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The Man Who Kept His Money in a Box
The Man Who Kept His Money in a Box
The Man Who Kept His Money in a Box
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The Man Who Kept His Money in a Box

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In mid-19th century England, an era full of celebrated novelists, Anthony Trollope was one of the most popular and critically acclaimed of them all. Even today, his Chronicles of Barsetshire series is widely read, as are his other novels, many of which deal with criticisms of English culture at the time, from its politics to its customs and norms. 

LanguageEnglish
PublisherKrill Press
Release dateDec 27, 2015
ISBN9781518350641
The Man Who Kept His Money in a Box
Author

Anthony Trollope

Anthony Trollope (1815-1882) was the third son of a barrister, who ruined his family by giving up the law for farming, and an industrious mother. After attending Winchester and Harrow, Trollope scraped into the General Post Office, London, in 1834, where he worked for seven years. In 1841 he was transferred to Ireland as a surveyor's clerk, and in 1844 married and settled at Clonmel. His first two novels were devoted to Irish life; his third, La Vendée, was historical. All were failures. After a distinguished career in the GPO, for which he invented the pillar box and travelled extensively abroad, Trollope resigned in 1867, earning his living from writing instead. He led an extensive social life, from which he drew material for his many social and political novels. The idea for The Warden (1855), the first of the six Barsetshire novels, came from a visit to Salisbury Close; with it came the characters whose fortunes were explored through the succeeding volumes, of which Doctor Thorne is the third.

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    Book preview

    The Man Who Kept His Money in a Box - Anthony Trollope

    THE MAN WHO KEPT HIS MONEY IN A BOX

    ..................

    Anthony Trollope

    PITHY PRESS

    Thank you for reading. In the event that you appreciate this book, please consider sharing the good word(s) by leaving a review, or connect with the author.

    This book is a work of fiction; its contents are wholly imagined.

    All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.

    Copyright © 2015 by Anthony Trollope

    Interior design by Pronoun

    Distribution by Pronoun

    TABLE OF CONTENTS

    The Man Who Kept His Money in a Box

    By

    Anthony Trollope

    The Man Who Kept His Money in a Box

    Published by Pithy Press

    New York City, NY

    First published circa 1882

    Copyright © Pithy Press, 2015

    All rights reserved

    Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

    About PITHY Press

    Edgar Allan Poe once advised would-be writers to never waste a word, and indeed, some of literature’s greatest works are some of the shortest. Pithy Press publishes the greatest short stories ever written, from the realism of Anton Chekhov to the humor of O. Henry.

    I first saw the man who kept his money in a box in the midst of the ravine of the Via Mala.  I interchanged a few words with him or with his wife at the hospice, at the top of the Splugen; and I became acquainted with him in the courtyard of Conradi’s hotel at Chiavenna.  It was, however, afterwards at Bellaggio, on the lake of Como, that that acquaintance ripened into intimacy.  A good many years have rolled by since then, and I believe this little episode in his life may be told without pain to the feelings of any one.

    His name was —; let us for the present say that his name was Greene.  How he learned that my name was Robinson I do not know, but I remember well that he addressed me by my name at Chiavenna.  To go back, however, for a moment to the Via Mala;—I had been staying for a few days at the Golden Eagle at Tusis,—which, by-the-bye, I hold to be the best small inn in all Switzerland, and its hostess to be, or to have been, certainly the prettiest landlady,—and on the day of my departure southwards, I had walked on, into the Via Mala, so that the diligence might pick me up in the gorge.  This pass I regard as one of the grandest spots to which my wandering steps have ever carried me, and though I had already lingered about it for many hours, I now walked thither again to take my last farewell of its dark towering rocks, its narrow causeway and roaring river, trusting to my friend the landlady to see that my luggage was duly packed upon the diligence.  I need hardly say that my friend did not betray her trust.

    As one goes out from Switzerland towards Italy, the road through the Via Mala ascends somewhat steeply, and

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