Arthur's Classic Novels: Complete Twentieth Century Writers
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A.J. Alan
My Adventure in Norfolk by A.J. Alan
The Hair by A.J. Alan
H2, etc. by A.J. Alan
The Diver by A.J. Alan
My Adventure at Chiselhurst by A.J. Alan
Bess Streeter Aldrich
Miss Bishop (1933) by Bess S. Aldrich
A Lantern in her Hand (1928) by Bess S. Aldrich
Mother Mason (1924) by Bess S. Aldrich
Spring Came on Forever (1935) by Bess S. Aldrich
A White Bird Flying (1931) by Bess S. Aldrich
Frederick Lewis Allen
Only Yesterday: An Informal History of the 1920's (1931) by F. Lewis Allen
The Big Change (1952) by F. Lewis Allen
Since Yesterday (1939) by F. Lewis Allen
Elizabeth Von Arnim
Elizabeth and her German Garden by Elizabeth Von Arnim
I love my garden. I am writing in it now in the late afternoon loveliness, much interrupted by the mosquitoes and the temptation to look at all the glories of the new green leaves washed half an hour ago in a cold shower.
The Princess Priscilla's Fortnight by Elizabeth Von Arnim
Her Grand Ducal Highness the Princess Priscilla of Lothen-Kunitz was up to the age of twenty-one a most promising young lady. She was not only poetic in appearance beyond the habit of princesses but she was also of graceful and appropriate behaviour.
Christopher and Columbus by Elizabeth Von Arnim
It was Anna-Rosa who suggested their being Christopher and Columbus. She was the elder by twenty minutes. Both had had their
seventeenth birthday—and what a birthday
The Solitary Summer by Elizabeth Von Arnim
It was the evening of May Day, and the spring had taken hold of me body and soul. The sky was full of stars, and the garden of scents, and the borders of wallflowers and sweet, sly pansies.
L. Frank Baum
The Tiger's Eye by L. Frank Baum
The Enchanted Buffalo by L. Frank Baum
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum
Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with Uncle Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the farmer's
wife. Their house was small, for the lumber to build it had to be
carried by wagon many miles. There were four walls, a floor and a
roof, which made one room; and this room contained a rusty looking
cookstove, a cupboard for the dishes, a table, three or four
chairs, and the beds.
Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz by L. Frank Baum
At once a little girl rose from her seat and walked to the door of the car, carrying a wicker suit-case in one hand and a round bird-cage covered up with newspapers in the other, while a parasol was tucked
under her arm.
The Patchwork Girl of Oz
The old Munchkin turned and looked at Ojo. He had kindly eyes, but he hadn't smiled or laughed
in so long that the boy had forgotten that Unc
Nunkie could look any other way than solemn. And
Unc never spoke any more words than he was obliged
to, so his little nephew, who lived alone with
him, had learned to understand a great deal from one word.
Sky Island
Trot wasn't very big herself, but the boy was not quite as big as Trot. He was thin, with a rather pale complexion, and his blue eyes were round and earnest. He wore a blouse waist, a short jacket, and knickerbockers.
The Sea Fairies
This was about the time Trot was born, and the old sailor became very fond of the baby girl. Her real name was Mayre, but when she grew big enough to walk, she took so many busy little steps every day that both her mother and Cap'n Bill nicknamed her "Trot," and so she was thereafter mostly called.
The Road to Oz by L. Frank Baum
The shaggy man waited. He had an oat-straw in his mouth, which he chewed slowly as if it tasted good; but it didn't. There was an
apple-tree beside the house, and some apples had fallen to the ground.
The shaggy man thought they would taste better than the oat-straw, so
he walked over to get some.
The Royal Book Of Oz
The Professor, whose College of Art and Athletic Perfection is in the
southwestern part of the Munchkin country, is the biggest bug in Oz, or in
anyplace else, for that matter. He has made education painless by
substituting school pills for books. His students take Latin, history and
spelling pills; they swallow knowledge of every kind with ease and pleasure
and spend the rest of their time in sport. No wonder he is so well thought
of in Oz! No wonder he thinks so well of himself!
Ozma of Oz
At the time the wind began to blow, a ship was sailing far out upon
the waters. When the waves began to tumble and toss and to grow
bigger and bigger the ship rolled up and down, and tipped
sidewise--first one way and then the other
The Master Key
"Electricity," said the old gentleman, sagely, "is destined to become
the motive power of the world. The future advance of civilization
will be along electrical lines. Our boy may become a great inventor
and astonish the world with his wonderful creations."
The Marvelous Land of Oz
Tip was made to carry wood from the forest, that the old woman might boil her pot. He also worked in the corn-fields, hoeing and husking; and he fed the pigs and milked the four-horned cow that was Mombi's especial pride.
The Magic of Oz
On the east edge of the Land of Oz, in the Munchkin Country, is a big, tall hill called Mount Munch. One one side, the bottom of this
hill just touches the Deadly Sandy Desert that separates the
Fairyland of Oz from all the rest of the world, but on the other
side, the hill touches the beautiful, fertile Country of the Munchkins.
The Emerald City of Oz
the King stormed and raved all by himself, walking up and down in his jewel-studded cavern and getting angrier all the time.
Then he remembered that it was no fun being angry unless he had
some one to frighten and make miserable, and he rushed to his big
gong and made it clatter as loud as he could.
Glinda of Oz
Glinda looked at the records several times each day, and Dorothy, whenever she visited the Sorceress, loved
to look in the Book and see what was happening everywhere.
The Tin Woodman of Oz
The Tin Woodman sat on his glittering tin throne in the handsome tin hall of his splendid tin castle in the
Winkie Country of the Land of Oz. Beside him, in a
chair of woven straw, sat his best friend, the
Scarecrow of Oz.
John Dough and the Cherub
People loved to come to the Grogrande Bakery. When one opened the door an exquisite fragrance of newly baked bread and cakes greeted the nostrils; and, if you were not hungry when you entered, you were sure to become so when you examined and smelled the delicious pies and doughnuts and gingerbread and buns with which the shelves and show-cases were stocked. There were trays of French candies, too;
The Enchanted Island of Yew
Those who peopled the world in the old days, having nothing but their hands to depend on, were to a certain extent helpless, and so the fairies were sorry for them and ministered to their wants patiently
and frankly, often showing themselves to those they befriended.
American Fairy Tales
No one intended to leave Martha alone that afternoon, but it happened that everyone was called away, for one reason or another. Mrs. McFarland was attending the weekly card party held by the Women's Anti-Gambling League.
The Lost Princess of Oz
Dorothy was not the only girl from the outside world who had been welcomed to Oz and lived in the royal
palace. There was another named Betsy Bobbin, whose
adventures had led her to seek refuge with Ozma
Rinkitink In Oz
If you have a map of the Land of Oz handy, you will find that the great Nonestic Ocean washes the shores of
the Kingdom of Rinkitink, between which and the Land of
Oz lies a strip of the country of the Nome King and a
Sandy Desert.
The Scarecrow of Oz
"I know; it looks that way at first sight," said the sailor, nodding his head; "but those as knows the least
have a habit of thinkin' they know all there is to
know, while them as knows the most admits what a
turr'ble big world this is. It's the knowing ones that
realize one lifetime ain't long enough to git more'n a
few dips o' the oars of knowledge."
Tik-Tok of Oz
Away up in the mountains,
in a far corner of the beautiful fairyland of Oz,
lies a small valley which is named Oogaboo, and in
this valley lived a few people who were usually
happy and contented and never cared to wander over
the mountain pass into the more settled parts of the land.
The Life and Adventures of Santa Clause
Have you heard of the great Forest of Burzee? Nurse used to sing of
it when I was a child. She sang of the big tree-trunks, standing
close together, with their roots intertwining below the earth and
their branches intertwining above it; of their rough coating of bark
and queer, gnarled limbs; of the bushy foliage that roofed the entire
forest, save where the sunbeams found a path through which to touch
the ground in little spots and to cast weird and curious shadows over
the mosses, the lichens and the drifts of dried leaves.
A Kidnapped Santa Claus
It is called the Laughing Valley because everything there is happy
and gay. The brook chuckles to itself as it leaps rollicking between
its green banks; the wind whistles merrily in the trees; the sunbeams
dance lightly over the soft grass, and the violets and wild flowers
look smilingly up from their green nests.
E F Benson
Miss Mapp by E F Benson
Miss Elizabeth Mapp might have been forty, and she had taken advantage of this opportunity by being just a year or two older. Her face was of high vivid colour and was corrugated by chronic rage and curiosity; but these vivifying emotions had preserved to her an astonishing activity of mind and body, which fully accounted for the comparative adolescence with which she would have been credited anywhere except in the charming little town which she had inhabited so long. Anger and the gravest suspicions about everybody had kept her young and on the boil.
Lucia in London by E F Benson
Mapp And Lucia by E F Benson
Lucia's Progress by E F Benson
Trouble for Lucia by E F Benson
Mrs Ames by E F Benson
Paying Guests by E F Benson
Collected Stories by E F Benson
Crescent and Iron Cross by E F Benson
The Blotting Book by E F Benson
Michael by E F Benson
Willa Cather
One of Ours by Willa Cather
Claude Wheeler opened his eyes before the sun was up and vigorously shook his younger brother, who lay in the other half
of the same bed.
Song of the Lark by Willa Cather
The front hall was dark and cold; the hatrack was hung
with an astonishing number of children's hats and caps and
cloaks. They were even piled on the table beneath the
hatrack.
O Pioneers! by Willa Cather
On the sidewalk in front of one of the stores sat a little Swede boy, crying bitterly. He was
about five years old. His black cloth coat was
much too big for him and made him look like
a little old man.
My Antonia by Willa Cather
Although Jim Burden and I both live in New York, and are old friends, I do not see much of him there.
He is legal counsel for one of the great Western railways,
Alexander's Bridge by Willa Cather
Late one brilliant April afternoon Professor Lucius Wilson stood at the head of Chestnut Street,
looking about him with the pleased air of a man
of taste who does not very often get to Boston.
He had lived there as a student, but for
twenty years and more, since he had been
Professor of Philosophy in a Western
university,
The Affair at Grover Station by Willa Cather
I heard this story sitting on the rear platform of an accommodation freight that crawled along through the brown, sun-dried wilderness between Grover Station and Cheyenne.
The Troll Garden and Selected Stories by Willa Cather
Near Rattlesnake Creek, on the side of a little draw stood Canute's shanty. North, east, south, stretched the level
Nebraska plain of long rust-red grass that undulated constantly
in the wind. To the west the ground was broken and rough, and a
narrow strip of timber wound along the turbid, muddy little
stream
Shadows on the Rock by Willa Cather
and you saw here very much such a mountain rock, cunningly built over with churches, convents, fortifications, gardens, following the natural irregularities of the headland on which they stood
Sapphira And The Slave Girl by Willa Cather
The icy quality, so effective with her servants, came into Mrs. Colbert's voice as she answered him.
Obscure Destinies by Willa Cather
The Doctor picked up his stethoscope and frowned at it as if he were seriously annoyed with the instrument. He wished it had been telling tales about some other man's heart
Lucy Gayheart by Willa Cather
life goes on and we live in the present. But when they do mention her name it is with a gentle glow in the face or the voice, a
confidential glance which says:
My Mortal Enemy by Willa Cather
John Driscoll made his fortune employing contract labour in the Missouri swamps. He retired from business early, returned to the town where he had been a poor boy, and built a fine house in which he took great pride.
A Lost Lady by Willa Cather
George Adams looked at him scornfully. "Of course we are. I got a 22 Remington for my last birthday. But we know better than to bring guns over here.
Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather
They were talking business; had met, indeed, to discuss an anticipated appeal from the Provincial Council at Baltimore for the
founding of an Apostolic Vicarate in New Mexico
The Professor's House (1925) by Willa Cather
Not Under Forty by Willa Cather
Death Comes for the Archbishop (1927) by Willa Cather
Lucy Gayheart (1935) by Willa Cather
Margaret Deland
The Iron Woman by Margaret Deland
Her foreboding was tempered by a giggle and by the deepening dimple in her cheek, but all the same she sighed with a sort of
impersonal regret at the prospect of any unpleasantness.
