Woman in White (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)
Table of Contents
FROM THE PAGES OF THE WOMAN IN WHITE
Title Page
Copyright Page
WILKIE COLLINS
THE WORLD OF WILKIE COLLINS AND THE WOMAN IN WHITE
Introduction
Dedication
Preface [1860]
Preface to the Present Edition [1861 ]
THE FIRST EPOCH
The Story begun by Walter Hartright, of Clement’s Inn, Teacher of Drawing.
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
The Story continued by Vincent Gilmore, of Chancery Lane, Solicitor.
I
II
III
IV
The Story continued by Marian Halcombe, in Extracts from her Diary.
I
II
THE SECOND EPOCH
The Story continued by Marian Halcombe.
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
The Story continued by Frederick Fairlie, Esq., of Limmeridge House.
The Story continued by Eliza Michelson, Housekeeper at Blackwater Park.
I
II
The Story Continued in Several Narratives.
I. The Narrative of Hester Pinhorn, Cook in the Service of Count Fosco.
2. The Narrative of the Doctor.
3. The Narrative of Jane Gould.
4. The Narrative of the Tombstone.
5. The Narrative of Walter Hartright.
THE THIRD EPOCH
The Story continued by Walter Hartright.
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
I
II
III
ENDNOTES
INSPIRED BY THE WOMAN IN WHITE
COMMENTS & QUESTIONS
FOR FURTHER READING
FROM THE PAGES OF THE WOMAN IN WHITE
This is the story of what a Woman’s patience can endure, and what a Man’s resolution can achieve. (page 9)
There, as if it had that moment sprung out of the earth or dropped from the heaven—stood the figure of a solitary Woman, dressed from head to foot in white garments. (page 24)
For aught I knew to the contrary, the whole future of Laura Fairlie’s life might be determined, for good or for evil, by my winning or losing the confidence of the forlorn creature who stood trembling by her mother’s grave. (page 95)
‘In the mean time, let me thoroughly understand the object to be gained by my interview with Anne Catherick. Is there no doubt in your mind that the person who confined her in the Asylum was Sir Percival Glyde?’ (page 107)
Her looks and tones, when she spoke, were of a kind to make me more than serious—they distressed me. Her words, few as they were, betrayed a desperate clinging to the past which boded ill for the future. (page 141)
Who else is left you? No father, no brother—no living creature but the helpless, useless woman who writes these sad lines. (page 191)
His white mice live in a little pagoda of gaily-painted wirework, designed and made by himself. They are almost as tame as the canaries, and they are perpetually let out, like the canaries. They crawl all over him, popping in and out of his waistcoat, and sitting in couples, white as snow, on his capacious shoulders. He seems to be even fonder of his mice than of his other pets, smiles at them, and kisses them. (page 216)
‘Tell him, next, that crimes cause their own detection. There’s another bit of copy-book morality for you, Fosco. Crimes cause their own detection. What infernal humbug!’ (page 228)
‘Human ingenuity, my friend, has hitherto only discovered two ways in which a man can manage a woman. One way is to knock her down—a method largely adopted by the brutal lower orders of the people, but utterly abhorrent to the refined and educated classes above them. The other way (much longer, much more difficult, but, in the end, not less certain) is never to accept a provocation at a woman’s hands. It holds with animals, it holds with children, and it holds with women, who are nothing but children grown up.’ (page 317)
The nurse, on the first night in the Asylum, had shown her the marks on each article of her underclothing as it was taken off, and had said, not at all irritably or unkindly, ‘Look at your own name on your own clothes, and don’t worry us all any more about being Lady Glyde. She’s dead and buried; and you’re alive and hearty.’ (page 420)
All remembrance of the heartless injury the man’s crimes had inflicted; of the love, the innocence, the happiness he had pitilessly laid waste; of the oath I had sworn in my own heart to summon him to the terrible reckoning that he deserved—passed from my memory like a dream. I remembered nothing but the horror of his situation. I felt nothing but the natural human impulse to save him from a frightful death. (page 505)
My life hung by a thread—and I knew it. At that final moment, I thought with his mind; I felt with his fingers—I was as certain, as if I had seen it, of what he kept hidden from me in the drawer. (page 577)
A great crowd clamoured and heaved round the door. There was evidently something inside which excited the popular curiosity, and fed the popular appetite for horror.
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