Although it was so brilliantly fine light like white wine splashed over the Jardins Publiques had decided on her fur. The air was motionless, but when you ope was just a faint chill, like a chill from a glass of iced water before you sip, and now and again a leaf came drifting touched her fur. Dear little thing! It was nice to feel i box that afternoon, shaken out the moth life back into the dim little eyes. "What has been happening to me?" said the sad little eyes. Oh, how sweet it was to see them snap the nose, which was of some black composition, wasn't at all firm. It must have had a knock, somehow. Never mind when it was absolutely necessary... Little rog Little rogue biting its tail just by her left ear. She could have taken it off and laid it on her lap and stroked it. She felt a tingling in her hands and arms, but that came from walking, she supposed. And when something gentle seemed to move in her bosom. There were a number of people out this afternoon, far more than last Sunday. And the band sounded louder and gayer. That was because the Season had b the band played all the year round on Sundays, out of season it was never the same. It was like some one playing with only the family to listen; it didn't care how it played if there weren't any strangers present. Wasn't the conductor we was sure it was new. He scraped with his foot and flapped his arms like a rooster about to crow, and the bandsmen sitting in the green rotunda blew out their cheeks and glared at the music. Now there came a little "flutey" bit drops. She was sure it would be repeated. It was; she lifted her head and smiled. Only two people shared her "special" seat: a fine old man in a velvet coat, his hands clasped over a huge carved walking roll of knitting on her embroidered apron. They did not speak. This was disappointing, for Miss Brill always looked forward to the conversation. She had become really quite expert, she thought, at listening as though she lives just for a minute while they talked round her. She glanced, sideways, at the old couple. Perhaps they would go soon. Last Sunday, too, hadn't been as interesting as usual. An Englishman and his wife, he w Panama hat and she button boots. And she'd gone on the whole time about how she ought to wear spectacles; she knew she needed them; but that it was no good getting any; they'd be sure to break and they'd never keep on. And he'd been so pa everything—gold rims, the kind that curved round your ears, little pads inside the bridge. http://www.katherinemansfieldsociety.org MISS BRILL (1920) By Katherine Mansfield Although it was so brilliantly fine—the blue sky powdered with gold and great spots of light like white wine splashed over the Jardins Publiques—Miss Brill was glad that she had decided on her fur. The air was motionless, but when you opened your mouth there was just a faint chill, like a chill from a glass of iced water before you sip, and now and again a leaf cam.

1. Although it was so brilliantly fine
light like white wine splashed over the Jardins Publiques
had decided on her fur. The air was motionless, but when you
ope
was just a faint chill, like a chill from a glass of iced water
before you sip, and now and
again a leaf came drifting
touched her fur. Dear little thing! It was nice to feel i
box that afternoon, shaken out the moth
life back into the dim little eyes. "What has been happening to
me?" said the sad little
eyes. Oh, how sweet it was to see them snap
the nose, which was of some black composition, wasn't at all
firm. It must have had a
knock, somehow. Never mind
when it was absolutely necessary... Little rog
Little rogue biting its tail just by her left ear. She could have
taken it off and laid it on her
lap and stroked it. She felt a tingling in her hands and arms, but
that came from walking,
she supposed. And when
something gentle seemed to move in her bosom.
There were a number of people out this afternoon, far more than
last Sunday. And the
band sounded louder and gayer. That was because the Season
had b
the band played all the year round on Sundays, out of season it
was never the same. It

2. was like some one playing with only the family to listen; it
didn't care how it played if
there weren't any strangers present. Wasn't the conductor we
was sure it was new. He scraped with his foot and flapped his
arms like a rooster about to
crow, and the bandsmen sitting in the green rotunda blew out
their cheeks and glared at
the music. Now there came a little "flutey" bit
drops. She was sure it would be repeated. It was; she lifted her
head and smiled.
Only two people shared her "special" seat: a fine old man in a
velvet coat, his hands
clasped over a huge carved walking
roll of knitting on her embroidered apron. They did not speak.
This was disappointing, for
Miss Brill always looked forward to the conversation. She had
become really quite
expert, she thought, at listening as though she
lives just for a minute while they talked round her.
She glanced, sideways, at the old couple. Perhaps they would go
soon. Last Sunday, too,
hadn't been as interesting as usual. An Englishman and his wife,
he w
Panama hat and she button boots. And she'd gone on the whole
time about how she ought
to wear spectacles; she knew she needed them; but that it was
no good getting any; they'd
be sure to break and they'd never keep on. And he'd been so pa
everything—gold rims, the kind that curved round your ears,
little pads inside the bridge.
http://www.katherinemansfieldsociety.org

