Explore "My Brilliant Career" by Miles Franklin on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"Now, Harold, you have compelled Sybylla to come here, you must not let the time drag with her," said Miss Beecham.
It was the second day after my arrival at Five-Bob. Lunch was over, and we had adjourned to the veranda. Miss Beecham was busy at her worktable; I was ensconced on a mat on the floor reading a book; Harold was stretched in a squatter's chair some distance away. His big brown hands were clasped behind his head, his chin rested on his broad chest, his eyes were closed, he occasionally thrust his lower lip forward and sent a puff of breath upwards to scatter the flies from his face; he looked a big monument of comfort, and answered his aunt's remarks lazily: