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MessagePosté le: 30/03/2007 22:34:03    Sujet du message: Espace découverte Répondre en citant
Alors voila, qu'on parle un peu de nos coups de coeur quand même!
Au lieu de dire "j'ai lu ce livre il est génial", je pense qu'il peut être plus sympa de donner un extrait du livre en question (de la longueur qu'on veut du moment que ce n'est qu'un bout infime de l'oeuvre totale^^)

Voilaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

__________________________________________________________________



    "When I entered the room, I found Miss Halcombe and an elderly lady seated at the luncheon-table.
    The elderly woman, when I was presented to her, proved to be Miss Fairlie’s former governess, Mrs Vesey, who had been briefly described to me by my lively companion [[i]Miss Halcombe[/i]] at the breakfast-table, as possessed of “all the cardinal virtues, and counting for nothing.” I can do little more than offer my humble testimony to the truthfulness of Miss Halcombe’s sketch of the old lady’s character. Mrs Vesey looked the personification of human composure and female amiability. A calm enjoyment of a calm existence beamed in drowsy smiles on her plump, placid face. Some of us rush through life, and some of us saunter through life. Mrs Vesey sat through life. Sat in the house, early and late; sat in the garden; sat in unexpected window-seats in passages; sat (on a camp-stool) when her friends tried to take her out walking; sat before she looked at anything, before she talked of anything, before she answered Yes, or No, to the commonest questions – always with the same serene smile on her lips, the same vacantly-attentive turn of the head, the same snugly-comfortable position of her hands and arms, under every possible change of domestic circumstances. A mild, a compliant, an unutterably tranquil and harmless old lady, who never by any chance suggested the idea that she had been actually alive since the hour of her birth. Nature has so much to do in this world, and is engaged in generating such a vast variety of co-existent productions, that she must surely be now and then too flurried and confused to distinguish between the different processes that she is carrying on at the same time. Starting from this point of view, it will always remain my private persuasion that Nature was absorbed in making cabbages when Mrs Vesey was born, and that the good lady suffered the consequences of a vegetable preoccupation in the mind of the Mother of us all."


Wilkie Collins, The Woman in White, The story begun by Walter Hartright, chapitre VIII.

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MessagePosté le: 30/03/2007 22:34:03    Sujet du message: Publicité
PublicitéSupprimer les publicités ?
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MessagePosté le: 13/08/2007 21:37:35    Sujet du message: Espace découverte Répondre en citant
Bon moi je mets deux extraits parce que je n'ai pas réussi à choisir entre les deux, na. tsss

Depuis le temps que je dis que je vais le faire, voici un extrait de The Lost World de Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
C’est extrait du chapitre V, Question ! qui est la conférence publique qui va amener les professeurs Challenger et Summerlee, le journaliste Edward Malone et l’aventurier Lord John Roxton à partir en Amérique du Sud à la recherche du chaînon manquant. La narration est à la première personne (c’est Malone qui parle).




Professor Murray will, I am sure, excuse me if I say that he has the common fault of most Englishmen of being inaudible. Why on earth people who have something to say which is worth hearing should not take the slight trouble to learn how to make it heard is one of the strange mysteries of modern life. Their methods are as reasonable as to try to pour some precious stuff from the spring to the reservoir through a non-conducting pipe, which could by the least effort be opened. Professor Murray made several profound remarks to his white tie and to the water-carafe upon the table, with a humorous, twinkling aside to the silver candlestick upon his right. Then he sat down, and Mr. Waldron, the famous lecturer, rose amid a general murmur of applause.




Ensuite, un débat a lieu sur deux/trois pages et pour finir, mon idole le professeur Challenger n’y tient plus et intervient :




‘Ladies and Gentlemen,’ he began, amid a sustained interruption from the back. ‘I beg pardon –Ladies, Gentlemen, and Children- I must apologize, I had inadvertently omitted a considerable section of this audience’ (tumult, during which the Professor stood with one hand raised and his enormous head nodding sympathetically, as if he were bestowing a pontifical blessing upon the crowd), ‘I have been selected to move a vote of thanks to Mr. Waldron for the very picturesque and imaginative address to which we have just listened. There are points in it which I disagree, and it has been my duty to indicate them as they arose, but, none the less, Mr. Waldron has accomplished his object well, that object being to give a simple and interesting account of what he conceives to have been the history of our planet. Popular lectures are the easiest to listen to, but Mr. Waldron’ (here he beamed and blinked at the lecturer) ‘will excuse me when I say that they are necessarily both superficial and misleading, since they have to be graded to the comprehension of an ignorant audience.’ (Ironical cheering.) ‘Popular lecturers are in their nature parasitic.’ (Angry gesture of protest for Mr. Waldron.) ‘They exploit for fame or cash the work which has been done by the indigent and unknown brethren. One smallest new fact obtained in the laboratory, one brick built into the temple of science, far outweighs any second-hand exposition, which passes an idle hour, but can leave no useful result behind it. I put forward this obvious reflection, not out of any desire to disparage Mr. Waldron in particular, but that you may not lose your sense of proportion and mistake the acolyte for the high priest.’ (At this point Mr. Waldron whispered to the chairman, who half rose and said something severely to his water-carafe.)

-Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Lost World and Other Stories, Wordsworth Classics, 1995.

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MessagePosté le: 08/02/2008 19:57:06    Sujet du message: Espace découverte Répondre en citant
J'ai failli posté ça dans "Langues d'ailleurs", puis je me suis dit que ça donnerait ptêt envie à quelque fous de lire l'oeuvre en question...Enjoy^^

[le narrateur parle d'un navire s'étant échoué]
Citation:

"She cam' ashore Februar' 10, about ten at nicht," he went on to me. "There was nae wind, and a sair run o' sea; and she was in the sook o' the Roost, as I jaloose. We had seen her a' day, Rorie and me, beating to the wind. She wasnae a handy craft, I'm thinking, that Christ-Anna; for she would neither steer nor stey wi' them. A sair day they had of it; their hands was never aff the sheets, and it perishin' cauld--ower cauld to snaw; and aye they would get a nip o' wind, and awa' again, to pit the emp'y hope into them. Eh, man! but they had a sair day for the last o't. He would have had a prood, prood heart that won ashore upon the back o' that."


The Merry Men
, R. L. Stevenson


Et pour ceux qui ont besoin dautres raisons qu'une langue bizarre pour lire ce texte, en voici quelques unes:
-un vocabulaire magnifique (comment ça ça intéresse toujours personne?)
-Les descriptions incroyables d'un paysage écossais, d'un ailleurs étrange et terriblement ancien (rien que d'y penser je suis re-saisie)
-Une réflexion poussée sur les trésors de la mer et leur lien avec les personnes mortes du navire, à qui le trésor appartenait préalablement.(réflexion qui n'existait pas, d'ailleurs, dans l'Ile au Trésor)

Et puis même si ACD il a dit du mal de certaines nouvelles de Stevenson (dont celle-là), et ben pour une fois, je l'emmerde.
Na.
Ok je retire. Mr. Green
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MessagePosté le: 26/03/2008 16:26:49    Sujet du message: Espace découverte Répondre en citant
Ah là là, j'ai hâte d'aller au Writers Museum. Mr. Green

En attendant, un autre extrait de Wilkie Collins, fort différent du livre que tu cites, par ailleurs.




Now, first of all, I should like to know what you mean by a story? You mean what other people do? And pray what is that? You know, but you can’t exactly tell. I thought so! In the course of a pretty long legal experience, I have never yet met with a party out of my late profession, who was capable of giving a correct definition of anything.
To judge by your looks, I suspect you are amused at my talking of any such thing ever having belonged to me as a profession. Ha! Ha! Here I am, with my toes out of my boots, without a shirt to my back or a rap in my pocket, except the fourpence I get out of this charity (against the present administration of which I protest – but that’s not the point), and yet not two years ago I was an attorney in large practice in a bursting big country town. I had a house in the High Street. Such a giant of a house that you had to get up six steps to knock at the front door. (…)
Now, I absolutely decline to tell you a story. But, though I won’t tell a story, I am ready to make a statement. A statement is a matter of fact; therefore the exact opposite of a story, which is a matter of fiction. What I am going to tell you really happened to me.

Wilkie Collins, The Stolen Letter


Un de ces quatre, faudra quand même qu'on m'explique pourquoi, à de notables exceptions, on n'entend jamais parler de Wilkie Collins dans les études d'anglais.
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MessagePosté le: 31/03/2008 18:24:53    Sujet du message: Espace découverte Répondre en citant
Oh tiens, je suis allée au Writers Museum... Surprised
A part ça, ma chère Adler, il te faut lire cette nouvelle (du même Wilkie Collins mais tant qu'à emprunter un livre à la bibliothèque, autant le lire jusqu'au bout): The Dead Hand.