3. MISS BRILL (1920)
By Katherine Mansfield
Although it was so brilliantly fine—the blue sky powdered with
gold and great spots of
light like white wine splashed over the Jardins Publiques—Miss
Brill was glad that she
had decided on her fur. The air was motionless, but when you
opened your mouth there
was just a faint chill, like a chill from a glass of iced water
before you sip, and now and
again a leaf came drifting—from nowhere, from the sky. Miss
Brill put up her hand and
touched her fur. Dear little thing! It was nice to feel it again.
She had taken it out of its
box that afternoon, shaken out the moth-powder, given it a good
brush, and rubbed the
life back into the dim little eyes. "What has been happening to
me?" said the sad little
eyes. Oh, how sweet it was to see them snap at her again from
the red eiderdown!... But
the nose, which was of some black composition, wasn't at all
firm. It must have had a
knock, somehow. Never mind—a little dab of black sealing-wax
when the time came
when it was absolutely necessary... Little rogue! Yes, she really
felt like that about it.
Little rogue biting its tail just by her left ear. She could have
taken it off and laid it on her
lap and stroked it. She felt a tingling in her hands and arms, but
that came from walking,
she breathed, something light and sad—no, not sad, exactly

4. something gentle seemed to move in her bosom.
There were a number of people out this afternoon, far more than
last Sunday. And the
band sounded louder and gayer. That was because the Season
had begun. For although
the band played all the year round on Sundays, out of season it
was never the same. It
was like some one playing with only the family to listen; it
didn't care how it played if
there weren't any strangers present. Wasn't the conductor
wearing a new coat, too? She
was sure it was new. He scraped with his foot and flapped his
arms like a rooster about to
crow, and the bandsmen sitting in the green rotunda blew out
their cheeks and glared at
the music. Now there came a little "flutey" bit—very pretty!—a
little chain of bright
drops. She was sure it would be repeated. It was; she lifted her
head and smiled.
Only two people shared her "special" seat: a fine old man in a
velvet coat, his hands
clasped over a huge carved walking-stick, and a big old woman,
sitting upright, with a
roll of knitting on her embroidered apron. They did not speak.
This was disappointing, for
Miss Brill always looked forward to the conversation. She had
become really quite
expert, she thought, at listening as though she didn't listen, at
sitting in other people's
lives just for a minute while they talked round her.
She glanced, sideways, at the old couple. Perhaps they would go
soon. Last Sunday, too,
hadn't been as interesting as usual. An Englishman and his wife,

5. he w
Panama hat and she button boots. And she'd gone on the whole
time about how she ought
to wear spectacles; she knew she needed them; but that it was
no good getting any; they'd
be sure to break and they'd never keep on. And he'd been so
patient. He'd suggested
gold rims, the kind that curved round your ears, little pads
inside the bridge.
1
the blue sky powdered with gold and great spots of
Miss Brill was glad that she
ned your mouth there
was just a faint chill, like a chill from a glass of iced water
before you sip, and now and
from nowhere, from the sky. Miss Brill put up her hand and
t again. She had taken it out of its
powder, given it a good brush, and rubbed the
life back into the dim little eyes. "What has been happening to
me?" said the sad little
at her again from the red eiderdown!... But
the nose, which was of some black composition, wasn't at all
firm. It must have had a
wax when the time came—
ue! Yes, she really felt like that about it.
Little rogue biting its tail just by her left ear. She could have
taken it off and laid it on her

6. lap and stroked it. She felt a tingling in her hands and arms, but
that came from walking,
no, not sad, exactly—
There were a number of people out this afternoon, far more than
last Sunday. And the
egun. For although
the band played all the year round on Sundays, out of season it
was never the same. It
was like some one playing with only the family to listen; it
didn't care how it played if
aring a new coat, too? She
was sure it was new. He scraped with his foot and flapped his
arms like a rooster about to
crow, and the bandsmen sitting in the green rotunda blew out
their cheeks and glared at
a little chain of bright
drops. She was sure it would be repeated. It was; she lifted her
head and smiled.
Only two people shared her "special" seat: a fine old man in a
velvet coat, his hands
old woman, sitting upright, with a
roll of knitting on her embroidered apron. They did not speak.
This was disappointing, for
Miss Brill always looked forward to the conversation. She had
become really quite
didn't listen, at sitting in other people's
She glanced, sideways, at the old couple. Perhaps they would go

7. soon. Last Sunday, too,
hadn't been as interesting as usual. An Englishman and his wife,
he wearing a dreadful
Panama hat and she button boots. And she'd gone on the whole
time about how she ought
to wear spectacles; she knew she needed them; but that it was
no good getting any; they'd
tient. He'd suggested
gold rims, the kind that curved round your ears, little pads
inside the bridge.
No, nothing would please her. "They'll always be sliding down
my nose!" Miss Brill had
wanted to shake her.
The old people sat on the bench, s
to watch. To and fro, in front of the flower
groups paraded, stopped to talk, to greet, to buy a handful of
flowers from the old beggar
who had his tray fixed to the railings. Little children ran among
them, swooping and
laughing; little boys with big white silk bows under their chins,
little girls, little French
dolls, dressed up in velvet and lace. And sometimes a tiny
staggerer came suddenly
rocking into the open from under the trees, stopped, stared, as
suddenly sat down "flop,"
until its small high-stepping mother, like a young hen, rushed
scolding to its rescue. Other
people sat on the benches and green chairs, but they were nearly
always the same, Sunday
after Sunday, and—Miss Brill had often noticed

