Author: Frances Minto ElliotPublisher:
ISBN:
Category : Sicily (Italy)
Languages : en
Pages : 292
Book Description
The Diary of an Idle Woman in Sicily
Author: Frances Minto ElliotPublisher:
ISBN:
Category : Sicily (Italy)
Languages : en
Pages : 292
Book Description
The Diary of an Idle Woman in Sicily
Author: Frances Minto ElliotPublisher:
ISBN:
Category : Sicily (Italy)
Languages : en
Pages : 224
Book Description
The Diary of an Idle Woman in Sicily
Author: Frances ElliotPublisher:
ISBN:
Category : Sicily (Italy)
Languages : en
Pages :
Book Description
The diary of an idle women in Sicily
Author: Frances Minto ElliotPublisher:
ISBN:
Category :
Languages : en
Pages : 436
Book Description
Diary of an Idle Woman in Sicily
Author: Frances ElliotPublisher:
ISBN:
Category : Sicily (Italy)
Languages : en
Pages : 319
Book Description
The Diary of an Idle Woman in Sicily
Author: Frances ElliotPublisher:
ISBN: 9783348041539
Category :
Languages : en
Pages : 220
Book Description
DIARY OF AN IDLE WOMAN IN SICI
Author: Frances 1820-1898 ElliotPublisher:
ISBN: 9781361821343
Category : History
Languages : en
Pages : 328
Book Description
The Diary of an Idle Women in Sicily
Author: Frances Minto ElliotPublisher:
ISBN: 9781375654616
Category : History
Languages : en
Pages : 220
Book Description
The Diary of an Idle Women in Sicily
Author: Frances Minto ElliotPublisher: Theclassics.Us
ISBN: 9781230215358
Category :
Languages : en
Pages : 116
Book Description
This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1885 edition. Excerpt: ... "At what hour shall we arrive?" "About nightfall." (Now, as we are in the month of March, this may mean anything.) "Is it safe?" I ask next. "Perfectly, Signora. I drove the Signor Duca down last week without an escort. But the roads are newly mended with lava, and are very heavy; we must go generally at a walking pace. The Signora must be prepared for this. Pray let us start." "We should have been half-way up Etna by this time but for you," puts in Furiosa, with the air of a war-horse scenting battle. "All very fine to talk of ' starting, ' when the Signora has been waiting for you more than an hour." This reproach Antonio affects not to hear. With a masterful roll of his dark eyes, and the mere shadow of a smile on his lips, he hands me into the carriage, Furiosa grumbling in her native tongue, and the bags follow. There are three horses: one in front, tandem fashion, inclined throughout the journey to be discursive, and to peep over precipices; the others immovably steady. The ragged boy is, I find, to accompany us, stationed behind on my box. I may mention, en passant, that that boy utterly ruins my box, reducing its surface to a pulpy substance with the stamping of his naked feet. When we go up hill he runs beside us; when we go down he stamps on the lid. His eyes wait on the Padrone: he is continually fiddling with the harness, adjusting the bits, or smoothing the reins. When he lags behind, Antonio whistles to him; and when beside him he discourses in the Sicilian dialect with an air of benignant superiority. Up the slopes of Etna we labour by a zigzag route to the town of Piedimonte. As at Taormina, the station is on the shore, quite irrespective of the town. The day is grey, misty and squally. Now and then the wind sweeps off the...
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