The Awakening of Helena Richie by Margaret Deland
Dr. Lavendar and Goliath had toiled up the hill to call on old Mr. Benjamin Wright; when they jogged back in the late afternoon it was with the peculiar complacency which follows the doing of a disagreeable duty.
The Way to Peace by Margaret Deland
Athalia Hall looked like a girl, but she was thirty-four. Part of the girlishness lay in the smoothness of her white forehead and in the sincere intensity of her gaze.
Many Waters by Margaret Deland
The lawyer rose briskly and reached for his hat. "What we want now is to get the case up near the head of the list as soon as we can. Get it over! Get it over!
The Voice by Margaret Deland
My boy, about the time you were
born, there was a man in London--some folks called him a saint, and some folks called him a fool; it's a way folks have had ever since our Lord came into this world.
Ethel M. Dell
The Keeper of the Door by Ethel M. Dell
everyone bullied him because he was small and possessed only one arm, having shed the other by inadvertence somewhere on the borders of the Indian Empire.
Charles Rex by Ethel M. Dell
Saltash turned and surveyed the sky-line over the yacht's rail with obvious discontent on his ugly face. His eyes were odd, one black, one grey, giving a curiously unstable appearance to a countenance
The Rocks of Valpre by Ethel M. Dell
Of a cheerful disposition was Cinders, deeply interested in all things living, despising nothing however trivial, constantly seeking, and very often finding, treasures of supreme value
Greatheart by Ethel M. Dell
Biddy Maloney stood at the window of her mistress's bedroom, and surveyed the world with eyes of stern disapproval. There was nothing of the smart lady's maid about Biddy.
Rosa Mundi and Other Stories by Ethel M. Dell
"Oh, thank you ever so much," she said. "I knew it was much nicer this side than the other. No one can see us here, either."
The Lamp in the Desert by Ethel M. Dell
The women of the community, like migratory birds, dwelt in them for barely four months in the year, flitting with the coming of
the pitiless heat to Bhulwana
The Tidal Wave and Other Stories by Ethel M. Dell
He whistled over the job cheerily and tunelessly, glancing now and again with a keen, birdlike intelligence towards the motionless figure twenty yards away that sat with bent head broiling in the sun.
The Way of an Eagle by Ethel M. Dell
The long clatter of an irregular volley of musketry rattled warningly from the naked mountain ridges; over a great grey shoulder of rock the sun sank in a splendid opal glow
The Knave of Diamonds by Ethel M. Dell
There came a sudden blare of music from the great ballroom below, and the woman who stood alone at an open window on the first floor shrugged her shoulders and shivered a little.
The Top of the World by Ethel M. Dell
Old Jeffcott surveyed her with loving admiration. There was no one in the world to compare with Miss Sylvia in his opinion.
The Obstacle Race by Ethel M. Dell
"If I were Lady Joanna Farringmore, I suppose I should say something rather naughty in French, Columbus, to relieve my feelings. But you and I don't talk French, do we?
Theodore Dreiser
Twelve Men by Theodore Dreiser
He was liberal, material, sensual and yet spiritual; and although he never had more than a little money, out of the richness and fullness of his own temperament he seemed able to generate a kind of atmosphere and texture in his daily life which was rich and warm, splendid really in thought (the true reality) if not in fact, and most grateful to all.
The Titan by Theodore Dreiser
When Frank Algernon Cowperwood emerged from the Eastern District Penitentiary in Philadelphia he realized that the old life he had
lived in that city since boyhood was ended. His youth was gone, and with it had been lost the great business prospects of his earlier manhood. He must begin again.
Jennie Gerhardt by Theodore Dreiser
One morning, in the fall of 1880, a middle-aged woman, accompanied by a young girl of eighteen, presented herself at the clerk's desk of the principal hotel in Columbus, Ohio, and made inquiry as to whether there was anything about the place that she could do. She was of a helpless, fleshy build, with a frank, open countenance and an innocent, diffident manner.
Ida Hauchawout by Theodore Dreiser
When I think of her and the dreary, commonplace, brown farm-house, in a doorway of which I first saw her framed, and later of the wee, but cleanly, cabin in which I saw her lying at rest, I think of smooth green hills that rise in noble billows, of valleys so wide and deep that they could hold a thousand cottage farms, of trees that were globe-like from being left unharried by the winds, of cattle red and black and white and black, great herds dotting the hills
The Financier by Theodore Dreiser
The Philadelphia into which Frank Algernon Cowperwood was born was a city of two hundred and fifty thousand and more. It was
set with handsome parks, notable buildings, and crowded with historic memories.
Sister Carrie by Theodore Dreiser
She was eighteen years of age, bright, timid, and full of the illusions of ignorance and youth. Whatever touch of regret at parting characterised her thoughts, it was certainly not for advantages now being given up. A gush of tears at her mother's farewell kiss, a touch in her throat when the cars clacked by the flour mill where her father worked by the day, a pathetic sigh as the familiar green environs of the village passed in review, and the threads which bound her so lightly to girlhood and home were irretrievably broken.
Jeffrey Farnol
The Amateur Gentleman by Jeffrey Farnol
John Barty, ex-champion of England and landlord of the "Coursing Hound," sat screwed round in his chair with his eyes yet turned to the door that had closed after the departing lawyer fully five minutes ago, and his eyes were wide and blank
The Money Moon by Jeffrey Farnol
When Sylvia Marchmont went to Europe, George Bellew being, at the same time, desirous of testing his newest acquired yacht, followed her, and mutual friends in New York, Newport, and elsewhere, confidently awaited news of their engagement.
My Lady Caprice by Jeffrey Farnol
Precisely a week ago Lady Warburton had requested me to call upon her - had regarded me with a curious exactitude through her
lorgnette, and gently though firmly
The Broad Highway by Jeffrey Farnol
Here Mr. Grainger paused in his reading to glance up over the rim of his spectacles, while Sir Richard lay back in his chair and
laughed loudly. "Gad!" he exclaimed, still chuckling, "I'd give a hundred pounds if he could have been present to hear that
Beltane The Smith by Jeffrey Farnol
Alone he lived in the shadow of the great trees, happy when the piping of the birds was in his ears, and joying to listen to the plash
and murmur of the brook that ran merrily beside his hut
Black Bartlemy's Treasure by Jeffrey Farnol
thunder crashed and lightning
flamed athwart the muddy road that wound steeply up betwixt grassy banks topped by swaying trees. Broken twigs, whirling down the wind, smote me in the dark
The Geste of Duke Jocelyn by Jeffrey Farnol
Long, long ago when castles grim did frown,
When massy wall and gate did 'fend each town;
When mighty lords in armour bright were seen
John Fox, Jr.
A Mountain Europa by John Fox, Jr.
As Clayton rose to his feet in the still air, the tree-tops began to tremble in the gap below him, and a rippling ran through the
leaves up the mountain-side.
Hell Fer Sartain and Other Stories by John Fox, Jr.
Thar was a dancin'-party Christmas night on "Hell fer Sartain." Jes tu'n up the fust crick beyond the bend thar, an' climb onto a
stump
The Heart Of The Hills by John Fox, Jr.
Twin spirals of blue smoke rose on either side of the spur, crept tendril-like up two dark ravines, and clearing the feathery green
crests of the trees, drifted lazily on upward
The Trail Of The Lonesome Pine by John Fox, Jr.
She sat at the base of the big tree -- her little sunbonnet pushed back, her arms locked about her knees, her bare feet gathered
under her crimson gown and her deep eyes fixed on the smoke in the valley below.
The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come by John Fox, Jr.
there would come a miracle of blue sky, white cloud, and yellow light, but always between dark and dark the rain
would fall and the mist creep up the mountains and steam from the tops
-- only to roll together from either range, drip back into the valleys,
and lift, straightway, as mist again.
The Last Stetson by John Fox, Jr.
Always the miller had been a man of peace; and there was one time when he thought the old Stetson-Lewallen feud was done. That was when Rome Stetson, the last but one of his name, and Jasper Lewallen, the last
but one of his, put their guns down and fought with bare fists
A Cumberland Vendetta by John Fox, Jr.
Parting the bushes toward the dim light, they stood on a massive shoulder of the mountain, the river girding it far below, and the
afternoon shadows at their feet. Both carried guns-the tall mountaineer
Ellen Anderson Gholson Glasgow
The Voice Of The People by Ellen Anderson Gholson Glasgow
The jury had vanished from the semicircle of straight-backed chairs in the old court-house, the clerk had laid aside his pen along with his air of listless attention
The Wheel of Life by Ellen Anderson Gholson Glasgow
Though it was twenty years since she had first seen Laura Wilde as a child of ten, the meeting came to her suddenly with all the bright clearness of an incident of yesterday.
The Past by Ellen Anderson Gholson Glasgow
I had no sooner entered the house than I knew something was wrong. Though I had never been in so splendid a place before -- it was one of those big houses just off Fifth Avenue
Life and Gabriella by Ellen Anderson Gholson Glasgow
"But it isn't my fault, Uncle Meriweather!" cried Jane, in desperation at his obtuseness. "I've tried to be the best wife I could
The Deliverance; A Romance of the Virginia by Ellen Anderson Gholson Glasgow
When the Susquehanna stage came to the daily halt beneath the blasted pine at the cross-roads, an elderly man, wearing a
flapping frock coat and a soft slouch hat, stepped gingerly over one of the muddy wheels
Virginia by Ellen Anderson Gholson Glasgow
Miss Priscilla Batte, having learned by heart the lesson in physical geography she would teach her senior class on the morrow, stood feeding her canary on the little square porch of the Dinwiddie Academy for Young Ladies.
The Battle Ground by Ellen Anderson Gholson Glasgow
The little girl sat down in the tall grass by the roadside and shook her red curls from her eyes. She gave a breathless gasp and began fanning herself with the flap of her white sunbonnet.
Robert Hichens
How Love Came To Professor Guildea by Robert Hichens
Yet his days were spent in scientific investigations which conferred immense benefits upon the world.
The Woman With The Fan by Robert Hichens
The sound of the voice came from an inner room, towards which most of these people were looking earnestly. Only one or two seemed
indifferent to the fascination of the singer.
The Prophet of Berkeley Square by Robert Hichens
The great telescope of the Prophet was carefully adjusted upon its lofty, brass-bound stand in the bow window of Number One Thousand
Berkeley Square.
A Spirit In Prison by Robert Hichens
Somewhere, not far off on the still sea that held the tiny islet in a warm embrace, a boy's voice was singing "Napoli Bella."
The Spell of Egypt by Robert Hichens
Why do you come to Egypt? Do you come to gain a dream, or to regain lost dreams of old; to gild your life with the drowsy gold of romance, to lose a creeping sorrow, to forget that too many of your hours are sullen, grey, bereft? What do you wish of Egypt?
In the Wilderness by Robert Hichens
During the years of his not unpleasant servitude Amedeo had become a student of human nature. He had learnt to judge
shrewdly and soundly, to sum up quickly, to deliver verdicts which were not unjust.
The Master of The Inn by Robert Hichens
The village scattered along the road below the inn was called Albany -- and soon forgotten when the railroad sought an opening through a valley less rugged, eight miles to the west.
The Green Carnation by Robert Hichens
It is so interesting to be wonderful, to be young, with pale gilt hair and blue eyes, and a face in which the shadows of fleeting expressions come and go, and a mouth like the mouth of Narcissus.
December Love by Robert Hichens
Alick Craven, who was something in the Foreign Office, had been living in London, except for an interval of military service during the war, for several years, and had plenty of interesting friends and acquaintances
The Memoirs of an American Citizen by Robert Hichens
There was just a strip of waste land, in those days, between the great avenue and the railroad tracks that skirted the lake.
The Garden Of Allah by Robert Hichens
The fatigue caused by a rough sea journey, and, perhaps, the consciousness that she would have to be dressed before dawn to catch
the train for Beni-Mora, prevented Domini Enfilden from sleeping.
Flames by Robert Hichens
Valentine had never decided to
join any regiment. The trumpets of vice rang in his ears in vain, mingled
with the more classical music of his life as the retreat from the
barracks of Seville mingled with the click of Carmen's castanets.
The Dweller on the Threshold by Robert Hichens
He had been translated from his labors in Liverpool to a West End church in London. There he had proved hitherto an astonishing success.
