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Fiction Books
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SLICK'S LETTER. [After these sketches had gone through the press, and were ready for the binder, we sent Mr. Slick a copy; and shortly afterwards received from him the following letter, which characteristic communication we give entire—EDITOR.] To MR. HOWE, SIR.—I received your letter, and note its contents; I aint over half pleased, I tell you; I think I have been used scandalous, that's...
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Charles Reade
CHAPTER I Not a day passes over the earth, but men and women of no note do great deeds, speak great words, and suffer noble sorrows. Of these obscure heroes, philosophers, and martyrs, the greater part will never be known till that hour, when many that are great shall be small, and the small great; but of others the world's knowledge may be said to sleep: their lives and characters lie hidden from...
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Isabel W. Caley
CHAPTER I MR. CROW AND MR. TURTLE Over in that portion of the big woods where the brook swings around a clump of alders in order to wind in and out among the trees is a very large and very old oak tree whose branches afford a roosting place for all the feathered inhabitants of that vicinity, and give shade on warm days to all who are forced to wear fur coats during the summer. This oak tree stands near...
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Chapter 1. The Tremendous Adventures of Major Brown Rabelais, or his wild illustrator Gustave Dore, must have had something to do with the designing of the things called flats in England and America. There is something entirely Gargantuan in the idea of economising space by piling houses on top of each other, front doors and all. And in the chaos and complexity of those perpendicular streets anything...
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by:
Edgar Wallace
CHAPTER I The 4.15 from Victoria to Lewes had been held up at Three Bridges in consequence of a derailment and, though John Lexman was fortunate enough to catch a belated connection to Beston Tracey, the wagonette which was the sole communication between the village and the outside world had gone. "If you can wait half an hour, Mr. Lexman," said the station-master, "I will telephone up to...
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Hanson Booth
CHAPTER I When Sarah Hayden Mosely died, she did something. Most people do not. They cease to do. They are forgotten. The grass that springs above their dust is the one recurrent memory which the earth publishes of them long after the world has been eased of their presence, the fever of their prayers and hopes. It was the other way with this dim little old woman. During the whole of her life she had...
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INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. In one of the old-fashioned books for children there was a story of the adventures of a cent (or perhaps that coin of older lineage, a penny) told by itself, which came into my mind when the publishers suggested that the readers of a new edition of this book might like to know how it happened to be written. I promptly fancied the book speaking, and taking upon itself the burden of...
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THE COAST OF BOHEMIA There is a land not charted on all charts;Though many mariners have touched its coast,Who far adventuring in those distant parts,Meet ship-wreck there and are forever lost;Or if they e'er return, are soon once moreBorne far away by hunger for that magic shore. Its mystic mountains on the horizon piled,Some mariners have glimpsed when driven farOut of life's measured...
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THE VANISHING MYSTERY Flora Gilsey stood on the threshold of her dining-room. She had turned her back on it. She swayed forward. Her bare arms were lifted. Her hands lightly caught the molding on either side of the door. She was looking intently into the mirror at the other end of the hall. All the lights in the dining-room were lit, and she saw herself rather keenly set against their brilliance. The...
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Early in the Mackinac summer Owen Cunning took his shoemaker's bench and all his belongings to that open cavern on the beach called the Devil's Kitchen, which was said to derive its name from former practices of the Indians. They roasted prisoners there. The inner rock retained old smoke-stains. Though appearing a mere hole in the cliff to passing canoe-men, the Devil's Kitchen was...
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