["[Event happened on 2024-01-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> She plunged into the chilly equinoctial darkness as the clock struck\nten, for her fifteen miles' walk under the steely stars. In lonely\ndistricts night is a protection rather than a danger to a noiseless\npedestrian, and knowing this, Tess pursued the nearest course along\nby-lanes that she would almost have feared in the day-time; but\nmarauders were wanting now, and spectral fears were driven out of\nher mind by thoughts of her mother. Thus she proceeded mile after\nmile, ascending and descending till she came to Bulbarrow, and about\nmidnight looked from that height into the abyss of chaotic shade\nwhich was all that revealed itself of the vale on whose further side\nshe was born. Having already traversed about five miles on the\nupland, she had now some ten or eleven in the lowland before her\njourney would be finished. The winding road downwards became just\nvisible to her under the wan starlight as she followed it, and\nsoon she paced a soil so contrasting with that above it that the\ndifference was perceptible to the tread and to the smell. It was the\nheavy clay land of Blackmoor Vale, and a part of the Vale to which\nturnpike-roads had never penetrated. Superstitions linger longest on\nthese heavy soils. Having once been forest, at this shadowy time it\nseemed to assert something of its old character, the far and the near\nbeing blended, and every tree and tall hedge making the most of its\npresence. The harts that had been hunted here, the witches that had\nbeen pricked and ducked, the green-spangled fairies that \"whickered\"\nat you as you passed;--the place teemed with beliefs in them still,\nand they formed an impish multitude now. At Nuttlebury she passed the village inn, whose sign creaked in\nresponse to the greeting of her footsteps, which not a human soul\nheard but herself. Under the thatched roofs her mind's eye beheld\nrelaxed tendons and flaccid muscles, spread out in the darkness\nbeneath coverlets made of little purple patchwork squares, and\nundergoing a bracing process at the hands of sleep for renewed labour\non the morrow, as soon as a hint of pink nebulosity appeared on\nHambledon Hill. At three she turned the last corner of the maze of lanes she had\nthreaded, and entered Marlott, passing the field in which as a\nclub-girl she had first seen Angel Clare, when he had not danced\nwith her; the sense of disappointment remained with her yet. In the\ndirection of her mother's house she saw a light. It came from the\nbedroom window, and a branch waved in front of it and made it wink at\nher. As soon as she could discern the outline of the house--newly\nthatched with her money--it had all its old effect upon Tess's\nimagination. Part of her body and life it ever seemed to be; the\nslope of its dormers, the finish of its gables, the broken courses of\nbrick which topped the chimney, all had something in common with her\npersonal character. A stupefaction had come into these features, to\nher regard; it meant the illness of her mother. She opened the door so softly as to disturb nobody; the lower room\nwas vacant, but the neighbour who was sitting up with her mother came\nto the top of the stairs, and whispered that Mrs Durbeyfield was no\nbetter, though she was sleeping just then. Tess prepared herself a\nbreakfast, and then took her place as nurse in her mother's chamber. In the morning, when she contemplated the children, they had all a\ncuriously elongated look; although she had been away little more than\na year, their growth was astounding; and the necessity of applying\nherself heart and soul to their needs took her out of her own cares. Her father's ill-health was the same indefinite kind, and he sat in\nhis chair as usual. But the day after her arrival he was unusually\nbright. He had a rational scheme for living, and Tess asked him what\nit was. \"I'm thinking of sending round to all the old antiqueerians in this\npart of England,\" he said, \"asking them to subscribe to a fund to\nmaintain me. I'm sure they'd see it as a romantical, artistical,\nand proper thing to do. They spend lots o' money in keeping up old\nruins, and finding the bones o' things, and such like; and living\nremains must be more interesting to 'em still, if they only knowed\nof me. Would that somebody would go round and tell 'em what there\nis living among 'em, and they thinking nothing of him! If Pa'son\nTringham, who discovered me, had lived, he'd ha' done it, I'm sure.\" Tess postponed her arguments on this high project till she had\ngrappled with pressing matters in hand, which seemed little improved\nby her remittances. When indoor necessities had been eased, she\nturned her attention to external things. It was now the season for\nplanting and sowing; many gardens and allotments of the villagers\nhad already received their spring tillage; but the garden and the\nallotment of the Durbeyfields were behindhand. She found, to her\ndismay, that this was owing to their having eaten all the seed\npotatoes,--that last lapse of the improvident. At the earliest\nmoment she obtained what others she could procure, and in a few\ndays her father was well enough to see to the garden, under Tess's\npersuasive efforts: while she herself undertook the allotment-plot\nwhich they rented in a field a couple of hundred yards out of the\nvillage. She liked doing it after the confinement of the sick chamber, where\nshe was not now required by reason of her mother's improvement. Violent motion relieved thought. The plot of ground was in a high,\ndry, open enclosure, where there were forty or fifty such pieces,\nand where labour was at its briskest when the hired labour of the\nday had ended. Digging began usually at six o'clock and extended\nindefinitely into the dusk or moonlight. Just now heaps of dead\nweeds and