Sun-Babies
- Indbinding:
- Paperback
- Sideantal:
- 80
- Udgivet:
- 8. januar 2024
- Størrelse:
- 152x5x229 mm.
- Vægt:
- 131 g.
- 2-3 uger.
- 13. december 2024
På lager
Normalpris
Abonnementspris
- Rabat på køb af fysiske bøger
- 1 valgfrit digitalt ugeblad
- 20 timers lytning og læsning
- Adgang til 70.000+ titler
- Ingen binding
Abonnementet koster 75 kr./md.
Ingen binding og kan opsiges når som helst.
- 1 valgfrit digitalt ugeblad
- 20 timers lytning og læsning
- Adgang til 70.000+ titler
- Ingen binding
Abonnementet koster 75 kr./md.
Ingen binding og kan opsiges når som helst.
Beskrivelse af 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.
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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