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Charles Garvice
Charles Garvice (1850-1920) was a prolific British author of romantic fiction, renowned for his popular novels in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. His works often centered around themes of love, redemption, and moral dilemmas, appealing mainly to working-class readers. Some of his well-known novels include "The Marquis" and "Her Heart's Desire," which were widely read across Europe and America. Despite his immense popularity during his time, Garvice's works are largely forgotten today, though he was once considered one of the best-selling authors in the world.
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Charles Garvice
CHAPTER 1 "Until this moment I have never fully realised how great an ass a man can be. When I think that this morning I scurried through what might have been a decent breakfast, left my comfortable diggings, and was cooped up in a train for seven hours, that I am now driving in a pelting rain through, so far as I can see for the mist, what appears to be a howling wilderness, I ask myself if I am...
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Charles Garvice
CHAPTER I It was a cold night in early spring, and the West End streets were nearly deserted. The great shutters of the shops were being drawn down with a dull rumble, and every moment the pavements grew more dreary looking as the glories of the plate-glass windows were hidden. Tired workers with haggard faces were making their way homeward; to them the day was at an end. But to the occupants of the...
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Charles Garvice
CHAPTER I. "Dick, how many are twenty-seven and eight?" The girl looked up, with narrow eyes and puckered brow, from the butcher's book, which she was laboriously "checking," at the boy who leaned back on the window seat picking out a tune on a banjo. "Thirty-nine," he replied lazily but promptly, without ceasing to peck, peck at the strings. She nodded her thanks, and...
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Charles Garvice
Celia climbed up the steps to her room slowly; not because she was very tired, but because her room was nearly at the top of Brown's Buildings and she had learnt that, at any rate, it was well to begin slowly. It was only the milk boy and the paper boy who ran up the stairs, and they generally whistled or sang as they ran, heedless of feminine reproofs or masculine curses. There was no lift at...
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