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Sun-Babies

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Sun-Babies: Studies in the Child-life of India by Cornelia Sorabji My fastest real baby friend was a Moon-baby. He was English, he was adorable, and I began to know him very soon after the fairies brought him dancing to the Earth on a silver-blue Moon-ray. A little pensive in repose, his dear face was, when he smiled, the gladness of a spring meadow of golden cowslips. In my heart I treasure many memories. . . . Geoffrey coming in from his walk with a half-eaten ginger nut which he had saved for his friend: "I brang it all the way for you"; or Geoffrey with a crushed dandelion in a hot little fist, another offering; Geoffrey listening to nursery tales; Geoffrey adoring his mother, like whom, for him, to the end of his days, no one ever existed, or could exist; Geoffrey at five years of age, when on a rare occasion I had to leave the house without bidding him good-bye. That was a beloved nursery memory. When told that I had gone, he would not at first believe. "She did not tell me," he kept insisting. But belief followed on fruitless search, and then: "Come upstars, Nannie," said he to his nurse; and, when up in the nursery, old Nannie was made to cut off a gold-brown curl to wrap away in silver paper against my return.

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  • Språk:
  • Engelska
  • ISBN:
  • 9798880540464
  • Format:
  • Häftad
  • Sidor:
  • 80
  • Utgiven:
  • 8. januari 2024
  • Mått:
  • 152x5x229 mm.
  • Vikt:
  • 131 g.
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Leveranstid: 2-4 veckor
Förväntad leverans: 27. januari 2025
Förlängd ångerrätt till 31. januari 2025
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Beskrivning av Sun-Babies

Sun-Babies: Studies in the Child-life of India by Cornelia Sorabji
My fastest real baby friend was a Moon-baby. He was English, he was adorable, and I began to know him very soon after the fairies brought him dancing to the Earth on a silver-blue Moon-ray.
A little pensive in repose, his dear face was, when he smiled, the gladness of a spring meadow of golden cowslips.
In my heart I treasure many memories. . . . Geoffrey coming in from his walk with a half-eaten ginger nut which he had saved for his friend: "I brang it all the way for you"; or Geoffrey with a crushed dandelion in a hot little fist, another offering; Geoffrey listening to nursery tales; Geoffrey adoring his mother, like whom, for him, to the end of his days, no one ever existed, or could exist; Geoffrey at five years of age, when on a rare occasion I had to leave the house without bidding him good-bye. That was a beloved nursery memory. When told that I had gone, he would not at first believe. "She did not tell me," he kept insisting. But belief followed on fruitless search, and then: "Come upstars, Nannie," said he to his nurse; and, when up in the nursery, old Nannie was made to cut off a gold-brown curl to wrap away in silver paper against my return.

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