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In the depths of a harsh Yorkshire winter, I embarked on a journey that inspired this book. Eager to meet a few schoolmasters, I was warned they might be hesitant to welcome the author of the _Pickwick Papers_. To navigate this, I collaborated with a friend who had connections in Yorkshire and devised a clever ruse. He provided me with letters of introduction, supposedly written by my traveling companion, concerning a fictional little boy left with his widowed mother. The mother, desperate for help, considered sending him to a Yorkshire school, and I was to be her friend seeking guidance on local schools. I traveled to several towns known for their educational establishments, but it wasn't until I reached a particular town—nameless here—that I found the recipient of my letter absent. However, he ventured out through the snow to the inn where I was staying that evening. After dinner, he needed little encouragement to join me by the fire and share some wine. I fear he may no longer be alive.
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- Título
- Nicholas Nickleby
- Idioma
- Inglés
- Autores
- Charles Dickens
- Editorial
- Penguin Books
- Publicado en
- 1994
- Páginas
- 816
- ISBN10
- 0140620575
- ISBN13
- 9780140620573
- Serie
- Recogida
- Penguin popular classics
- Etiquetas
- Ficción, Clásicos, Inglaterra
- Calificación
- 5 de 5
- Descripción
- In the depths of a harsh Yorkshire winter, I embarked on a journey that inspired this book. Eager to meet a few schoolmasters, I was warned they might be hesitant to welcome the author of the _Pickwick Papers_. To navigate this, I collaborated with a friend who had connections in Yorkshire and devised a clever ruse. He provided me with letters of introduction, supposedly written by my traveling companion, concerning a fictional little boy left with his widowed mother. The mother, desperate for help, considered sending him to a Yorkshire school, and I was to be her friend seeking guidance on local schools. I traveled to several towns known for their educational establishments, but it wasn't until I reached a particular town—nameless here—that I found the recipient of my letter absent. However, he ventured out through the snow to the inn where I was staying that evening. After dinner, he needed little encouragement to join me by the fire and share some wine. I fear he may no longer be alive.

















