“Big drops hung on the bushes and just did not fall; the silvery, fluffy toi-toi was limp on its long stalks, and all the marigolds and the pinks in the bungalow gardens were bowed to the earth with wetness. 279 more words
Tags » Elizabeth Bowen
Blog Post 8: The Heat of the Day (1948)
382 more words
That Sunday, from six o’clock in the evening, it was a Viennese orchestra that played. The season was late for an outdoor concert; already leaves were drifting on to the grass stage – here and there one turned over, crepitating as though in the act of dying, and during the music some more fell.
Bowen writes of orphaned Portia who goes to live in London with her stepbrother and his wife. Both are wealthy and emotionally unavailable. Portia sets her sights on Eddie, a rough-around-the-edges player who manages to dazzle her because of her youth. 45 more words
109 more words
“I don’t see what you mean,” said Henrietta, distracted— in fact in a quite new kind of pain. She saw only too well that this inquisition had no bearing on at all, that Leopold was not even interested in hurting, and was only tweaking her petals off or her wings off with the intention of exploring himself.