Genre - Short Story. You are on the page - 33
am, is a teetotaller. Yes, m'm; and he don't smoke. Smoking, ma'am," said Jane, as one who reads the heart, "do make such a dust about. Beside the waste of money. And the smell. However, I suppose they got to do it--some of them..."William was at first a rather shabby young man of the ready-made black coat school of costume. He had watery gray eyes, and a complexion appropriate to the brother of one in a Home for the Dying. Euphemia did not fancy him very much, even at the
it a bit," replied Fauchery. "I certainly must make theacquaintance of your Nana before talking about her. Besides, I'vemade no promises."Then to put an end to the discussion, he introduced his cousin, M.Hector de la Faloise, a young man who had come to finish hiseducation in Paris. The manager took the young man's measure at aglance. But Hector returned his scrutiny with deep interest. This,then, was that Bordenave, that showman of the sex who treated womenlike a convict
g. But as soon as he says something, passes on information in an altered form, or merely expresses an attitude--he becomes a reference point. He can be marked, measured and entered on a graph. His actions can be grouped with others and the action of the group measured. Man--and his society--then becomes a systems problem that can be fed into a computer. We've cut the Gordian knot of the three-L's and are on our way towards a solution."* * * * * "Stop!" Costa said, raising his
plied incoherently and evasively; it was as if he knew something terrible, something dreadful, but did not wish to speak of it. Eventually he retired to his own apartments, but it was not until several hours had passed that he returned to his normal condition of mind.The same doctor who had been summoned on the occasion of Wilhelm's former encounter with the White Lady was in attendance on him, and he looked extremely grave when informed that the Emperor had again experienced a mysterious
"That is Mt. Togonda," he answered, pointing to the hills before them, "and this," swinging his hand around the plateau on which the camp's tents were pitched, "is La Plaza del Carabaos."The captain's eyes met those of Lieutenant Smith. "La Plaza del Carabaos" means "The Square of the Water Buffalos." As if with one thought the two men turned and looked out to sea. The sun had set. Against the glowing western sky a huge rock at the plateau's
Rozaine, gloomy and reserved, and thought of the double role that he was playing, I accorded him a certain measure of admiration.On the following evening, the officer on deck duty heard groans emanating from the darkest corner of the ship. He approached and found a man lying there, his head enveloped in a thick gray scarf and his hands tied together with a heavy cord. It was Rozaine. He had been assaulted, thrown down and robbed. A card, pinned to his coat, bore these words: "Arsène Lupin