Emerson Hough
The Purchase Price by Emerson Hough
"Madam, you are charming! You have not slept, and yet you smile. No man could ask a better prisoner."
The Passing Of The Frontier by Emerson Hough
What is, or was, the frontier? Where was it? Under what stars did it lie? Because, as the vague Iliads of ancient heroes or the
nebulous records of the savage gentlemen of the Middle Ages
The Law of the Land by Emerson Hough
it must have moved you to
applause, had you seen Miss Lady dance! You might have been restrained by the feeling that this was almost too unreal, too unusual, this dance of the young girl
The Gold Brick and the Gold Mine by Emerson Hough
But there is to be said about gold mining ways of the old time, that Tyre sought gold with actual ships, with actual men and mining
implements. The peninsula of Sinai did not sell stock, but mined actual gold. Gold in those days meant actual risk and courage.
The Covered Wagon by Emerson Hough
Jesse Wingate allowed his team of harness-marked horses to continue their eager drinking at the watering hole of the little stream near which the camp was pitched until, their thirst quenched, they began burying their muzzles and blowing into the water
Heart's Desire by Emerson Hough
"It looks a long ways acrost from here to the States," said Curly, as we pulled up our horses at the top of the Capitan divide. We gazed out over a vast, rolling sea of red-brown earth which stretched far beyond and below the nearer foothills
The Girl at the Halfway House by Emerson Hough
Forty black horses, keeping step; forty trumpeters, keeping unison; this procession, headed by a mere musician, who none the less was a poet, a great man, crossed the field of Louisburg as it lay dotted with the heaps of slain
The Mississippi Bubble by Emerson Hough
One after another this company of young Englishmen, hard players, hard drinkers, gathered about the table and bent over to examine the little shoe. It was an Indian moccasin, cut after the fashion of the
Abenakis
The Sagebrusher: A Story of the West by Emerson Hough
The Way of a Man by Emerson Hough
The Singing Mouse Stories by Emerson Hough
54-40 or Fight by Emerson Hough
"Then you offer me no hope, Doctor?" The gray mane of Doctor Samuel Ward waved like a fighting crest as he made answer:
"Not the sort of hope you ask."
Mary Johnston
Audrey by Mary Johnston
The valley lay like a ribbon thrown into the midst of the encompassing hills. The grass which grew there was soft and fine and
abundant; the trees which sprang from its dark, rich mould were tall and great of girth.
Sir Mortimer by Mary Johnston
and he held it high. "I drink to those who follow after!" he cried. "I drink to those who fail--pebbles cast into water whose ring still wideneth, reacheth God knows what unguessable shore where loss may yet be counted gain!
1492 by Mary Johnston
Oh, gray the sea and gray the shore!
Lewis Rand by Mary Johnston
The boy dipped the pail, lifted it brimming, and rose from his knees. As he did so, a man parted the bushes on the far side of the
stream, glanced at the mossed and slippery stones rising from its bed,
Pioneers Of The Old South by Mary Johnston
In this year Captain George Weymouth sailed across the sea and spent a summer month in North Virginia--later, New England. Weymouth had powerful backers, and with him sailed old adventurers who had been with Raleigh.
To Have and To Hold by Mary Johnston
I thought of the terms we now
kept with these heathen; of how they came and went familiarly
amongst us, spying out our weakness, and losing the salutary awe
which that noblest captain had struck into their souls; of how many
were employed as hunters to bring down deer for lazy masters
H. Bedford Jones
D'Artagnan (1928) by H. Bedford Jones
Saint Michael's Gold by H. Bedford Jones
The King's Passport (1928) by H. Bedford Jones
Basil King
The Wild Olive by Basil King
As he paused,
he listened; but all distinctiveness of sound was lost in the play of
the wind, up hill and down dale, through chasm and over crag, in those
uncounted leagues of forest.
The Conquest of Fear by Basil King
I cannot remember the time when a dread of one kind or another was not in the air. In childhood it was the fear of going to
bed, of that mysterious time when regular life was still going on downstairs
The Street Called Straight by Basil King
After a two years' absence from New England he had arrived in Waverton that day, "Oh, bother! bring him along," had been the formula in which Miss Guion had conveyed his invitation
The Inner Shrine by Basil King
If life in Paris was working up again to that feverish climax in which the season dies, it was only what she had witnessed every year since the last days of the Second Empire.
William J. Locke
Viviette by William J. Locke
What woman can have suddenly revealed to her the thrilling sense of her sex's mastery over men without snatching now and then the fearful joy of using her power?
Septimus by William J. Locke
Two old Georgian houses covered with creepers, a modern Gothic church, two much more venerable and pious-looking inns, and a few
cottages settling peacefully around a common form the village. Here and there a cottage lurks up a lane.
Jaffery by William J. Locke
I received a letter the day before yesterday from my old friend, Jaffery Chayne, which has inspired me to write the following
account of that dear, bull-headed, Pantagruelian being. I must say that I have been egged on to do so by my wife
A Christmas Mystery by William J. Locke
Three men who had gained great fame and honour throughout the world met unexpectedly in front of the bookstall at Paddington Station.
The Morals of Marcus Ordeyne by William J. Locke
To-day is the seventh anniversary of my release from captivity. I will note it every year in my diary with a sigh of unutterable thanksgiving.
The Red Planet by William J. Locke
You see we were old comrades in the South African War, where we both got badly knocked to pieces. He was Sergeant in my
battery, and the same Boer shell did for both of us
The Fortunate Youth by William J. Locke
They were not a model couple; they
were rather, in fact, the scandal of Budge Street, which did not itself enjoy, in Bludston, a reputation for holiness. Neither was good to look upon.
Simon the Jester by William J. Locke
"What I want," said I, "is a place compared to which Golgotha, Aceldama, the Dead Sea, the Valley of Jehoshaphat, and the Bowery
would be leafy bowers of uninterrupted delight."
Harold MacGrath
The Goose Girl by Harold MacGrath
An old man, clothed in picturesque patches and tatters, paused and leaned on his stout oak staff. He was tired. He drew off his rusty felt hat, swept a sleeve across his forehead, and sighed.
Half A Rogue by Harold MacGrath
It was Warrington's invariable habit -- when no business or social engagement pressed him to go elsewhere -- to drop into a certain quaint little restaurant just off Broadway for his dinners.
The Drums Of Jeopardy by Harold MacGrath
A fast train drew into Albany, on the New York Central, from the West. It was three-thirty of a chill March morning in the first
year of peace. A pall of fog lay over the world so heavy that it beaded the face and hands and deposited a fairy diamond dust upon wool.
The Man on the Box by Harold MacGrath
If you will carefully observe any map of the world that is divided into inches at so many miles to the inch, you will be surprised as
you calculate the distance between that enchanting Paris of France and the third-precinct police-station of Washington, D. C, which is not enchanting.
The Puppet Crown by Harold MacGrath
The king, from where he sat, could see the ivy-clad towers of the archbishop's palace, where, in and about the narrow windows,
gray and white doves fluttered and plumed themselves.
E. Nesbit
The Story of the Amulet by E. Nesbit
She found the parlour in deepest gloom, hardly relieved at all by the efforts of Robert, who, to make the time pass, was pulling
Jane's hair--not hard, but just enough to tease.
The Wouldbegoods by E. Nesbit
And when we were taken to the beautiful big Blackheath house we thought now all would be well, because it was a house with vineries and pineries, and gas and water, and shrubberies and stabling, and
replete with every modern convenience, like it says in Dyer &
Hilton's list of Eligible House Property.
Five Children and It by E. Nesbit
The house was three miles from the station, but before the dusty hired fly had rattled along for five minutes the children began to
put their heads out of the carriage window and to say, 'Aren't we
nearly there?' And every time they passed a house, which was not
very often, they all said, 'Oh, is This it?' But it never was,
till they reached the very top of the hill, just past the
chalk-quarry and before you come to the gravel-pit.
The Enchanted Castle by E. Nesbit
There were three of them Jerry, Jimmy, and Kathleen. Of course, Jerry's name was Gerald, and not Jeremiah, whatever you may think; and Jimmy's name was James; and Kathleen was never called by her name at all, but Cathy, or Catty, or Puss Cat, when her brothers were pleased with her, and Scratch Cat when they were not pleased.
The Rainbow and the Rose by E. Nesbit
The Story of the Treasure Seekers by E. Nesbit
The Railway Children by E. Nesbit
The Phoenix and the Carpet by E. Nesbit
Many Voices by E. Nesbit
The Magic City by E. Nesbit
Landscape and Song by E. Nesbit
In Homespun by E. Nesbit
The Incomplete Amorist by E. Nesbit
Beautiful Stories from Shakespeare by E. Nesbit
The Dragon Tamers by E. Nesbit
The Mystery of the Semi-Detached by E. Nesbit
The Power of Darkness by E. Nesbit
The Ebony Frame by E. Nesbit
All Round the Year by E. Nesbit
The Magic World by E. Nesbit
In The Dark by E. Nesbit
Man Size In Marble by E. Nesbit
John Charrington's Wedding by E. Nesbit
Wet Magic by E. Nesbit
Meredith Nicholson
The Little Brown Jug at Kildare by Meredith Nicholson
"Perfectly bully! I've thought of it a lot, but I want to be sure I've
cleaned up everything else first. It's always up there waiting -- on ice,
so to speak -- but when it's done once there will be nothing left. I want
to save that for the last call."
A Hoosier Chronicle by Meredith Nicholson
The wise know that foolish legislation is a rope of sand which perishes in the twisting; that the State must follow and not lead the character and progress of the citizen;
A Reversible Santa by Meredith Nicholson
The Hopper was blowing from two hours' hard travel over rough country. He had stumbled through woodlands, flattened himself in fence corners to avoid the eyes of curious motorists speeding homeward or flying about
distributing Christmas gifts
The House of a Thousand Candles by Meredith Nicholson
I reached across the table for the paper, and he gave the sealed and beribboned copy of John Marshall Glenarm's will into my hands. I read it through for myself
The Port of Missing Men by Meredith Nicholson
Before us, down the golden road, floats dust from charging steeds, Where two adventurous companies clash loud in mighty deeds;
And from the tower that stands alert like some tall, beckoning pine, E'en now, my heart, I see afar the lights of welcome shine!
Frank Norris
Vandover and the Brute by Frank Norris
It was in the depot of one of the larger towns in western New York. The day had been hot and after the long ride on the crowded day coach the cool shadow under the curved roof of the immense iron vaulted depot seemed very pleasant.
The Pit by Frank Norris
A great, slow-moving press of men and women in evening dress filled the vestibule from one wall to
another. A confused murmur of talk and the shuffling of many feet
arose on all sides, while from time to time, when the outside and
inside doors of the entrance chanced to be open simultaneously
The Octopus by Frank Norris
Just after passing Caraher's saloon, on the County Road that ran south from Bonneville, and that divided the Broderson ranch from that of Los Muertos, Presley was suddenly aware of the faint and
prolonged blowing of a steam whistle
Moran Of The Lady Letty by Frank Norris
This is to be a story of a battle, at least one murder, and several sudden deaths. For that reason it begins with a pink tea
and among the mingled odors of many delicate perfumes and the
hale, frank smell of Caroline Testout roses.
McTeague by Frank Norris
It was Sunday, and, according to his custom on that day, McTeague took his dinner at two in the afternoon at the car conductors' coffee-joint on Polk Street.
Blix by Frank Norris
From its window one could command a sweep of San Francisco Bay and the Contra Costa shore, from Mount Diablo, along past Oakland,
Berkeley, Sausalito, and Mount Tamalpais, out to the Golden Gate,
the Presidio, the ocean, and even -- on very clear days
A Deal In Wheat by Frank Norris
his wife came out from the
kitchen door of the house and drew near, and stood for some time at the
horse's head, her arms folded and her apron rolled around them. For a
long moment neither spoke.
A Deal In Wheat by Frank Norris
his wife came out from the
kitchen door of the house and drew near, and stood for some time at the
horse's head, her arms folded and her apron rolled around them. For a
long moment neither spoke.
