《A Voyage of Consolation (being in the nature of a sequel to the experiences of An American girl in[精品]》最新章节_CHAPTER XXVIII._Sara Jeannette Duncan著_完结小说_都市免费小说_掌阅小说网

A Voyage of Consolation（being in the nature of a sequel to the experiences of An American girl in

A Voyage of Consolation（being in the nature of a sequel to the experiences of An American girl in: iReader Public | Sara Jeannette Duncan; 9.5万字; 掌阅公版

内容简介：This volume is a sequel to "An American Girl in London."

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目录 29章查看目录

免费Copyright information 免费CHAPTER I. 免费CHAPTER II.

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作者其他书籍

A Daughter of To-Day

9.5分

Sara Jeannette Duncan
Sara Jeannette Duncan, later Cotes (1861-1922), was a Canadian author and journalist. She first worked as a schoolteacher before taking up journalism as a full-time occupation. Various freelancing work led to her taking her first position at the Washington Post in 1885. In 1886, she made history as the first woman to be hired as a professional journalist in Canada, taking a regular position at the Toronto Globe, now the Globe and Mail. She later moved to the Montreal Star, where she was the paper s Parliamentary correspondent. She published 22 books, including two volumes of personal sketches and a collection of short stories. Her first book, A Social Departure: How Orthodocia and I Went Around the World by Ourselves (1890) documented an around-the-world trip, but she is best known today for her 1904 novel The Imperialist. Amongst her other works are: A Daughter of Today (1894), The Story of Sonny Sahib (1894), A Voyage of Consolation (1898), The Path of a Star (1898), Hilda: A Story of Calcutta (1898), The Crow s Nest (1901), The Pool in the Desert (1903), Set in Authority (1906) and Cousin Cinderella: A Canadian Girl in London (1908).
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Hilda A Story of Calcutta

6.0分

Sara Jeannette Duncan
Miss Howe pushed the portière aside with a curved hand and gracefully separated fingers; it was a staccato movement, and her body followed it after an instant's poise of hesitation, head thrust a little forward, eyes inquiring, and a tentative smile, although she knew precisely who was there. You would have been aware at once that she was an actress. She entered the room with a little stride, and then crossed it quickly, the train of her morning gown—it cried out of luxury with the cheapest voice—taking folds of great audacity, as she bent her face in its loose mass of hair over Laura Filbert, sitting on the edge of a bamboo sofa, and said—"You poor thing! Oh, you poor thing!"
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