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Kerfol has ratings and 20 reviews. Tom said: This story is not exactly what I expected going in. Even so, it is a great example of gothic horror and. It is one of the many ghost stories Edith Wharton wrote and was also included in the collection Ghosts published in Kerfol. cover design. Edith Wharton aimait les chiens, et elle a exprimé la force de ce sentiment dans deux passages-clés de ses écrits autobiographiques. «Kerfol» est la seule de.

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Half the width of the court lay between us, and we gazed at each other silently across it. As whagton that of Herve de Lanrivain, I had only to apply to his collateral descendant for its subsequent details. It was dark when I saw Lanrivain’s motor lamps at the cross- roads — and I wasn’t exactly sorry to see them. Yet I had not read Kerfol when I wrote it… Both young ladies are impoverished noblewomen, married very young edlth far older and richer men who treat them with unspeakable cruelty.

And it will be popular… Now. Harper and Rowe,pp. Plan Wharton, Dogs, and Serious Discourse. Aug 11, Karen rated it liked it.

Was this the only reason? That is, if recognizing cruelty to dogs allows readers to see cruelty to women, understanding the silence of ghosts may help readers to hear the silence of dogs. You know every Breton house has its ghost-story; and some of them are rather unpleasant. The following week Yves de Cornault rode back to Kerfol, sent for his vassals and tenants, and told them he was to be married at All Saints to Kerfoo de Barrigan of Douarnenez. It was more as if they had lived a long time with people who never spoke to them or looked at them: Inwardly I was thinking: It was true that he had never struck or threatened her; but he kept her like a prisoner at Kerfol, and when he rode away to Morlaix or Quimper or Rennes edit set so close a watch on her that she could not pick a flower in the garden without having a waiting-woman at her heels.

But there was more than that: University of Alabama Press, As I advanced, the dogs separated and slid away into different corners of the court.

Kerfol, by Edith Wharton

The dogs –” At that point she was carried out of the court in a swoon. It seemed to have been ill-treated by the gypsies, and clung to her plaintively when she took it from them.


She hid him in her bed, and the next morning was about to have him taken back to the peasant woman when she heard her husband ride into the court. Winter set in, and the short days passed, and the long nights, one by one; and she heard nothing of Herve de Lanrivain. The accused held to her statement for the whargon two days, in spite of its improbability; but on the third day word was brought to her that Kerfoll de Lanrivain, a young nobleman of the neighbourhood, had eidth arrested for complicity in the crime.

When her husband suddenly appears at the top of the stairs, she claims he was attacked and mauled to death by a pack of dogs.

A Feminist-Vegetarian Critical Theory. I should have liked to rouse them for a minute, to coax them into a game or a scamper; but the longer I looked into their fixed and weary eyes the more preposterous the idea became.

Story of the Week: Kerfol

Besides, the type of the book was detestable. In the last analysis, the impression they produced was that of having in common one memory so deep and dark that nothing that had happened since was worth either a growl or a wag.

It was like the ghost of a box-walk, its lustrous green all turning to the shadowy greyness of the avenues. Jul 25, Mikael Kuoppala rated it did not like it. Day after day by the hearth among the spinning maids, night after night alone on her bed, wharhon wondered and trembled. I knew nothing of the history of Kerfol — I was new to Brittany, and Lanrivain had never mentioned the name to me till the day before — but one couldn’t as much as glance at that pile without feeling in it a long accumulation of history.

At length the Judge who had previously shown a certain kindness to her said leaning forward a little, one may suppose, from his row of dozing wharhon Possibly her explanation, whatever it was, had seemed convincing when she poured it out to him in the heat of their first private colloquy; but now that it was exposed to the cold daylight of judicial scrutiny, and the banter of the town, he was thoroughly ashamed of it, and would have sacrificed her without a scruple to save his professional reputation.


I sat down on a stone and lit a cigarette. Just a moment while we sign you in to your Goodreads account. Gender and the Gothic in the Fiction of Edith Wharton. It might be krrfol her husband had killed him; or merely that he had been robbed of the necklet. Not his wife, at any rate — she was an old story by now.

It represents a young woman with a small oval face, almost pointed, yet wide enough for a full mouth with a tender depression at the corners.

The dogs stood motionless, watching me. It was true, she explained to the court, that she had made the maids search for the necklet — they all believed the dog had lost it in the park. It captured my imagination enough to frighten me a little while I was reading it, but continued to haunt my thoughts long after I had finished. whartton

If we’d remembered, we never should have sent you today — but then, after all, one doesn’t half believe that sort of thing, does one? Published December 1st by Tark Classic Fiction first published Her husband was much as usual: The dogs experience the helplessness and terror of violent death, an emotional trauma that has left them caught between worlds, forever longing for and unable to experience human contact.

Yet as I looked at his stiff and sallow effigy, in the dark dress of the Jansenists, I almost found myself envying his fate. Besides, the type of the book was detestable.

It was more as if they had lived a long time with people who never spoke to lerfol or looked at them: I look forward to hearing other people’s impressions of this story. It yielded, and Whatron walked under the tunnel formed by the thickness of the chemin de ronde. Certainly no house had ever more completely and finally broken with the present.

What does it call itself? Instead, as I advanced, he gradually fell back, and I noticed that another dog, a vague rough brindled thing, had limped up on a lame leg. Irving Howe, edEdith Wharton: