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The FS Daily

Daily Excerpts: My humble attempt at offering fresh, daily, bookstore-style browsing…

Below you’ll find twelve book excerpts selected at random, each day, from over 400 different hand-selected Project Gutenberg titles. This includes many of my personal favorites.

Excerpts for Thursday, July 09, 2026

Quick Excerpts, from a Library of 492 Titles

Generated 2022-07-28 13:26:25

Excerpt #1, from The Best British Short Stories of 1922, by Stacy Aumonier et al.

…“Don’t scurry,” he whispered, “or she’ll hear. I’m sorry for waking you, but I didn’t think you’d be asleep so soon.” “Why, what’s the time, then?” Seaton wore, what was then rather unusual, a night-suit, and he hauled his big silver watch out of the pocket in his jacket. “It’s a quarter to twelve. I never get to sleep before twelve–not here.” “What do you do, then?” “Oh, I read and listen.” “Listen?” Seaton stared into his candle-flame as if he were listening even then. “You can’t guess what it is. All you read in ghost stories, that’s all rot. You can’t see much, Withers, but you know all the same.” “Know what?” “Why, that they’re there.” “Who’s there?” I asked fretfully, glancing at the door. “Why, in the house. It swarms with ’em. Just you stand still and listen outside my bedroom door in the middle of the night. I have, dozens of times; they’re all over the place.” “Look here, Seaton,” I said, "you asked me to come here, and I didn’t mind chucking up a leave just to oblige you and because I’d promised;…

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Excerpt #2, from The power and the glory, by Henry Kuttner

…a hundred feet above the crag-bordered stream at the cliffs bottom! Panic struck him. Then Tsi’s reassuring thought said, “You are safe. This is teleportation.” He scarcely heard. An age-old instinctive fear chilled his middle. For a million years men have been afraid of falling. He could not now control that fear. Slowly he began to drop. He lost sight of Tsi and the golden trees and then of the water-wall. Under him the stream broadened. He sank down at an angle—and felt solid ground beneath his feet. There was silence except for the whispering murmur of the stream. CHAPTER III The World That Couldn’t Be Miller sat down on a rock and held his head in his hands. His thoughts were swimming. Cold, fresh air blew against his cheeks and he raised his face to meet that satisfying chill. It seemed to rouse him. He began to realize that he had been half asleep during the interview with Tsi, as though the mists of his slumber had still blanketed his senses. Otherwise he would scarcely have accepted this miraculous business. Or was there another reason? He felt a desperate impulse to see Tsi again. She could answer his…

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Excerpt #3, from Treasure Island, by Robert Louis Stevenson

…I should not have been as now, a mere fleeing sheep before this butcher. Wounded as he was, it was wonderful how fast he could move, his grizzled hair tumbling over his face, and his face itself as red as a red ensign with his haste and fury. I had no time to try my other pistol, nor indeed much inclination, for I was sure it would be useless. One thing I saw plainly: I must not simply retreat before him, or he would speedily hold me boxed into the bows, as a moment since he had so nearly boxed me in the stern. Once so caught, and nine or ten inches of the blood-stained dirk would be my last experience on this side of eternity. I placed my palms against the main-mast, which was of a goodish bigness, and waited, every nerve upon the stretch. Seeing that I meant to dodge, he also paused; and a moment or two passed in feints on his part and corresponding movements upon mine. It was such a game as I had often played at home about the rocks of Black Hill Cove, but never before, you may be sure, with such a wildly beating heart as now. Still, as I say, it was a boy’s game, and I thought I could hold my own at it against an elderly seaman with a wounded thigh. Indeed my courage had begun to rise so high that I allowed myself a few darting thoughts on what would be the end of the affair, and while I saw certainly that I could spin it out for long, I saw no hope of any ultimate escape….

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Excerpt #4, from Hawaiian Folk Tales, by Thomas G. Thrum

…to his home at Puuloa was like the flight of a bird. The spoils and trophies of this battle he disposed of as before. The two young women, Kalelealuaka’s wives, turned the nozzle of the water-gourd downward, as they were bidden, and continued to press it into the water, in the vain hope that it might rise and fill their container, until the noonday sun began to pour his rays directly upon their heads; but no water entered their calabash. Then the younger sister proposed to the elder to fill the calabash in the usual way, saying that Kalelealuaka would not know the difference. This they did, and returned home. Kalelealuaka would not drink of the water, declaring that it had been dipped up. At this the younger wife laughed furtively; the elder broke forth and said: “It is due to the slowness of the way you told us to employ in getting the water. We are not accustomed to the menial office of fetching water; our father treated us delicately, and a man always fetched water for us, and we always used to see him pour the water into the gourd with the nozzle turned up, but you trickily ordered us to turn the nozzle down. Your exactions are heartless.” Thus the women kept complaining until, by and by, the tramp of the returning soldiers was heard, who were boasting of the great deeds of Keinohoomanawanui. The King, however, said: "I do not believe a word of…

