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Arnold Bennett was a prolific British writer who penned dozens of works across all genres, from adventurous fiction to propaganda and nonfiction. He wrote plays like Judith and historical novels like Tales of the Five Towns.
In the pupils' room of the offices of Lucas & Enwright, architects, Russell Square, Bloomsbury, George Edwin Cannon, an articled pupil, leaned over a large drawing-board and looked up at Mr. Enwright, the head of the firm, who with cigarette and stick was on his way out after what he called a good day's work. It was past six o'clock on an evening in early July 1901. To George's right was an open door leading to the principals' room, and to his left another open door leading to more rooms and to the staircase.
The lofty chambers were full of lassitude; but round about George, who was working late, there floated the tonic vapour of conscious virtue. Haim, the factotum, could be seen and heard moving in his cubicle which guarded the offices from the stairs. In the rooms shortly to be deserted and locked up, and in the decline of the day, the three men were drawn together like survivors.
"I gather you're going to change your abode," said Mr. Enwright, having stopped.
"Did Mr. Orgreave tell you, then?" George asked.
"Well, he didn't exactly tell me...."
John Orgreave was Mr. Enwright's junior partner; and for nearly two years, since his advent in London from the Five Towns, George had lived with Mr. and Mrs. Orgreave at Bedford Park. The Orgreaves, too, sprang from the Five Towns. John's people and George's people were closely entwined in the local annals.
Pupil and principal glanced discreetly at one another, exchanging in silence vague, malicious, unutterable critical verdicts upon both John Orgreave and his wife.
"Well, I am!" said George at length.
"Where are you going to?"
"Haven't settled a bit," said George. "I wish I could live in Paris."
"Paris wouldn't be much good to you yet," Mr. Enwright laughed benevolently.
"I suppose it wouldn't. Besides, of course--"
George spoke in a tone of candid deferential acceptance, which flattered Mr. Enwright very much, for it was the final proof of the prestige which the grizzled and wrinkled and peculiar Fellow and Member of the Council of the Royal Institute of British Architects had acquired in the estimation of that extremely independent, tossing sprig, George Edwin Cannon. Mr. Enwright had recently been paying a visit to Paris, and George had been sitting for the Intermediate Examination. "You can join me here for a few days after the exam., if you care to," Mr. Enwright had sent over. It was George's introduction to the Continent, and the circumstances of it were almost ideal. For a week the deeply experienced connoisseur of all the arts had had the fine, eager, responsive virgin mind in his power. Day after day he had watched and guided it amid entirely new sensations. Never had Mr. Enwright enjoyed himself more purely, and at the close he knew with satisfaction that he had put Paris in a proper perspective for George, and perhaps saved the youth from years of groping misapprehension. As for George, all his preconceived notions about Paris had been destroyed or shaken. In the quadrangles of the Louvre, for example, Mr. Enwright, pointing to the under part of the stone bench that foots so much of the walls, had said: "Look at that curve." Nothing else. No ecstasies about the sculptures of Jean Goujon and Carpeaux, or about the marvellous harmony of the East facade! But a flick of the cane towards the half-hidden moulding! And George had felt with a thrill what an exquisite curve and what an original curve and what a modest curve that curve was. Suddenly and magically his eyes had been opened. Or it might have been that a deceitful mist had rolled away and the real Louvre been revealed in its esoteric and sole authentic beauty....
"Why don't you try Chelsea?" said Mr. Enwright over his shoulder, proceeding towards the stairs.
"I was thinking of Chelsea."
" You were!" Mr. Enwright halted again for an instant. "It's the only place in London where the structure of society is anything like Paris. Why, dash it, in the King's Road the grocers know each other's business!" Mr. Enwright made the last strange remark to the outer door, and vanished.
"Funny cove!" George commented tolerantly to Mr. Haim, who passed through the room immediately afterwards to his nightly task of collecting and inspecting the scattered instruments on the principal's august drawing-board.
But Mr. Haim, though possibly he smiled ever so little, would not compromise himself by an endorsement of the criticism of his employer. George was a mere incident in the eternal career of Mr. Haim at Lucas & Enwright's.
When the factotum came back into the pupils' room, George stood up straight and smoothed his trousers and gazed admiringly at his elegant bright socks.
"Let me see," said George in a very friendly manner. " You live somewhere in Chelsea, don't you?"
