고전 원작들을 찾아 읽기에는 귀찮고 부담된다고 하지만 실제로 그렇게 어렵지 않답니다. In Mrs. Black's yard all was quiet. She used to sit there all day," Mrs. Sampson explained. She deeply disapproved of the mustard-colored curtains which had lately been hung in the doctor's window opposite; but she glowed with pleasure when the house farther down had its old bricks washed with a coat of paint. Mrs. Manstey occupied the back room on the third floor of a New York boardinghouse, in a street where the ash-barrels lingered late on the sidewalk and the … So comfortable -- so comfortable! It was easy to see that she was very ill, but no one had guessed how grave the doctor's verdict would be, and the faces gathered that evening about Mrs. Sampson's table were awestruck and disturbed. inquired the landlady, glancing about the room as if to find there the explanation of Mrs. Manstey's statement. "The magnolia in the next yard -- in Mrs. Black's yard," Mrs. Manstey repeated. Mrs. Manstey saw that she had been deceived. "I am sure we can settle it. . It was raining, but even through the slanting gray gauze the scene had its charm-and then the rain was so good for the trees. One of the men, a coarse fellow with a bloated face, picked a magnolia blossom and, after smelling it, threw it to the ground; the next man, carrying a load of bricks, trod on the flower in passing. The weather had changed and a wild wind was abroad, blotting the stars with close-driven clouds. At last Mrs. Manstey said: "Do you know how high the extension will be? Do you mean to say that you accept my proposition? she said. She even watched with a certain interest the trail of smoke from a far-off factory chimney, and missed a detail in the landscape when the factory was closed and the smoke disappeared. Manstey's View' is a short melancholic story by Edith Wharton which tells us about an old lonesome lady who has got the only pleasure in her life — to sit in the chair and to stare out of the window. This fifth segment focuses on how to anticipate the audience’s bias when drafting an introduction. When it grew dark Mrs. Manstey drew down the shades and proceeded, in her usual methodical manner, to light her lamp. "There, there, Mrs. Manstey, don't you worry," repeated Mrs. Black, soothingly. Mrs. Manstey looked at her; she did not know that there was a magnolia in the next yard! There was no help for it; Mrs. Manstey sat down. At first she thought of confiding her trouble to Mrs. Sampson, but a settled discouragement soon took possession of her and she went back to bed, not caring to see what was going on. Narrative of the Captivity and Restoration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson gives a first person perspective into the conditions … I am sorry that I can't stay and talk about it any longer, but this is such a busy time of day, with supper to get --". Close reading literature: "Mrs. Manstey's View" This sequence of lessons is based on text-dependent questions that are answered through a close reading of the short story, "Mrs. Manstey''s View" by … Mrs. Black thought herself face to face with a lunatic, and she had always heard that lunatics must be humored. Anyhow, the work is to begin on Monday. So you can understand my sitting a great deal in my window -- the back window on the third floor --", "Well, Mrs. Manstey," said Mrs. Black, liberally, "I could give you a back room, I dare say; one of the new rooms in the ex --", "But I don't want to move; I can't move," said Mrs. Manstey, almost with a scream. Mrs. Manstey, from her coign of vantage (a slightly projecting bow-window where she nursed an ivy and a succession of unwholesome-looking bulbs), looked out first upon the yard of her own dwelling, of which, however, she could get but a restricted glimpse. This sequence of process-based writing lessons leans heavily on insights from a close reading of the short story, "Mrs. Manstey's View" by Edith Wharton. "Won't it be a great annoyance to you, Mrs. The fire, however, was soon put out, and the frightened occupants of the house, who had fled in scant attire, reassembled at dawn to find that little mischief had been done beyond the cracking of window panes and smoking of ceilings. In fact, the chief sufferer by the fire was Mrs. Manstey, who was found in the morning gasping with pneumonia, a not unnatural result, as everyone remarked, of her having hung out of an open window at her age in a dressing-gown. "Mrs. Manstey paused again. Slowly Mrs. Manstey's clutch relaxed, and she passed through the open door. inquired the landlady, glancing about the room as if to find there the explanation of Mrs. Manstey's statement. The wooden balcony at the back of Mrs. Black's house was ablaze, and among those who watched the progress of the flames was Mrs. Manstey, leaning in her thin dressing-gown from the open window. It was evident that since the fire the builders had not returned to their work. "Is it, indeed? The sunset was perfect and a roseate light, transfiguring the distant spire, lingered late in the west. On the third day, Mrs. Manstey, in spite of her gouty hand, had just penned a letter, beginning: "Madam, it is now three days since your parrot has been fed," when the forgetful maid appeared at the window with a cup of seed in her hand. But of greater interest were the yards beyond. "The extension," said Mrs. Sampson, nodding her head in the direction of the ignored magnolia. The wooden balcony at the back of Mrs. Black's house was ablaze, and among those who watched the progress of the flames was Mrs. Manstey, leaning in her thin dressing-gown from the open window. Manstey’s View” Originally published in 1891. Having slipped a bundle of wooden matches into her pocket she proceeded, with increasing precautions, to unlock her door, and a few moments later she was feeling her way down the dark staircase, led by