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Excerpt #5, from A Floating City, and The Blockade Runners, by Jules Verne

…boats which children play with on the lakes of Regent’s Park or the Serpentine. It was not long before the “Great Eastern” was opposite the Liverpool landing-stages, but the four cannons which were to have saluted the town, were silent out of respect to the dead, for the tender was disembarking them at this moment; however, loud hurrahs replaced the reports which are the last expressions of national politeness. Immediately there was a vigorous clapping of hands and waving of handkerchiefs, with all the enthusiasm with which the English hail the departure of every vessel, be it only a simple yacht sailing round a bay. But with what shouts they were answered! what echoes they called forth from the quays! There were thousands of spectators on both the Liverpool and Birkenhead sides, and boats laden with sight-seers swarmed on the Mersey. The sailors manning the yards of the “Lord Clyde,” lying at anchor opposite the docks, saluted the giant with their hearty cheers. But even the noise of the cheering could not drown the frightful discord of several bands playing at the same time. Flags were incessantly hoisted in honour of the “Great Eastern,” but soon the cries grew faint in the distance. Our steam-ship ranged near the “Tripoli,” a Cunard emigrant-boat, which in spite of her 2000 tons burden looked like a mere barge; then the houses grew fewer and more scattered on both shores, the…

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Excerpt #6, from The Moonstone, by Wilkie Collins

…festivals) was letting down my dignity in the eyes of the other servants—a thing which my lady considered me quite prone enough to do already, without seeking occasions for it. The news brought to me from the upper regions, that evening, came from Penelope and the footman. Penelope mentioned that she had never known Miss Rachel so particular about the dressing of her hair, and had never seen her look so bright and pretty as she did when she went down to meet Mr. Franklin in the drawing-room. The footman’s report was, that the preservation of a respectful composure in the presence of his betters, and the waiting on Mr. Franklin Blake at dinner, were two of the hardest things to reconcile with each other that had ever tried his training in service. Later in the evening, we heard them singing and playing duets, Mr. Franklin piping high, Miss Rachel piping higher, and my lady, on the piano, following them as it were over hedge and ditch, and seeing them safe through it in a manner most wonderful and pleasant to hear through the open windows, on the terrace at night. Later still, I went to Mr. Franklin in the smoking-room, with the soda water and brandy, and found that Miss Rachel had put the Diamond clean out of his head. “She’s the most charming girl I have seen since I came back to England!” was all I could extract from him, when I endeavoured to lead the conversation to more serious things….

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Excerpt #7, from Around the World on a Bicycle Volume II, by Thomas Stevens

…just as the sun is finishing his race for the day by painting the sky with fanciful tints and streaks. The long, straight avenue which I have wheeled down, for miles hereabout runs east and west. The sun, rotund and fiery, sets immediately in the perspective of the avenue; and at his disappearance there shoot from the same point iridescent javelins that spread, fan-like, over the whole heavens. A sight never to be forgotten is the long white road and the ribs of the glorious celestial fan meeting together in the vista-like distance; and–oh, for the brush and palette and genius of a Turner!–one of the rainbow-tinted javelins spits the crescent moon and holds it to toast before the glowing sunset fires, like a piece of green cheese. The heat of the night is ominously suggestive of shed’s popularly conceived temperature, and, in the absence of the customary punkah and nodding, see-sawing wallah, a villager is employed to sit beside my charpoy and agitate the air immediately about my head with a big palm-leaf fan. But sleep is next to impossible; the morning finds me feeling but little refreshed and with a decided yearning to remain all day long in the shade instead of taking to the road. Not a moment’s respite is possible from the oppressive heat; an hour in the saddle develops a sensation of grogginess and an amphibian inclination for wallowing in some road-side tank….

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Excerpt #8, from Radio Active Substances, by Marie Curie

…the vessel, traverse 30 c.m. of air, and are received upon a series of glass plates, each of thickness 1·3 m.m.; the first plate transmits 49 per cent of the radiation it receives, the second transmits 84 per cent of the radiation it receives, the third transmits 85 per cent of the radiation it receives. In another series of experiments the radium was enclosed in a glass vessel placed 10 c.m. from the condenser which received the rays. A series of similar screens of lead each 0·115 m.m. thick were placed on the vessel. The ratio of the radiation transmitted to the radiation received is given for each of the successive screens by the following numbers:— 0·40 0·60 0·72 0·79 0·89 0·92 0·94 0·94 0·97 For a series of four screens of lead, each of which was 1·5 m.m. thick, the ratio of the radiation transmitted to the radiation received was given for the successive screens by the following numbers:— 0·09 0·78 0·84 0·82 The results of these experiments show that when the thickness of the lead traversed increases from 0·1 m.m. to 6 m.m., the penetrating power of the radiation increases. I found that, under the experimental conditions mentioned, a screen of lead 1·8 c.m. thick transmits 2 per cent of the radiation it receives; a…

