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Motherhood
Chapter: 'Whistle and I’ll Come to You'
But what was 'real'? At that moment I began to doubt my own reality.
Chapter: 'The Funeral of Mrs. Drablow'
It was an oddly grave and touching sight, they looked so unlike children generally do, animated and carefree.
Chapter: 'A Packet of Letters'
Was not everyone connected with that sad story now dead? For presumably Mrs. Drablow had been the very last of them.
Chapter 'Across the Causeway'
As I stood, wondering, the last light went from the sun, and the wind rose in a gust, and rustled through the grass.
Chapter: 'The Sound of a Pony and Trap'
Behind me, out on the marshes, all was still and silent; save for that movement of the water, the pony and trap might never have existed.
Chapter: 'A Packet of Letters'
And my head rang with the sound of the child crying out on the marsh and of the rocking chair and the drowning whinny of the pony.
Chapter: 'Across the Causeway'
... it was as though she was searching for something she wanted, needed — must have, more than life itself, and which had been taken from her.
Chapter: 'The Woman in Black'
My story is almost done. There is only the last thing left to tell. And that I can scarcely bring myself to write about.
Chapter: 'In the Nursery'
The pony trap was going further away now, the noise of its wheels was becoming muffled and then there was the sound of splashing water and churning mud, the noise of the pony plunging about in terror.
Chapter: 'Christmas Eve'
Like an old wound, it gave off a faint twinge now and again, but less and less often, less and less painfully, as the years went on and my happiness, sanity and equilibrium were assured.
Chapter: 'The Sound of a Pony and Trap'
I went back into the one room in the house that had some pretensions to comfort...
Chapter: 'In the Nursery'
In Scotland, a son was born to her [Jennet] and she wrote of him with a desperate, clinging affection.
Chapter 'Across the Causeway'
As I stood, wondering, the last light went from the sun, and the wind rose in a gust, and rustled through the grass.
Chapter: 'Across the Causeway'
Minutes later, they were receding across the causeway, smaller and smaller figures in the immensity and wideness of marsh and sky, and I had turned away and walked around to the front of Eel Marsh House, my left hand touching the shaft of the key that was in my pocket.
Chapter: 'Christmas Eve'
Esmé leaned over towards me. 'They are telling ghost stories.'
Chapter: 'The Sound of a Pony and Trap'
Behind me, out on the marshes, all was still and silent; save for that movement of the water, the pony and trap might never have existed.
Chapter: 'A Packet of Letters'
Whoever haunted it [Eel Marsh House] and whatever terrible emotions still possessed them would continue to disturb and distress anyone who came near here, that I knew.
Chapter: 'Across the Causeway'
I did not believe in ghosts. Or rather, until this day, I had not done so, and whatever stories I had heard of them I had, like most rational, sensible young men, dismissed as nothing more than stories indeed.