What would you like to read?Search books, authors, genres, shelves, users...
Search books, authors, genres, shelves, users...Search books, authors, genres, shelves, users...
What would you like to read?Search books, authors, genres, shelves, users...
Search books, authors, genres, shelves, users...Search books, authors, genres, shelves, users...
6 books
Cecil William Mercer (7 August 1885 – 5 March 1960), known by his pen name Dornford Yates, was an English writer and novelist whose novels and short stories, some humorous (the Berry books), some thrillers (the Chandos books), were best-sellers during the Interwar Period. The pen name Dornford Yates, first in print in 1910, resulted from combining the maiden names of his grandmothers – the paternal Eliza Mary Dornford, and the maternal Harriet Yates.
Twice the clouds came down, to swathe Bel Air in their delicate folds of moisture for twenty-four hours. On the second occasion, the five of us walked in cloud halfway to the Col de Fer. By road, of course. The exercise acted like a cure. I never remember feeling fitter in all my life. And the music of the orchestra of waters we could not see was unforgettable.
Jenny had spent her girlhood at Nature’s knee. Birds and beasts were the only friends she had, and meadows, mountains and forests were all the world she knew. Now Jenny’s understanding was very quick: and she had learned of Nature much of her lovely lore. With her, the most shy animals were at their ease; birds would come at her call; things that would grow for no gardener grew for her; and of the poor, dumb creatures she knew so well, she had acquired that instinct of which I have spoken before. And
Twice the clouds came down, to swathe Bel Air in their delicate folds of moisture for twenty-four hours. On the second occasion, the five of us walked in cloud halfway to the Col de Fer. By road, of course. The exercise acted like a cure. I never remember feeling fitter in all my life. And the music of the orchestra of waters we could not see was unforgettable.
Jenny had spent her girlhood at Nature’s knee. Birds and beasts were the only friends she had, and meadows, mountains and forests were all the world she knew. Now Jenny’s understanding was very quick: and she had learned of Nature much of her lovely lore. With her, the most shy animals were at their ease; birds would come at her call; things that would grow for no gardener grew for her; and of the poor, dumb creatures she knew so well, she had acquired that instinct of which I have spoken before. And