a glimmer of gas from the lower hall. The weather had changed and a wild wind was abroad, blotting the stars with close-driven clouds. Wet and radiant the blue reappeared through torn rags of cloud; the ailanthus sparkled; the earth in the flower-borders looked rich and warm. But in Mrs. Manstey's more meditative moods it was the narrowing perspective of far-off yards which pleased her best. She might move, of course; so might she be flayed alive; but she was not likely to survive either operation. Do you understand?". The charred timbers of the balcony lay where they had fallen. The blue sky with its round clouds shed a brightness over everything; the ailanthus had put on a tinge of yellow-green, the hyacinths were budding, the magnolia flowers looked more than ever like rosettes carved in alabaster. The room, though far less important to her happiness than the view, was as much a part of her existence. I guess we can fix that all right.". Mrs. Black found Mrs. Manstey standing in the long parlor garnished with statuettes and antimacassars; in that house she could not sit down. In the first place it was a topic not likely to appeal to her visitors and, besides, she lacked the power of expression and could not have given utterance to her feelings had she wished to. For many years she had cherished a desire to live in the country, to have a hen-house and a garden; but this longing had faded with age, leaving only in the breast of the uncommunicative old woman a vague tenderness for plants and animals. That night she could not sleep. She knew every stain on the wall-paper, every rent in the carpet; the light fell in a certain way on her engravings, her books had grown shabby on their shelves, her bulbs and ivy were used to their window and knew which way to lean to the sun. She read a little, and knitted numberless stockings; but the view surrounded and shaped her life as the sea does a lonely island. The extension is to be built right up to the roof of the main building; now, did you ever?". Mrs. Manstey, in the long hours which she spent at her window, was not idle. A gust of cold wind smote her as she stepped out and groped shiveringly under the clothes-lines. The charred timbers of the balcony lay where they had fallen. "My goodness," exclaimed Mrs. Black, shutting and bolting the hall-door, "I never knew the old woman was crazy! She knew every stain on the wall-paper, every rent in the carpet; the light fell in a certain way on her engravings, her books had grown shabby on their shelves, her bulbs and ivy were used to their window and knew which way to lean to the sun. ", "That's the most absurd part of it. Some of the yards were, indeed, but stony wastes, with grass in the cracks of the pavement and no shade in spring save that afforded by the intermittent leafage of the clotheslines. "The magnolia in the next yard -- in Mrs. Black's yard," Mrs. Manstey repeated. She lingered in the window until the windy sunset died in bat-colored dusk; then, going to bed, she lay sleepless all night. ", Mrs. Manstey had grown pale. "Of course I might move," said Mrs. Manstey aloud, and turning from the window she looked about her room. "Look out, Jim," called one of the men to another who was smoking a pipe, "if you throw matches around near those barrels of paper you'll have the old tinder-box burning down before you know it." It was Thursday, and on Monday the building of the extension was to begin. At length the work ceased and twilight fell. In spite of this Mrs. Manstey found much to admire in the long vista which she commanded. Mrs. Manstey looked at her; she did not know that there was a magnolia in the next yard! "One of Mrs. Sampson's boarders; wants to move, I suppose. "My house is full at present, but I am going to build an extension, and --", "It is about the extension that I wish to speak," said Mrs. Manstey, suddenly. Manstey.". Do you mean to say that you accept my proposition? The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett, Uncle Tom's Cabin - Harriet Beecher Stowe. The next morning at daylight she was very low. The high price of marital harmony. 여러분의 영어 실력이라면 충분히 이해할 수 있는 난이도입니다. Get started by clicking the "Add" button. One April day, as she sat in her usual place, with knitting cast aside and eyes fixed on the blue sky mottled with round clouds, a knock at the door announced the entrance of her landlady. I have two thousand dollars in the bank and I could manage, I know I could manage, to give you a thousand if --" Mrs. Manstey paused; the tears were rolling down her cheeks. It was evident that since the fire the builders had not returned to their work. "Is there anything I can do for you, ma'am?" The fire, however, was soon put out, and the frightened occupants of the house, who had fled in scant attire, reassembled at dawn to find that little mischief had been done beyond the cracking of window panes and smoking of ceilings. "You are not deceiving me, are you?" She had noticed the day before that the ailanthus was growing dusty. Mrs. Manstey occupied the back room on the third floor of a New York boardinghouse, in a street where the ash-barrels lingered late on the sidewalk and the gaps in the pavement would have staggered a Quintus Curtius. "We are all too old to move," she said. In the play, there was a lot of foreshadowing and anaphora. Read the next short story; Souls Belated. On "Mrs. Manstey's View" by Edith Wharton (4114 words) *** ... which is beautiful and the portrait of loneliness in its most egregious form and what little hope one clings to. Slowly Mrs. Manstey's clutch relaxed, and she passed through the open door. The room, though far less important to her happiness than the view, was as much a part of her existence. The dawn was abroad, a jubilant spring dawn; the spire had already caught a golden ray, though the magnolia and horsechestnut still slumbered in shadow. Noisy slatterns, Mrs. Manstey pronounced the greater number; she knew their ways and hated them. The dawn was abroad, a jubilant spring dawn; the spire had already caught a golden ray, though the magnolia and horsechestnut still slumbered in shadow. "I never had what I wanted," Mrs. Manstey continued. Mrs. Manstey's head fell back and smiling she died. Across these lessons, students plan, draft, revise, and edit an argumentative literary essay taking a position on whether or not Mrs. Manstey is a victim of her social and physical environment. She enjoyed, also, the sunny thaws of March, when patches of earth showed through the snow, like inkspots spreading on a sheet of white blotting-paper; and, better still, the haze of boughs, leafless but swollen, which replaced the clear-cut tracery of winter. "Lift me up -- out of bed," she whispered. Mrs. Manstey tightened her hold. Still, her gaze took in the topmost boughs of the ailanthus below her window, and she knew how early each year the clump of dicentra strung its bending stalk with hearts of pink. That day the building of the extension was resumed. I hear it is to run right back to the end of the yard. Between her eyes and them a barrier of brick and mortar would swiftly rise; presently even the spire would disappear, and all her radiant world be blotted out. I guess we can fix that all right.". Buy a cheap copy of The Early Short Fiction: Kerfol, Mrs.... book by Edith Wharton. The magnolia had unfolded a few more sculptural flowers; the view was undisturbed. view, Edith Wharton’s work stands the test of time and has considerable relevance in today’s world as it did in her own. Even had she felt a stronger desire for her daughter's companionship, Mrs. Manstey's increasing infirmity, which caused her to dread the three flights of stairs between her room and the street, would have given her pause on the eve of undertaking so long a journey; and without perhaps, formulating these reasons she had long since accepted as a matter of course her solitary life in New York. She tried to make them open the window, but they would not understand. "The magnolia is out earlier than usual this year, Mrs. Sampson," she remarked, yielding to a rare impulse, for she seldom alluded to the absorbing interest of her life. Mrs. Manstey rose from her seat, and Mrs. Black slipped toward the door. "The what?" She had grown used to their disorder; the broken barrels, the empty bottles and paths unswept no longer annoyed her; hers was the happy faculty of dwelling on the pleasanter side of the prospect before her. On one occasion her feelings were racked by the neglect of a housemaid, who for two days forgot to feed the parrot committed to her care. Mrs. Manstey, knowing this, was silent. I wouldn't annoy you for the world --". Anyhow, the work is to begin on Monday. Mrs. Fullerton, one who is of the older generation, is an individual that does not fit in with her new, younger neighbors. One of the men, a coarse fellow with a bloated face, picked a magnolia blossom and, after smelling it, threw it to the ground; the next man, carrying a load of bricks, trod on the flower in passing. Mrs. Manstey rose once or twice and looked out of the window; but of the view nothing was discernible save a tardy light or two in the opposite windows. Her hand was on the door-knob, but with sudden vigor Mrs. Manstey seized her wrist. Mrs. Manstey did not care for her landlady, but she submitted to her visits with ladylike resignation. D dramatize Mrs. Manstey's unwillingness to discuss a personal matter. ", "Why, I'll think it over, Mrs. Manstey, certainly I will. Between her eyes and them a barrier of brick and mortar would swiftly rise; presently even the spire would disappear, and all her radiant world be blotted out. Dinah," said Mrs. Black, "tell the lady I'll be upstairs in a minute.". They raised her in their arms, and with her stiff hand she pointed to the window. ", Mrs. Manstey had grown pale. She had lived in it seventeen years. (Now available at the Wharton Society site, these texts can be searched for certain words or phrases. In the very next enclosure did not a magnolia open its hard white flowers against the watery blue of April? It was hard for Mrs. Manstey to breathe; each moment it grew more difficult. Mrs. Manstey's real friends were the denizens of the yards, the hyacinths, the magnolia, the green parrot, the maid who fed the cats, the doctor who studied late behind his mustard-colored curtains; and the confidant of her tenderer musings was the church-spire floating in the sunset. They carried Mrs. Manstey to the window and placed her in her chair. To-day, however, it seemed harder than usual to turn from the blue sky and the blossoming magnolia to Mrs. Sampson's unsuggestive face, and Mrs. Manstey was conscious of a distinct effort as she did so. In the first story we meet the elderly widow Mrs Manstey, who lives alone in an apartment but who takes pleasure in the view from her window. "I'm happy to meet you, Mrs. Manstey; take a seat, please," the landlady remarked in her prosperous voice, the voice of a woman who can afford to build extensions. "The magnolia is out earlier than usual this year, Mrs. Sampson," she remarked, yielding to a rare impulse, for she seldom alluded to the absorbing interest of her life. Wet and radiant the blue reappeared through torn rags of cloud; the ailanthus sparkled; the earth in the flower-borders looked rich and warm. Manstey.". Early the next day she was up and at the window. "It shan't begin, I promise you that; I'll send word to the builder this very night." “The View From Mrs. Thompson’s” is an account of the author’s experiences in Bloomington, Illinois directly following the 9/11 attacks. 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