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    To Be Read at Dusk
    To Be Read at Dusk
    To Be Read at Dusk
    Ebook20 pages16 minutes

    To Be Read at Dusk

    By Charles Dickens

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    "To Be Read at Dusk" by Charles Dickens. Published by Good Press. Good Press publishes a wide range of titles that encompasses every genre. From well-known classics & literary fiction and non-fiction to forgotten−or yet undiscovered gems−of world literature, we issue the books that need to be read. Each Good Press edition has been meticulously edited and formatted to boost readability for all e-readers and devices. Our goal is to produce eBooks that are user-friendly and accessible to everyone in a high-quality digital format.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGood Press
    Release dateMar 16, 2020
    ISBN4064066090425
    Author

    Charles Dickens

    Charles Dickens was born in 1812 and grew up in poverty. This experience influenced ‘Oliver Twist’, the second of his fourteen major novels, which first appeared in 1837. When he died in 1870, he was buried in Poets’ Corner in Westminster Abbey as an indication of his huge popularity as a novelist, which endures to this day.

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      Book preview

      To Be Read at Dusk - Charles Dickens

      Charles Dickens

      To Be Read at Dusk

      Published by Good Press, 2020

      goodpress@okpublishing.info

      EAN 4064066090425

      Table of Contents

      Cover

      Titlepage

      Text

      "

      To be Read at Dusk

      Table of Contents

      By CHARLES DICKENS

      LONDON: CHAPMAN & HALL, LD.

      NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS

      1905

      One, two, three, four, five. There were five of them.

      Five couriers, sitting on a bench outside the convent on the summit of the Great St. Bernard in Switzerland, looking at the remote heights, stained by the setting sun as if a mighty quantity of red wine had been broached upon the mountain top, and had not yet had time to sink into the snow.

      This is not my simile. It was made for the occasion by the stoutest courier, who was a German. None of the others took any more notice of it than they took of me, sitting on another bench on the other side of the convent door, smoking my cigar, like them, and—also like them—looking at the reddened snow, and at the lonely shed hard by, where the bodies of belated travellers, dug out of it, slowly wither away, knowing no corruption in that cold region.

      The wine

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