the song of the lark willa cather review

There was something individual in the way in which his reddish-brown hair, parted cleanly at the side, bushed over his high forehead. He was a distinguished-looking man, for that part of the world, at least. He was tall, with massive shoulders which he held stiffly, and a large, well-shaped head. On the top shelf stood a long row of thirty or forty volumes, bound all alike in dark mottled board covers, with imitation leather backs.Īs the doctor in New England villages is proverbially old, so the doctor in small Colorado towns twenty-five years ago was generally young. It was filled with medical books of every thickness and color. Behind the stove a wide bookcase, with double glass doors, reached from the floor to the ceiling. The doctor’s flat-top desk was large and well made the papers were in orderly piles, under glass weights. The study had worn, unpainted floors, but there was a look of winter comfort about it. The waiting-room was carpeted and stiffly furnished, something like a country parlor. The isinglass sides of the hard-coal burner were aglow, and the air in the study was so hot that as he came in the doctor opened the door into his little operating-room, where there was no stove. Larry, the doctor’s man, had lit the overhead light in the waiting-room and the double student’s lamp on the desk in the study. His offices were in the Duke Block, over the drug store. HOWARD ARCHIE had just come up from a game of pool with the Jewish clothier and two traveling men who happened to be staying overnight in Moonstone.

The song of the lark willa cather review