I was not here when you read The White Stocking, it sounds like an intresting read though.
Here are some of the passages that stuck out in my mind which I had highlighted.
Quote:
A rather small young man sat by the window of a pretty seaside cottage trying to persuade himself that he was reading the news paper.
For some reason, I just really liked this line and it stuck with me, in particular, the last half of it is what struck me the most.
Quote:
trying to persuade himself that he was reading the news paper
I just love the feeling and concept behind this idea. You can really feel the distraction of his mind here, while he is trying to wait but growing ever impaitient.
Quote:
His jacket, however, did not look dejected. It was new and had a smart and self-confident air, sitting upon a confident body.
I found this rather interesting use of imagery, the way in which he is physcialy descirbed as being confident, considering the lingering uncertainties regaurding his wife and his marriage
Quote:
There in the magic beyond the doorway, patterns of shadow lay on the sunny court, on the blue and white sea-pebbles of its paving, while a green lawn glowed beyond, where a pay tree glittered at the edges. She tiptoed nervously into the courtyard, glancing at the house that stood in shadow. The uncurtained windows looked black and soulless, the kitchen door stood open. Irresolutely she took a step forward, and gain forward, learning, yearning, towards the garden beyond.
I just loved this passage, the use of the words shadow, particuarly, as well as the way the lawn glowed, and the black soulless windows, which can make an intresting comparrion to the black eyes of her lover, which are now vacant with madness. Perhaps this is another instance of foreshadow?
Quote:
Slowly she went down one path, lingering, like one who has gone back into the past. Suddenly she was touching some heavy crimson roses that were soft as velvet, touching them thoughtfully, without knowing, as a mother sometimes fondles the hand of her child. She leaned slightly forward to catch the scent. Then she wandered on in abstraction. Sometimes a flame-coloured, scentless rose would hold her arrested. She stood gazing as it as if she could not understand it. Again the same softness of intimacy came over her, as she stood before a tumbling heap of pink petals. Then she wondered over the white rose, that was greenish, like ice in the center. So, slowly, like a white, pathetic butterfly, she drifted down the path, coming at last to a tiny terrace all full of roses. They seemed to fill the place, a sunny, gay throng. She was shy of them, they were so many and so bright. They seemed to be conversing and laughing. She felt herself in a strange crowd. It exhilarated her, carried her out of herself. She flushed with excitement. The air was pure scent.
Another beautiful passage.
Quote:
She was no more than a rose, a rose that could not quite come into blossom, but remained tense. A little fly dropped on her knee, on her white dress. She watched it, as if it had fallen on a rose. She was not herself.
I really like the way in which the woman is portrayed as if she is one of the roses here. And I think a lot could be read into the statement, as to me personaly though she is descirbed as being physicaly beautiful he beauty is only skin deep. As she does not seem to be a good or generous person on the whole, and what does a rose have without its physical beauty?
I also like the way in which she is portrayed as physicaly resmebling the rose, where it talks of the fly landing upon her white dress. It makes me think of the petals of a white rose. And it seems to suggest a certain delicateness of her charactor. She is seen as being weak perhaps both in mind as well as body.