refuse were burning on many of the plots, the dry weather\nfavouring their combustion. One fine day Tess and 'Liza-Lu worked on here with their neighbours\ntill the last rays of the sun smote flat upon the white pegs that\ndivided the plots. As soon as twilight succeeded to sunset the flare\nof the couch-grass and cabbage-stalk fires began to light up the\nallotments fitfully, their outlines appearing and disappearing under\nthe dense smoke as wafted by the wind. When a fire glowed, banks\nof smoke, blown level along the ground, would themselves become\nilluminated to an opaque lustre, screening the workpeople from one\nanother; and the meaning of the \"pillar of a cloud\", which was a wall\nby day and a light by night, could be understood. As evening thickened, some of the gardening men and women gave over\nfor the night, but the greater number remained to get their planting\ndone, Tess being among them, though she sent her sister home. It was\non one of the couch-burning plots that she laboured with her fork,\nits four shining prongs resounding against the stones and dry clods\nin little clicks. Sometimes she was completely involved in the smoke\nof her fire; then it would leave her figure free, irradiated by the\nbrassy glare from the heap. She was oddly dressed to-night, and\npresented a somewhat staring aspect, her attire being a gown bleached\nby many washings, with a short black jacket over it, the effect of\nthe whole being that of a wedding and funeral guest in one. The\nwomen further back wore white aprons, which, with their pale faces,\nwere all that could be seen of them in the gloom, except when at\nmoments they caught a flash from the flames. Westward, the wiry boughs of the bare thorn hedge which formed the\nboundary of the field rose against the pale opalescence of the lower\nsky. Above, Jupiter hung like a full-blown jonquil, so bright\nas almost to throw a shade. A few small nondescript stars were\nappearing elsewhere. In the distance a dog barked, and wheels\noccasionally rattled along the dry road. Still the prongs continued to click assiduously, for it was not late;\nand though the air was fresh and keen there was a whisper of spring\nin it that cheered the workers on. Something in the place, the\nhours, the crackling fires, the fantastic mysteries of light and\nshade, made others as well as Tess enjoy being there. Nightfall,\nwhich in the frost of winter comes as a fiend and in the warmth of\nsummer as a lover, came as a tranquillizer on this March day. Nobody looked at his or her companions. The eyes of all were on the\nsoil as its turned surface was revealed by the fires.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-01, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-02 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Hence as Tess\nstirred the clods and sang her foolish little songs with scarce\nnow a hope that Clare would ever hear them, she did not for a long\ntime notice the person who worked nearest to her--a man in a long\nsmockfrock who, she found, was forking the same plot as herself, and\nwhom she supposed her father had sent there to advance the work. She became more conscious of him when the direction of his digging\nbrought him closer. Sometimes the smoke divided them; then it\nswerved, and the two were visible to each other but divided from all\nthe rest. Tess did not speak to her fellow-worker, nor did he speak to her. Nor did she think of him further than to recollect that he had not\nbeen there when it was broad daylight, and that she did not know\nhim as any one of the Marlott labourers, which was no wonder, her\nabsences having been so long and frequent of late years. By-and-by\nhe dug so close to her that the fire-beams were reflected as\ndistinctly from the steel prongs of his fork as from her own. On\ngoing up to the fire to throw a pitch of dead weeds upon it, she\nfound that he did the same on the other side. The fire flared up,\nand she beheld the face of d'Urberville. The unexpectedness of his presence, the grotesqueness of his\nappearance in a gathered smockfrock, such as was now worn only by the\nmost old-fashioned of the labourers, had a ghastly comicality that\nchilled her as to its bearing. D'Urberville emitted a low, long\nlaugh. \"If I were inclined to joke, I should say, How much this seems like\nParadise!\" he remarked whimsically, looking at her with an inclined\nhead. \"What do you say?\" she weakly asked. \"A jester might say this is just like Paradise. You are Eve, and I\nam the old Other One come to tempt you in the disguise of an inferior\nanimal. I used to be quite up in that scene of Milton's when I was\ntheological. Some of it goes--\n\n\n   \"'Empress, the way is ready, and not long,\n   Beyond a row of myrtles...\n   ... If thou accept\n   My conduct, I can bring thee thither soon.' 'Lead then,' said Eve. \"And so on. My dear Tess, I am only putting this to you as a thing\nthat you might have supposed or said quite untruly, because you think\nso badly of me.\" \"I never said you were Satan, or thought it. I don't think of you in\nthat way at all. My thoughts of you are quite cold, except when you\naffront me. What, did you come digging here entirely because of me?\" \"Entirely. To see you; nothing more. The smockfrock, which I\nsaw hanging for sale as I came along, was an afterthought, that I\nmightn't be noticed. I come to protest against your working like\nthis.\" \"But I like doing it--it is for my father.\" \"Your engagement at the other place is ended?\" \"Yes.\" \"Where are you going to next? To join your dear husband?\" She could not bear the humiliating reminder. \"O--I don't know!\" she said bitterly. \"I have no husband!\" \"It is quite true--in the sense you mean. But you have a friend, and\nI have determined that you shall be comfortable in spite of yourself. When you get down to your house you will see what I have sent there\nfor you.