
Sección 32
317
Sección 33
327
Sección 34
335
Sección 35
343
Sección 36
353
Sección 37
363
Sección 38
373
Sección 39
385
Sección 40
395
Sección 41
407
Sección 42
409
Sección 43
418

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Página 164 - Darkling I listen; and for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy!
Página 164 - MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, > Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk : 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness, — That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
Página 164 - O for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cool'da long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm south, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth ; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim.
Página 404 - From quiet homes and first beginning, Out to the undiscovered ends, There's nothing worth the wear of winning, But laughter and the love of friends.
Página 164 - Away! away! for I will fly to thee ... on the viewless wings of Poesy...
Página 232 - Just never forget it. You're shivering again. What a wench! Always cold, always hungry.' 'I love you too, Rob,' she said. "This has been the best thing that ever happened to me. And just you never forget that, either. Promise?
Página 183 - She waited impatiently as he fitted the key into the lock, opened the door and stood back for her to enter. Tm not too good at the official bit,
Página 150 - He swallowed hard, not wanting to be selfish, sensing her need. Well, it was her life, what was left of it, and they couldn't spend every minute of it together. 'If you're sensible,
Página 180 - That does not alter the case in the least. Your feelings should be just the same in spite of that. Of course the money is yours and you can do what you like with it. You can give it to young Mr. Samuel Rubb, if you please.' Stupid old woman ! 'But I think you must feel that you should repair the injury which was done, as it is in your power to do so. A fine position is offered you. When poor Sir John goes, you will become Lady Ball, and be the mistress of this house...

Acerca del autor (2002)

Born in Somerset, in the west country of England, on the day the atom bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, Marcia Willett was the youngest of five girls. Her family was unconventional and musical, but Marcia chose to train as a ballet dancer. Unfortunately her body did not develop with the classical proportions demanded by the Royal Ballet, so she studied to be a ballet teacher. Her first husband was a naval officer in the submarine service, with whom she had a son, Charles, now married and training to be a clergyman. Her second husband, Rodney, himself a writer and broadcaster, encouraged Marcia to write novels. She has published several novels in England; A Week in Winter is the first to be published in the United States.

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