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Reginald Blake, Financier and Cad
The advantage of literature over life is that its characters are clearly defined, and act consistently. Nature, always inartistic, takes pl…
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An item of Fashionable Intelligence - (1)
Speaking personally, I do not like the Countess of . She is not the type of woman I could love. I hesitate the less giving expression to th…
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An item of Fashionable Intelligence - (2)
Lord C was as tender-hearted a lout as ever lived. In a moment he was on his knees with his arm round the girl's waist, pouring out such ha…
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Blase Billy
It was towards the end of August. He and I appeared to be the only two men left to the Club. He was sitting by an open window, the Times ly…
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The Choice of Cyril Harjohn
Between a junior resident master of twenty-one, and a backward lad of fifteen, there yawns an impassable gulf. Between a struggling journal…
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The Materialisation of Charles and Mivanway
The fault that most people will find with this story is that it is unconvincing. Its scheme is improbable, its atmosphere artificial. To co…
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Portrait of a Lady
My work pressed upon me, but the louder it challenged me such is the heart of the timid fighter the less stomach I felt for the contest. I…
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The Man Who Would Manage
It has been told me by those in a position to know and I can believe it that at nineteen months of age he wept because his grandmother woul…
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The Man Who Lived For Others
The first time we met, to speak, he was sitting with his back against a pollard willow, smoking a clay pipe. He smoked it very slowly, but…
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A Man of Habit
There were three of us in the smoke-room of the Alexandra a very good friend of mine, myself, and, in the opposite corner, a shy-looking, u…
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The Absent-minded Man
You ask him to dine with you on Thursday to meet a few people who are anxious to know him. "Now don't make a muddle of it," you say, recoll…
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A Charming Woman
"Not the Mr. , really?" In her deep brown eyes there lurked pleased surprise, struggling with wonder. She looked from myself to the friend…
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Whibley's Spirit
I never met it myself, but I knew Whibley very well indeed, so that I came to hear a goodish deal about it. It appeared to be devoted to Wh…
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The Man Who Went Wrong
I first met Jack Burridge nearly ten years ago on a certain North-country race-course. The saddling bell had just rung for the chief event…
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The Hobby Rider
Bump. Bump. Bump-bump. Bump. I sat up in bed and listened intently. It seemed to me as if someone with a muffled hammer were trying to knoc…
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The Man Who Did Not Believe In Luck
He got in at Ipswich with seven different weekly papers under his arm. I noticed that each one insured its reader against death or injury b…
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Dick Dunkerman's Cat
Richard Dunkerman and I had been old school-fellows, if a gentleman belonging to the Upper Sixth, and arriving each morning in a "topper" a…
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The Minor Poet's Story
"It doesn't suit you at all," I answered. "You're very disagreeable," said she, "I shan't ever ask your advice again." "Nobody," I hastened…
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The Degeneration of Thomas Henry
The most respectable cat I have ever known was Thomas Henry. His original name was Thomas, but it seemed absurd to call him that. The famil…
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The City of The Sea
They say, the chroniclers who have written the history of that low-lying, wind-swept coast, that years ago the foam fringe of the ocean lay…
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Driftwood
CHARACTERS MR. TRAVERS. MRS. TRAVERS. MARION their daughter. DAN a gentleman of no position. SCENE: A room opening upon a garden. The shado…