\" \"O, Alec, I wish you wouldn't give me anything at all! I cannot take\nit from you! I don't like--it is not right!\" \"It IS right!\" he cried lightly. \"I am not going to see a woman whom\nI feel so tenderly for as I do for you in trouble without trying to\nhelp her.\" \"But I am very well off! I am only in trouble about--about--not\nabout living at all!\" She turned, and desperately resumed her digging, tears dripping upon\nthe fork-handle and upon the clods. \"About the children--your brothers and sisters,\" he resumed. \"I've\nbeen thinking of them.\" Tess's heart quivered--he was touching her in a weak place. He had\ndivined her chief anxiety. Since returning home her soul had gone\nout to those children with an affection that was passionate. \"If your mother does not recover, somebody ought to do something for\nthem; since your father will not be able to do much, I suppose?\" \"He can with my assistance. He must!\" \"And with mine.\" \"No, sir!\" \"How damned foolish this is!\" burst out d'Urberville. \"Why, he\nthinks we are the same family; and will be quite satisfied!\" \"He don't. I've undeceived him.\" \"The more fool you!\" D'Urberville in anger retreated from her to the hedge, where he\npulled off the long smockfrock which had disguised him; and rolling\nit up and pushing it into the couch-fire, went away. Tess could not get on with her digging after this; she felt restless;\nshe wondered if he had gone back to her father's house; and taking\nthe fork in her hand proceeded homewards. Some twenty yards from the house she was met by one of her sisters. \"O, Tessy--what do you think! 'Liza-Lu is a-crying, and there's a\nlot of folk in the house, and mother is a good deal better, but they\nthink father is dead!\" The child realized the grandeur of the news; but not as yet its\nsadness, and stood looking at Tess with round-eyed importance till,\nbeholding the effect produced upon her, she said--\n\n\"What, Tess, shan't we talk to father never no more?\" \"But father was only a little bit ill!\" exclaimed Tess distractedly. 'Liza-Lu came up. \"He dropped down just now, and the doctor who was there for mother\nsaid there was no chance for him, because his heart was growed in.\" Yes; the Durbeyfield couple had changed places; the dying one was\nout of danger, and the indisposed one was dead. The news meant even\nmore than it sounded. Her father's life had a value apart from his\npersonal achievements, or perhaps it would not have had much. It\nwas the last of the three lives for whose duration the house and\npremises were held under a lease; and it had long been coveted by the\ntenant-farmer for his regular labourers, who were stinted in cottage\naccommodation. Moreover, \"liviers\" were disapproved of in villages\nalmost as much as little freeholders, because of their independence\nof manner, and when a lease determined it was never renewed. Thus the Durbeyfields, once d'Urbervilles, saw descending upon them\nthe destiny which, no doubt, when they were among the Olympians of\nthe county, they had caused to descend many a time, and severely\nenough, upon the heads of such landless ones as they themselves were\nnow. So do flux and reflux--the rhythm of change--alternate and\npersist in everything under the sky. At length it was the eve of Old Lady-Day, and the agricultural world\nwas in a fever of mobility such as only occurs at that particular\ndate of the year. It is a day of fulfilment; agreements for outdoor\nservice during the ensuing year, entered into at Candlemas, are to\nbe now carried out. The labourers--or \"work-folk\", as they used to\ncall themselves immemorially till the other word was introduced from\nwithout--who wish to remain no longer in old places are removing to\nthe new farms. These annual migrations from farm to farm were on the increase here. When Tess's mother was a child the majority of the field-folk about\nMarlott had remained all their lives on one farm, which had been the\nhome also of their fathers and grandfathers; but latterly the desire\nfor yearly removal had risen to a high pitch. With the younger\nfamilies it was a pleasant excitement which might possibly be an\nadvantage. The Egypt of one family was the Land of Promise to the\nfamily who saw it from a distance, till by residence there it became\nit turn their Egypt also; and so they changed and changed. However, all the mutations so increasingly discernible in village\nlife did not originate entirely in the agricultural unrest. A\ndepopulation was also going on. The village had formerly contained,\nside by side with the argicultural labourers, an interesting and\nbetter-informed class, ranking distinctly above the former--the class\nto which Tess's father and mother had belonged--and including the\ncarpenter, the smith, the shoemaker, the huckster, together with\nnondescript workers other than farm-labourers; a set of people\nwho owed a certain stability of aim and conduct to the fact of\ntheir being lifeholders like Tess's father, or copyholders, or\noccasionally, small freeholders.