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| author | pgww <pgww@lists.pglaf.org> | 2025-08-09 05:29:58 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | pgww <pgww@lists.pglaf.org> | 2025-08-09 05:29:58 -0700 |
| commit | ac79616589fff0ff698ff347df43bf50d15e6587 (patch) | |
| tree | 5ff57fecf4de902a25f3ed407089239bfef83aa0 /25344-h | |
| parent | d960801aa7be99f26c3f49e4c8f11c6cb3782b8d (diff) | |
Diffstat (limited to '25344-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 25344-h/25344-h.htm | 40 |
1 files changed, 26 insertions, 14 deletions
diff --git a/25344-h/25344-h.htm b/25344-h/25344-h.htm index 2430475..9f19d98 100644 --- a/25344-h/25344-h.htm +++ b/25344-h/25344-h.htm @@ -175,6 +175,11 @@ top: -.4em; } + #illu_057 {background-image: url(images/illu_057.jpg); height: 100%;} + #illu_078 {background-image: url(images/illu_078.jpg); height: 100%;} + #illu_172 {background-image: url(images/illu_172.jpg); height: 100%;} + #illu_289 {background-image: url(images/illu_289.jpg); height: 100%;} + </style> </head> <body> @@ -2093,15 +2098,15 @@ gown! Why, look you, she may cover it with a brooch, or such like heathenish adornment, and so walk the streets as brave as ever!”</p> -<figure class="figcenter" style="width: 100%;"> -<img src="images/illu_057.jpg" alt="The Gossips"> -</figure> - <p>“Ah, but,” interposed, more softly, a young wife, holding a child by the hand, “let her cover the mark as she will, the pang of it will be always in her heart.”</p> +<div class="backright" id="illu_057"> +<div class="sandbag" style="width:500px; height:269px;"> </div> +<div class="sandbag" style="width:185px; height:125px;"> </div> + <p>“What do we talk of marks and brands, whether on the bodice of her gown, or the flesh of her forehead?” cried another female, the @@ -2135,6 +2140,7 @@ three months old, who winked and turned aside its little face from the too vivid light of day; because its existence, heretofore, had brought it acquainted only with the gray twilight of a dungeon, or other darksome apartment of the prison.</p> +</div> <p>When the young woman—the mother of this child—stood fully revealed before the crowd, it seemed to be her first impulse @@ -2696,6 +2702,12 @@ would that I might endure his agony, as well as mine!”</p> proceeding from the crowd about the scaffold. “Speak; and give your child a father!”<span class='pagenum'><a id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="backleft" id="illu_078"> +<div class="sandbag-left" style="width:300px; height:170px;"> </div> +<div class="sandbag-left" style="width:245px; height:230px;"> </div> + <p>“I will not speak!” answered Hester, turning pale as death, but responding to this voice, which she too surely recognized. “And my child must seek a heavenly Father; she shall never @@ -2707,10 +2719,6 @@ awaited the result of his appeal. He now drew back, with a long respiration. “Wondrous strength and generosity of a woman’s heart! She will not speak!”</p> -<figure class="figleft" style="width: 60%;"> -<img src="images/illu_078.jpg" alt="She was led back to Prison"> -</figure> - <p>Discerning the impracticable state of the poor culprit’s mind, the elder clergyman, who had carefully prepared himself for the occasion, addressed to the multitude a discourse on sin, in all @@ -2749,6 +2757,7 @@ prison, and vanished from the public gaze within its iron-clamped portal. It was whispered, by those who peered after her, that the scarlet letter threw a lurid gleam along the dark passage-way of the interior.</p> +</div> <div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px; padding-top: 1em"> @@ -5370,9 +5379,9 @@ express the highest truths through the humblest medium of familiar words and images. Their voices came down, afar and<span class='pagenum'><a id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> indistinctly, from the upper heights where they habitually dwelt.</p> -<figure class="figcenter" style="width: 80%;"> -<img src="images/illu_172.jpg" alt="The Virgins of the Church"> -</figure> +<div class="backleft" id="illu_172"> +<div class="sandbag-left" style="width:280px; height:150px;"> </div> +<div class="sandbag-left" style="width:355px; height:250px;"> </div> <p>Not improbably, it was to this latter class of men that Mr. Dimmesdale, by many of his traits of character, naturally belonged. @@ -5418,6 +5427,8 @@ holy grave. And, all this time, perchance, when poor Mr. Dimmesdale was thinking of his grave, he questioned with himself whether the grass would ever grow on it, because an accursed thing must there be buried!</p> +</div> + <p>It is inconceivable, the agony with which this public veneration tortured him! It was his genuine impulse to adore the @@ -8892,9 +8903,9 @@ where, in compliance with a custom thus early established, and ever since observed, the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale was to deliver<span class='pagenum'><a id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> an Election Sermon.</p> -<figure class="figleft" style="width: 100%;"> -<img src="images/illu_289.jpg" alt="New England Worthies"> -</figure> +<div class="backleft" id="illu_289"> +<div class="sandbag-left" style="width:400px; height:170px;"> </div> +<div class="sandbag-left" style="width:290px; height:120px;"> </div> <p>Soon the head of the procession showed itself, with a slow and stately march, turning a corner, and making its way across @@ -8932,6 +8943,7 @@ title to assume the name and pomp of soldiership. The entire array, moreover, clad in burnished steel, and with plumage nodding over their bright morions, had a brilliancy of effect which no modern display can aspire to equal.</p> +</div> <p>And yet the men of civil eminence, who came immediately behind the military escort, were better worth a thoughtful |