8. nearly all of them. They were odd, silent, nearly all old, and
from the way they stared
they looked as though they'd just come from dark little rooms or
even
Behind the rotunda the slender trees with yellow leaves down
drooping, and through
them just a line of sea, and beyond the blue sky with gold
Tum-tum-tum tiddle-um! tiddle
Two young girls in red cam
laughed and paired and went off arm
passed, gravely, leading beautiful smoke
A beautiful woman came along
after to hand them to her, and she took them and threw them
away as if they'd been
poisoned. Dear me! Miss Brill didn't know whether to admire
that or not! And now an
ermine toque and a gentleman in gr
and she was wearing the ermine toque she'd bought when her
hair was yellow. Now
everything, her hair, her face, even her eyes, was the same
colour as the shabby ermine,
and her hand, in its cleane
she was so pleased to see him
that afternoon. She described where she'd been
sea. The day was so char
shook his head, lighted a cigarette, slowly breathed a great deep
puff into her face, and
even while she was still talking and laughing, flicked the match
away and walked on. The
ermine toque was alone; she smiled more brightly than ever. But
even the band seemed to
know what she was feeling and played more softly, played
tenderly, and the drum beat,

9. "The Brute! The Brute!" over and over. What would she do?
What was going to happen
now? But as Miss Brill wondered, the ermine toque turned,
raised her hand as though
she'd seen some one else, much nicer, just over there, and
pattered away. And the band
changed again and played more quickly, more gayly than ever,
and the old couple on
Miss Brill's seat got up and marched away, and such a funny old
man with long whiskers
hobbled along in time to the music and was nearly knocked over
by four girls walking
abreast.
Oh, how fascinating it was! How she enjoyed it! How she loved
sitting here, watching it
all! It was like a play. It was exactly like a play. Who could
believe the sky at the back
wasn't painted? But it wasn't till a little brown dog trotted on
solemn and then slowly
trotted off, like a little "theatre" dog, a little dog that had been
drugged, that
http://www.katherinemansfieldsociety.org
No, nothing would please her. "They'll always be sliding down
my nose!" Miss Brill had
The old people sat on the bench, still as statues. Never mind,
there was always the crowd
to watch. To and fro, in front of the flower-beds and the band
rotunda, the couples and
groups paraded, stopped to talk, to greet, to buy a handful of

10. flowers from the old beggar
d to the railings. Little children ran among them, swooping and
laughing; little boys with big white silk bows under their chins,
little girls, little French
dolls, dressed up in velvet and lace. And sometimes a tiny
staggerer came suddenly
e open from under the trees, stopped, stared, as suddenly sat
down "flop,"
stepping mother, like a young hen, rushed scolding to its rescue.
Other
people sat on the benches and green chairs, but they were nearly
always the same, Sunday
Miss Brill had often noticed—there was something funny about
nearly all of them. They were odd, silent, nearly all old, and
from the way they stared
they looked as though they'd just come from dark little rooms or
even—
ehind the rotunda the slender trees with yellow leaves down
drooping, and through
them just a line of sea, and beyond the blue sky with gold-
veined clouds.
um! tiddle-um! tum tiddley-um tum ta! blew the band.
Two young girls in red came by and two young soldiers in blue
met them, and they
laughed and paired and went off arm-in-arm. Two peasant
women with funny straw hats
passed, gravely, leading beautiful smoke-coloured donkeys. A
cold, pale nun hurried by.
A beautiful woman came along and dropped her bunch of

11. violets, and a little boy ran
after to hand them to her, and she took them and threw them
away as if they'd been
poisoned. Dear me! Miss Brill didn't know whether to admire
that or not! And now an
ermine toque and a gentleman in grey met just in front of her.
He was tall, stiff, dignified,
and she was wearing the ermine toque she'd bought when her
hair was yellow. Now
everything, her hair, her face, even her eyes, was the same
colour as the shabby ermine,
and her hand, in its cleaned glove, lifted to dab her lips, was a
tiny yellowish paw. Oh,
she was so pleased to see him—delighted! She rather thought
they were going to meet
that afternoon. She described where she'd been—everywhere,
here, there, along by the
sea. The day was so charming—didn't he agree? And wouldn't
he, perhaps?... But he
shook his head, lighted a cigarette, slowly breathed a great deep
puff into her face, and
even while she was still talking and laughing, flicked the match
away and walked on. The
one; she smiled more brightly than ever. But even the band
seemed to
know what she was feeling and played more softly, played
tenderly, and the drum beat,
"The Brute! The Brute!" over and over. What would she do?
What was going to happen
rill wondered, the ermine toque turned, raised her hand as
though
she'd seen some one else, much nicer, just over there, and
pattered away. And the band
changed again and played more quickly, more gayly than ever,