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-02, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-05 The user is reading a book]\n<User> But as the long holdings fell\nin, they were seldom again let to similar tenants, and were mostly\npulled down, if not absolutely required by the farmer for his hands. Cottagers who were not directly employed on the land were looked\nupon with disfavour, and the banishment of some starved the trade of\nothers, who were thus obliged to follow. These families, who had\nformed the backbone of the village life in the past, who were the\ndepositaries of the village traditions, had to seek refuge in the\nlarge centres; the process, humorously designated by statisticians as\n\"the tendency of the rural population towards the large towns\", being\nreally the tendency of water to flow uphill when forced by machinery. The cottage accommodation at Marlott having been in this manner\nconsiderably curtailed by demolitions, every house which remained\nstanding was required by the agriculturist for his work-people. Ever\nsince the occurrence of the event which had cast such a shadow over\nTess's life, the Durbeyfield family (whose descent was not credited)\nhad been tacitly looked on as one which would have to go when their\nlease ended, if only in the interests of morality. It was, indeed,\nquite true that the household had not been shining examples either of\ntemperance, soberness, or chastity. The father, and even the mother,\nhad got drunk at times, the younger children seldom had gone to\nchurch, and the eldest daughter had made queer unions. By some means\nthe village had to be kept pure. So on this, the first Lady-Day\non which the Durbeyfields were expellable, the house, being roomy,\nwas required for a carter with a large family; and Widow Joan,\nher daughters Tess and 'Liza-Lu, the boy Abraham, and the younger\nchildren had to go elsewhere. On the evening preceding their removal it was getting dark betimes by\nreason of a drizzling rain which blurred the sky. As it was the last\nnight they would spend in the village which had been their home and\nbirthplace, Mrs Durbeyfield, 'Liza-Lu, and Abraham had gone out to\nbid some friends goodbye, and Tess was keeping house till they should\nreturn. She was kneeling in the window-bench, her face close to the casement,\nwhere an outer pane of rain-water was sliding down the inner pane of\nglass. Her eyes rested on the web of a spider, probably starved long\nago, which had been mistakenly placed in a corner where no flies\never came, and shivered in the slight draught through the casement. Tess was reflecting on the position of the household, in which she\nperceived her own evil influence. Had she not come home, her mother\nand the children might probably have been allowed to stay on as\nweekly tenants. But she had been observed almost immediately on her\nreturn by some people of scrupulous character and great influence:\nthey had seen her idling in the churchyard, restoring as well as she\ncould with a little trowel a baby's obliterated grave. By this means\nthey had found that she was living here again; her mother was scolded\nfor \"harbouring\" her; sharp retorts had ensued from Joan, who had\nindependently offered to leave at once; she had been taken at her\nword; and here was the result. \"I ought never to have come home,\" said Tess to herself, bitterly. She was so intent upon these thoughts that she hardly at first took\nnote of a man in a white mackintosh whom she saw riding down the\nstreet. Possibly it was owing to her face being near to the pane\nthat he saw her so quickly, and directed his horse so close to the\ncottage-front that his hoofs were almost upon the narrow border for\nplants growing under the wall. It was not till he touched the window\nwith his riding-crop that she observed him. The rain had nearly\nceased, and she opened the casement in obedience to his gesture. \"Didn't you see me?\" asked d'Urberville. \"I was not attending,\" she said. \"I heard you, I believe, though I\nfancied it was a carriage and horses. I was in a sort of dream.\" \"Ah! you heard the d'Urberville Coach, perhaps. You know the legend,\nI suppose?\" \"No. My--somebody was going to tell it me once, but didn't.\" \"If you are a genuine d'Urberville I ought not to tell you either,\nI suppose. As for me, I'm a sham one, so it doesn't matter. It is\nrather dismal. It is that this sound of a non-existent coach can\nonly be heard by one of d'Urberville blood, and it is held to be\nof ill-omen to the one who hears it. It has to do with a murder,\ncommitted by one of the family, centuries ago.\" \"Now you have begun it, finish it.\" \"Very well. One of the family is said to have abducted some\nbeautiful woman, who tried to escape from the coach in which he was\ncarrying her off, and in the struggle he killed her--or she killed\nhim--I forget which. Such is one version of the tale... I see that\nyour tubs and buckets are packed. Going away, aren't you?\" \"Yes, to-morrow--Old Lady Day.\" \"I heard you were, but could hardly believe it; it seems so sudden. Why is it?\" \"Father's was the last life on the property, and when that dropped we\nhad no further right to stay. Though we might, perhaps, have stayed\nas weekly tenants--if it had not been for me.\" \"What about you?\" \"I am not a--proper woman.\" D'Urberville's face flushed. \"What a blasted shame! Miserable snobs! May their dirty souls\nbe burnt to cinders!\" he exclaimed in tones of ironic resentment. \"That's why you are going, is it? Turned out?\" \"We are not turned out exactly; but as they said we should have to go\nsoon, it was best to go now everybody was moving, because there are\nbetter chances.\" \"Where are you going to?\" \"Kingsbere. We have taken rooms there. Mother is so foolish about\nfather's people that she will go there.\" \"But your mother's family are not fit for lodgings, and in a little\nhole of a town like that. Now why not come to my garden-house at\nTrantridge? There are hardly any poultry now, since my mother's\ndeath; but there's the house, as you know it, and the garden. It\ncan be whitewashed in a day, and your mother can live there quite\ncomfortably; and I will put the children to a good school. Really\nI ought to do something for you!\" \"But we have already taken the rooms at Kingsbere!\" she declared. \"And we can wait there--\"\n\n\"Wait--what for? For that nice husband, no doubt. Now look here,\nTess, I know what men are, and, bearing in mind the _grounds_ of\nyour separation, I am quite positive he will never make it up with\nyou. Now, though I have been your enemy, I am your friend, even\nif you won't believe it. Come to this cottage of mine. We'll get\nup a regular colony of fowls, and your mother can attend to them\nexcellently; and the children can go to school.