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The Haunted Grove

The Haunted Grove Thomas Wolfe Appalachian Heritage, Volume 35, Number 4, Fall 2007, pp. 25-26 (Article) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/aph.2007.0053 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/432471/summary Access provided at 19 Feb 2020 18:29 GMT from JHU Libraries FEATURED AUTHOR Thomas Wolfe A strange and troubling memory returned to haunt us with its dream-like spell. At day break, in a speeding train, far, far in the deep South— where, why we could not say— yet it was on the way to New Orleans, and on the morning of the day he got there — he had awakened, a child of eight, to look out of the window of the Pullman berth upon a landscape he had never seen before, but which it seemed to him, [he] must have known forever. The train was speeding through an immense and level grove- like space of lonely pines. The scene was so unvaried as to be almost monotonous, and yet it cast a haunting spell upon his soul that he could never after that forget. The pine trees were immensely tall; their straight pole-like trunks rose up bare and straight and solemn with innumerable depth and precision across the http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Appalachian Review University of North Carolina Press

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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © Berea College
ISSN
2692-9244
eISSN
2692-9287

Abstract

Thomas Wolfe Appalachian Heritage, Volume 35, Number 4, Fall 2007, pp. 25-26 (Article) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/aph.2007.0053 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/432471/summary Access provided at 19 Feb 2020 18:29 GMT from JHU Libraries FEATURED AUTHOR Thomas Wolfe A strange and troubling memory returned to haunt us with its dream-like spell. At day break, in a speeding train, far, far in the deep South— where, why we could not say— yet it was on the way to New Orleans, and on the morning of the day he got there — he had awakened, a child of eight, to look out of the window of the Pullman berth upon a landscape he had never seen before, but which it seemed to him, [he] must have known forever. The train was speeding through an immense and level grove- like space of lonely pines. The scene was so unvaried as to be almost monotonous, and yet it cast a haunting spell upon his soul that he could never after that forget. The pine trees were immensely tall; their straight pole-like trunks rose up bare and straight and solemn with innumerable depth and precision across the

Journal

Appalachian ReviewUniversity of North Carolina Press

Published: Jan 8, 2014

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