Eugene O'Neill
The Emperor Jones by Eugene O'Neill
The Hairy Ape by Eugene O'Neill
The First Man by Eugene O'Neill
The Atlantic Book of Modern Plays by Eugene O'Neill
Anna Christie by Eugene O'Neill
Strange Interlude (1928) by Eugene O'Neill
Dynamo (1929) by Eugene O'Neill
Mourning Becomes Electra by Eugene O'Neill
Lazarus Laughed by Eugene O'Neill
The Fountain (1926) by Eugene O'Neill
Diff'Rent (1924) by Eugene O'Neill
Welded (1924) by Eugene O'Neill
The Great God Brown (1926) by Eugene O'Neill
Desire Under the Elms by Eugene O'Neill
All God'S Chillun Got Wings by Eugene O'Neill
Days Without End (1934) by Eugene O'Neill
A Moon for the Misbegotten (1952) by Eugene O'Neill
The Iceman Cometh (1946) by Eugene O'Neill
Tomorrow (1917) by Eugene O'Neill
Thomas Nelson Page
Santa Claus's Partner by Thomas Nelson Page
Berryman Livingstone was a successful man, a very successful man, and as he sat in his cushioned chair in his inner private office (in the best office-building in the city) on a particularly snowy evening
Gordon Keith by Thomas Nelson Page
This idea was what the son inherited from the father along with some other old-fashioned things which he did not know the value of at first, but which he came to understand as he grew older.
Social life in old Virginia before the war by Thomas Nelson Page
A number of magnificent oaks and hickories (there had originally been a dozen of the former, and the place from them took its name,
"Oakland"), under which Totapottamoi children may have played
No Haid Pawn by Thomas Nelson Page
It was a ghostly place in broad daylight, if the glimmer that stole in through the dense forest that surrounded it when the sun was
directly overhead deserved this delusive name.
In ole Virginia by Thomas Nelson Page
Their once splendid mansions,
now fast falling to decay, appeared to view from time to time, set back far from the road, in proud seclusion, among groves of oak and hickory, now scarlet and gold with the early frost.
Gordon Keith by Thomas Nelson Page
A stranger passing through the country prior to the war would have heard much of Elphinstone, the Keith plantation, but he would have seen from the main road (which, except in summer, was intolerably bad) only long stretches of rolling fields well tilled
The Burial Of The Guns by Thomas Nelson Page
Two weeks previously it had been detailed with a light division sent to meet and repel a force which it was understood was coming in by way of the southwest valley to strike Lee in the rear of his long line from Richmond to Petersburg.
Gene Stratton-Porter
Michael O'Halloran by Gene Stratton-Porter
Jimmy turned to step from the gutter to the sidewalk. Two things happened to him simultaneously: Mickey became a projectile. He smashed with the force of a wiry fist on the larger boy's head, while above both, an
athletic arm gripped him by the collar.
The Harvester by Gene Stratton-Porter
The Harvester sat in the hollow worn in the hewed log stoop by the feet of his father and mother and his own sturdier tread, and rested his head against the casing of the cabin door when he gave the command.
The Song of the Cardinal by Gene Stratton-Porter
The swamp resembles a big dining-table for the birds. Wild grape-vines clamber to the tops of the highest trees, spreading
umbrella-wise over the branches
Moths of the Limberlost by Gene Stratton-Porter
It was a piece of forethought to work unceasingly at that time, for soon commerce attacked the swamp and began its usual process of
devastation.
A Girl Of The Limberlost by Gene Stratton-Porter
Elnora gave one despairing glance at the white face, framed in a most becoming riot of reddish-brown hair, which she saw in the little kitchen mirror.
Laddie by Gene Stratton-Porter
Secrets with Laddie were the greatest joy in life. He was so big and so handsome. He was so much nicer than any one else in our family
Her Father's Daughter by Gene Stratton-Porter
An angry red rushed to the boy's face. It was an irritating fact that in the senior class of that particular Los Angeles high
school a Japanese boy stood at the head. This was embarrassing to every senior.
Freckles by Gene Stratton-Porter
The thickness of the swamp
made a dark, massive background below, while above towered gigantic trees. The men were calling jovially back and forth as they unharnessed tired horses
At the Foot of the Rainbow by Gene Stratton-Porter
"Near the time of my mother's passing we moved from Hopewell to the city of Wabash in order that she might have constant medical
attention, and the younger children better opportunities for schooling.
A Daughter Of The Land by Gene Stratton-Porter
She was so intent upon the words she had heard that her feet unconsciously followed a well-defined branch from the main path
leading into the woods, from the bridge, where she sat on a log
Marcel Proust
Swann's Way by Marcel Proust
Time Regained by Marcel Proust
The Sweet Cheat Gone by Marcel Proust
The Captive by Marcel Proust
Cities of the Plain by Marcel Proust
The Guermantes Way by Marcel Proust
Within A Budding Grove by Marcel Proust
Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings
The Yearling (1938) by Marjorie K. Rawlings
Cross Creek (1942) by Marjorie K. Rawlings
The Sojourner (1953) by Marjorie K. Rawlings
South Moon Under (1933) by Marjorie K. Rawlings
Kenneth Robeson (Doc Savage)
The Spook of Grandpa Eben by Kenneth Robeson
The Secret of the Su by Kenneth Robeson
The Goblins by Kenneth Robeson
Danger Lies East by Kenneth Robeson
Weird Valley by Kenneth Robeson
Violent Night by Kenneth Robeson
The Whisker of Hercules by Kenneth Robeson
The Three Devils by Kenneth Robeson
The Shape of Terror by Kenneth Robeson
The Pharaoh's Ghost by Kenneth Robeson
The Man Who Was Scared by Kenneth Robeson
The Lost Giant by Kenneth Robeson
The Derelict of Skull Shoal by Kenneth Robeson
Terror Wears No Shoes by Kenneth Robeson
Satan Black by Kenneth Robeson
Once Over Lightly by Kenneth Robeson
Jiu San by Kenneth Robeson
I Died Yesterday by Kenneth Robeson
Death Had Yellow Eyes by Kenneth Robeson
According to the Plan of a One-eyed Mystic by Kenneth Robeson
The Wee Ones by Kenneth Robeson
The Thing That Pursued by Kenneth Robeson
The Terrible Stork by Kenneth Robeson
The Ten Ton Snakes by Kenneth Robeson
Terror Takes Seven by Kenneth Robeson
Strange Fish by Kenneth Robeson
Rock Sinister by Kenneth Robeson
King Joe Cay by Kenneth Robeson
Cargo Unknown by Kenneth Robeson
The Screaming Man by Kenneth Robeson
The Green Master by Kenneth Robeson
Terror And The Lonely Widow by Kenneth Robeson
Return From Cormoral by Kenneth Robeson
Up From Earth's Center by Kenneth Robeson
Three Times a Corpse by Kenneth Robeson
The Swooning Lady by Kenneth Robeson
The Purple Dragon by Kenneth Robeson
The Pure Evil by Kenneth Robeson
The Monkey Suit by Kenneth Robeson
The Exploding Lake by Kenneth Robeson
The Magic Forest by Kenneth Robeson
The Angry Canary by Kenneth Robeson
No Light To Die By by Kenneth Robeson
for more see by Kenneth Robeson
Rafael Sabatini
Bardelys The Magnificent
The door had opened, and under the lintel stood the thick-set figure of the Comte de Chatellerault. Before him a lacquey in my
escutcheoned livery of red-and-gold was receiving, with back
obsequiously bent, his hat and cloak.
St. Martin's Summer by Rafael Sabatini
The horror in the secretary's eyes increased, but Anselme's reflected none of it. It was a grave thing, he knew by former experience, to arouse His Majesty's Seneschal of Dauphiny from his after-dinner nap; but it was an almost graver thing to fail in obedience to that
black-eyed woman below who was demanding an audience.
Scaramouche
All that he achieved by this was to exasperate; and his expulsion from a society grown mistrustful of him must already have followed but for his friend, Philippe de Vilmorin, a divinity student of Rennes, who, himself, was one of the most popular members of the Literary Chamber.
Captain Blood by Rafael Sabatini
Mr. Blood's attention was divided between his task and the stream of humanity in the narrow street below; a stream which poured for the second time that day towards Castle Field, where earlier in the afternoon Ferguson, the Duke's chaplain, had preached a sermon containing more treason than divinity.
Mistress Wilding
Mr. Wilding stood, very still and outwardly impasive, the wine trickling from his long face, which, if pale, was no paler than its habit, a vestige of the smile with which he had proposed the toast still lingering on his thin lips, though departed from his eyes.
The Historical Nights' Entertainment by Rafael Sabatini
The tragedy of my Lord Darnley's life lay in the fact that he was a man born out of his proper station -- a clown destined to kingship by the accident of birth and fortune.
Love-at-Arms
As the last stroke of the Ave Maria faded on the wind that murmured plaintively through the larches of the hillside, they piously crossed themselves, and leisurely resuming their head-gear, they looked at one another with questioning glances.
The Life of Cesare Borgia
The rule of Sixtus was as vigorous as it was scandalous. To say -- as has been said -- that with his succession to St. Peter's Chair came for the Church a still sadder time than that which had preceded it
The Lion's Skin by Rafael Sabatini
Landlady, chamberlain, ostler and a posse of underlings hastened to give welcome to so fine a gentleman, and a private room above-stairs was placed at his disposal. Before ascending, however, Mr. Caryll sauntered into the bar for a whetting glass to give him an appetite
The Sea-Hawk
Yet neither his natural wit nor his acquired
endowments appear to have taught him that of all the gods that rule the destinies of mankind there is none more ironic and malicious than that same Dan Cupid
The Shame of Motley by Rafael Sabatini
In the lining of one of those boots I concealed the Lord Cesare's package; his money -- some twenty ducats -- I carried in a belt about my waist, and his ring I set boldly on my finger.
The Snare
Sergeant Flanagan did not at all relish this night excursion into the hill fastnesses, where at any moment, as it seemed to him, they might miss their way.
The Strolling Saint by Rafael Sabatini
It surprises me that in none of the philosophic writings of the learned scholars of antiquity can I find that this matter of names has been touched upon, much less given the importance of which I account it to be deserving.
The Suitors of Yvonne
I sat up in bed tingling with excitement at the developments which already I saw arising from his last night's imprudence.
The Tavern Knight by Rafael Sabatini
A blow was struck upon the door, and with it came the command to "Open in the King's name!" Softly Sir Crispin rapped out an oath.
The Trampling of the Lilies
He blushed like a school-girl, and strenuously protested that it was not so. In his haste he fell headlong into the sin of hastiness -- as was but natural -- and said perhaps too much.
The Sword of Islam (1939) by Rafael Sabatini
The Marquis of Carabas (1928) by Rafael Sabatini
The Spiritualist by Rafael Sabatini
Columbus by Rafael Sabatini
Perley Poore Sheehan
Where Terror Lurked by Perley Poore Sheehan
The Red Road to Shamballah by Perley Poore Sheehan
The Green Shiver by Perley Poore Sheehan
The Black Abbot by Perley Poore Sheehan
The Fighting Fool by Perley Poore Sheehan
Spider Tong by Perley Poore Sheehan
Monsieur de Guise by Perley Poore Sheehan
Kwa and the Beast Men by Perley Poore Sheehan
Kwa and the Ape People by Perley Poore Sheehan
May Sinclair
Mr. Waddington of Wyck by May Sinclair
Barbara Madden had not been two days at Lower Wyck Manor, and already she was at home there; she knew by heart Fanny's drawing-room with the low stretch of the Tudor windows at each end
Mary Olivier: A Life by May Sinclair
When old Jenny shook it the wooden rings rattled on the pole and grey men with pointed heads and squat, bulging bodies came out of the folds on to the flat green ground.
Life and Death of Harriett Frean by May Sinclair
Her mother said it three times. And each time the Baby Harriett laughed. The sound of her laugh was so funny that she laughed again at that; she kept on laughing, with shriller and shriller squeals.
The Belfry by May Sinclair
Of course this story can't be published as it stands just yet. Not--if I'm to be decent--for another generation, because, thank Heaven, they're still alive.
Superseded by May Sinclair
The school was filing out along the main corridor of St. Sidwell's. It came with a tramp and a rustle and a hiss and a tramp, urged to a trot by the excited teachers.