\" Tess breathed more and more quickly, and at length she said--\n\n\"How do I know that you would do all this? Your views may\nchange--and then--we should be--my mother would be--homeless\nagain.\" \"O no--no. I would guarantee you against such as that in writing, if\nnecessary. Think it over.\" Tess shook her head. But d'Urberville persisted; she had seldom seen\nhim so determined; he would not take a negative. \"Please just tell your mother,\" he said, in emphatic tones. \"It is\nher business to judge--not yours. I shall get the house swept out\nand whitened to-morrow morning, and fires lit; and it will be dry by\nthe evening, so that you can come straight there. Now mind, I shall\nexpect you.\" Tess again shook her head, her throat swelling with complicated\nemotion. She could not look up at d'Urberville. \"I owe you something for the past, you know,\" he resumed. \"And you\ncured me, too, of that craze; so I am glad--\"\n\n\"I would rather you had kept the craze, so that you had kept the\npractice which went with it!\" \"I am glad of this opportunity of repaying you a little. To-morrow I\nshall expect to hear your mother's goods unloading...  Give me your\nhand on it now--dear, beautiful Tess!\" With the last sentence he had dropped his voice to a murmur, and put\nhis hand in at the half-open casement. With stormy eyes she pulled\nthe stay-bar quickly, and, in doing so, caught his arm between the\ncasement and the stone mullion.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-05, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-06 The user is reading a book]\n<User> \"Damnation--you are very cruel!\" he said, snatching out his arm. \"No, no!--I know you didn't do it on purpose. Well I shall expect\nyou, or your mother and children at least.\" \"I shall not come--I have plenty of money!\" she cried. \"Where?\" \"At my father-in-law's, if I ask for it.\" \"IF you ask for it. But you won't, Tess; I know you; you'll never\nask for it--you'll starve first!\" With these words he rode off. Just at the corner of the street he\nmet the man with the paint-pot, who asked him if he had deserted the\nbrethren. \"You go to the devil!\" said d'Urberville. Tess remained where she was a long while, till a sudden rebellious\nsense of injustice caused the region of her eyes to swell with the\nrush of hot tears thither. Her husband, Angel Clare himself, had,\nlike others, dealt out hard measure to her; surely he had! She had\nnever before admitted such a thought; but he had surely! Never\nin her life--she could swear it from the bottom of her soul--had\nshe ever intended to do wrong; yet these hard judgements had\ncome. Whatever her sins, they were not sins of intention, but of\ninadvertence, and why should she have been punished so persistently? She passionately seized the first piece of paper that came to hand,\nand scribbled the following lines:\n\n\n   O why have you treated me so monstrously, Angel! I do\n   not deserve it. I have thought it all over carefully,\n   and I can never, never forgive you! You know that I\n   did not intend to wrong you--why have you so wronged\n   me? You are cruel, cruel indeed! I will try to forget\n   you. It is all injustice I have received at your\n   hands! T.\n\nShe watched till the postman passed by, ran out to him with\nher epistle, and then again took her listless place inside the\nwindow-panes. It was just as well to write like that as to write tenderly. How\ncould he give way to entreaty? The facts had not changed: there was\nno new event to alter his opinion. It grew darker, the fire-light shining over the room. The two\nbiggest of the younger children had gone out with their mother; the\nfour smallest, their ages ranging from three-and-a-half years to\neleven, all in black frocks, were gathered round the hearth babbling\ntheir own little subjects. Tess at length joined them, without\nlighting a candle. \"This is the last night that we shall sleep here, dears, in the house\nwhere we were born,\" she said quickly. \"We ought to think of it,\noughtn't we?\" They all became silent; with the impressibility of their age they\nwere ready to burst into tears at the picture of finality she had\nconjured up, though all the day hitherto they had been rejoicing in\nthe idea of a new place. Tess changed the subject. \"Sing to me, dears,\" she said. \"What shall we sing?\" \"Anything you know; I don't mind.\" There was a momentary pause; it was broken, first, in one little\ntentative note; then a second voice strengthened it, and a third\nand a fourth chimed in unison, with words they had learnt at the\nSunday-school--\n\n\n     Here we suffer grief and pain,\n     Here we meet to part again;\n       In Heaven we part no more. The four sang on with the phlegmatic passivity of persons who had\nlong ago settled the question, and there being no mistake about it,\nfelt that further thought was not required. With features strained\nhard to enunciate the syllables they continued to regard the centre\nof the flickering fire, the notes of the youngest straying over into\nthe pauses of the rest. Tess turned from them, and went to the window again. Darkness had\nnow fallen without, but she put her face to the pane as though to\npeer into the gloom. It was really to hide her tears. If she could\nonly believe what the children were singing; if she were only sure,\nhow different all would now be; how confidently she would leave them\nto Providence and their future kingdom! But, in default of that, it\nbehoved her to do something; to be their Providence; for to Tess,\nas to not a few millions of others, there was ghastly satire in the\npoet's lines--\n\n\n                      Not in utter nakedness\n     But trailing clouds of glory do we come. To her and her like, birth itself was an ordeal of degrading personal\ncompulsion, whose gratuitousness nothing in the result seemed to\njustify, and at best could only palliate. In the shades of the wet road she soon discerned her mother with tall\n'Liza-Lu and Abraham. Mrs Durbeyfield's pattens clicked up to the\ndoor, and Tess opened it. \"I see the tracks of a horse outside the window,\" said Joan. \"Hev\nsomebody called?