Fiction Books

CHAPTER I Though there was nothing visibly graceful about Michael Comber, he apparently had the art of giving gracefully. He had already told his cousin Francis, who sat on the arm of the sofa by his table, that there was no earthly excuse for his having run into debt; but now when the moment came for giving, he wrote the cheque quickly and eagerly, as if thoroughly enjoying it, and passed it over to... more...

MR. SETH ATKINS The stars, like incandescent lights fed by a fast weakening dynamo, grew pale, faded, and, one by one, went out. The slate-colored sea, with its tumbling waves, changed color, becoming a light gray, then a faint blue, and, as the red sun rolled up over the edge of the eastern horizon, a brilliant sapphire, trimmed with a silver white on the shoals and along the beach at the foot of the... more...

I Dream.         True, I talk of dreams;Which are the children of an idle brain,Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,Which is as thin of substance as the air;And more inconstant than the wind, who woosEven now the frozen bosom of the north,And, being anger’d, puffs away from thence,Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. Il est naturel que nos idées les plus vives et les plus familières se... more...

CHAPTER I DEFINITIONS Arena.—The space included by the boundaries of the croquet ground, within which a ball driven out of it is entitled to be placed. Blow.—The stroke of the mallet. A blow opposed to a push. Booby.—A ball that fails to run the first bridge. Bridged Ball.—A ball that has run the first bridge. Central Bridges.—Those in a line between the stakes. Chiefs.—The leaders of the... more...

I. There was a sepulchral tone in the voice, and well there might be, for it was a voice from the grave. Floating on the damp autumnal air, and echoing round the forest of tombs, it died away over the moors, on the edge of which the old God's-acre stood. Though far from melodious, it was distinct enough to convey to the ear the words of a well-known hymn—a hymn sung in jerky fragments, the... more...

PROLOGUE. "Oh—Eny!" "Well, you needn't be angry, Vane. I kissed you this morning, you know." "That's no reason why you should kiss that chap, too! You're my sweetheart." "Is she? Well, she won't be much longer, because I'm going to have her." "Are you? Shut up, or I'll punch your head." "You can't—and, anyhow, you... more...

ld Miss Barbara Noble twitched aside the edge of the white scrim curtain to get a better look at the young man coming down the street. He might be the one. The young man bent a little under the weight of the battered black suitcase as he crossed Maple and started up Prospect on Miss Noble's side. She could see him set the case down on the wide porch of the Raney house and wipe his forehead with a... more...

A DAY WITH BYRON.   ne February afternoon in the year 1822, about two o'clock,—for this is the hour at which his day begins,—"the most notorious personality of his century" arouses himself, in the Palazzo Lanfranchi at Pisa. George Gordon Noel, Lord Byron, languidly arises and dresses, with the assistance of his devoted valet Fletcher. Invariably he awakes in very low spirits, "in... more...

“Your name ith Jathon Ramthey?” the Port Security Officer lisped politely. Jason Ramsey, who wore the uniform of Interstellar Transfer Service and was the only Earthman in the Service here on Irwadi, smiled and said: “Take three guesses. You know darn well I’m Ramsey.” He was a big man even by Earth standards, which meant he towered over the Irwadian’s green, scaly head. He was fair of skin... more...

Chapter I. During the winter preceding the firing upon Sumter, I was one of a group of young fellows of about my own age who regularly assembled evenings at the corner grocery of the village where we lived, to listen to older persons discuss the affairs of the nation and all other matters, moral, intellectual and social, as is the nightly custom in country groceries, and particularly the probabilities... more...