The Romantic by May Sinclair
She could stave off the worst by not looking at him, by looking at other things, impersonal, innocent things; the bright, yellow, sharp gabled station; the black girders of the bridge
The Three Sisters by May Sinclair
The three sisters, Mary, Gwendolen and Alice, daughters of James Cartaret, the Vicar of Garth, were sitting there in the dining-room
behind the yellow blind, doing nothing.
The Three Brontës by May Sinclair
It is the genius of the Brontës that made their place immortal; but it is the soul of the place that made their genius what it is.
Anne Severn and the Fieldings by May Sinclair
Anne wanted to get away from the quiet, serious men and play with Jerrold; but their idea seemed to be that it was too soon. Too soon after the funeral.
The Divine Fire by May Sinclair
Lucia herself, he noticed, had an ardent look, as if a particularly interesting idea had just occurred to her. He wished it hadn't.
The Tree of Heaven by May Sinclair
Michael's mother was Grannie's child. To see how she could be a child you had only to think of her in her nightgown with her long
brown hair plaited in a pigtail hanging down her back and tied with a blue ribbon.
The Token by May Sinclair
Sisters-in-law do not, I think, invariably adore each other, and I am aware that my chief merit in Cicely's eyes was that I am Donald's sister; but for me there was no question of extraneous quality -- it
was all pure Cicely.
The Nature of The Evidence by May Sinclair
This is the story Marston told me. He didn't want to tell it. I had to tear it from him bit by bit.
Thorne Smith
The Jovial Ghosts: The Misadventures of Topper by Thorne Smith
The Glorious Pool by Thorne Smith
The Stray Lamb by Thorne Smith
Turnabout by Thorne Smith
The Night Life of the Gods by Thorne Smith
Topper Takes A Trip by Thorne Smith
The Bishop's Jaegers by Thorne Smith
Rain In The Doorway by Thorne Smith
Skin and Bones by Thorne Smith
F. Hopkinson Smith
The Tides Of Barnegat by F. Hopkinson Smith
To the left of where she stood curved the coast, glistening like a scimitar, and the strip of yellow beach which divided the narrow bay from the open sea; to the right, thrust out into the sheen of silver
The Veiled Lady And Other Men And Women by F. Hopkinson Smith
Joe Hornstog told me this story--the first part of it; the last part of it came to me in a way which proves how small the world is.
The Fortunes of Oliver Horn by F. Hopkinson Smith
Along the shaded walks laughing boys and girls romped all day, with hoop and ball, attended by old black mammies in white aprons and gayly colored bandannas; while in the more secluded corners, sheltered by protecting shrubs, happy lovers sat and talked, tired wayfarers rested with hats off
Peter: A Novel of Which He is Not the Hero by F. Hopkinson Smith
his bald head glistening like a huge ostrich egg under the flare of the overhead gas jets, when Patrick, the night watchman, catching sight of my face peering through the outer grating, opened the door of the Bank.
Kennedy Square by F. Hopkinson Smith
On the precise day on which this story opens--some sixty or more years ago, to be exact--a bullet-headed, merry-eyed, mahogany-colored young darky stood on the top step of an old-fashioned, high-stoop house
Tom Grogan by F. Hopkinson Smith
Something worried Babcock. One could see that from the impatient gesture with which he turned away from the ferry window on learning he had half an hour to wait.
Felix O'Day by F. Hopkinson Smith
Broadway on dry nights, or rather that part known as the Great White Way, is a crowded thoroughfare, dominated by lofty buildings, the sky-line studded with constellations of colored signs pencilled in fire. Broadway on wet, rain-drenched nights is the fairy concourse of the Wonder City of the World, its asphalt
splashed with liquid jewels afloat in molten gold.
Colonel Carter Of Cartersville by F. Hopkinson Smith
The colonel had written several similar notes that week,--I lived but a few streets away,--all on the spur of the moment, and all expressive of his varying moods and wants;
The Underdog by F. Hopkinson Smith
The moral any man may draw for himself. I only want to ask my readers the question I have been asking myself ever since I saw the
girl: Why should such things be among us?
Francis Stevens
Unseen - Unfeared by Francis Stevens
Claimed! by Francis Stevens
Behind The Curtain by Francis Stevens
Elf Trap by Francis Stevens
Serapion by Francis Stevens
Nightmare! by Francis Stevens
The Heads of Cerberus by Francis Stevens
Louis Joseph Vance
Red Masquerade by Louis Joseph Vance
The gentleman was not in the least bored who might have been and was seen on that wintry afternoon in Nineteen hundred, lounging with one shoulder to a wall of the dingy salesroom and idly thumbing a catalogue of effects about to be put up at auction;
The Day of Days by Louis Joseph Vance
Alias The Lone Wolf by Louis Joseph Vance
For the Englishman, rousing from his appropriated ease, dropped his book to the floor beside the chair, uprose and extended a cordial hand, exclaiming: "H'are ye, Monsieur Duchemin?"
The Lone Wolf by Louis Joseph Vance
It must have been Bourke who first said that even if you knew your way about Paris you had to lose it in order to find it to Troyon's. But then Bourke was proud to be Irish.
The Fortune Hunter by Louis Joseph Vance
he had a distasteful duty to perform; but that was the last thing he designed to become evident. Like most good business men he nursed a pet superstition or two
The False Faces by Louis Joseph Vance
On the muddy verge of a shallow little pool the man lay prone and still, as still as those poor dead whose broken bodies rested all about him, where they had fallen, months or days, hours or weeks ago
The Bronze Bell by Louis Joseph Vance
By degrees the platform cleared, the erstwhile patrons of the road and the station loafers -- for the most part hall-marked natives of the region -- straggling off upon their several ways
The Brass Bowl by Louis Joseph Vance
Beneath his mask, and by this I do not mean his goggles, but the mask of modern manner which the worldly wear, he was, and is,
different.
The Black Bag by Louis Joseph Vance
"Show him up, please," he
said. But before the words were fairly out of his mouth a footfall sounded in the corridor, a hand was placed upon the shoulder of the page, gently but with decision swinging him out of the way, and a man stepped into the room.
Various Authors
The Eternal Feminine by Temple Bailey
That is where Anne always had the advantage of me. Although she had been a widow for five years, she still quoted the authoritative
masculine point of view
His Family by Ernest Poole
He was thinking of a young New York, the mighty throbbing city to which he had come long ago as a lad from the New Hampshire mountains.
The McWilliams Special by Frank H. Spearman
It set master-mechanics by the ears and made reckless falsifiers of previously conservative trainmen. It made undying enemies of rival superintendents, and incipient paretics of jolly train-dispatchers.
The Run Of The Yellow Mail by Frank H. Spearman
The trouble was, no one on the division would take Jimmie seriously, and he felt that the ambition of his life would never be fulfilled; that he would go plugging to gray hairs and the grave on an old freight train;
In The Bishop's Carriage by Miriam Michelson
There sat the woman who can never
nurse her baby except where everybody can see her, in a railroad station. There was the woman who's always hungry, nibbling chocolates out of a box
The Prodigal Judge by Vaughan Kester
Shy dwellers from the pine woods, lanky jeans-clad men and sunbonneted women, who were gathering for the burial of the
famous man of their neighborhood, grouped themselves about the lawn which had long since sunk to the uses of a pasture lot.
The Just and the Unjust by Vaughan Kester
Mr. Montgomery's comparative criticism of her husband's appearance had in due season reached the ears of the bride, and had
caused a rupture in the family that the years had not healed
Lahoma by John Breckinridge Ellis
"You know I am something of an orator, or I guess you wouldn't of made me your leader. Now, as long as I'm your leader, I'm going to lead; but, I ain't never unreasonable
Fran by John Breckinridge Ellis
Fran knocked at the front door. It was too dark for her to find the bell; however, had she found it, she would have knocked just the same.
The Torrent by Vicente Blasco Ibañez
What would he be in for down there? A speech, probably! A speech on local politics! Or, if not a speech, idle talk about the
orange crop,
Apocalypse From the Spanish The Four Horsemen by Vicente Blasco Ibañez
Five months had passed since their last interview in this square had afforded the wandering lovers the refuge of a damp, depressing calmness near a boulevard of continual movement close to a great railroad
The Shadow of the Cathedral by Vicente Blasco Ibañez
The dawn was just rising when Gabriel Luna arrived in front of the Cathedral, but in the narrow street of Toledo it was still night.
Mare Nostrum (Our Sea) by Vicente Blasco Ibañez
One day after mass Don Esteban had rapidly recounted her history to his little son. She was the daughter of Frederick the Second of Suabia, a Hohenstaufen, an emperor of Germany who esteemed still more his crown
of Sicily.
My Friend Prospero by Henry Harland
"From Roccadoro a charming excursion may be made, up the beautiful Val Rampio, to the mediæval village of Sant'
Alessina (7 miles), with its magnificent castle, in fine grounds, formerly a seat of the Sforzas
The Cardinal's Snuff-Box by Henry Harland
In the immediate foreground--at his feet, indeed--there was the river, the narrow Aco, peacock-green, a dark file of poplars on
either bank, rushing pell-mell away from the quiet waters of the lake.
In the Wake of War by Hallie Erminie Rives
There is nothing so elusive yet so fascinating as a chance resemblance. We walk a street crowded with thousands of human atoms like ourselves, yet each meaningless, unindividual.
Katrine by Enilor Macartney Lane
The road which leads from Charlotte toward the south branches by the Haunted Hollow, the right fork going to Carlisle and the left following the rushing waters of the Way-Home River to the very gate-posts of Ravenel Plantation, through which the noisy water runs.
The Lady of the Decoration by Frances Little
Behold a soldier on the eve of battle! I am writing this in a stuffy little hotel room and I don't dare stop whistling for a minute. You could cover my courage with a postage stamp. In the morning I sail for the Flowery Kingdom
Little Sister Snow by Frances Little
A quaint old Japanese garden lay smiling under the sunshine of a morning in early spring. The sun, having flooded the outside world
with dazzling light
The Lady and Sada San by Frances Little
You once told me, before you went to Italy, that after having been my intimate relative all these years, you had drawn a red line
through the word surprise.
The Far Horizon by by Lucas Malet
Who Trimmer was, how he came by a Green, and why, or what he trimmed on it, it is idle at this time of day to attempt to determine. Whether, animated by a desire for the public welfare, he bequeathed it in high charitable sort;
The Carissima by by Lucas Malet
And all this reminds me of a man whom I once knew called Leversedge -- Constantine Leversedge. For although he told, consciously at all events, no lies, he was intimately involved in the telling of one of a really superior order.
Deadham Hard by by Lucas Malet
he purchased the house at Deadham Hard, known as Tandy's Castle, overlooking the deep and comparatively narrow channel by which the Rivers Arne and Wilner, after crossing the tide-flats and salt-marsh of Marychurch Haven
A Romance of Billy-Goat Hill by Alice Caldwell Hegan (Rice)
It was springtime in Kentucky, gay, irresponsible, Southern springtime, that comes bursting impetuously through highways and
byways, heedless of possible frosts and impossible fruitions.
The Redemption Of David Corson by Charles Frederic Goss
Such an Eden existed in the extreme western part of Ohio in the spring of eighteen hundred and forty-nine. It was a valley
surrounded by wooded hills and threaded by a noisy brook which hastily made its way
Yolanda: Maid of Burgandy by Charles Major
Like the Israelites of old, mankind is prone to worship false gods, and persistently sets up the brazen image of a sham hero, as its idol. I should like to write the history of the world, if for no other reason than to assist several well-established heroes down from their pedestals.
The Touchstone of Fortune by Charles Major
If her Ladyship frowns and he loses, his friends call him a fool; if he wins, they say he is a lucky devil and are pleased to share his prosperity if he happens to be of a giving disposition.
The Life and Death of Richard Yea-and-Nay by Maurice Hewlett
I like this good man's account of leopards, and find it more pertinent to my matter than you might think. Milo was a Carthusian
monk, abbot of the cloister of Saint Mary-of-the-Pine by Poictiers;
The Light in the Clearing by Irving Bacheller
Once upon a time I owned a watermelon. I say once because I never did it again. When I got through owning that melon I never wanted another. The time was 1831
Vanished Arizona by Martha Summerhayes
I came to know, as their guest, the best of old military society. They were very old-fashioned and precise, and Frau Generalin often told me that American girls were too ausgelassen in their manners.
