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    Tickets, Please: Short Story
    Tickets, Please: Short Story
    Tickets, Please: Short Story
    Ebook25 pages34 minutes

    Tickets, Please: Short Story

    By David Herbert Lawrence

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    About this ebook

    John Thomas Raynor is an inspector on the trams and Annie Stone is a conductress. He is good-looking and cocky, and he’s been out with all of the conductresses but Annie. She has a sharp tongue, and, she believes, knows his measure. Nonetheless, an exciting evening at a local fair leads to growing intimacy, and when Raynor proves uninterested in more than flirtation, Annie’s revenge is terrible.

    “Tickets, Please” is a short story by D.H. Lawrence set in the English Midlands during the First World War.

    HarperPerennial Classics brings great works of literature to life in digital format, upholding the highest standards in ebook production and celebrating reading in all its forms. Look for more titles in the HarperPerennial Classics collection to build your digital library.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateJun 3, 2014
    ISBN9781443438414
    Tickets, Please: Short Story
    Author

    David Herbert Lawrence

    David Herbert (D. H.) Lawrence was a prolific English novelist, essayist, poet, playwright, literary critic and painter. His most notable works include Lady Chatterley’s Lover, The Rainbow, Sons and Lovers and Women in Love.

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      Book preview

      Tickets, Please - David Herbert Lawrence

      Tickets, Please

      There is in the Midlands a single-line tramway system which boldly leaves the county town and plunges off into the black, industrial countryside, uphill and down dale, through the long ugly villages of workmen’s houses, over canals and railways, past churches perched high and nobly over the smoke and shadows, through stark, grimy cold little marketplaces, tilting away in a rush past cinemas and shops down to the hollow where the collieries are, then up again, past a little rural church, under the ash trees, on in a rush to the terminus, the last little ugly place of industry, the cold little town that shivers on the edge of the wild, gloomy country beyond. There the green and creamy coloured tramcar seems to pause and purr with curious satisfaction. But in a few minutes—the clock on the turret of the Cooperative Wholesale Society’s Shops gives the time—away it starts once more on the adventure. Again there are the reckless swoops downhill, bouncing the loops: again the chilly wait in the hilltop marketplace: again the breathless slithering round the precipitous drop under the church: again the patient halts at the loops, waiting for the out-coming car: so on and on, for two long hours, till at last the city looms beyond the fat gasworks, the narrow factories draw near, we are in the sordid streets of the great town, once more we sidle to a standstill at our terminus, abashed by the great crimson and cream-coloured city cars, but still perky,

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