\" \"No,\" said Tess. The children by the fire looked gravely at her, and one murmured--\n\n\"Why, Tess, the gentleman a-horseback!\" \"He didn't call,\" said Tess. \"He spoke to me in passing.\" \"Who was the gentleman?\" asked the mother. \"Your husband?\" \"No. He'll never, never come,\" answered Tess in stony hopelessness. \"Then who was it?\" \"Oh, you needn't ask. You've seen him before, and so have I.\" \"Ah! What did he say?\" said Joan curiously. \"I will tell you when we are settled in our lodging at Kingsbere\nto-morrow--every word.\" It was not her husband, she had said. Yet a consciousness that in a\nphysical sense this man alone was her husband seemed to weigh on her\nmore and more. During the small hours of the next morning, while it was still dark,\ndwellers near the highways were conscious of a disturbance of their\nnight's rest by rumbling noises, intermittently continuing till\ndaylight--noises as certain to recur in this particular first week of\nthe month as the voice of the cuckoo in the third week of the same. They were the preliminaries of the general removal, the passing of\nthe empty waggons and teams to fetch the goods of the migrating\nfamilies; for it was always by the vehicle of the farmer who required\nhis services that the hired man was conveyed to his destination. That this might be accomplished within the day was the explanation\nof the reverberation occurring so soon after midnight, the aim of\nthe carters being to reach the door of the outgoing households by\nsix o'clock, when the loading of their movables at once began. But to Tess and her mother's household no such anxious farmer sent\nhis team. They were only women; they were not regular labourers;\nthey were not particularly required anywhere; hence they had to hire\na waggon at their own expense, and got nothing sent gratuitously. It was a relief to Tess, when she looked out of the window that\nmorning, to find that though the weather was windy and louring, it\ndid not rain, and that the waggon had come. A wet Lady-Day was a\nspectre which removing families never forgot; damp furniture, damp\nbedding, damp clothing accompanied it, and left a train of ills. Her mother, 'Liza-Lu, and Abraham were also awake, but the younger\nchildren were let sleep on. The four breakfasted by the thin light,\nand the \"house-ridding\" was taken in hand. It proceeded with some cheerfulness, a friendly neighbour or two\nassisting. When the large articles of furniture had been packed in\nposition, a circular nest was made of the beds and bedding, in which\nJoan Durbeyfield and the young children were to sit through the\njourney. After loading there was a long delay before the horses were\nbrought, these having been unharnessed during the ridding; but at\nlength, about two o'clock, the whole was under way, the cooking-pot\nswinging from the axle of the waggon, Mrs Durbeyfield and family\nat the top, the matron having in her lap, to prevent injury to its\nworks, the head of the clock, which, at any exceptional lurch of the\nwaggon, struck one, or one-and-a-half, in hurt tones. Tess and the\nnext eldest girl walked alongside till they were out of the village. They had called on a few neighbours that morning and the previous\nevening, and some came to see them off, all wishing them well,\nthough, in their secret hearts, hardly expecting welfare possible\nto such a family, harmless as the Durbeyfields were to all except\nthemselves. Soon the equipage began to ascend to higher ground,\nand the wind grew keener with the change of level and soil.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-06, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-08 The user is reading a book]\n<User> The day being the sixth of April, the Durbeyfield waggon met many\nother waggons with families on the summit of the load, which was\nbuilt on a wellnigh unvarying principle, as peculiar, probably, to\nthe rural labourer as the hexagon to the bee. The groundwork of the\narrangement was the family dresser, which, with its shining handles,\nand finger-marks, and domestic evidences thick upon it, stood\nimportantly in front, over the tails of the shaft-horses, in its\nerect and natural position, like some Ark of the Covenant that they\nwere bound to carry reverently. Some of the households were lively, some mournful; some were stopping\nat the doors of wayside inns; where, in due time, the Durbeyfield\nmenagerie also drew up to bait horses and refresh the travellers. During the halt Tess's eyes fell upon a three-pint blue mug, which\nwas ascending and descending through the air to and from the feminine\nsection of a household, sitting on the summit of a load that had also\ndrawn up at a little distance from the same inn. She followed one of\nthe mug's journeys upward, and perceived it to be clasped by hands\nwhose owner she well knew. Tess went towards the waggon. \"Marian and Izz!\" she cried to the girls, for it was they, sitting\nwith the moving family at whose house they had lodged. \"Are you\nhouse-ridding to-day, like everybody else?\" They were, they said. It had been too rough a life for them at\nFlintcomb-Ash, and they had come away, almost without notice,\nleaving Groby to prosecute them if he chose. They told Tess their\ndestination, and Tess told them hers. Marian leant over the load, and lowered her voice. \"Do you know that\nthe gentleman who follows 'ee--you'll guess who I mean--came to ask\nfor 'ee at Flintcomb after you had gone? We didn't tell'n where you\nwas, knowing you wouldn't wish to see him.