D'Ri and I by Irving Bacheller
There were six more days of travel in that journey -- travel so fraught with hardships, I wonder that some days we had the heart to
press on. More than all, I wonder that the frail body of my mother was equal to it.
Darrel of the Blessed Isles by Irving Bacheller
Down by the shore of the pond, there, Allen built his house. To-day, under thickets of tansy, one may see the rotting logs, and there are hollyhocks and catnip in the old garden.
Dorothy Vernon of Haddon Hall by Charles Major
Ah! what a gay, delightful life, tinctured with bitterness, we led in the grand old chateau, and looking back at it how heartless,
godless, and empty it seems.
Diane of the Green Van by Leona Dalrymple
There was an aeroplane upon the water and in the aeroplane a tall young man with considerable length of sinewy limb, lazily rolling a cigarette. Diane unconsciously approved the clear bronze of his lean, burned face and his eyes, blue, steady, calm as the waters of the lake he rode
Uncle Noah's Christmas Inspiration by Leona Dalrymple
A quiet melancholy hovered about the old house as if it brooded over a host of bygone Yuletides alive with the shouts of merry negroes and the jingle of visiting sleighs
Kenny by Leona Dalrymple
"This time, Kenny, I mean to stay disinherited." Kennicott O'Neill stared at his son and gasped. The note of permanency in the chronic rite of disinheritance was startling.
Eben Holden by Irving Bacheller
A small boy in a big basket on the back of a jolly old man, who carried a cane in one hand, a rifle in the other; a black dog serving
as scout, skirmisher and rear guard
Unleavened Bread by Robert Grant
Their songs and laughter floated back along the winding country road. Selma, comfortable in her wraps and well tucked about with a rug, leaned back contentedly in the chaise, after the goodbyes had been said, to enjoy the glamour of the full moon.
Rest Harrow by Maurice Hewlett
An observant traveller, homing to England by the Ostend-Dover packet in the April of some five years ago, relished the vagaries of a
curious couple who arrived by a later train, and proved to be both of
his acquaintance.
The Fool Errant by Maurice Hewlett
What money but a walking-stick? What are fine manners but a wig? If I professed, instead of abhorring, the Cynic school of philosophy
The Forest Lovers by Maurice Hewlett
It is related of Prosper le Gai, that when his brother Malise, Baron of Starning and Parrox, showed him the door of their father's house, and showed it with a meaning not to be mistaken, he stuck a sprig of green holly in his cap.
Earthwork Out Of Tuscany by Maurice Hewlett
I would spare you, if I might, the horrors of my night-long journey from Milan. There is little romance in a railway: the novelists have worked it dry.
Max by Katherine Cecil Thurston
A night journey is essentially a thing of possibilities. To those who count it as mere transit, mere linking of experiences, it is, of course, a commonplace; but to the imaginative, who by gift divine see a picture in every cloud, a story behind every shadow, it suggests romance—romance in the very making.
The Masquerader by Katherine Cecil Thurston
Two incidents, widely different in character yet bound together by results, marked the night of January the twenty-third. On that night the blackest fog within a four years' memory fell upon certain portions of London
Helmet of Navarre by Bertha Runkle
In that bloody time, when the King of Navarre and the two Leagues were tearing our poor France asunder, M. le Duc found himself between the devil and the deep sea. He was no friend to the League; for years he had stood between the king, his master
The One Woman by Thomas Dixon
When he reached the seat, the woman had recovered by a supreme effort of will and sat erect, her face flushed with anger at her
own weakness.
The Leopard's Spots by Thomas Dixon
Suddenly the measured tread of a brigade was heard marching into action, every movement quick with the perfect discipline, the fire, and the passion of the first days of the triumphant Confederacy.
The Foolish Virgin by Thomas Dixon
The younger woman was silent a moment, and a flush of anger slowly mounted her temples. The blue eyes were fixed reproachfully on her friend.
The Clansman by Thomas Dixon, Jr.
“Extra! Extra! Peace! Victory!”
Windows were suddenly raised, women thrust their heads out, and others rushed into the street and crowded around the boy, struggling to get his papers. He threw them right and left and snatched the money— no one asked for change. Without ceasing rose his cry:
“Extra! Peace! Victory! Lee has surrendered!”
Old Gorgon Graham by George Horace Lorimer
When a man makes a specialty of knowing how some other fellow ought to spend his money, he usually thinks in millions and works for
hundreds.
White Ladies of Worcester by Florence L. Barclay
Entering this passage from the crypt in their own cloisters, they walked in darkness below the sunny meadows, passed beneath the
Fore-gate, moving in silent procession under the busy streets, until they reached the crypt of the Cathedral.
The Rosary by Florence L. Barclay
A wag had once remarked that if you met her Grace of Meldrum returning from gardening or feeding her poultry, and were in a
charitable frame of mind, you would very likely give her sixpence.
The Scapegoat by Hall Caine
They were not altogether a happy household, and the chief apparent cause of discord was the child of the first wife
in the home of the second.
The Christian by Hall Caine
The captain carried off his compliment with a breezy laugh, and went along to the bridge. The girl had heard him only in a momentary flash of consciousness, and she replied merely with a side glance and a smile.
The Woman Thou Gavest Me by Hall Caine
In my father's room, on the ground floor, Father Dan sat by the fire, fingering his beads and listening to every sound that came
from my mother's room
Good-bye, Mr. Chips by James Hilton
Across the road behind a rampart of ancient elms lay Brookfield, russet under its autumn mantle of creeper. A group of eighteenth-century buildings centred upon a quadrangle, and there were acres of playing fields beyond; then came the small dependent village and the open fen country. Brookfield, as Wetherby had said, was an old foundation; established in the reign of Elizabeth, as a grammar school, it might, with better luck, have become as famous as Harrow.
Lost Horizon by James Hilton
Was It Murder? by James Hilton
Random Harvest by James Hilton
Morning Journey by James Hilton
So Well Remembered by James Hilton
Time and Time Again by James Hilton
The Shadow of a Crime A Cumbrian Romance A Cumbrian Romance by Hall Caine
They were rude sons and daughters of the hills who inhabited this mountain home two centuries ago
A Fountain Sealed by Anne Douglas Sedgwick
The girl who sat near the window, her furs thrown back from her shoulders, a huge muff dangling from her hand, was a few years younger and exceedingly pretty. Her skin was unusually white
The Most Maddening Story in the World by Ralph Strauss
The Missing Angel by Erle Cox
Out Of The Silence by Erle Cox
Satan's Incubator by Randall Craig
The City Condemned to Hell by Randall Craig
The Room on the Fourth Floor by Ralph Strauss
Edgar Wallace
The Green Rust by Edgar Wallace
No greater difference could be imagined than existed between the man on the bed and the slim neat figure who sat by his side. John Millinborn, broad-shouldered, big-featured, a veritable giant in frame and even in his last days suggesting the enormous strength which had been his in his prime, had been an outdoor man
Clue of the Twisted Candle by Edgar Wallace
The downpour was incessant and likely to last through the night. The high hedges on either side of the narrow road were so many
leafy cascades; the road itself was in places ankle deep in mud. He stopped under the protecting cover of a big tree to fill and light his pipe and with its bowl turned downwards continued his
walk. But for the driving rain which searched every crevice and found every chink in his waterproof armor, he preferred, indeed welcomed, the walk.
White Face by Edgar Wallace
Red Aces by Edgar Wallace
Again Sanders by Edgar Wallace
The Greek Poropulos by Edgar Wallace
On the Spot by Edgar Wallace
The Lone House Mystery and Other Stories by Edgar Wallace
The Square Emerald by Edgar Wallace
The Keepers of the King's Peace by Edgar Wallace
The Duke in the Suburbs by Edgar Wallace
Terror Keep by Edgar Wallace
Room 13 by Edgar Wallace
The Sinister Man by Edgar Wallace
The People of the River by Edgar Wallace
The Man who Bought London by Edgar Wallace
The Face in the Night by Edgar Wallace
The Avenger by Edgar Wallace
Mr J.G. Reeder Returns by Edgar Wallace
The Door with Seven Locks by Edgar Wallace
The Mind of Mr J. G. Reeder by Edgar Wallace
The Valley of Ghosts by Edgar Wallace
The Crimson Circle by Edgar Wallace
Horace Walpole
The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole
Matilda made signs to Isabella to prevent Hippolita's rising; and both those lovely young women were using their gentle violence to stop and calm the Princess, when a servant, on the part of Manfred, arrived and
told Isabella that his Lord demanded to speak with her.
Jeremy and Hamlet
Jeremy at Crale by Horace Walpole
Captain Nicholas
Hans Frost by Horace Walpole
Harmer John
Portrait of a Man with Red Hair by Horace Walpole
Above the Dark Tumult: An Adventure also published as Above the Dark Circus
The Inquisitor
The Old Ladies by Horace Walpole
Rogue Herries
Judith Paris by Horace Walpole
The Fortress
Vanessa
The Bright Pavillons
Katherine Christian by Horace Walpole
Mrs. Humphry Ward
A Writer's Recollections (Vol I) by Mrs. Humphry Ward
So as the years draw on toward the Biblical limit, the inclination to look back, and to tell some sort of story of what one has seen, grows upon most of us. I cannot hope that what I have to say will be very interesting to many.
A Writer's Recollections (Vol II) by Mrs. Humphry Ward
The cry of the poor, indeed, against the rich and tyrannous, the cry of the persecuted Liberal, whether in politics or religion, against his oppressors
The Coryston Family by Mrs. Humphry Ward
Since the Opposition leader had risen, her attention had wholly wandered. She yawned perpetually, and talked a great deal to a
lady behind her.
The Marriage of William Ashe by Mrs. Humphry Ward
London, from this point of sight, wore a cheerful, friendly air. The dim sunshine, the white-clouded sky, the touches of reviving green and flowers, the soft air blowing in from a farther window which was open
Fields of Victory by Mrs. Humphry Ward
It is a bold thing, I fear, to offer the public yet more letters based on a journey through the battle-fields of France—especially at a moment when impressions are changing so fast
Lady Merton Colonist by Mrs. Humphry Ward
"As I've explained to you many times before, this is the Hinterland of Ontario--and it's only been surveyed, except just
along the railway, a few years ago
Lady Rose's Daughter by Mrs. Humphry Ward
And before that, I remember
his mother, the old Duchess here, with her swarm of parsons. Upon my word, London tastes good--after Teheran!"
Elizabeth's Campaign by Mrs. Humphry Ward
'Yet compared to a Mannering, what do I mean to the people here? You scarcely begin to take root in this blessed country under half a
century.
Lady Connie by Mrs. Humphry Ward
a light wind blew towards the two girls sitting by the open window. One, the elder, had a face like a Watteau sketch, with
black velvety eyes
The Testing of Diana Mallory by Mrs. Humphry Ward
Venus shone enthroned, so large and
brilliant, so near to earth and the spectator, that she held, she pervaded the whole dusky scene, the shadowed fields and wintry woods,
Milly and Olly by Mrs. Humphry Ward
But Master Olly went on stamping, and jumping up and down stairs, as his way was when he was very much excited, till Milly
appeared. Presently down she came, a sober fair-haired little maiden, with blue eyes and a turn-up nose, and a mouth that was generally rather solemn-looking
Harvest by Mrs. Humphry Ward
Halsey was silent, and the two old men trudged on with cheerful countenances. Through the minds of both there ran pleasant thoughts
of the contrast between the days before the war and the days now prevailing.
Marcella by Mrs. Humphry Ward
It was but three months or so since Marcella's father, Mr. Richard Boyce, had succeeded to the ownership of Mellor Park the old home of the Boyces, and it was little more than six weeks since Marcella had received her summons home from the students' boarding-house in Kensington
Miss Bretherton by Mrs. Humphry Ward
It was the day of the private view at the Royal Academy. The great courtyard of Burlington House was full of carriages, and a continuous stream of guests was pressing up the red-carpeted stairs
A Great Success by Mrs. Humphry Ward
And she ran to the open window, crying "Hi!" to the driver of a taxi-cab, who, having put down his fares, was just on the point of
starting from the door of the small semi-detached house in a South Kensington street
Helena by Mrs. Humphry Ward
"Why should we be snuffed out without a struggle?" said the circular. "We are fewer, no doubt, but we are better educated. Our
home traditions are infinitely superior.
Missing by Mrs. Humphry Ward
And the maid-servant, as she went
downstairs, decided for the twentieth time that afternoon, that she didn't like Miss Cookson, and she hoped her sister, Mrs. Sarratt, would be nicer. Miss Cookson had been poking her nose into everything that afternoon, fiddling with the rooms and furniture
Fenwick's Career by Mrs. Humphry Ward
The young man in question stood embarrassed and silent, his palette on his thumb, brush and mahlstick suspended. His eyes were cast down: a flush had risen in his cheek. Miss Bella's manner was not sweet; she
wished evidently to slight somebody
The Story of Bessie Costrell by Mrs. Humphry Ward
Once he stopped to bend over a fence, to pluck a stalk or two of oats; he examined them carefully, then he threw back his head and
sniffed the air, looking all round the sky meanwhile.
Towards The Goal by Mrs. Humphry Ward
I left our Headquarters in France, for instance, some days before the news of the Russian revolution reached London, and while the Somme retirement was still in its earlier stages.
The History of David Grieve by Mrs. Humphry Ward
The children went their way through the yard. In front of them a flock of some forty sheep and lambs pushed along, guarded by two
black short-haired collies. The boy, brandishing a long stick, opened a gate deplorably in want of mending
Sir George Tressady (Vol I) by Mrs. Humphry Ward
The young man speaking drew in his head from the carriage-window. But instead of sitting down he turned with a joyous, excited gesture and lifted the flap over the little window in the back of the landau,
supporting himself, as he stooped to look
Sir George Tressady (Vol II) by Mrs. Humphry Ward
On a hot morning at the end of June, some four weeks after the Castle Luton visit, George Tressady walked from Brook Street to Warwick Square, that he might obtain his mother's signature to a document
The Case of Richard Meynell by Mrs. Humphry Ward
The postman, just guiding his bicycle into the Rectory drive, turned at the summons and dismounted. The Rector approached him from the road, and the postman, diving into his letter-bag and into the box of his bicycle,
brought out a variety of letters and packages, which he placed in the
Rector's hands.
Robert Elsmere by Mrs. Humphry Ward
It was a brilliant afternoon toward the end of May. The spring had been unusually cold and late, and it was evident from the general
aspect of the lonely Westmoreland valley of Long Whindale that warmth and sunshine had only just penetrated to its bare, green recesses
Helbeck of Bannisdale (Vol I) by Mrs. Humphry Ward
Before him stretched the marsh lands of the Flent valley, a broad alluvial plain brought down by the rivers Flent and Greet on their way to the estuary and the sea.
Helbeck of Bannisdale (Vol II) by Mrs. Humphry Ward
The space between
the ingots and some machinery near them was perilously narrow. At any moment, those rushing past might have been pushed against the death-bearing truck.
Delia Blanchflower by Mrs. Humphry Ward
The Englishman's quick smile in response modified the German's general opinion of English manners, and the two exchanged some remarks on the weather
Nathanael West
The Dream Life of Balso Snell (1931) by Nathanael West
Miss Lonelyhearts (1933) by Nathanael West
A Cool Million by Nathanael West
The Day of the Locust (1939) by Nathanael West
Edith Wharton
Afterward by Edith Wharton
The assertion, laughingly flung out six months earlier in a bright June garden, came back to Mary Boyne with a sharp perception of its latent significance as she stood, in the December dusk, waiting for the lamps to be brought into the library.
The Reef
All the way from Charing Cross to Dover the train had
hammered the words of the telegram into George Darrow's
ears, ringing every change of irony on its commonplace
syllables: rattling them out like a discharge of musketry,
letting them, one by one, drip slowly and coldly into his
brain, or shaking, tossing, transposing them like the dice
in some game of the gods of malice;
The Touchstone
The Spectator had slipped to his feet and as he picked it up his
eye fell again on the paragraph addressed to the friends of Mrs.
Aubyn. He had read it for the first time with a scarcely
perceptible quickening of attention: her name had so long been
public property that his eye passed it unseeingly, as the crowd in
the street hurries without a glance by some familiar monument.
The Glimpses of the Moon by Edith Wharton
His hand still lay on hers, and for a long interval, while they
stood silent in the enveloping loveliness of the night, she was
aware only of the warm current running from palm to palm, as the
moonlight below them drew its line of magic from shore to shore.
Summer
It was the beginning of a June afternoon. The
springlike transparent sky shed a rain of silver
sunshine on the roofs of the village, and on the
pastures and larchwoods surrounding it. A little wind
moved among the round white clouds on the shoulders of
the hills, driving their shadows across the fields and
down the grassy road that takes the name of street when
it passes through North Dormer.
Tales Of Men
It appeared that Winterman, while lying insensible in the Park, had been robbed of the few dollars he possessed; and on leaving the hospital, still weak and half-blind, he had quite simply and unprotestingly accepted the Wades' offer to give him shelter till such time as he should be strong enough to go to work.
House of Mirth by Edith Wharton
Selden paused in surprise. In the afternoon rush of the Grand Central Station his eyes had been refreshed by the sight of Miss
Lily Bart.
Ethan Frome
It was there that, several years ago, I saw him for the first time; and the sight pulled me up sharp. Even then he was the most striking figure in Starkfield, though he was but the ruin of a man. It was not so much his great height that marked him, for the "natives" were easily singled out by their lank longitude from the stockier foreign breed: it was the careless powerful look he had,
The Age of Innocence
It was Madame Nilsson's first appearance that winter, and what the daily press had already learned to describe as "an exceptionally brilliant audience" had
gathered to hear her, transported through the slippery,
snowy streets in private broughams, in the spacious
family landau, or in the humbler but more convenient
"Brown coupe" To come to the Opera in a Brown
coupe was almost as honourable a way of arriving
as in one's own carriage;
Madame de Treymes by Edith Wharton
Paris might still be -- to the unimplicated it doubtless still was -- the most beautiful city in the world; but whether it were the most lovable or the most detestable depended for him, in the last analysis, on the buttoning of the white glove over which Fanny de Malrive still lingered.
The Blond Beast
Halting there in the winter light, with the clang of the ponderous vestibule doors in his ears, and his eyes carried down the perspective of the packed interminable thoroughfare, he even dared to remember Rastignac's apostrophe to Paris, and to hazard recklessly under his small fair moustache: "Who knows?"
The Bolted Door
Granice resumed his pacing. Each time he reached the end of the room opposite the door he caught his reflection in the Florentine mirror above the fine old walnut credencehe had picked up at Dijon -- saw himself spare, quick-moving, carefully brushed and dressed, but furrowed, gray about the temples, with a stoop which he corrected by a spasmodic straightening of the shoulders whenever a glass confronted him: a tired middle-aged man, baffled, beaten, worn out.
The Daunt Diana by Edith Wharton
He told me once how he'd come to Rome. He was originaire of Mystic, Connecticut -- and he wanted to get as far away from it as possible. Rome seemed as far as anything on the same planet could be; and after he'd worried his way through Harvard -- with shifts and shavings that you and I can't imagine -- he contrived to get sent to Switzerland as tutor to a chap who'd failed in his examinations.
The Eyes
The words were so unexpected that they dropped down and down into a fathomless silence, while we continued to stare at each other over Culwin's head, and Culwin stared at his ghosts. At length Frenham, without speaking, threw himself into the chair on the other side of the hearth, and leaned forward with his listening smile . . .
His Father's Son
Even at Harvard he had managed to be several desirable things at once -- writing poetry in the college magazine, playing delightfully "by ear," acquitting himself honorably in his studies, and yet holding his own in the fashionable sporting set that formed, as it were, the gateway of the temple of Society.
Full Circle by Edith Wharton
Mind? Ye gods, he minded now! For more than a year after the publication of "Diadems and Faggots" the letters, the inane indiscriminate letters of condemnation, of criticism, of interrogation, had poured in on him by every post. Hundreds of unknown readers had told him with unsparing detail all that his book had been to them.
The Hermit and the Wild Woman
He had no wish to go back. His longing was to live hidden from life. Up the hillside he found a hollow in the rock, and built before it a porch of boughs bound together with withies. He fed on nuts and roots, and on trout which he caught with his hands under the stones in the stream. He had always been a quiet boy, liking to sit at his mother's feet and watch the flowers grow on her embroidery frame
The Debt
It's all very interesting -- there are few things more stirring to the imagination than that sudden projection of the new hypothesis, light as a cobweb and strong as steel, across the intellectual abyss; but, for an idle observer of human motives, the other, the personal, side of Dredge's case is even more interesting and arresting.
Xingu by Edith Wharton
The Club was to meet at Mrs. Ballinger's. The other members, behind her back, were of one voice in deploring her unwillingness to cede her rights in favor of Mrs. Plinth, whose house made a more impressive setting for the entertainment of celebrities; while, as Mrs. Leveret observed, there was always the picture-gallery to fall back on.
Writing a War Story
she had been pouring tea once a week for a whole winter in a big Anglo-American hospital in Paris, when one day, as she was passing through a flower-edged court on her way to her ward, she heard one of the doctors say to a pale gentleman in civilian clothes and spectacles, "But I believe that pretty Miss Spang writes.
The Verdict
it suddenly occurred to me to wonder why Gisburn had given up his painting. On reflection, it really was a tempting problem. To accuse his wife would have been too easy
The Vice of Reading
No vices are so hard to eradicate as those which are popularly regarded as virtues. Among these the vice of reading is foremost. That reading trash is a vice is generally conceded; but reading per se -- the habit of reading -- new as it is, already ranks with such seasoned virtues as thrift, sobriety, early rising and regular exercise.
A Venetian Night's Entertainment by Edith Wharton
It was a rare February day of the year 1760, and a young Tony, newly of age, and bound on the grand tour aboard the crack merchantman of old Bracknell's fleet, felt his heart leap up as the distant city trembled into shape. Venice! The name, since childhood, had been a magician's wand to him.
The Seed of the Faith
The blinding June sky of Africa hung over the town. In the doorway of an Arab coffee-house a young man stood listening to the remarks exchanged by the patrons of the establishment, who lay in torpid heaps on the low shelf bordering the room.
The Rembrandt by Edith Wharton
Time was when I attempted to resist these compulsions of Eleanor's; but I soon learned that, short of actual flight, there was no refuge from her beneficent despotism. It is not always easy for the curator of a museum to abandon his post on the plea of escaping a pretty cousin's importunities
The Refugees by Edith Wharton
He had left Belgium at once, and deeply disturbed by the dislocation of his plans had carried his shaken nerves to a lost corner of Normandy, where he had spent the ensuing weeks in trying to think the war would soon be over.
The Recovery
But Professor Wildmarsh's article made her feel how little she really knew of the master; and she trembled to think of the state of relative ignorance in which, but for the timely purchase of the magazine, she might have entered Hillbridge.
The Reckoning
A discreet murmur of approval filled the studio, and through the haze of cigarette smoke Mrs. Clement Westall, as her husband descended from his improvised platform, saw him merged in a congratulatory group of ladies. Westall's informal talks on "The New Ethics" had drawn about him an eager following of the mentally unemployed
The Quicksand by Edith Wharton
Mrs. Quentin, though not a fanciful woman, was sometimes aware of a sixth sense enabling her to detect the faintest vibrations of her son's impulses. She was too shrewd to fancy herself the one mother in possession of this faculty, but she permitted herself to think that few could exercise it more discreetly.
The Pretext
Though slender, and still light of foot, she did not always move so quickly: hitherto, in her life, there had not been much to hurry for, save the recurring domestic tasks that compel haste without fostering elasticity
The Pot-Boiler
Caspar Arran, humorously called "Gasper" on account of his bronchial asthma -- had lately been joined by a sister, Kate Arran, a strapping girl, fresh from the country, who had installed herself in the little room off her brother's studio, keeping house for him with a chafing-dish and a coffee-machine, to the mirth and envy of the other young men in the building.
The Pelican by Edith Wharton
They began by being drawing-room lectures. The first time I saw her she was standing by the piano, against a flippant background of Dresden china and photographs, telling a roomful of women preoccupied with their spring bonnets all that she thought she knew about Greek art.