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Excerpt #9, from Our Knowledge Box; or, Old Secrets and New Discoveries., by Unknown

…of silver, etc. Now immerse it in the following solution, also in the dark room: saturated solution bichloride of mercury (corrosive sublimate), one ounce; hydrochloric acid, one drachm. The saturated solution is previously prepared by putting into water more bichloride of mercury than it will dissolve by shaking in about twelve hours. The print will gradually be bleached in this liquid, in the ordinary meaning of the word–that is, it will disappear; but the fact is, the print is still there–its color alone is changed, a double salt having been formed of mercury and silver, which is white, as many of our readers, who have been in the habit of intensifying with a mercurial salt, are aware. As soon as the print has quite disappeared, the paper is thoroughly washed and dried in the dark room; it is also preserved between folds of orange-colored paper, in order to keep it from the action of light, for the surface is still in some measure sensitive to light. The bleaching of the print–that is, its conversion into a white salt–is effected more quickly by keeping it in motion in the mercurial solution. As we said before, the print has not been bleached in reality–the substance which originally formed it is still there, together with a new substance, a salt of mercury. But the two salts of silver and mercury may be easily brought out and made visible by several solutions, such as sulphide of ammonium, solution of hydrosulphuric…

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Excerpt #10, from Metamorphosis, by Franz Kafka

…and it was only now out of politeness that they allowed their peace to be disturbed. It was especially unnerving, the way they all blew the smoke from their cigarettes upwards from their mouth and noses. Yet Gregor’s sister was playing so beautifully. Her face was leant to one side, following the lines of music with a careful and melancholy expression. Gregor crawled a little further forward, keeping his head close to the ground so that he could meet her eyes if the chance came. Was he an animal if music could captivate him so? It seemed to him that he was being shown the way to the unknown nourishment he had been yearning for. He was determined to make his way forward to his sister and tug at her skirt to show her she might come into his room with her violin, as no-one appreciated her playing here as much as he would. He never wanted to let her out of his room, not while he lived, anyway; his shocking appearance should, for once, be of some use to him; he wanted to be at every door of his room at once to hiss and spit at the attackers; his sister should not be forced to stay with him, though, but stay of her own free will; she would sit beside him on the couch with her ear bent down to him while he told her how he had always intended to send her to the conservatory, how he would have told everyone about it last Christmas—had Christmas really come and gone already?—if this misfortune hadn’t got in the way, and refuse to let…

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Excerpt #11, from Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens

…Wemmick that I hardly knew what to make of Mr. Jaggers’s manner. “Tell him that, and he’ll take it as a compliment,” answered Wemmick; “he don’t mean that you should know what to make of it.—Oh!” for I looked surprised, “it’s not personal; it’s professional: only professional.” Wemmick was at his desk, lunching—and crunching—on a dry hard biscuit; pieces of which he threw from time to time into his slit of a mouth, as if he were posting them. “Always seems to me,” said Wemmick, “as if he had set a man-trap and was watching it. Suddenly—click—you’re caught!” Without remarking that man-traps were not among the amenities of life, I said I supposed he was very skilful? “Deep,” said Wemmick, “as Australia.” Pointing with his pen at the office floor, to express that Australia was understood, for the purposes of the figure, to be symmetrically on the opposite spot of the globe. “If there was anything deeper,” added Wemmick, bringing his pen to paper, “he’d be it.” Then, I said I supposed he had a fine business, and Wemmick said, “Ca-pi-tal!” Then I asked if there were many clerks? to which he replied,— “We don’t run much into clerks, because there’s only one Jaggers, and…

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Excerpt #12, from Studying the short story, by J. Berg Esenwein

…He shall walk the quarter-deck–’” 51. “Yellow on blue–green next player,” said the marker monotonously. 52. “He shall walk the quarter-deck’–Am I green, marker?–He shall walk the quarter-deck’–eh! that’s a bad shot–‘As his daddy used to do!’” 53. “I don’t see that you have anything to crow about,” said a zealous junior civilian acidly. “The Government is not exactly pleased with your work when you relieved Sanders.” 54. “Does that mean a wigging from headquarters?” said Holden with an abstracted smile. “I think I can stand it.” 55. The talk beat up round the ever-fresh subject of each man’s work, and steadied Holden till it was time to go to his dark empty bungalow, where his butler received him as one who knew all his affairs. Holden remained awake for the greater part of the night, and his dreams were pleasant ones. II 56. “How old is he now?” 57. “Ya illah! What a man’s question! He is all but six weeks old; and on this night I go up to the housetop with thee, my life, to count the stars. For that is auspicious. And he was born on a Friday under the sign of the Sun, and it has been told to me that he will outlive us…

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