\" \"Ah--but I did see him!\" Tess murmured. \"He found me.\" \"And do he know where you be going?\" \"I think so.\" \"Husband come back?\" \"No.\" She bade her acquaintance goodbye--for the respective carters had now\ncome out from the inn--and the two waggons resumed their journey in\nopposite directions; the vehicle whereon sat Marian, Izz, and the\nploughman's family with whom they had thrown in their lot, being\nbrightly painted, and drawn by three powerful horses with shining\nbrass ornaments on their harness; while the waggon on which Mrs\nDurbeyfield and her family rode was a creaking erection that would\nscarcely bear the weight of the superincumbent load; one which had\nknown no paint since it was made, and drawn by two horses only. The contrast well marked the difference between being fetched by a\nthriving farmer and conveying oneself whither no hirer waited one's\ncoming. The distance was great--too great for a day's journey--and it was\nwith the utmost difficulty that the horses performed it. Though they\nhad started so early, it was quite late in the afternoon when they\nturned the flank of an eminence which formed part of the upland\ncalled Greenhill. While the horses stood to stale and breathe\nthemselves Tess looked around. Under the hill, and just ahead of\nthem, was the half-dead townlet of their pilgrimage, Kingsbere,\nwhere lay those ancestors of whom her father had spoken and sung to\npainfulness: Kingsbere, the spot of all spots in the world which\ncould be considered the d'Urbervilles' home, since they had resided\nthere for full five hundred years. A man could be seen advancing from the outskirts towards them, and\nwhen he beheld the nature of their waggon-load he quickened his\nsteps. \"You be the woman they call Mrs Durbeyfield, I reckon?\" he said to\nTess's mother, who had descended to walk the remainder of the way. She nodded. \"Though widow of the late Sir John d'Urberville, poor\nnobleman, if I cared for my rights; and returning to the domain of\nhis forefathers.\" \"Oh? Well, I know nothing about that; but if you be Mrs Durbeyfield,\nI am sent to tell 'ee that the rooms you wanted be let. We didn't\nknow that you was coming till we got your letter this morning--when\n'twas too late. But no doubt you can get other lodgings somewhere.\" The man had noticed the face of Tess, which had become ash-pale at\nhis intelligence. Her mother looked hopelessly at fault. \"What\nshall we do now, Tess?\" she said bitterly. \"Here's a welcome to\nyour ancestors' lands! However, let's try further.\" They moved on into the town, and tried with all their might, Tess\nremaining with the waggon to take care of the children whilst her\nmother and 'Liza-Lu made inquiries. At the last return of Joan to\nthe vehicle, an hour later, when her search for accommodation had\nstill been fruitless, the driver of the waggon said the goods must be\nunloaded, as the horses were half-dead, and he was bound to return\npart of the way at least that night. \"Very well--unload it here,\" said Joan recklessly. \"I'll get shelter\nsomewhere.\" The waggon had drawn up under the churchyard wall, in a spot screened\nfrom view, and the driver, nothing loth, soon hauled down the poor\nheap of household goods. This done, she paid him, reducing herself\nto almost her last shilling thereby, and he moved off and left them,\nonly too glad to get out of further dealings with such a family. It\nwas a dry night, and he guessed that they would come to no harm. Tess gazed desperately at the pile of furniture. The cold sunlight\nof this spring evening peered invidiously upon the crocks and\nkettles, upon the bunches of dried herbs shivering in the breeze,\nupon the brass handles of the dresser, upon the wicker-cradle they\nhad all been rocked in, and upon the well-rubbed clock-case, all of\nwhich gave out the reproachful gleam of indoor articles abandoned to\nthe vicissitudes of a roofless exposure for which they were never\nmade. Round about were deparked hills and slopes--now cut up\ninto little paddocks--and the green foundations that showed where\nthe d'Urberville mansion once had stood; also an outlying stretch\nof Egdon Heath that had always belonged to the estate. Hard by,\nthe aisle of the church called the d'Urberville Aisle looked on\nimperturbably. \"Isn't your family vault your own freehold?\" said Tess's mother, as\nshe returned from a reconnoitre of the church and graveyard. \"Why,\nof course 'tis, and that's where we will camp, girls, till the place\nof your ancestors finds us a roof! Now, Tess and 'Liza and Abraham,\nyou help me. We'll make a nest for these children, and then we'll\nhave another look round.\" Tess listlessly lent a hand, and in a quarter of an hour the old\nfour-post bedstead was dissociated from the heap of goods, and\nerected under the south wall of the church, the part of the building\nknown as the d'Urberville Aisle, beneath which the huge vaults lay. Over the tester of the bedstead was a beautiful traceried window, of\nmany lights, its date being the fifteenth century. It was called\nthe d'Urberville Window, and in the upper part could be discerned\nheraldic emblems like those on Durbeyfield's old seal and spoon. Joan drew the curtains round the bed so as to make an excellent tent\nof it, and put the smaller children inside. \"If it comes to the\nworst we can sleep there too, for one night,\" she said. \"But let us\ntry further on, and get something for the dears to eat! O, Tess,\nwhat's the use of your playing at marrying gentlemen, if it leaves\nus like this!\" Accompanied by 'Liza-Lu and the boy, she again ascended the little\nlane which secluded the church from the townlet. As soon as they got\ninto the street they beheld a man on horseback gazing up and down. \"Ah--I'm looking for you!