Other Times, Other Manners
She had set out on the voyage quietly enough, -- in what she called her "reasonable" mood, -- but the week at sea had given her too much time to think of things, had left her too long alone with the past.
The Other Two
They had been hastily recalled from their honeymoon by the illness of Lily Haskett, the child of Mrs. Waythorn's first marriage. The little girl, at Waythorn's desire, had been transferred to his house on the day of her mother's wedding, and the doctor, on their arrival, broke the news that she was ill with typhoid
The Moving Finger by Edith Wharton
Claydon professionally described her as the right frame for him; but if she defined, she also enlarged; if she threw the whole into perspective, she also cleared new ground, opened fresh vistas, reclaimed whole areas of activity that had run to waste under the harsh husbandry of privation.
The Muse's Tragedy
No one but a woman could understand what I went through during those years -- the moments of revolt, when I felt that I must break away from it all, fling the truth in his face and never see him again; the inevitable reaction, when not to see him seemed the one unendurable thing
The Mission of Jane
Lethbury accompanied his wife to the hospital in a mood of chastened wonder. It did not occur to him to oppose her wish. He knew, of course, that he would have to bear the brunt of the situation: the jokes at the club, the inquiries, the explanations.
Mrs. Manstey's View by Edith Wharton
and his death had left her alone, for her only daughter had married in California, and could not afford the long journey to New York to see her mother. Mrs. Manstey, perhaps, might have joined her daughter in the West
The Last Asset
There are lots of ways of being miserable, but there's only one way of being comfortable, and that is to stop running round after happiness. If you make up your mind not to be happy there's no reason why you shouldn't have a fairly good time.
The Long Run
There had been no time, before our passage to the dining-room, for more than the barest expression of delight at meeting, and our seats had been at opposite ends of the longish table, so that we got our first real look at each other in the screened secluded sofa-corner to which Mrs. Cumnor's vigilance now tactfully directed us.
The Line Of Least Resistance
Having vented his wrath in action, he felt calmer, but scarcely more happy. A marble nymph smiled at him from the terrace; but he knew how much nymphs cost, and was not sure that they were worth the price. Beyond the shrubberies he caught a glimpse of domed glass.
The Letters by Edith Wharton
At first the ascent had seemed tedious enough, as dull as the trudge to her other lessons. Lizzie was not a heaven-sent teacher; she had no born zeal for her calling, and though she dealt kindly and dutifully with her pupils, she did not fly to them on winged feet. But one day something had happened to change the face of life, and since then the climb to the Deering house had seemed like a dream-flight up a heavenly stairway.
The Lady's Maid's Bell
she told me the lady she'd in mind was a niece of hers, a Mrs. Brympton, a youngish lady, but something of an invalid, who lived all the year round at her country-place on the Hudson, owing to not being able to stand the fatigue of town life.
The Lamp of Psyche
She was reliving it now, as she often did in the rare hours which separated her from her husband; when presently she heard his step on the stairs, and started up with the blush of eighteen. As she walked across the room to meet him
Kerfol by Edith Wharton
it's just the place for a solitary-minded devil like you. And it would be rather worth while to own the most romantic house in Brittany. The present people are dead broke, and it's going for a song -- you ought to buy it.
In Trust
I want to bring the poor starved wretches back to their lost inheritance, to the divine past they've thrown away -- I want to make 'em hate ugliness so that they'll smash nearly everything in sight," he would passionately exclaim, stretching his arms across the shabby black-walnut writing-table and shaking his thin consumptive fist in the fact of all the accumulated ugliness in the world.
The Introducers
She colored, and negligently dropped her sunshade between her eyes and his. "Well, I wasn't, you see -- and my sketches were not good enough to sell. So I've taken to this kind of thing instead. But I thought you meant to stick to your digging.
The House of the Dead Hand by Edith Wharton
Lombard is a queer stick, and jealous of showing his treasures; but we struck up a friendship when I was working on the Sodomas in Siena three years ago, and if you will give him the enclosed line you may get a peep at the Leonardo. Probably not more than a peep, though, for I hear he refuses to have it reproduced.
That Good May Come
He glanced at a heap of type-written pages which lay on the shabby desk at his elbow; then, pushing back his chair, he began to stride up and down the length of the little bedroom in which he and Helfenridge sat.
The Fulness of Life
And so death is not the end after all," in sheer gladness she heard herself exclaiming aloud. "I always knew that it couldn't be. I believed in Darwin, of course. I do still; but then Darwin himself said that he wasn't sure about the soul
Expiation
Mrs. Fetherel's eye clouded. "Don't joke, Bella, please. I suppose to experienced authors there's always something absurd in the nervousness of a new writer, but in my case so much is at stake; I've put so much of myself into this book and I'm so afraid of being misunderstood .
The Duchess at Prayer by Edith Wharton
He was the oldest man I had ever seen; so sucked back into the past that he seemed more like a memory than a living being. The one trait linking him with the actual was the fixity with which his small saurian eye held the pocket that, as I entered, had yielded a lira to the gate-keeper's child. He went on, without removing his eye
The Dilettante
As a promoter of this pleasure no one he had known was comparable to Mrs. Vervain. He had taught a good many women not to betray their feelings, but he had never before had such fine material to work in.
The Descent of Man
To cease from work was not to cease from thought of it; and in the unwonted pause from effort the Professor found himself taking a general survey of the field he had travelled. At last it was possible to lift his nose from the loom, to step a moment in front of the tapestry he had been weaving.
Coming Home by Edith Wharton
There was no time to pick them up during the first months -- the whole business was too wild and grim. The horror has not decreased, but nerves and sight are beginning to be disciplined to it.
The Choice
Her host sounded an immediate protest. "Going already? Nothing of the sort! Why, the night's still young, as the poet says. Long way from here to the rectory? Nonsense! In our little twenty-horse motor we do it in five minutes -- don't we, Belle?
Bunner Sisters
The middle of the street was full of irregular depressions, well adapted to retain the long swirls of dust and straw and twisted paper that the wind drove up and down its sad untended length; and toward the end of the day, when traffic had been active, the fissured pavement formed a mosaic of coloured hand-bills, lids of tomato-cans, old shoes, cigar-stumps and banana skins, cemented together by a layer of mud, or veiled in a powdering of dust, as the state of the weather determined.
The Best Man by Edith Wharton
Mrs. Mornway, fresh from her afternoon walk, entered the room with that air of ease and lightness which seemed to diffuse a social warmth about her; fine, slender, pliant, so polished and modeled by an intelligent experience of life that youth seemed clumsy in her presence. She looked down at her husband and shook her head.
The Angel at the Grave
Fate seemed to have taken a direct share in fitting Paulina for her part as the custodian of this historic dwelling. It had long been secretly regarded as a "visitation" by the great man's family that he had left no son and that his daughters were not quot; intellectual."
A Backward Glance
I never cared much in my little childhood for fairy tales, or any appeals to my fancy through the fabulous or legendary. My imagination lay there, coiled and sleeping, a mute hibernating creature, and at the
least touch of common things--flowers, animals, words, especially the sound of words
Certain People by Edith Wharton
In less than an hour she would be under his roof, Jane Aldis would be receiving her in that low panelled room full of books, and she would be saying--what would she be saying?
False Dawn (The 'Forties)
Now and again the gentlemen, warned by a menacing hum, slapped their cheeks, their brows or their bald crowns; but they did so as furtively as possible, for Mr. Halston Raycie, on whose verandah they sat, would not admit that there were mosquitoes at High Point.
The Old Maid (The 'Fifties) by Edith Wharton
The Spark (The 'Sixties) by Edith Wharton
New Year'S Day (1924) by Edith Wharton
A Backward Glance by Edith Wharton
Hudson River Bracketed (1929) by Edith Wharton
After Holbein by Edith Wharton
Atrophy by Edith Wharton
Dieu D'Amour by Edith Wharton
The Refugees by Edith Wharton
Certain People by Edith Wharton
Mr. Jones by Edith Wharton
Twilight Sleep (1927) by Edith Wharton
The Children (1928) by Edith Wharton
The Gods Arrive (1932) by Edith Wharton
The Mother's Recompense (1925) by Edith Wharton
Here and Beyond (1926) by Edith Wharton
Charles Williams
Descent into Hell by Charles Williams
Many Dimensions (1931) by Charles Williams
All Hallows' Eve (1914) by Charles Williams
The Place of the Lion (1933) by Charles Williams
War in Heaven (1930) by Charles Williams
The Greater Trumps (1932) by Charles Williams
Shadows of Ecstasy (1932) by Charles Williams
C.N. and A.M. Williamson
The Powers and Maxine by C.N. and A.M. Williamson
My heart beat very fast as I guided him into the room which Lady Mountstuart has given Di and me for our special den. It is
separated by another larger room from the ballroom;
The Port Of Adventure by C.N. and A.M. Williamson
She was always handsome, but she was beautiful as she came out into the sunset gold which seemed meant for her, as stage lights are turned on for the heroine of a play
My Friend the Chaffeur by C.N. and A.M. Williamson
I had been trying to do him one without his knowing it, and in such a way that he couldn't escape when he did know. But the success of my scheme was now being dandled on the knees of the gods, and at any instant it might fall off to break like an egg.
The Guests of Hercules by C.N. and A.M. Williamson
A tall girl in the habit of a novice walked the path alone, moving
slowly across the stripes of sunlight and shadow which inlaid the gravel with equal bars of black and reddish gold.
The Heather-moon by C.N. and A.M. Williamson
For the first time in her life, Barrie saw the door that led to the
garret stairs standing ajar. It was always, always locked, as is
correct, though irritating, for a door that leads to Fairyland.
Secret History Revealed By Lady Peggy O'malley by C.N. and A.M. Williamson
It's strange how the biggest things of life grow out of the tiniest
ones. There is the old simile of the acorn and the oak, for instance.
But oaks take a long time to grow, and everybody concerned in oak
culture is calmly expecting them to do it. Imagine an acorn exploding to
let out an oak huge enough to shadow the world!
The Golden Silence by C.N. Williamson
Knight was of the world that is inclined to regard servants
as automata; but he was absurdly self-conscious as he saw his
card on a silver tray, in the hand of an expressionless, liveried
youth who probably had the famous interview in his pocket.
Rosemary: A Christmas Story by C.N. and A.M. Williamson
Winnie Childs by C.N. and A.M. Williamson
It was a horrible day at sea, horrible even on board the new and splendid Monarchic. All the prettiest people had disappeared from the huge dining-saloon.
It Happened in Egypt by A.M. Williamson
I paced up and down, acutely
conscious of my great secret, the secret inspiring my voyage to Egypt.
The Princess Passes by C.N. and A.M. Williamson
The girl's reputation as a beauty had marched before her, blowing trumpets. She was the prettiest girl in Davos, as she had been the
prettiest in London;
Thomas Wolfe
Look Homeward, Angel (1929) by Thomas Wolfe
Of Time and The River (1935) by Thomas Wolfe
You Can't Go Home Again (1947) by Thomas Wolfe
Virginia Woolf
The Voyage Out by Virginia Woolf
As the streets that lead from the Strand to the Embankment are very narrow, it is better not to walk down them arm-in-arm.
If you persist, lawyers' clerks will have to make flying leaps into the mud; young lady typists will have to fidget behind you. In the streets of London where beauty goes unregarded, eccentricity must pay the penalty, and it is better not to be very tall, to wear a long blue cloak, or to beat the air with your left hand.
The Waves by Virginia Woolf
Three Guineas by Virginia Woolf
Selected short stories by Virginia Woolf
Selected essays by Virginia Woolf
A Room of One's Own by Virginia Woolf
Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf
Orlando by Virginia Woolf
To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf
Night and Day by Virginia Woolf
Jacob's Room by Virginia Woolf
Woolf Short Stories by Virginia Woolf
Woolf Essays by Virginia Woolf
Percival Christopher Wren
Beau Geste by Percival C. Wren
Beau Sabreur by Percival C. Wren
Stories of the Foreign Legion by Percival C. Wren
William Butler Yeats
Michael Robartes and The Dancer (1921) by William Butler Yeats
The Tower (1928) by William Butler Yeats
The Wild Swans at Coole (1919) by William Butler Yeats
Pages Updated On: 13-Nov--MMVII
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