Word: edwina
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...When Edwina Marsh was a teenager, her father had once said: "My girl, don't be a fool-put your shoulders back, hold up your head, and don't be ashamed to show the world that you are shaped as a woman ought to be." But all her life she remained ashamed, awkward and uncontrollably shy. Now she was 41, "a big colourless woman in a brown skirt and a high-necked blue sweater. The shoulders were square, the neck long and firm, the legs straight and big, like pillars...
...taken the little money her father had left her, walked out on her domineering spinster roommate in London and bought a lonesome cliffside house on the Cornish coast. In her second novel, British Author Jon Godden* has drawn a terrifying picture of the consequences of Edwina's loneliness, a warning of the psychological perils that beset those humans who cannot make their terms with humanity...
...house by the sea, dragging a sprained ankle, comes Ross Dennehay, a deserter from the U.S. Army in England. An amoral boor whose only aim is to get back to the U.S. and some easy wartime money, he has already killed two people in making his getaway. Edwina hides him for ten days, nurses him, becomes his mistress. She stands in horror of his past, suffers from his coarseness, even realizes that Dennehay wouldn't hesitate to kill her at the first suspicious move. But greater than her revulsion and fear is the larger fear of the lonesomeness that...
...movie), was haunting Novelist du Maurier. Six years after she was charged with lifting the plot from a Brazilian novelist (who later dropped the suit), Writer du Maurier had to defend herself against the same charge by a U.S. writer. In a Manhattan court, the son of the late Edwina Levin MacDonald (who died after she brought suit) charged that Rebecca was a steal from 1) his mother's novel, Blind Windows, 2) her short story, I Planned to Murder My Husband...
...last the door chimes echoed through the house. "Well, child," she said to Edwina, "what are you waiting for?" Poor, flustered Edwina, whose childhood dated back to the days of the St. Louis World's Fair (and whose corset hurt her, besides), stammered, "But, mother, aren't you . . .?" Edwina sprang nervously, dropped her needlework, began fussing with her dress and her hair. By the time she reached the front hall, the colored maid had opened the door. There was Mal, her brother. And there, standing with him, was Nora, his grown daughter, whom none of the family...