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CHAPTER I This is the story of how a middle-aged spinster lost her mind, deserted her domestic gods in the city, took a furnished house for the summer out of town, and found herself involved in one of those mysterious crimes that keep our newspapers and detective agencies happy and prosperous. For twenty years I had been perfectly comfortable; for twenty years I had had the window-boxes filled in the...
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by:
Edward Howard
I begin a life without a similitude with a simile—Start off with four horses—And, finally, I make my first appearance on any stage, under the protection of the “Crown.” In the volume I am going to write, it is my intention to adhere rigidly to the truth—this will be bonâ fide an autobiography—and, as the public like novelty, an autobiography without an iota of fiction in the whole of it,...
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by:
Rose Macaulay
NEVILLE'S BIRTHDAY 1 Neville, at five o'clock (Nature's time, not man's) on the morning of her birthday, woke from the dream-broken sleep of summer dawns, hot with the burden of two sheets and a blanket, roused by the multitudinous silver calling of a world full of birds. They chattered and bickered about the creepered house, shrill and sweet, like a hundred brooks running together...
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CHAPTER I. I GO TO PITTSBURG McKnight is gradually taking over the criminal end of the business. I never liked it, and since the strange case of the man in lower ten, I have been a bit squeamish. Given a case like that, where you can build up a network of clues that absolutely incriminate three entirely different people, only one of whom can be guilty, and your faith in circumstantial evidence dies of...
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CHAPTER I. RECOVERY. Something I know. Oft, shall it come about When every heart is full of hope for man, The horizon straight is darkened, and a doubt Clouds all. The work the youth so well began Wastes down, and by some deed of shame is finished. Ah, yet we will not be dismayed: What seemed the triumph of the Fiend at length Might be the effort of some dying...
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CHAPTER I—The twenty-fourth day of November 1690 On a wintry morning at the close of 1690, the sun shining faint and red through a light fog, there was a great noise of baying dogs, loud voices, and trampling of horses in the courtyard at Wildairs Hall; Sir Jeoffry being about to go forth a-hunting, and being a man with a choleric temper and big, loud voice, and given to oaths and noise even when in...
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by:
Leon Guipon
CHAPTER I “ No,” said the Princess. “No. I’m—dashed if I do.” “My darling child!” exclaimed the Grand Duchess. “You’re impossible. If any one should hear you!” “It’s he who’s impossible,” the Princess amended. “I’m just trying to show you—” “Or to shock me. You are so like your grandmother.” “That’s the best compliment any one can give me, which is lucky,...
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by:
Susanna Moodie
CHAPTER I. MY GRANDFATHER AND HIS SONS. There was a time—a good old time—when men of rank and fortune were not ashamed of their poor relations; affording the protection of their name and influence to the lower shoots of the great family tree, which, springing from the same root, expected to derive support and nourishment from the main stem. That time is well-nigh gone for ever. Kindred love and...
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by:
Gustave Flaubert
CHAPTER I For half a century the housewives of Pont-l'Eveque had envied Madame Aubain her servant Felicite. For a hundred francs a year, she cooked and did the housework, washed, ironed, mended, harnessed the horse, fattened the poultry, made the butter and remained faithful to her mistress—although the latter was by no means an agreeable person. Madame Aubain had married a comely youth without...
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by:
O. Henry
VII SOCIOLOGY IN SERGE AND STRAW The season of irresponsibility is at hand. Come, let us twine round our brows wreaths of poison ivy (that is for idiocy), and wander hand in hand with sociology in the summer fields. Likely as not the world is flat. The wise men have tried to prove that it is round, with indifferent success. They pointed out to us a ship going to sea, and bade us observe that, at length,...
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