\" he said, riding up to them. \"This is\nindeed a family gathering on the historic spot!\" It was Alec d'Urberville. \"Where is Tess?\" he asked. Personally Joan had no liking for Alec. She cursorily signified the\ndirection of the church, and went on, d'Urberville saying that he\nwould see them again, in case they should be still unsuccessful in\ntheir search for shelter, of which he had just heard.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-08, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-11 The user is reading a book]\n<User> When they had\ngone, d'Urberville rode to the inn, and shortly after came out on\nfoot. In the interim Tess, left with the children inside the bedstead,\nremained talking with them awhile, till, seeing that no more could\nbe done to make them comfortable just then, she walked about the\nchurchyard, now beginning to be embrowned by the shades of nightfall. The door of the church was unfastened, and she entered it for the\nfirst time in her life. Within the window under which the bedstead stood were the tombs of\nthe family, covering in their dates several centuries. They were\ncanopied, altar-shaped, and plain; their carvings being defaced\nand broken; their brasses torn from the matrices, the rivet-holes\nremaining like martin-holes in a sandcliff. Of all the reminders\nthat she had ever received that her people were socially extinct,\nthere was none so forcible as this spoliation. She drew near to a dark stone on which was inscribed:\n\n\n   OSTIUM SEPULCHRI ANTIQUAE FAMILIAE D'URBERVILLE\n\n\nTess did not read Church-Latin like a Cardinal, but she knew that\nthis was the door of her ancestral sepulchre, and that the tall\nknights of whom her father had chanted in his cups lay inside. She musingly turned to withdraw, passing near an altar-tomb, the\noldest of them all, on which was a recumbent figure. In the dusk she\nhad not noticed it before, and would hardly have noticed it now but\nfor an odd fancy that the effigy moved. As soon as she drew close\nto it she discovered all in a moment that the figure was a living\nperson; and the shock to her sense of not having been alone was so\nviolent that she was quite overcome, and sank down nigh to fainting,\nnot, however, till she had recognized Alec d'Urberville in the form. He leapt off the slab and supported her. \"I saw you come in,\" he said smiling, \"and got up there not to\ninterrupt your meditations. A family gathering, is it not, with\nthese old fellows under us here? Listen.\" He stamped with his heel heavily on the floor; whereupon there arose\na hollow echo from below. \"That shook them a bit, I'll warrant!\" he continued. \"And you\nthought I was the mere stone reproduction of one of them. But no. The old order changeth. The little finger of the sham d'Urberville\ncan do more for you than the whole dynasty of the real underneath...\nNow command me. What shall I do?\" \"Go away!\" she murmured. \"I will--I'll look for your mother,\" said he blandly. But in passing\nher he whispered: \"Mind this; you'll be civil yet!\" When he was gone she bent down upon the entrance to the vaults, and\nsaid--\n\n\"Why am I on the wrong side of this door!\" In the meantime Marian and Izz Huett had journeyed onward with the\nchattels of the ploughman in the direction of their land of Canaan--\nthe Egypt of some other family who had left it only that morning. But the girls did not for a long time think of where they were going. Their talk was of Angel Clare and Tess, and Tess's persistent lover,\nwhose connection with her previous history they had partly heard and\npartly guessed ere this. \"'Tisn't as though she had never known him afore,\" said Marian. \"His\nhaving won her once makes all the difference in the world. 'Twould\nbe a thousand pities if he were to tole her away again. Mr Clare can\nnever be anything to us, Izz; and why should we grudge him to her,\nand not try to mend this quarrel? If he could on'y know what straits\nshe's put to, and what's hovering round, he might come to take care\nof his own.\" \"Could we let him know?\" They thought of this all the way to their destination; but the bustle\nof re-establishment in their new place took up all their attention\nthen. But when they were settled, a month later, they heard of\nClare's approaching return, though they had learnt nothing more of\nTess. Upon that, agitated anew by their attachment to him, yet\nhonourably disposed to her, Marian uncorked the penny ink-bottle they\nshared, and a few lines were concocted between the two girls. HONOUR'D SIR--\n\n   Look to your Wife if you do love her as much as she do\n   love you. For she is sore put to by an Enemy in the shape\n   of a Friend. Sir, there is one near her who ought to be\n   Away. A woman should not be try'd beyond her Strength,\n   and continual dropping will wear away a Stone--ay,\n   more--a Diamond. FROM TWO WELL-WISHERS\n\n\nThis was addressed to Angel Clare at the only place they had ever\nheard him to be connected with, Emminster Vicarage; after which they\ncontinued in a mood of emotional exaltation at their own generosity,\nwhich made them sing in hysterical snatches and weep at the same\ntime. END OF PHASE THE SIXTH\n\n\n\n\n\nPhase the Seventh: Fulfilment\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-11, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far."]
[{"question": "Summarize the content of the book I read from 2024-01-01 to 2024-01-11", "answer": "Tess, Wessex countryside, Marlott, Liza Lu, parents ill, family garden, moonlight gardening, Alec, gift, John Durbeyfield, death, eviction, villagers' scorn, cart and horse, Kingsbere, Angel, passionate letter, Marian, Izz, new farmer, churchyard, bedding under stars, tomb, crypt, Marian and Izz letter, Angel summoned"}]