Summary Of ' Yes, Now '

“On the outskirts of town, within the verge of the peninsula, but not in close vicinity to any other habitation, there was a small thatched cottage. It had been built by an earlier settler, and abandoned because the soil about it was too sterile for cultivation, while its comparative remoteness put it out of the sphere of that social activity which already marked the habits of the emigrants. It stood on the shore, looking across a basin of the sea at the forest-covered hills toward the west.”

The mouldy, rotting, brown house stood in front of Emily, only fear keeping her feet planted to the ground. Moaning and creaking noises being projected from the house. The grass was damp from the evening fog and every time she took a step the mud squelched. The bottom step squeaked as she applied pressure with her foot, she let out a sigh of relief as the old structure hadn’t swallowed her up. The door, slightly off colour from the rest of the house, loomed over her like a giant as he reached for the brass door handle. A shiver ran through her body like an electric current, the musty smell of a house that had been long abandoned filled Emily’s nose. It was dim and uninviting. The furniture dusty and old, looking as if it would crumble to dust if she was to touch it. Mould ate away at

He surveyed the houses along the streets washed-out over the years. Galvanized roofing, lashed by successive typhoons, rusted and bent. None of these houses underwent any facelift. Upon arriving, he stepped out of the calesa and navigated the potholes. His family had moved to a bigger house than the one across the street. The mango tree he used to climb had grown huge, dressed with shimmering leaves. This foreshadowed a hot, humid afternoon, and warm evening. That

In this passage of The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls, the reader obtains a very in depth description of what the Walls Family home in Welch is like once they move in. The author is this text is conveying how poor of a state their new home is. Walls uses the literary element figurative language to reveal the state of their home to the reader.

Chapter 1 A young woman appears out of nowhere and quickly catches up to another who's dashing along a moonlit lane. "Are we late?" She asks as she falls into step besides the older woman. "No not yet, but we need to hurry, we don't have much time." "Follow me," the older woman replies, and her dark cloak billows about casting shadows on the high stone walls that border the lane. They walked side by side in silence for a long ways and then through a set of huge iron gates swung opened before them and onto a narrow driveway. A manor house grew out of the darkness at the end of the straight drive, lights glinting in the windows. Gravel crackled beneath their feet as speeding toward the front door, which swung inward at their approach, though

A review of the house itself suggests that an architectural hierarchy of privacy increases level by level. At first, the house seems to foster romantic sensibilities; intrigued by its architectural connotations, the narrator embarks upon its description immediately--it is the house that she wants to "talk about" (Gilman 11). Together with its landscape, the house is a "most beautiful place" that stands "quite alone . . . well back from the road, quite three miles from the village" (Gilman 11). The estate's grounds, moreover, consist of "hedges and walls and gates that lock" (Gilman 11). As such, the house and its grounds are markedly depicted as mechanisms of confinement--ancestral places situated within a legacy of control and

“Beautiful names,” said Joan. “All three of them.” She reached out and touched Perceval’s jaw with care. “You’ve experienced such a terrible loss, but you’re not bitter. In fact, you seem like a good soul.”

After walking an hour, they finally came to a place where they would rest. They weren’t sure where they were, but when their mother had seen some signs she immediately yelled excited, “Oh, this is where your aunt’s house should be. We could stay here until we find ourselves a proper house!”

“Who killed your parents Jackie? What is going on!”, I yelled as I realized I was so out of the loop. This was all too much for one moment. First the gash on her neck and now I find out her parents are dead. I started to wonder if she was crazy, how could they be dead and she just wanted to run away? Something had to be wrong, this could not be happening.

Earl turned onto Main Street of his new home, Lyme Connecticut and was immediately struck with a child-like sense of wonder. The cobblestone road was lined with white shops packed side to side; everything from toys to mannequins stare back at him from the windows. As he, his mother, and his father continued down the road, a beautiful shimmering bay could be seen from the distance, the August sun reflecting brilliantly off the ocean water, seemingly calling for him to jump in. They continued, taking many turns and different road for about 15 minutes until they arrived at their new home in a small neighborhood of about 20 houses. Earl exited the car and took his suit case out of his family's black hatchback Volvo and walked towards the house,

“You’ll make a lovely bouquet for my kitchen,” she whispered to the fragrant blossoms. Standing straight, she made her way to her home, looking over her shoulder at the dirt road passing along the side of it. It had been busy in the recent months, but today, it remained empty, stretching out into the horizon and into the small village below.

A painful groan sounded from somewhere unseen in the starlight, and I cautiously approached the trees to my left. I then remembered there had been a sharp crack, like a branch breaking in a spring storm. Emma was lying on the ground on top of what used to be a low wooden fence, the blackened soles of her feet facing me. The first thing that came to mind in that moment was that she had the dirtiest feet I had ever seen, and for some reason this bothered me more than the fact that she had broken what was probably national property. She grasped my sweaty palms in hers and heaved herself up, remarkable unscathed from her tumble. I suppose she was hurting a lot more than she could currently process. The pieces of fence, slick with humidity, lay splintered at our feet. Paler wood that had been freshly exposed with the break, stared at us accusingly. Without a word we continued onto the path that cut through to her

We Entered the Fully furnished antique home avoiding the broken glass pieces stuck around the perimeter of the window. The wallpaper was peeling and the furniture was eaten up by mice and rats. We walk around the room for five minutes silent until Grayson breaks the silence of course saying “Woah creepy” pointing at the large family portrait with each face smudged out with black ink. “Well let's look around then just leave” I say with Aleisha backing me up. “Nah nah” Grayson alluded in perfect harmony with my brother adding “Leigh Settle its just a house an old house”. “The Pattison Murder house where like everyone in the family was apparently killed by the son” Aleisha interjected. “Key word there, apparently” Grayson laughed rolling his eyes.I let out a slight sigh as I walked down the Hall with Aleisha. The Floors creaked and parts of the ceiling were smothered with Black

Ten year old Lily Mollahan, with her father, has always lived in St. Albans. Every summer once school had ended Lily and her father went to Rockaway to spend the summer on Lily’s Grams house on the stilts. Lily loved when school was out and they got to go live in Rockaway because Lily could swim, go to the movies, and hang out with her friend Margaret Dillon, but this summer would be different from all the others.

It took very long, but by sunset, she recognized her farm and her fields. But it had been destroyed. The fields looked as if they had erupted, and her animals were missing. But her house was the saddest . . . it was gone. All her belongings were scattered everywhere.