Fiction Books

INTRODUCTORY It was a night of bright moonlight that made for pitchy shadows under wall or tree. Patsy Kenny was looking for the goat, she having broken her tether. He had been driven forth by his fierce old grandfather with threats of the most awful nature if he should return without the goat. The tears were not yet dry on Patsy's small face. He had kneaded them in with his knuckles, but the... more...

Love Instigated. It was a daisy bit of Ivory. It was a curious piece of Workmanship. It was carved and carved again with Conventional Lines, which formed a Female Head of East-Indian Unexceptionableness. It seemed to Smile and to Beckon, and then to Scowl repellantly—a Living Mockery! It was Hateful—Oh, so Hateful!—the sight Of so conventional a Thing. And yet there had been such a Longing to... more...

CHAPTER I More than thirty years ago two atoms of the eternal Energy sped forth from the heart of it which we call God, and incarnated themselves in the human shapes that were destined to hold them for a while, as vases hold perfumes, or goblets wine, or as sparks of everlasting radium inhabit the bowels of the rock. Perhaps these two atoms, or essences, or monads indestructible, did but repeat an... more...

CHAPTER I An appalling crash, piercing shrieks, a loud, unequal quarrel on a staircase, the sharp bang of a door…. Edith started up from her restful corner on the blue sofa by the fire, where she had been thinking about her guest, and rushed to the door. 'Archie—Archie! Come here directly! What's that noise?' A boy of ten came calmly into the room. 'It wasn't me that made... more...

CHAPTER I. INTRODUCES MR. LEWISHAM. The opening chapter does not concern itself with Love—indeed that antagonist does not certainly appear until the third—and Mr. Lewisham is seen at his studies. It was ten years ago, and in those days he was assistant master in the Whortley Proprietary School, Whortley, Sussex, and his wages were forty pounds a year, out of which he had to afford fifteen shillings... more...

ONSLOW SQUARE This is a romantic tale. So romantic is it that I shall be forced to pry into the coy recesses of the mind in order to exhibit a connected, reasonable affair, not only of a man and his wife prosperously seated in the mean of things, nel mezzo del cammin in space as well as time—for the Macartneys belonged to the middle class, and were well on to the middle of life themselves—, but of... more...

CHAPTER I. A SYLLABUB PARTY. Oft had I shadowed such a groupOf beauties that were bornIn teacup times of hood and hoop,And when the patch was worn;And legs and arms with love-knots gay.About me leaped and laughedThe modish Cupid of the day,And shrilled his tinselled shaft.—Tennyson. If times differ, human nature and national character vary but little; and thus, in looking back on former times, we are... more...

SCENE I. MILLER—MRS. MILLER. MILLER (walking quickly up and down the room). Once for all! The affair is becoming serious. My daughter and the baron will soon be the town-talk—my house lose its character—the president will get wind of it, and—the short and long of the matter is, I'll show the younker the door. MRS MILLER. You did not entice him to your house—did not thrust your daughter... more...

CHAPTER I "A gentleman called to see you when you were out last night, sir," said Mrs. Medley, my landlady, removing the last of the breakfast things. "Yes?" I said, in my affable way. "A gentleman," said Mrs. Medley meditatively, "with a very powerful voice." "Caruso?" "Sir?" "I said, did he leave a name?" "Yes, sir. Mr. Ukridge."... more...

r. Jeremy Garnet stood with his back to the empty grate—for the time was summer—watching with a jaundiced eye the removal of his breakfast things. "Mrs. Medley," he said. "Sir?" "Would it bore you if I became auto-biographical?" "Sir?" "Never mind. I merely wish to sketch for your benefit a portion of my life's history. At eleven o'clock last night I... more...