Selected short stories / Katherine Mansfield
| dc.contributor | Dawson, J.L., (John Lewis), 1945- Literary and Linguistic Computing Centre University of Cambridge Cambridge |
| dc.contributor.author | Mansfield, Katherine, 1888-1923 |
| dc.coverage.placeName | s.l. |
| dc.date.accessioned | 2018-07-27 |
| dc.date.accessioned | 2022-08-21T15:54:45Z |
| dc.date.available | 2022-08-21T15:54:45Z |
| dc.date.created | 1912-1923 |
| dc.date.issued | 1977-10-29 |
| dc.identifier | ota:0092 |
| dc.identifier.uri | http://hdl.handle.net/20.500.14106/0092 |
| dc.description.abstract | Contents: Bliss; The Man Without A Temperament; Sun and Moon; The Garden-Party; Life of Ma Parker; Miss Brill; Bank Holiday; The Lady's Maid; The Doll's House; Taking the Veil; The Fly; The Canary; Six Years After; Daphne; Honesty; Second Violin; The Tiredness of Rosabel; New Dresses; Ole Underwood; Spring Pictures; Carnation; A Blaze |
| dc.format.extent | Text data (1 file : ca. 278 KB) |
| dc.format.medium | Digital bitstream |
| dc.language | English |
| dc.language.iso | eng |
| dc.publisher | University of Oxford |
| dc.relation.ispartof | Oxford Text Archive Legacy Collection |
| dc.rights | Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. |
| dc.rights.uri | http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/ |
| dc.rights.label | PUB |
| dc.subject.lcsh | Short stories, English -- 20th century |
| dc.subject.other | Short stories |
| dc.title | Selected short stories / Katherine Mansfield |
| dc.type | Text |
| has.files | yes |
| branding | Oxford Text Archive |
| files.size | 284214 |
| files.count | 1 |
| otaterms.date.range | 1900-1999 |
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<T Bliss><Y 1920><P 111> Although Bertha Young was thirty she still had moments like this when she wanted to run instead of walk, to take dancing steps on and off the pavement, to bowl a hoop, to throw something up in the air and catch it again, or to stand still and laugh at - nothing - at nothing, simply. What can you do if you are thirty and, turning the corner of your own street, you are overcome, suddenly, by a feeling of bliss - absolute bliss! - as though you'd suddenly swallowed a bright piece of that late afternoon sun and it burned in your bosom, sending out a little shower of sparks into every particle, into every finger and toe?... Oh, is there no way you can express it without being "drunk and disorderly"? How idiotic civilisation is. Why be given a body if you have to keep it shut up in a case like a rare, rare fiddle? "No, that about the fiddle is not quite what I mean," she thought, running up the steps and feeling in her bag for the key - she'd forgotten it, . . .
