Of Human Bondage (Everyman's Library Classics )

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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. 1915 edition. Excerpt: ...with little white clouds. At the end of the ornamental water was the gray mass of the Horse Guards. The ordered elegance of the scene had the charm of an eighteenth-century picture. It reminded you not of Watteau, whose landscapes are so idyllic that they recall t i 384 OF HUMAN BONDAGE only the woodland glens seen in dreams, but of the more prosaic Jean-Baptiste Pater. Philip's heart was filled with lightness. He realised, what he had only read before, that art (for there was_axkjii the manner in which he looked upon nature) might1iberaTe--th JQul-4rom pain. They went to an Italian restaurant for luncheon and ordered themselves a fiaschetto of Chianti. Lingering over the meal they talked on. They reminded one another of the people they had known at Heidelberg, they spoke of Philip's friends in Paris, they talked of books, pictures, morals, life; and suddenly Philip heard a clock strike three. He remembered that by this time Mildred was married. He felt a sort of stitch in his heart, and for a minute or two he could not hear what Hayward was saying, i But he filled his glass with Chianti. He was unaccustomed to alcohol and it had gone to his head. For the time at all events he was free from care. His quick brain had lain idle for so many months that he was intoxicated now with conversation. He was thankful to have someone to talk to who would interest himself in the things that interested him. "I say don't let's waste this beautiful day in looking for rooms. I'll put you up to-night. You can look for rooms tomorrow or Monday." "All right. What shall we do?" answered Hayward. "Let's get on a penny steamboat and go down to Greenwich." The idea appealed to Hayward, and they jumped into a cab which took them to Westminster Bridge. They...

About the Author

William Somerset Maugham was born at the British Embassy in Paris in 1874 into a family of lawyers. Orphaned at ten and exiled to an indifferent uncle and hated boarding school in Kent, he escaped briefly to Heidelberg university where he discovered literature, love and his urge to write, he qualified as a doctor in London, exploiting his medical experiences not to practice but to pen a sensational novel, Liza of Lambeth, that launched his career. There followed a long and extraordinary life in which Maugham produced many hit plays and bestselling novels, took lovers of both sexes, spied in two world wars for Britain, travelled the world and became enormously rich. Along the way, based entirely on his own acquaintances and adventures, he compiled the greatest collection of short stories ever written. He lived his last 40 years in an extravagant art-filled villa in the Riviera and died in 1965, aged 91.

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