Et pour te convaincre, voici la première phrase:
When this present nineteenth century was younger by a good many years than it is now, a certain friend of mine, named Arthur Holliday, happened to arrive in the town of Doncaster exactly in the middle of the race-week, or, in other words, in the middle of the month of September.

Décidément, il fut un temps où Doncaster attirait (bon pour des courses, c'est pas forcément terrible mais au moins, on a de bonnes nouvelles ^^).

Edit: on peut trouver la plupart (tous ?) des textes de Wilkie Collins en e-text ICI. Et dooonc, on peut avoir accès à Mad Monkton dont le vrai titre est apparemment Brother Griffith's Story of Mad Monkton et qui fait partie d'une série de dix nouvelles de moines, réunies sous le titre The Queen of Hearts (et c'est vrai en plus...). Pas de lien direct possible sur la nouvelle, il faut aller et la chercher ensuite vu qu'il y a un lien narratif. Tiens ça me rappelle quelque chose ça.

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MessagePosté le: 21/04/2008 15:00:41    Sujet du message: Espace découverte Répondre en citant
Nouvel extrait! Ou, pour être plus juste, "Nouveaux Extraits!"
Toujours à la poursuite d'un plan de mémoire de la science infuse, j'ai lu quelques nouvelles fantastiques d'Arthur Conan Doyle. Je vais vous en faire découvrir 2 ici, l'une dans sa totalité (elle est courte), et seulement un extrait sympathique de l'autre.

La première, qui s'appelle "how it happened", ne vaut que pour sa phrase culte de la fin . J'admets avoir énormément aimé ce genre d'"humour".

Citation:
HOW IT HAPPENED


She was a writing medium. This is what she wrote:—

I can remember some things upon that evening most distinctly, and others are like some vague, broken dreams. That is what makes it so difficult to tell a connected story. I have no idea now what it was that had taken me to London and brought me back so late. It just merges into all my other visits to London. But from the time that I got out at the little country station everything is extraordinarily clear. I can live it again—every instant of it.

I remember so well walking down the platform and looking at the illuminated clock at the end which told me that it was half-past eleven. I remember also my wondering whether I could get home before midnight. Then I remember the big motor, with its glaring head-lights and glitter of polished brass, waiting for me outside. It was my new thirty-horse-power Robur, which had only been delivered that day. I remember also asking Perkins, my chauffeur, how she had gone, and his saying that he thought she was excellent.

“I’ll try her myself,” said I, and I climbed into the driver’s seat.

“The gears are not the same,” said he. “Perhaps, sir, I had better drive.”

“No; I should like to try her,” said I.

And so we started on the five-mile drive for home.

My old car had the gears as they used always to be in notches on a bar. In this car you passed the gear-lever through a gate to get on the higher ones. It was not difficult to master, and soon I thought that I understood it. It was foolish, no doubt, to begin to learn a new system in the dark, but one often does foolish things, and one has not always to pay the full price for them. I got along very well until I came to Claystall Hill. It is one of the worst hills in England, a mile and a half long and one in six in places, with three fairly sharp curves. My park gates stand at the very foot of it upon the main London road.

We were just over the brow of this hill, where the grade is steepest, when the trouble began. I had been on the top speed, and wanted to get her on the free; but she stuck between gears, and I had to get her back on the top again. By this time she was going at a great rate, so I clapped on both brakes, and one after the other they gave way. I didn’t mind so much when I felt my footbrake snap, but when I put all my weight on my side-brake, and the lever clanged to its full limit without a catch, it brought a cold sweat out of me. By this time we were fairly tearing down the slope. The lights were brilliant, and I brought her round the first curve all right. Then we did the second one, though it was a close shave for the ditch. There was a mile of straight then with the third curve beneath it, and after that the gate of the park. If I could shoot into that harbour all would be well, for the slope up to the house would bring her to a stand.

Perkins behaved splendidly. I should like that to be known. He was perfectly cool and alert. I had thought at the very beginning of taking the bank, and he read my intention.

“I wouldn’t do it, sir,” said he. “At this pace it must go over and we should have it on the top of us.”

Of course he was right. He got to the electric switch and had it off, so we were in the free; but we were still running at a fearful pace. He laid his hands on the wheel.

“I’ll keep her steady,” said he, “if you care to jump and chance it. We can never get round that curve. Better jump, sir.”

“No,” said I; “I’ll stick it out. You can jump if you like.”

“I’ll stick it with you, sir,” said he.