12. and the old couple on
t up and marched away, and such a funny old man with long
whiskers
hobbled along in time to the music and was nearly knocked over
by four girls walking
Oh, how fascinating it was! How she enjoyed it! How she loved
sitting here, watching it
t was like a play. It was exactly like a play. Who could believe
the sky at the back
wasn't painted? But it wasn't till a little brown dog trotted on
solemn and then slowly
trotted off, like a little "theatre" dog, a little dog that had been
drugged, that
2
No, nothing would please her. "They'll always be sliding down
my nose!" Miss Brill had
till as statues. Never mind, there was always the crowd
beds and the band rotunda, the couples and
groups paraded, stopped to talk, to greet, to buy a handful of
flowers from the old beggar
d to the railings. Little children ran among them, swooping and
laughing; little boys with big white silk bows under their chins,
little girls, little French
dolls, dressed up in velvet and lace. And sometimes a tiny
staggerer came suddenly
e open from under the trees, stopped, stared, as suddenly sat
down "flop,"

13. stepping mother, like a young hen, rushed scolding to its rescue.
Other
people sat on the benches and green chairs, but they were nearly
always the same, Sunday
there was something funny about
nearly all of them. They were odd, silent, nearly all old, and
from the way they stared
—even cupboards!
ehind the rotunda the slender trees with yellow leaves down
drooping, and through
veined clouds.
um tum ta! blew the band.
e by and two young soldiers in blue met them, and they
arm. Two peasant women with funny straw hats
coloured donkeys. A cold, pale nun hurried by.
and dropped her bunch of violets, and a little boy ran
after to hand them to her, and she took them and threw them
away as if they'd been
poisoned. Dear me! Miss Brill didn't know whether to admire
that or not! And now an
ey met just in front of her. He was tall, stiff, dignified,
and she was wearing the ermine toque she'd bought when her
hair was yellow. Now
everything, her hair, her face, even her eyes, was the same
colour as the shabby ermine,
d glove, lifted to dab her lips, was a tiny yellowish paw. Oh,
delighted! She rather thought they were going to meet

14. everywhere, here, there, along by the
didn't he agree? And wouldn't he, perhaps?... But he
shook his head, lighted a cigarette, slowly breathed a great deep
puff into her face, and
even while she was still talking and laughing, flicked the match
away and walked on. The
one; she smiled more brightly than ever. But even the band
seemed to
know what she was feeling and played more softly, played
tenderly, and the drum beat,
"The Brute! The Brute!" over and over. What would she do?
What was going to happen
rill wondered, the ermine toque turned, raised her hand as
though
she'd seen some one else, much nicer, just over there, and
pattered away. And the band
changed again and played more quickly, more gayly than ever,
and the old couple on
t up and marched away, and such a funny old man with long
whiskers
hobbled along in time to the music and was nearly knocked over
by four girls walking
Oh, how fascinating it was! How she enjoyed it! How she loved
sitting here, watching it
t was like a play. It was exactly like a play. Who could believe
the sky at the back
wasn't painted? But it wasn't till a little brown dog trotted on
solemn and then slowly
trotted off, like a little "theatre" dog, a little dog that had been
drugged, that Miss Brill

15. discovered what it was that made it so exciting. They were all
on the stage. They weren't
only the audience, not only looking on; they were acting. Even
she had a part and came
every Sunday. No doubt somebody would have noticed if she
hadn't bee
part of the performance after all. How strange she'd never
thought of it like that before!
And yet it explained why she made such a point of starting from
home at just the same
time each week—so as not to be late for the performance
had quite a queer, shy feeling at telling her English pupils how
she spent her Sunday
afternoons. No wonder! Miss Brill nearly laughed out loud. She
was on the stage. She
thought of the old invalid gentleman to whom she read the new
week while he slept in the garden. She had got quite used to the
frail head on the cotton
pillow, the hollowed eyes, the open mouth and the high pinched
nose. If he'd been dead
she mightn't have noticed for weeks; she wouldn't have
was having the paper read to him by an actress! "An actress!"
The old head lifted; two
points of light quivered in the old eyes. "An actress
the newspaper as though it were the manuscript of
been an actress for a long time."
The band had been having a rest. Now they started again. And
what they played was
warm, sunny, yet there was just a faint chill
no, not sadness—a something that made you want to sing. The
tune lifted, lifted, the light

