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    The Witch A La Mode
    The Witch A La Mode
    The Witch A La Mode
    Ebook25 pages22 minutes

    The Witch A La Mode

    By D. H. Lawrence

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    About this ebook

    The Witch A La Mode was written in the year 1934 by David Herbert Lawrence. This book is one of the most popular novels of David Herbert Lawrence, and has been translated into several other languages around the world.

    This book is published by Booklassic which brings young readers closer to classic literature globally.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBooklassic
    Release dateJul 7, 2015
    ISBN9789635220120
    Author

    D. H. Lawrence

    David Herbert Lawrence was born on 11th September 1881 in Eastwood, a small mining village in Nottinghamshire, in the English Midlands. Despite ill health as a child and a comparatively disadvantageous position in society, he became a teacher in 1908, and took up a post in a school in Croydon, south of London. His first novel, The White Peacock, was published in 1911, and from then until his death he wrote feverishly, producing poetry, novels, essays, plays travel books and short stories, while travelling around the world, settling for periods in Italy, New Mexico and Mexico. He married Frieda Weekley in 1914 and died of tuberculosis in 1930.

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      Book preview

      The Witch A La Mode - D. H. Lawrence

      The Witch A La Mode

      David Herbert Lawrence

      Booklassic

      2015

      ISBN 978-963-522-012-0

      When Bernard Coutts alighted at East Croydon he knew he was tempting Providence.

      I may just as well, he said to himself, stay the night here, where I am used to the place, as go to London. I can't get to Connie's forlorn spot to-night, and I'm tired to death, so why shouldn't I do what is easiest?

      He gave his luggage to a porter.

      Again, as he faced the approaching tram-car: I don't see why I shouldn't go down to Purley. I shall just be in time for tea.

      Each of these concessions to his desires he made against his conscience. But beneath his sense of shame his spirit exulted.

      It was an evening of March. In the dark hollow below Crown Hill the buildings accumulated, bearing the black bulk of the church tower up into the rolling and smoking sunset.

      I know it so well, he thought. And love it, he confessed secretly in his heart.

      The car ran on familiarly. The young man listened for the swish, watched for the striking of the blue splash overhead, at the bracket. The sudden fervour of the spark, splashed out of the mere wire, pleased him.

      Where does it come from? he asked himself, and a spark struck bright again. He smiled a little, roused.

      The day was dying out. One by one the arc lamps fluttered or leaped alight, the strand of copper overhead glistened against the dark sky that now was deepening to the colour of monkshood. The tram-car dipped as it ran, seeming to exult. As it came clear of the houses, the young man, looking west, saw the evening star advance, a bright thing approaching from a long way off, as

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