If it had been the old car I should have jammed the gear-lever into the reverse, and seen what would happen. I expect she would have stripped her gears or smashed up somehow, but it would have been a chance. As it was, I was helpless. Perkins tried to climb across, but you couldn’t do it going at that pace. The wheels were whirring like a high wind and the big body creaking and groaning with the strain. But the lights were brilliant, and one could steer to an inch. I remember thinking what an awful and yet majestic sight we should appear to any one who met us. It was a narrow road, and we were just a great, roaring, golden death to any one who came in our path.

We got round the corner with one wheel three feet high upon the bank. I thought we were surely over, but after staggering for a moment she righted and darted onwards. That was the third corner and the last one. There was only the park gate now. It was facing us, but, as luck would have it, not facing us directly. It was about twenty yards to the left up the main road into which we ran. Perhaps I could have done it, but I expect that the steering-gear had been jarred when we ran on the bank. The wheel did not turn easily. We shot out of the lane. I saw the open gate on the left. I whirled round my wheel with all the strength of my wrists. Perkins and I threw our bodies across, and then the next instant, going at fifty miles an hour, my right front wheel struck full on the right-hand pillar of my own gate. I heard the crash. I was conscious of flying through the air, and then—and then—!

* * * * *


When I became aware of my own existence once more I was among some brushwood in the shadow of the oaks upon the lodge side of the drive. A man was standing beside me. I imagined at first that it was Perkins, but when I looked again I saw that it was Stanley, a man whom I had known at college some years before, and for whom I had a really genuine affection. There was always something peculiarly sympathetic to me in Stanley’s personality; and I was proud to think that I had some similar influence upon him. At the present moment I was surprised to see him, but I was like a man in a dream, giddy and shaken and quite prepared to take things as I found them without questioning them.

“What a smash!” I said. “Good Lord, what an awful smash!”

He nodded his head, and even in the gloom I could see that he was smiling the gentle, wistful smile which I connected with him.

I was quite unable to move. Indeed, I had not any desire to try to move. But my senses were exceedingly alert. I saw the wreck of the motor lit up by the moving lanterns. I saw the little group of people and heard the hushed voices. There were the lodge-keeper and his wife, and one or two more. They were taking no notice of me, but were very busy round the car. Then suddenly I heard a cry of pain.

“The weight is on him. Lift it easy,” cried a voice.

“It’s only my leg!” said another one, which I recognized as Perkins’s. “Where’s master?” he cried.

“Here I am,” I answered, but they did not seem to hear me. They were all bending over something which lay in front of the car.

Stanley laid his hand upon my shoulder, and his touch was inexpressibly soothing. I felt light and happy, in spite of all.

“No pain, of course?” said he.

“None,” said I.

“There never is,” said he.

And then suddenly a wave of amazement passed over me. Stanley! Stanley! Why, Stanley had surely died of enteric at Bloemfontein in the Boer War!

“Stanley!” I cried, and the words seemed to choke my throat—“Stanley, you are dead.”

He looked at me with the same old gentle, wistful smile.

“So are you,” he answered.

Mr. Green

La seconde nouvelle, "The Lost Special", rappelle les méthodes utilisées dans les cambriolages de haut-vol, avec des moyens qui n'ont pas à pâlir devant ceux utilisés par Danny Ocean et sa bande dans Ocean's eleven.
Petit-résumé-qui-ne-gâche-pas-la-surprise-de-la-lecture:
Un homme sud-américain demande qu'on lui fasse apprêter un train spécial car il doit se rendre à Londres le plus rapidement possible (nous sommes à Liverpool). Tout se passe bien jusqu'à ce que la gare reçoive un télégramme d'une station sur la route pour Londres disant que le train n'est pas passé. Le train et ses passagers ont tout bonnement disparu, et la seule trace qui reste de son existence est le cadavre du conducteur, qui, d'après ses blessures, est tombé du train en marche. De nombreuses théories sont avancées, mais aucune ne porte ses fruits...Et pendant 8 ans, l'énigme reste insoluble, avant qu'un criminel (français) condamné à mort livre une confession-clé...
L'extrait que j'ai choisi est l'une des théories avancées, car, vous/tu le verrez/verras, elle a quelque chose de connu... Cool


Citation:

The Lost Special, Extrait

Amongst the many suggestions put forward by various newspapers or private individuals, there were one or two which were feasible enough to attract the attention of the public. One which appeared in The Times, over the signature of an amateur reasoner of some celebrity at that date, attempted to deal with the matter in a critical and semi- scientific manner. An extract must suffice, although the curious can see the whole letter in the issue of the 3rd of July.

"It is one of the elementary principles of practical reasoning," he remarked, "that when the impossible has been eliminated the residuum, HOWEVER IMPROBABLE, must contain the truth. It is certain that the train left Kenyon Junction. It is certain that it did not reach Barton Moss. It is in the highest degree unlikely, but still possible, that it may have taken one of the seven available side lines. It is obviously impossible for a train to run where there are no rails, and, therefore, we may reduce our improbables to the three open lines, namely the Carnstock Iron Works, the Big Ben, and the Perseverance. Is there a secret society of colliers, an English Camorra, which is capable of destroying both train and passengers? It is improbable, but it is not impossible. I confess that I am unable to suggest any other solution. I should certainly advise the company to direct all their energies towards the observation of those three lines, and of the workmen at the end of them. A careful supervision of the pawnbrokers' shops of the district might possibly bring some suggestive facts to light."

The suggestion coming from a recognized authority upon such matters created considerable interest, and a fierce opposition from those who considered such a statement to be a preposterous libel upon an honest and deserving set of men. The only answer to this criticism was a challenge to the objectors to lay any more feasible explanations before the public.

J'admets que la critique sous-jacente que fait Doyle à Holmes (ou, du moins, à quelqu'un utilisant les théories de son personnage), est assez savoureuse^^
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MessagePosté le: 05/08/2008 12:12:21    Sujet du message: Espace découverte Répondre en citant
Lalalala, j'aime mon bug WinSock 10013. Breeef, à mon tour.
Ayant découvert depuis peu que les Lettres Modernes peuvent être fréquentables (et c'était pas gagné), et par nécessité mémoresque, je me suis tournée vers un texte qui m'a l'air fort sympathique, ma foi.

Citation:
De la Terre à la Lune, Jules Vernes, 1865
Or, quand un Américain a une idée, il cherche un second Américain qui la partage. Sont-ils trois, ils élisent un président et deux secrétaires. Quatre, ils nomment un archiviste, et le bureau fonctionne. Cinq, ils se convoquent en assemblée générale et le club est constitué. Ainsi arriva-t-il à Baltimore. Le premier qui inventa un nouveau canon s'associa avec le premier qui le fondit et le premier qui le fora. Tel fut le noyau du Gun-Club. Un mois après sa formation, il comptait dix-huit cent trente-trois membres effectifs et trente mille cinq cent soixante-quinze membres correspondants.
Une condition sine qua non était imposée à toute personne qui voulait entrer dans l'association, la condition d'avoir imaginé ou, tout au moins, perfectionné un canon; à défaut de canon, une arme à feu quelconque. Mais, pour tout dire, les inventeurs de revolvers à quinze coups, de carabines pivotantes ou de sabres-pistolets ne jouissaient pas d'une grande considération. Les artilleurs les primaient en toute circonstance.
"L'estime qu'ils obtiennent, dit un jour un des plus savants orateurs du Gun-Club, est proportionnelle "aux masses" de leur canon, et "en raison directe du carré des distances" atteintes par leurs projectiles!"
Un peu plus, c'était la loi de Newton sur la gravitation universelle transportée dans l'ordre moral.

Je comprends mieux. Mr. Green
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MessagePosté le: 23/10/2008 17:41:53    Sujet du message: Espace découverte Répondre en citant
Ouais ouais, normalement faut mettre des extraits marquants...Pour faire court, histoire de ne pas arriver complètement inculte à la conférence de ma directrice sur Le Fanu (n'ayant lu que Carmilla, Laura Silver Bell et The Child that went with the fairies -plus que beaucoup, c'est vrai...), j'ai décidé de lire un peu plus. Et le hasard fit bien les choses puisqu'à la BU se trouvait sur ma table une compilation de Gothic stories dont une de Le Fanu, A Chapter in the history of a Tyrone Family, publié en 1839 (si, si c'est important). Eh bien, ma chère, si tu trouves le temps (et j'irais même jusqu'à te dire, trouve le temps!), lis-le! Mr. Green

En résumant vite fait l'histoire: la plus jeune de deux filles, Fanny, la narratrice est mariée par ses parents à Lord Glenfallen après la mort de sa soeur aînée. Il l'emmène dans son château de Cahergillagh, "the enchanted castle" dont certaines parties sont interdites à la jeune fille qui, en plus, voit des voiles noires qui tombent devant les portes (là où il n'y en a pas, bien sûr mais c'est un mauvais présage). Jusqu'au jour où elle trouve dans sa chambre une femme aveugle. Et voici l'extrait:

Citation:
Upon entering the chamber, I was surprised and somewhat startled to find it occupied; beside the fireplace and nearly opposite the door, seated in a large, old-fashioned elbow-chair, was placed the figure of a lady; she appeared to be nearer fifty than forty, and was dressed suitably to her age, in a handsome suit of flowered silk; she had a profusion of trinkets and jewellery about her person, and many rings upon her fingers; but although very rich, her dress was not gaudy or in ill taste; but what was remarkable in the lady was, that although her features were handsome, and upon the whole pleasing, the pupil of each eye was dimmed with the whiteness of cataract, and she was evidently stone blind. I was for some seconds so surprised at this unaccountable apparition, that I could not find words to address her.

"Madam," said I, "there must be some mistake here—this is my bed-chamber."

"Marry come up," said the lady, sharply; "your chamber! Where is Lord Glenfallen?"

"He is below, madam," replied I; "and I am convinced he will be not a little surprised to find you here."

"I do not think he will," said she; "with your good leave, talk of what you know something about; tell him I want him; why does the minx dilly dally so?"

In spite of the awe which this grim lady inspired, there was something in her air of confident superiority which, when I considered our relative situations, was not a little irritating.

"Do you know, madam, to whom you speak?" said I.

"I neither know nor care," said she; "but I presume that you are some one about the house, so, again, I desire you, if you wish to continue here, to bring your master hither forthwith."

"I must tell you madam," said I, "that I am Lady Glenfallen."

"What's that?" said the stranger, rapidly.

"I say, madam," I repeated, approaching her, that I might be more distinctly heard, "that I am Lady Glenfallen."

"It's a lie, you trull," cried she, in an accent which made me start, and, at the same time, springing forward, she seized me in her grasp and shook me violently, repeating, "it's a lie, it's a lie," with a rapidity and vehemence which swelled every vein of her face; the violence of her action, and the fury which convulsed her face, effectually terrified me, and disengaging myself from her grasp, I screamed as loud as I could for help; the blind woman continued to pour out a torrent of abuse upon me, foaming at the mouth with rage, and impotently shaking her clenched fists towards me.
I heard Lord Glenfallen's step upon the stairs, and I instantly ran out; as I past him I perceived that he was deadly pale, and just caught the words, "I hope that demon has not hurt you?" I made some answer, I forget what, and he entered the chamber, the door of which he locked upon the inside; what passed within I know not; but I heard the voices of the two speakers raised in loud and angry altercation. I thought I heard the shrill accents of the woman repeat the words, "let her look to herself"; but I could not be quite sure.


Ce n'est pas forcément l'extrait le plus intéressant de l'histoire (encore que...) mais le reste te dévoilerait trop de l'intrigue. Je peux juste te dire que je ne regrette absolument pas d'être tombée sur cette histoire et qu'on ne sait jamais, elle peut être utile machinalement. Surprised

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Adler
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Inscrit le: 03 Jan 2007
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MessagePosté le: 25/10/2009 15:32:33    Sujet du message: Espace découverte Répondre en citant
Hinhinhin...
Si les goûts de Sir Walter Scott sont à l'image du monument en son honneur qui agrémente (lol) la chère ville d'Edimbourg, alors je peux comprendre sa magnifique description ...Qui sert par ailleurs d'incipit à son "Ivanhoe: A romance", paru en 1819.

Enjoy Mr. Green


Un écrivain candide et pur a écrit:
In that pleasant district of merry England which is watered by the river Don, there extended in ancient times a large forest, covering the greater part of the beautiful hills and valleys which lie between Sheffield and the pleasant town of Doncaster. The remains of this extensive wood are still to be seen at the noble seats of Wentworth, of Warncliffe Park, and around Rotherham. Here haunted of yore the fabulous Dragon of Wantley; here were fought many of the most desperate battles during the Civil Wars of the Roses; and here also flourished in ancient times those bands of gallant outlaws, whose deeds have been rendered so popular in English song.


"pleasant" "merry" "beautiful"...Sir Walter aurait peut-être fait un arrêt cardiaque si on lui avait appris que cette région-là allait devenir, quelques siècles plus tard, plus connue pour son taux de grossesses adolescentes et de contamination par maladies vénériennes.
Enfin je dis ça, je dis rien, j'suis pas du genre à vouloir gâcher la poésie du moment Mr. Green Arrow
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MessagePosté le: 19/10/2017 04:42:57    Sujet du message: Espace découverte
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