Night and silence, who is here? an American comedy / by Pamela Hansford Johnson
| dc.contributor | Gilliver, Peter Oxford Dictionaries Oxford University Press Great Claredon Street |
| dc.contributor.author | Johnson, Pamela Hansford, 1912- |
| dc.coverage.placeName | New York |
| dc.date.accessioned | 2018-07-27 |
| dc.date.accessioned | 2022-08-21T16:20:05Z |
| dc.date.available | 2022-08-21T16:20:05Z |
| dc.date.created | 1963 |
| dc.identifier | ota:0531 |
| dc.identifier.uri | http://hdl.handle.net/20.500.14106/0531 |
| dc.description.abstract | Resource deposited with the Oxford Text Archive. |
| dc.format.extent | Text data (1 file : ca. 373 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 | Use of this resource is restricted in some manner. Usually this means that it is available for non-commercial use only with prior permission of the depositor and on condition that this header is included in its entirety with any copy distributed. |
| dc.rights.uri | https://hdl.handle.net/20.500.14106/licence-ota |
| dc.rights.label | ACA |
| dc.subject.lcsh | English fiction -- 20th century |
| dc.subject.other | Novels |
| dc.title | Night and silence, who is here? an American comedy / by Pamela Hansford Johnson |
| dc.type | Text |
| has.files | yes |
| branding | Oxford Text Archive |
| files.size | 381819 |
| files.count | 1 |
| otaterms.date.range | 1900-1999 |
Files for this item
- Name
- nightsilence-0531.txt
- Size
- 372.87 KB
- Format
- Text file
- Description
- Version of the work in plain text format
<A P. JOHNSON> <T Night & Silence> <P 1> <C i> DEAR OLD DR. PARKE Under the maples, burning like bonfires, pure yellow and pure red, walked Dr. Dominick Maudlin Parke, his hands clasped behind his back. The day was mild. The sky, behind the flagrant leaves, was almost white, almost as white as the hair of Dr. Parke, dear <1old>1 Dr. Parke, though no more than fifty-seven years of age, who walked in generally admired perplexity, though he was not perplexed at all. He knew precisely, as he had always known, what he had to do. He had to welcome, at 4 p.m. on the dot, the latest and last of the Visiting Fellows. His soft shoes trod soft leaves, amazingly coloured, though his eyes had long ceased to heed them. The scarlet maple leaf, when turned on to its backside, becomes the most fragile of mauves, rose-mauve, tender as the word Mauve or as the flesh of an odalisque in shadow on a couch of crimson plush: such flesh Dr. Parke trod all unseeing, but all-knowing. Any old how, such was his re . . .