"Yes," answered Mr. Haim.
"Whereabouts, if it isn't a rude question?"
"Well," said Mr. Haim, confidentially and benignantly, captivated by George's youthful charm, "it's near the Redcliffe Arms." He mentioned the Redcliffe Arms as he might have mentioned the Bank, Piccadilly Circus, or Gibraltar. "Alexandra Grove. No. 8. To tell you the truth, I own the house."
"The deuce you do!"
"Yes. The leasehold, that is, of course. No freeholds knocking about loose in that district!"
George saw a new and unsuspected Mr. Haim. He was impressed. And he was glad that he had never broken the office tradition of treating Mr. Haim with a respect not usually accorded to factotums. He saw a property-owner, a tax-payer, and a human being behind the spectacles of the shuffling, rather shabby, ceremonious familiar that pervaded those rooms daily from before ten till after six. He grew curious about a living phenomenon that hitherto had never awakened his curiosity.
"Were you really looking for accommodation?" demanded Mr. Haim suavely.
George hesitated. "Yes."
"Perhaps I have something that might suit you."
Events, disguised as mere words, seemed to George to be pushing him forward.
" I should like to have a look at it," he said. He had to say it; there was no alternative.
Mr. Haim raised a hand. "Any evening that happens to be convenient."
"What about to-night, then?"
"Certainly," Mr. Haim agreed. For a moment George apprehended that Mr. Haim was going to invite him to dinner. But Mr. Haim was not going to invite him to dinner. "About nine, shall we say?" he suggested, with a courtliness softer even than usual.
Later, George said that he would lock up the office himself and leave the key with the housekeeper.
"You can't miss the place," said Mr. Haim on leaving. "It's between the Workhouse and the Redcliffe."
A Great Man (1904), which Bennett subtitled "A Frolic," gives his humorous talent full rein. The novel is a hilarious character study of Henry Shakespeare Knight from his humble beginnings to his assent to the pinnacle of fame as a popular writer.
Arnold Bennett (1867-1931) was a prolific British writer and journalist. Bennett is popular for fiction such as The Old Wives' Tale and also for non-fiction works such as How to Live on 24 Hours a Day and Mental Efficiency. This edition of The Old Adam: A Story of Adventure includes a table of contents.
Arnold Bennett (1867-1931) was a prolific British writer and journalist. Bennett is popular for fiction such as The Old Wives' Tale and also for non-fiction works such as How to Live on 24 Hours a Day and Mental Efficiency. This edition of The Ghost: A Modern Fantasy includes a table of contents.
Arnold Bennett was a prolific British writer who penned dozens of works across all genres, from adventurous fiction to propaganda and nonfiction. He wrote plays like Judith and historical novels like Tales of the Five Towns.
Dodo Collections brings you another classic from Arnold Bennett, '"Denry the Audacious."' Like many of Arnold Bennett's works of fiction, the comic novel Denry the Audacious is set among the quaint village lanes of the Potteries District of Staffordshire. It is amidst this humble environment that the one-of-a-kind character Edward Henry Machin emerges from poverty and, largely through the force of his own indomitable will, achieves a measure of power and influence. Enoch Arnold Bennett (always known as Arnold Bennett) was one of the most remarkable literary figures of his time, a product of the English Potteries that he made famous as the Five Towns. Yet he could hardly wait to escape his home town, and he did so by the sheer force of his ambition to succeed as an author. In his time he turned his hand to every kind of writing, but he will be remembered for such novels as The Old Wives' Tale, the Clayhanger trilogy (Clayhanger, Hilda Lessways, and These Twain), and The Card. He also wrote such intriguing self-improvement books as Literary Taste, How To Live on 24 Hours a Day, The Human Machine, etc. After a local education Bennett finished his education at the University of London and for a time was editor of Woman magazine. After 1900 he devoted himself entirely to writing; dramatic criticism was one of his foremost interests. Bennett is best known, however, for his novels, several of which were written during his residence in France. Bennett's infancy was spent in genteel poverty, which gave way to prosperity as his father succeeded as a solicitor. From this provincial background he became a novelist.His enduring fame is as a Chronicler of the Potteries towns, the setting and inspiration of some of his most famous and enduring literary work and the place where he grew up.
Anna Tellwright, daughter of a wealthy but miserly and dictatorial father, lives in the Potteries area of Staffordshire, England. Her activities are strictly controlled by the Methodist church. Anna struggles for freedom and independence against her father's restraints, and her inward battle between wanting to please her father and wanting to help Willie Price whose father, Titus Price, committed suicide after falling into bankruptcy and debt.
"You're a creepy bastard." His eyes smolder me and his answering grin is nothing short of beautiful. Deadly. "Yet you hunger for me. Tell me, this appetite of yours, does it always tend toward 'creepy bastards'?" **** Widower and ex-boss to the Mafia, Zefiro Della Rocca, has an unhealthy fixation on the woman nextdoor. It began as a coincidence, growing into mere curiosity, and soon, it was an itch he couldn't ignore, like a quick fix of crack for an addict. He didn't know her name, but he knew every inch of her skin, how it flushed when she climaxed, her favourite novel and that every night she contemplated suicide. He didn't want to care, despising his rapt fascination of the woman. She was in love with her abusive husband. She was married, bound by a contract to the Bratva's hitman. She was off-limits. But when Zefiro wanted something, it was with an intensity that bordered on madness. He obsessed, possessed, owned. There'd be bloodshed if he touched her, but the sight of blood always did fascinate him. * When Susanna flees from her husband, she stumbles right into the arms of her devilishly handsome neighbour with a brooding glare. He couldn't stand her, but she needed him, if she was ever going to escape her husband who now wanted her dead. Better the devil you know than the angel you don't. She should have recalled that before hopping into Zefiro's car and letting him whisk her away to Italy. Maybe then, she wouldn't have started an affair with him. He was the only man who touched her right, and the crazy man took no small pains in ensuring he would be the last.
Kallie, a mute who had been ignored by her husband for five years since their wedding, also suffered the loss of her pregnancy due to her cruel mother-in-law. After the divorce, she learned that her ex-husband had quickly gotten engaged to the woman he truly loved. Holding her slightly rounded belly, she realized that he had never really cared for her. Determined, she left him behind, treating him as a stranger. Yet, after she left, he scoured the globe in search of her. When their paths crossed once more, Kallie had already found new happiness. For the first time, he pleaded humbly, "Please don't leave me..." But Kallie's response was firm and dismissive, cutting through any lingering ties. "Get lost!"
After my family's sinister plots collapsed, they lashed out at me, taking their rage to a violent level. Cornered and desperate, I married Jaxton—the town's most sought-after bachelor—due to an unplanned pregnancy. Love had no part in this marriage; I assumed he married me purely out of responsibility, his heart belonging elsewhere. The moment I chose to let him go and turned to leave, he grabbed me and pinned me down hard. "Jaxton, you promised you'd never touch me!" I snapped, glaring fiercely. His eyes flashed arrogantly as he leaned closer. "You're the one who started this!"
Melanie married Ashton out of gratitude, but she quickly found herself entangled in a web of relentless challenges. Despite these struggles, she stayed true to her commitment to the marriage. In the hospital room, Ashton indifferently attempted to draw her blood, disregarding her discomfort. This callous act was a harsh revelation for Melanie, awakening her to the grim reality of their relationship. Resolved to prioritize her own welfare, she decided to sever ties. With newfound resolve, Melanie filed for divorce. In the process, she unveiled her concealed identities, leaving everyone in shock. Throughout these turbulent times, Melanie realized that Derek, Ashton’s uncle, had been discreetly protecting her all along.
"You're my wife in name only, on paper only. My heart and love will never be yours." Edward made it clear to Daisy that she was nothing to him. They were both victims of family greed -- the marriage was arranged for them. Six years passed. She remained quiet, gaining a reputation in the army as a tough-as-nails colonel. When she walked into his life again, Edward fell in love with this woman, unlike any he had known. She surprised and delighted him. But will Daisy take him back? Can their son keep them together? Can the rift between them be healed? Pick this one up and find out!
"Sign the divorce papers and get out!" Leanna got married to pay a debt, but she was betrayed by her husband and shunned by her in-laws. Seeing that her efforts were in vain, she agreed to divorce and claimed her half of the properties. With her purse plump from the settlement, Leanna enjoyed her newfound freedom. The constant harassment from her ex's mistress never fazed her. She took back her identities as top hacker, champion racer, medical professor, and renowned jewelry designer. Then someone discovered her secret. Matthew smiled. "Will you have me as your next husband?"