Rose Daughter
Language: English
Pages: 304
ISBN: 0441005837
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Twenty years ago, Robin McKinley dazzled readers with the power of her novel Beauty. Now this extraordinarily gifted novelist returns to the story of Beauty and the Beast with a fresh perspective, ingenuity, and mature insight.
With Rose Daughter, she presents her finest and most deeply felt work--a compelling, richly imagined, and haunting exploration of the transformative power of love.
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Has long been ill. They would dash through the carriage-way, Beauty thought, run for the glasshouse; she did not believe any wolves would dare cross that threshold. But as she thought this, more wolves leapt into the clearing, but they came from the carriage-way, and Beauty’s hands froze on the Beast’s shoulder, as she stooped beside him, trying to steady his attempts to rise to his feet. There was a brief soundless whirr just past her face, and a soft plop against her bent thighs. “Oh, bat,.
Bleak; the warmth of the turning year never came, and the rain never stopped. Summer arrived in seas of brown mud; the rivers overflowed and drowned the seed in the fields and more than a few calves and lambs. Everyone was still wearing coats and boots at midsummer; everyone was low and discouraged; everyone said they couldn’t remember a year like this.… And Beauty’s roses never bloomed. They tried. The bushes put out leaves, draggled as they were by the relentless rain, but the long, arching.
Branches drooped under the weight of the water, the weight of the heavy dark sky. The climber over the kitchen door was torn out of its hold on the thatch, and Beauty spent a long dreary afternoon tying it away from the door so that she need not cut the long stems. She came indoors soaked to the skin and spent the next week sneezing and shivering and standing over bowls of hot water and mint oil with a towel round her head to keep in the steam. The bushes all produced a few hopeful flower-buds,.
Stood in the centre of the first room, so that Beauty had to go round it to reach the next, had roses carved in relief round its edge, and inlaid in exquisitely tinted pietra dura across its surface; the stems of the torchères, standing in slender elegant clusters in every corner, were wound round with roses, and tiny rosebuds surrounded each individual candle; a stone maiden, not unlike the one Beauty had seen in the pool in the front garden, stood holding a bowl of roses over her head, whose.
Absent. Now silence lay, cold and thick and paralysing as a heavy fall of snow. Beauty shivered, and tucked her hands under her elbows. “I’ll tell Father, then, when he wakes. At least something is settled.…” Her voice tailed off. She rose stiffly to her feet. “I have several more letters I should write tonight.” She turned to leave. “Beauty—” Lionheart’s voice. Beauty stopped by Jeweltongue’s chair, which was nearest the door, and turned back. “Thank you,” said her eldest sister. Jeweltongue.