16. shone; and it seemed to Miss Brill that in another moment all of
them, all the whole
company, would begin singing. The young ones, the laughing
ones who were moving
together, they would begin, and the men's voices, very resolute
and brave, would join
them. And then she too, she too, and the others on the benches
a kind of accompaniment
beautiful—moving... And Miss Brill's eyes filled with tears and
she looked smiling at all
the other members of the company. Yes, we understand, we
understand, she thought
though what they understood she didn't know.
Just at that moment a boy and girl came and sat down wher
They were beautifully dressed; they were in love. The hero and
heroine, of course, just
arrived from his father's yacht. And still soundlessly singing,
still with that trembling
smile, Miss Brill prepared to listen.
"No, not now," said the girl. "Not here, I can't."
"But why? Because of that stupid old thing at the end there?"
asked the boy. "Why does
she come here at all—who wants her? Why doesn't she keep her
silly old mug at home?"
"It's her fu-ur which is so funny," giggled
"Ah, be off with you!" said the boy in an angry whisper. Then:
"Tell me, ma petite
chere—"
"No, not here," said the girl. "Not

17. On her way home she usually bought a slice of honey
Sunday treat. Sometimes there was an almond in her slice,
sometimes not. It made a great
difference. If there was an almond it was like carrying home a
tiny present
http://www.katherinemansfieldsociety.org
discovered what it was that made it so exciting. They were all
on the stage. They weren't
only the audience, not only looking on; they were acting. Even
she had a part and came
every Sunday. No doubt somebody would have noticed if she
hadn't bee
part of the performance after all. How strange she'd never
thought of it like that before!
And yet it explained why she made such a point of starting from
home at just the same
so as not to be late for the performance—and it also explained
why she
had quite a queer, shy feeling at telling her English pupils how
she spent her Sunday
afternoons. No wonder! Miss Brill nearly laughed out loud. She
was on the stage. She
thought of the old invalid gentleman to whom she read the
newspaper four afternoons a
week while he slept in the garden. She had got quite used to the
frail head on the cotton
pillow, the hollowed eyes, the open mouth and the high pinched
nose. If he'd been dead
she mightn't have noticed for weeks; she wouldn't have minded.
But suddenly he knew he

18. was having the paper read to him by an actress! "An actress!"
The old head lifted; two
points of light quivered in the old eyes. "An actress—are ye?"
And Miss Brill smoothed
the newspaper as though it were the manuscript of her part and
said gently; "Yes, I have
been an actress for a long time."
The band had been having a rest. Now they started again. And
what they played was
warm, sunny, yet there was just a faint chill—a something, what
was it?
a something that made you want to sing. The tune lifted, lifted,
the light
shone; and it seemed to Miss Brill that in another moment all of
them, all the whole
company, would begin singing. The young ones, the laughing
ones who were moving
would begin, and the men's voices, very resolute and brave,
would join
them. And then she too, she too, and the others on the
benches—they would come in with
a kind of accompaniment—something low, that scarcely rose or
fell, something so
. And Miss Brill's eyes filled with tears and she looked smiling
at all
the other members of the company. Yes, we understand, we
understand, she thought
though what they understood she didn't know.
Just at that moment a boy and girl came and sat down where the
old couple had been.
They were beautifully dressed; they were in love. The hero and

19. heroine, of course, just
arrived from his father's yacht. And still soundlessly singing,
still with that trembling
smile, Miss Brill prepared to listen.
," said the girl. "Not here, I can't."
"But why? Because of that stupid old thing at the end there?"
asked the boy. "Why does
who wants her? Why doesn't she keep her silly old mug at
home?"
ur which is so funny," giggled the girl. "It's exactly like a fried
whiting."
"Ah, be off with you!" said the boy in an angry whisper. Then:
"Tell me, ma petite
"No, not here," said the girl. "Not yet."
On her way home she usually bought a slice of honey-cake at
the baker'
Sunday treat. Sometimes there was an almond in her slice,
sometimes not. It made a great
difference. If there was an almond it was like carrying home a
tiny present
3
discovered what it was that made it so exciting. They were all
on the stage. They weren't
only the audience, not only looking on; they were acting. Even
she had a part and came
every Sunday. No doubt somebody would have noticed if she
hadn't been there; she was
part of the performance after all. How strange she'd never

20. thought of it like that before!
And yet it explained why she made such a point of starting from
home at just the same
also explained why she
had quite a queer, shy feeling at telling her English pupils how
she spent her Sunday
afternoons. No wonder! Miss Brill nearly laughed out loud. She
was on the stage. She
spaper four afternoons a
week while he slept in the garden. She had got quite used to the
frail head on the cotton
pillow, the hollowed eyes, the open mouth and the high pinched
nose. If he'd been dead
minded. But suddenly he knew he
was having the paper read to him by an actress! "An actress!"
The old head lifted; two
are ye?" And Miss Brill smoothed
her part and said gently; "Yes, I have
The band had been having a rest. Now they started again. And
what they played was
a something, what was it?—not sadness—
a something that made you want to sing. The tune lifted, lifted,
the light
shone; and it seemed to Miss Brill that in another moment all of
them, all the whole
company, would begin singing. The young ones, the laughing
ones who were moving
would begin, and the men's voices, very resolute and brave,
would join

