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Fiction Books
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                by: 
                                Nina Rhoades                                
            
        
                                 CHAPTER I MAKING THE BEST OF THINGS "Marjorie." The clear call rang out, breaking the afternoon stillness of the ranch, but there was no response, and after waiting a moment Miss Graham gave her wheeled chair a gentle push, which sent it rolling smoothly across the porch of the ranch house, down the inclined plane, which served the purpose of steps, to the lawn. It was very hot, the sun was...
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                by: 
                                Margaret Burnham                                
            
        
                                 CHAPTER I. PREPARATIONS AND PLANS. "It will be another 'sky cruise,' longer and daintier and lovelier!" exclaimed Jess Bancroft, clapping her hands. "Peggy, you're nothing if not original." "Well, there are automobile tours and sailing trips, and driving parties—" "And railroad journeys and mountain tramps—" interrupted Jess, laughing. "Yes, and...
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                by: 
                                Margaret Burnham                                
            
        
                                 CHAPTER I. A NEW VENTURE IN SANDY BEACH. "It isn't to be a barn; that's one thing certain. Who ever saw a barn with skylights on it?" Peggy Prescott, in a pretty, fluffy morning dress of pale green, which set off her blonde beauty to perfection, laid down her racket, and, leaving the tennis-court, joined her brother Roy at the picket fence. The lad, bronzed and toughened by his trip...
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                                 CHAPTER I DR. TOLBRIDGE It was about the middle of a March afternoon when Dr. Tolbridge, giving his horse and buggy into the charge of his stable boy, entered the warm hall of his house. His wife was delighted to see him; he had not been at home since noon of the preceding day. "Yes," said he, as he took off his gloves and overcoat, "the Pardell boy is better, but I found him in a desperate...
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                by: 
                                Emerson Hough                                
            
        
                                 CHAPTER I THE BRAZEN TONGUES The band major was a poet. His name is lost to history, but it deserves a place among the titles of the great. Only in the soul of a poet, a great man, could there have been conceived that thought by which the music of triumph should pass the little pinnacle of human exultation, and reach the higher plane of human sympathy. Forty black horses, keeping step; forty...
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                by: 
                                Bannister Merwin                                
            
        
                                 The Girl and the Bill CHAPTER I THE THRESHOLD OF ADVENTURE The roar of State Street filled the ears of Robert Orme not unpleasantly. He liked Chicago, felt towards the Western city something more than the tolerant, patronizing interest which so often characterizes the Eastern man. To him it was the hub of genuine Americanism—young, aggressive, perhaps a bit too cocksure, but ever bounding along with...
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                by: 
                                Margaret Burnham                                
            
        
                                 CHAPTER I. THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. “Roy! Roy! where are you?” Peggy Prescott came flying down the red-brick path, a rustling newspaper clutched in her hand. “Here I am, sis,—what’s up?” The door of a long, low shed at the farther end of the old-fashioned garden opened as a clattering sound of hammering abruptly ceased. Roy Prescott, a wavy-haired, blue-eyed lad of seventeen, or thereabouts,...
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                                 CHAPTER I.PLANTS AS A SOURCE OF REVENUE. With the single exception of ginseng, the hundred of plants whose roots are used for medical purposes, America is the main market and user. Ginseng is used mainly by the Chinese. The thickly inhabited Chinese Empire is where the American ginseng is principally used. To what uses it is put may be briefly stated, as a superstitious beverage. The roots with certain...
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                by: 
                                Fox B. Holden                                
            
        
                                 His head hurt like blazes, but he was alive, and to be alive meant fighting like hell to stay that way. That was the first thing returning consciousness told him. The next was that his helmet should have been cracked wide open when the bum landing had wrenched the acceleration hammocks out of their suspension sockets and heaved his suited body across the buckled conning deck. It should've been,...
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                                 THE STEAMBOAT LEVEE Saturday, April, 1852. There was a fervor in the sky as of an August noon, although the clocks of the city would presently strike five. Dazzling white clouds, about to show the earliest flush of the sun's decline, beamed down upon a turbid river harbor, where the water was deep so close inshore that the port's unbroken mile of steamboat wharf nowhere stretched out into the...
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