Early Draft of "Lady Blanche's Farm"
Dublin Core
Title
Early Draft of "Lady Blanche's Farm"
Description
This is the first page of her first chapter of "Lady Blanche's Farm". Can see all the changes she's made to the page for the story to be better.
Creator
Frances Parkinson Keyes
Source
From the collection of Frances Parkinson Keyes Papers, Special Collections, University of Vermont Library.
Contributor
Brodey Lajoie & Rachey Murray
Format
Hand-written
Type
Draft
Early-writing
Early-writing
Document Item Type Metadata
Text
Lady Blanche Farm
A Narrative for the Commonplace
To My Three Sons
Henry, John, and Francis
With their Mothers love
Chapter I
“I’ve swallowed,” said Philip Starr to himself, “about two bushels of dust –don’t they ever oil their roads, in Vermont, I wonder? And what I haven’t swallowed is on the out-side of me, sifting in gradually. I’m sure I can’t make Burlington tonight anyway- it must be somewhere over on the other side of the state. In a small state, Vermont is about the largest-“
He interrupted his own train of thought by laughing aloud, and brought his motor to a stop the powdery highway which he had [been mentally condemning].
“I note, cropping out again as he locked the car, “ he grieved, “[or maybe I’m still dippy-typliod legs die hard]. Anyways, I’m going to see if this brook doesn’t wind far enough from the road somewhere soon for me to get in it without getting arrested in the process. I had no idea it got hot way here in May-“
He rolled under the barb-wire fence and scrambled into the underbrush of the woods that [sheltered] the road. Never-never that he could remember-had he been in a place so utterly still. The little brook,
A Narrative for the Commonplace
To My Three Sons
Henry, John, and Francis
With their Mothers love
Chapter I
“I’ve swallowed,” said Philip Starr to himself, “about two bushels of dust –don’t they ever oil their roads, in Vermont, I wonder? And what I haven’t swallowed is on the out-side of me, sifting in gradually. I’m sure I can’t make Burlington tonight anyway- it must be somewhere over on the other side of the state. In a small state, Vermont is about the largest-“
He interrupted his own train of thought by laughing aloud, and brought his motor to a stop the powdery highway which he had [been mentally condemning].
“I note, cropping out again as he locked the car, “ he grieved, “[or maybe I’m still dippy-typliod legs die hard]. Anyways, I’m going to see if this brook doesn’t wind far enough from the road somewhere soon for me to get in it without getting arrested in the process. I had no idea it got hot way here in May-“
He rolled under the barb-wire fence and scrambled into the underbrush of the woods that [sheltered] the road. Never-never that he could remember-had he been in a place so utterly still. The little brook,