21. they would come in with
something low, that scarcely rose or fell, something so
. And Miss Brill's eyes filled with tears and she looked smiling
at all
the other members of the company. Yes, we understand, we
understand, she thought—
e the old couple had been.
They were beautifully dressed; they were in love. The hero and
heroine, of course, just
arrived from his father's yacht. And still soundlessly singing,
still with that trembling
"But why? Because of that stupid old thing at the end there?"
asked the boy. "Why does
who wants her? Why doesn't she keep her silly old mug at
home?"
the girl. "It's exactly like a fried whiting."
"Ah, be off with you!" said the boy in an angry whisper. Then:
"Tell me, ma petite
cake at the baker's. It was her
Sunday treat. Sometimes there was an almond in her slice,
sometimes not. It made a great
difference. If there was an almond it was like carrying home a
tiny present—a surprise—
something that might very well not have been there. She hurried

22. on
and struck the match for the kettle in quite a dashing way.
But to-day she passed the baker's by, climbed the stairs, went
into the little dark room
her room like a cupboard—
time. The box that the fur came out of was on the bed. She
unclasped the necklet quickly;
quickly, without looking, laid it inside. But when she put the lid
on she thought she heard
something crying.
http://www.katherinemansfieldsociety.org
something that might very well not have been there. She hurried
on the almond Sundays
and struck the match for the kettle in quite a dashing way.
day she passed the baker's by, climbed the stairs, went into the
little dark room
—and sat down on the red eiderdown. She sat there for a long
ime. The box that the fur came out of was on the bed. She
unclasped the necklet quickly;
quickly, without looking, laid it inside. But when she put the lid
on she thought she heard
4
the almond Sundays
day she passed the baker's by, climbed the stairs, went into the
little dark room—

23. and sat down on the red eiderdown. She sat there for a long
ime. The box that the fur came out of was on the bed. She
unclasped the necklet quickly;
quickly, without looking, laid it inside. But when she put the lid
on she thought she heard
"A Rose for Emily" and "Miss Brill" Quiz .Email me the
answers to these questions. This quiz is due by Sunday.
1. Who wrote “A Rose for Emily”?
a. William Faulkner
b. Edgar Allen Poe
c. Katherine Mansfield
2. What does the rose in the title symbolize?
a. Roses on Emily’s grave
b. Roses in Emily’s garden
c. A tribute (toast) to Emily
3. Who was Homer Barron in “A Rose for Emily”?
a. the Mayor
b. Emily’s love interest
c. Emily’s father
4. What was the smell coming from her house?

24. a. Old garbage
b. Dead rats
c. Dead corpse
5. What did Colonel Sartoris promise Emily’s dad before his
death?
a. To take care of Emily after he died
b. Not to burden Emily with taxes
c. To sell the house for Emily after he died
6. The ironic twist of this story is?
a. Emily had her father’s corpse in the basement
b. Emily had her house man’s corpse in the kitchen
c. Emily had her lover’s corpse in her bed
7. Where does Miss Brill go every Sunday?
a. To the town park
b. To church
c. To read to an old man in his garden
8. What does Miss Brill treasure the most (as noted by her
comments)?
a. Her time reading with the old man four times a week

25. b. Her fur she calls “the dear thing”
c. Her memories of a lost love
9. Who’s point of view are we (the readers) listening to?
a. Miss Brill’s (mostly)
b. The narrator’s (all the time)
c. Another character’s (mostly)
10. Who does Miss Brill listen to in the park?
a. A band
b. People
c. Both a & b
.
Liteary Quiz .Email me your answers by Sunday.
Chapter 2: Short Story Considerations Quiz—multiple choice
For each set, match the term to its definition.
Set A
____ 1. plot a. the turning point or the point
of highest intensity
____ 2. flashback b. a technique that subtly
suggests what will happen later in a story

26. ____ 3. foreshadowing c. the outcome or closure to the
events
____ 4. climax d. storyline or plan of the story
____ 5. resolution e. a technique that looks back on
events that happened before the
time of the current narration
Set B
____ 6. characters a. a struggle
____ 7. protagonist b. the character who works
against the main character
____ 8. antagonist c. the people (or beings) who
populate the story
____ 9. dialogue d. a vocal exchange between two
or more characters
____ 10. conflict e. the main character; the
character the action revolves around
Set C
____ 11. setting a. a serious subject approached
in a light manner
____ 12. tone b. the main idea the writer wants
to convey
____ 13. dark humor c. the time and place in which
the story takes place

27. ____ 14. symbols d. the writer’s attitude toward
the subject
____ 15. theme e. items that on the surface
appear to be what they literally are, but
which also have another meaning or many meanings
..
a. Roses on Emily’s grave
b. Roses in Emily’s garden
c. A tribute (toast) to Emily
3. Who was Homer Barron in “A Rose for Emily”?
a. the Mayor
b. Emily’s love interest
c. Emily’s father
4. What was the smell coming from her house?
a. Old garbage
b. Dead rats
c. Dead corpse
5. What did Colonel Sartoris promise Emily’s dad before his
death?
a. To take care of Emily after he died

28. b. Not to burden Emily with taxes
c. To sell the house for Emily after he died
6. The ironic twist of this story is?
a. Emily had her father’s corpse in the basement
b. Emily had her house man’s corpse in the kitchen
c. Emily had her lover’s corpse in her bed
7. Where does Miss Brill go every Sunday?
a. To the town park
b. To church
c. To read to an old man in his garden
8. What does Miss Brill treasure the most (as noted by her
comments)?
a. Her time reading with the old man four times a week
b. Her fur she calls “the dear thing”
c. Her memories of a lost love
9. Who’s point of view are we (the readers) listening to?
a. Miss Brill’s (mostly)
b. The narrator’s (all the time)
c. Another character’s (mostly)

29. 10. Who does Miss Brill listen to in the park?
a. A band
b. People
c. Both a & b
.
Liteary Quiz .Email me your answers by Sunday.
Chapter 2: Short Story Considerations Quiz—multiple choice
For each set, match the term to its definition.
Set A
____ 1. plot a. the turning point or the point
of highest intensity
____ 2. flashback b. a technique that subtly
suggests what will happen later in a story
____ 3. foreshadowing c. the outcome or closure to the
events
____ 4. climax d. storyline or plan of the story
____ 5. resolution e. a technique that looks back on
events that happened before the
time of the current narration
Set B

30. ____ 6. characters a. a struggle
____ 7. protagonist b. the character who works
against the main character
____ 8. antagonist c. the people (or beings) who
populate the story
____ 9. dialogue d. a vocal exchange between two
or more characters
____ 10. conflict e. the main character; the
character the action revolves around
Set C
____ 11. setting a. a serious subject approached
in a light manner
____ 12. tone b. the main idea the writer wants
to convey
____ 13. dark humor c. the time and place in which
the story takes place
____ 14. symbols d. the writer’s attitude toward
the subject
____ 15. theme e. items that on the surface
appear to be what they literally are, but
which also have another meaning or many meanings
..
Mendoza 1

31. Character Analysis Essay
Maria Mendoza
English 1302
Karen Tanguma
15 July 2014
Maria Mendoza
Karen Tanguma
English 1302
15 July 2014
Outline
I. THEIS: In analyzing these two stories, one can see almost a
similarity. In reading the stories, it attributes and characterizes
women and how society affected them. As indicated before it
explains and addresses the issues that women faced in their era.
In essence, this discourse helps to expose society, and its
relation with the female gender. In Katherine Mansfield story,
“Miss Brill’s, depicts a desolated and receptive elderly women
who find Sundays an enjoyable and consoling day. Whereas,
William Faulkner story, “A Rose for Emily,” he describes Emily
Grierson as an outsider who regulates and restricts the town
access to her real identity, and maintain them abide.
II. INTRODUCTION: These two stories are not only amazing
to read, but also enlightening. It climaxes in various issues
which affect these women and society. These stories were
selected because of the insightful nature as well as the ability of
the authors to analyze society, and the constraints imposed on
these women.

32. III. Miss Brill
a. She is elderly woman leads a lonely life.
b. She loves watching people carrying out various leisurely
activities on Sundays.
c. She fantasies the life of others.
d. She has the potential to commit malicious acts.
e. She can appear calm and discreet; however, one can detect
her harsh mannerisms.
IV. Emily Grierson
a. As an outsider who regulates and restricts the town access to
her real identity, and
maintain them abide.
b. She is non talkative and spend much of her time in silence.
c. Her unpredictable and individualistic behavior raises
numerous questions regarding her life.
d. How was she capable of living with a corpse?
e. The means to use other means breaking tradition society
imposes on women in a male dominate era.
Maria Mendoza
Karen Tanguma
English 1302
15 July 2014
Character Analysis Essay

33. In analyzing these two stories, one can see almost a similarity.
In reading the stories, it attributes and characterizes women and
how society affected them. As indicated before it explains and
addresses the issues that women faced in their era. In essence,
this discourse helps to expose society, and its relation with the
female gender. In “Miss Brill’s,” story, Katherine Mansfield
depicts desolate and receptive elderly women who find Sundays
very enjoyable and consoling. Whereas, “A Rose for Emily,”
by William Faulkner describes Miss Emily Grierson as an
example outsider who regulates and restricts the town access to
her real identity and maintaining them abide.
Miss Brill
In Katherine Mansfield story, Miss Brill can be described as a
depicted desolated and receptive elderly woman who find
Sundays a very enjoyable and consoling, as she observes people
in the park, being lighthearted and satisfied by her own life.
Through such days, she goes to the park and observes everyone.
For a few moments, it thrilled her in being part of their lives; as
long as she eavesdrops on their talkfest, to reduce boredom. In
a slapdash, she can escape her own real-world by drifting off
and joining realism of others.
As she eavesdrops to other conversation, it satisfied Miss Brill.
It made her believed she had a wonderful life, as she takes the
unpleasant insults from strangers, and this experience
transforms her completely. These insults would transform her
as a woman who recognizes she is lonely, and forced to come
out of her daydream and face reality.

