The evening sunshine fell athwart the pleasant gardens of Berrington Manor, glorifying all. Stray beams of light stole through the mullioned windows of the old grey building, peeping unbidden into dusty corners and dim recesses. They shone, too, on the figure of an old man, seated near an open casement, in the wainscotted library. But Sir Henry Berrington was heedless of the dancing shafts of glory which played daringly amongst the powdered hairs of his wig and shone on the gold buttons adorning his blue coat.…
Your support pays for translating these classics into more languages.
Support for $12/month DonateSubscribers read with instant translation, without waiting for the free daily limit.