Surly Tim: A Lancashire Story

Fiction & Literature, Psychological, Classics, Romance, Contemporary
Cover of the book Surly Tim: A Lancashire Story by Frances Hodgson Burnett, GOLDEN CLASSIC PRESS
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Author: Frances Hodgson Burnett ISBN: 1230002954707
Publisher: GOLDEN CLASSIC PRESS Publication: November 30, 2018
Imprint: Language: English
Author: Frances Hodgson Burnett
ISBN: 1230002954707
Publisher: GOLDEN CLASSIC PRESS
Publication: November 30, 2018
Imprint:
Language: English

*** Original and Unabridged Content. Made available by GOLDEN CLASSIC PRESS***

Synopsis:
"Sorry to hear my fellow-workmen speak so disparagin' o' me? Well, Mester, that's as it may be yo' know. Happen my fellow-workmen ha' made a bit o' a mistake-happen what seems loike crustiness to them beant so much crustiness as summat else-happen I mought do my bit o' complainin' too. Yo' munnot trust aw yo' hear, Mester; that's aw I can say." I looked at the man's bent face quite curiously, and, judging from its rather heavy but still not unprepossessing outline, I could not really call it a bad face, or even a sulky one. And yet both managers and hands had given me a bad account of Tim Hibblethwaite. "Surly Tim," they called him, and each had something to say about his sullen disposition to silence, and his short answers. Not that he was accused of anything like misdemeanor, but he was "glum loike," the factory people said, and "a surly fellow well deserving his name," as the master of his room had told me.

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*** Original and Unabridged Content. Made available by GOLDEN CLASSIC PRESS***

Synopsis:
"Sorry to hear my fellow-workmen speak so disparagin' o' me? Well, Mester, that's as it may be yo' know. Happen my fellow-workmen ha' made a bit o' a mistake-happen what seems loike crustiness to them beant so much crustiness as summat else-happen I mought do my bit o' complainin' too. Yo' munnot trust aw yo' hear, Mester; that's aw I can say." I looked at the man's bent face quite curiously, and, judging from its rather heavy but still not unprepossessing outline, I could not really call it a bad face, or even a sulky one. And yet both managers and hands had given me a bad account of Tim Hibblethwaite. "Surly Tim," they called him, and each had something to say about his sullen disposition to silence, and his short answers. Not that he was accused of anything like misdemeanor, but he was "glum loike," the factory people said, and "a surly fellow well deserving his name," as the master of his room had told me.

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