34. It makes Miss Brill to realize she is part of nothing as she sits
in a lonely bench with her ratty old fur and watches the world
pass before her. She observes other people sitting on benches
nearby as comic, silent, “…all old…as though, they just come
out from little rooms.” Comparatively, ignoring her look-a-like,
and establishes a make-believe world for her to escape.
In analyze the story, the title provides an example of the
author’s ingenuity and attention to detail. Instantaneously, an
observer appreciates the character as an isolated spinster
probably and aging Englishwoman, living in a resort in France
nearby the seashore, who gains sufficient support by teaching
English to children, and reading the newspapers to an aging
invalid whose ability to hear and comprehend are questionable.
Miss Brill apparently also showed some evil tendencies which
she memorizes the nasty reality of youthful couple being
sarcastic and mocking her “the stupid aged isolated women.”
No one associates with her; and instantaneously ruins her day-
dreaming, and her little world falls apart. In a mirthless tone,
she walks home overlooking what used to excite her. As she
sits on the bed, she places her fur into the box, and she
imagines hearing a person cry.
Nevertheless, as the story commences she is portrayed to be
glad about her life and situation. She reveals her isolation by
sitting on a bench and fantasia on the lives of others, and casts

35. herself in a remarkable character to one's widest view of drama.
Miss Brill view of the world being a relaxed, calm, pleasing,
and strings us along to believe it could really exist. However,
as the story develops, she changes her imagination to the reality
of isolation, and can also see her harsh mannerism.
Observing the character one can describe her in an elaborate
manner, women who donned on a shabby ermine toque. As a
young man who blows smoke in her face; and leaves her in the
middle of a conversation without giving her a second thought.
Making her realize the ermine toque was alone, and established
a connection to her own isolation and loneliness as the hat and
women.
Emily Grierson
“A Rose for Emily,” by William Faulkner describes Miss Emily
Grierson as an example outsider. Who regulates and restricts
the town access to her real identity by maintaining under
covered? A women who shield herself in the confines of her
house; a dark, shuttered, and dusty house is the object of the
town’s investigation. Emily is a quiet and mysterious person.
She is an eccentric individual with a sense of southern
weirdness, unequally tragic, and the object of odd behavior.
Emily enforces her own sense of principles and mannerism. As
the story goes, she refuses to pay her taxes because she bought

36. some poison. She evades law enforcement by not accepting her
house to be numeral for mail service. Her character is
incredible, especially when she kills a man who wants to
abandon here. It is hard not to feel sorry for her; she becomes a
nuisance demanding to live her life at her own terms. She
becomes the subject of gossip and ridicule. The community
gossips because of the relationship she is having with Homer,
who has no wedding plans in the future.
When Emily purchases the poison, the town people assume the
poison to be for her. One can see how unpredictable and
misdirected she is. The story climax when it implies she is
necrophilia because of her sexual attraction to the corpse. One
can see the powerful desire to control another individual. One
can see Mr. Grierson controlled over Emily after his death, and
how she was able to dominate the situation over him by denying
giving up his body; ultimately, this control is transferred to
Homer, who is the object of her love.
Emily’s inconsistent and individualistic behavior is outright
bizarre; the reader, as the township is left wondering how to
explain the fact Emily could spend all those years living with
the corpse of Homer Barron.
Both Emily and Miss Brill interacted with society who forces
them to assume their formal roles as women. It is evident
Emily uses other mean to break free from the traditional
constraints that society imposes to women in their era.
However, her actions are incongruent with the perception as
how society viewed women. She is forced to live in a lonely

37. house. At the age of 30, Emily is considered a murderer who
further prejudices her status in society. In contrast, Miss Brill’s
figure is good hearted. At the same time, she is old and lonely.
Emily makes a horrendous figure, unlike, Miss Brill’s. Emily
can be perceived as a cosmetic angle, even though; the town is
relating the story. On the other hand, Miss Brill is not. Emily
is described as “impervious,” challenging for recognition.
Analyzing these characters one can draw a conclusion, they are
women who are constricted by a male dominate society. These
two stories can be emphasized the characters in a critical
manner which makes the stories not only enchanting to read, but
also educative. Again, we can see the difference in “Miss
Brill’s,” story. Katherine Mansfield depicts desolate and
receptive elderly women who find Sundays very enjoyable and
consoling. Whereas, “A Rose for Emily,” by William Faulkner
describes Miss Emily Grierson as an example outsider who
regulates and restricts the town access to her real identity by
maintaining uncovered.
Work Cited
Faulkner, William. A Rose for Emily. Logan: Perfection
Learning Corp, 1990.
Smith, P. A. Thematic guide to popular short stories. Westport:
Greenwood Press, 2002.
Volpe, Edmond L. A Reader's Guide to William Faulkner:The
Short Stories. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 2004.