Quick Excerpts, from a Library of 492 Titles

Generated 2022-07-28 13:26:44

Excerpt #1, from The Talking Horse, and Other Tales, by F. Anstey

…it’s all his own doing, he really is not well enough for it just now.’ ‘No,’ said Daisy, ‘I won’t tell you my plan, auntie, but it’s better than whipping.’ And all this time the unconscious Don was wearing an expression of uncomplaining suffering, and looking meekly sorry for himself, with no suspicion in the world that he had been found out. Next day he felt much better, and as the morning was bright he thought that, after all, he might manage another steamer trip; his appetite had come back, and his breath was not nearly so short as it had been. He was just making modestly for the gate when Daisy stopped him. ‘Where are you going, sir?’ she inquired. Don rolled over instantly with all his legs in the air and a feeble apology in his eye. ‘I want you for just one minute first,’ said Daisy politely, and carried him into the morning-room. Was he going to be whipped?–she couldn’t have the heart–an invalid like him! He tried to protest by his whimpering. But Daisy did nothing of the kind; she merely took something that was flat and broad and white, and fastened it round his neck with a very ornamental bow and ribbon. Then she opened the French windows, and said in rather a chilly voice, ’Now run away and get on your nasty steamer…

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Excerpt #2, from The Brothers Karamazov, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

…“That I can’t say. To see some officer. Some one invited her and horses were sent to fetch her.” Mitya left him, and ran like a madman to Fenya. Chapter V. A Sudden Resolution She was sitting in the kitchen with her grandmother; they were both just going to bed. Relying on Nazar Ivanovitch, they had not locked themselves in. Mitya ran in, pounced on Fenya and seized her by the throat. “Speak at once! Where is she? With whom is she now, at Mokroe?” he roared furiously. Both the women squealed. “Aie! I’ll tell you. Aie! Dmitri Fyodorovitch, darling, I’ll tell you everything directly, I won’t hide anything,” gabbled Fenya, frightened to death; “she’s gone to Mokroe, to her officer.” “What officer?” roared Mitya. “To her officer, the same one she used to know, the one who threw her over five years ago,” cackled Fenya, as fast as she could speak. Mitya withdrew the hands with which he was squeezing her throat. He stood facing her, pale as death, unable to utter a word, but his eyes showed that he realized it all, all, from the first word, and guessed…

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Excerpt #3, from The Wonderful Adventures of Nils, by Selma Lagerlöf

…were still in the Westmanland mining districts. Toward evening the wind abated suddenly, and the tired travellers hoped that they would have an interval of easy flight before sundown. Then along came a violent gust of wind, which tossed the geese before it, like balls, and the boy, who was sitting comfortably, with no thought of peril, was lifted from the goose’s back and hurled into space. Little and light as he was, he could not fall straight to the ground in such a wind; so at first he was carried along with it, drifting down slowly and spasmodically, as a leaf falls from a tree. “Why, this isn’t so bad!” thought the boy as he fell. “I’m tumbling as easily as if I were only a scrap of paper. Morten Goosey-Gander will doubtless hurry along and pick me up.” The first thing the boy did when he landed was to tear off his cap and wave it, so that the big white gander should see where he was. “Here am I, where are you? Here am I, where are you?” he called, and was rather surprised that Morten Goosey-Gander was not already at his side. But the big white gander was not to be seen, nor was the wild goose flock outlined against the sky. It had entirely disappeared. He thought this rather singular, but he was neither worried nor frightened. Not for a second did it occur to him that folk like Akka and Morten Goosey-Gander would abandon him. The unexpected gust of wind had…

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Excerpt #4, from Mirrors of Moscow, by Louise Stevens Bryant

…soon have such sinister work to do. The last time I met Peters he was living in Tashkent which is the capital of the Province of Turkestan. He had even more sweeping powers than an ordinary governor, since he was the most important revolutionary official in a community not yet settled down to normal life. I also met the new Madame Peters. The English wife divorced him at the time of the terror. The second Madame Peters was a very pretty, redheaded Russian who had been a teacher and who still worked at her profession. They lived in a single room, shared a dining room with twenty others and were poorly dressed. When we discussed this point, Peters bitterly denounced several Soviet officials who, he said, were “living soft.” “A revolutionist cannot expect to force privations on other people if he is not willing to be an example of self-sacrifice,” he declared. He had become known almost as a conservative among the Left-Communists because he had refused to close the Mohammedan bazaars, saying these people were not ready for Communism. His public trials were attended by large crowds and proved of great educational value in a very unenlightened community. I found him much older. He seemed to have lived thirty years in three….

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Excerpt #5, from An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, by David Hume

…the empire, and could no longer give any reward, as the price of a lie. Utrumque, qui interfuere, nunc quoque memorant, postquam nullum mendacio pretium. To which if we add the public nature of the facts, as related, it will appear, that no evidence can well be supposed stronger for so gross and so palpable a falsehood. [23] Hist. lib. iv. cap. 81. Suetonius gives nearly the same account in vita Vesp. There is also a memorable story related by Cardinal de Retz, which may well deserve our consideration. When that intriguing politician fled into Spain, to avoid the persecution of his enemies, he passed through Saragossa, the capital of Arragon, where he was shewn, in the cathedral, a man, who had served seven years as a door-keeper, and was well known to every body in town, that had ever paid his devotions at that church. He had been seen, for so long a time, wanting a leg; but recovered that limb by the rubbing of holy oil upon the stump; and the cardinal assures us that he saw him with two legs. This miracle was vouched by all the canons of the church; and the whole company in town were appealed to for a confirmation of the fact; whom the cardinal found, by their zealous devotion, to be thorough believers of the miracle. Here the relater was also cotemporary to the supposed prodigy, of an incredulous and libertine character, as well as of great genius; the miracle of so…

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Excerpt #6, from Around the World on a Bicycle Volume I, by Thomas Stevens

…out, for their attention is now attracted by the caravan, whose approach is heralded by the jingle of a thousand bells. The next two hours find me engaged in the laborious task of climbing a mere bridle-path up the rugged mountain slope, along which no wheeled vehicle has certainly ever been before. There is in some places barely room for pack animals to pass between the masses of rocks, and at others, but a narrow ledge between a perpendicular rock and a sheer precipice. The steepest portions are worn into rude stone stairways by the feet of pack animals that toiled over this pass just as they toiled before America was discovered and have been toiling ever since; and for hundreds of yards at a stretch I am compelled to push the bicycle ahead, rear wheel aloft, in the well-known manner of going up-stairs. While climbing up a rather awkward place, I meet a lone Arab youth, leading his horse by the bridle, and come near causing a serious accident. It was at the turning of a sharp corner that I met this swarthy-faced youth face to face, and the sudden appearance of what both he and the horse thought was a being from a far more distant sphere than the western half of our own so frightened them both that I expected every minute to see them go toppling over the precipice. Reassuring the boy by speaking a word or two of Turkish, and seeing the impossibility of either passing him or of his horse being able to turn around, I turn about and retreat a short distance,…

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Excerpt #7, from Black Beauty, by Anna Sewell

…thrown off his legs. At once they both flew to her head; but she was a match for them, and went on plunging, rearing, and kicking in a most desperate manner. At last she kicked right over the carriage pole and fell down, after giving me a severe blow on my near quarter. There is no knowing what further mischief she might have done had not York promptly sat himself down flat on her head to prevent her struggling, at the same time calling out, “Unbuckle the black horse! Run for the winch and unscrew the carriage pole! Cut the trace here, somebody, if you can’t unhitch it!” One of the footmen ran for the winch, and another brought a knife from the house. The groom soon set me free from Ginger and the carriage, and led me to my box. He just turned me in as I was and ran back to York. I was much excited by what had happened, and if I had ever been used to kick or rear I am sure I should have done it then; but I never had, and there I stood, angry, sore in my leg, my head still strained up to the terret on the saddle, and no power to get it down. I was very miserable and felt much inclined to kick the first person who came near me. Before long, however, Ginger was led in by two grooms, a good deal knocked about and bruised. York came with her and gave his orders, and then came to look at me. In a moment he let down my head. “Confound these check-reins!” he said to himself; “I thought we should…

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Excerpt #8, from Tales of an Old Sea Port, by Wilfred Harold Munro

…for himself a stately mansion, on a little hill always spoken of by Bristol people as “The Mount,” in which his descendants continued to reside until its destruction by fire a few years ago. Inevitably he came to take a leading part in political matters. For almost thirty years he represented his native town in the Rhode Island Legislature, laying aside the gavel of the Speaker of that body in 1821 to become a member of the United States Senate. As a Senator his immense business experience made him the recognized authority in commercial matters. He was a strong “protectionist” and was the first in the Senate to propose the “drawback” system which has since been so largely adopted in the United States and elsewhere. He was one of the few Senators, perhaps the only one from New England, who were accustomed to ride to Washington in their own coaches. Happily this relic of the luxury of a hundred years ago still remains in the possession of a descendant of Mark Anthony De Wolf, Colonel Samuel Pomeroy Colt of Bristol. Mr. De Wolf’s life at Washington was not pleasing to him. The progress of Congressional legislation was too slow for his active mind, and his constantly increasing business demanded all of his attention. He therefore resigned from the United States Senate long before his term expired and joyfully resumed his old position as a representative of Bristol…

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Excerpt #9, from Mental Radio, by Upton Sinclair

…Finally, I have obtained the publisher’s consent to reproduce the jacket design of a recent book, so that I may put Craig’s telepathy alongside it, and give you a laugh or two. Observe the jolly little tourists, and what they have turned into! And then the efforts of Craig’s subconscious mind at French. They taught it to her in a “finishing school” on Fifth Avenue, and you can see that it was finished before it began (Figs. 23, 23a). Yet another form of experiment invented itself under the pressure of necessity. Impossible to have such a witch-wife without trying to put her to use! [Illustration: Fig. 23] [Illustration: Fig. 23a] I have the habit of working out a chapter of a new book in my head, and writing down a few notes on a scrap of paper, and sticking it away in any place that is handy; then, next day, or whenever I am ready for work, it is gone, and there is the devil to pay. I wander about the house for an hour or two, trying to imagine where I can have put that scrap of paper, and reluctant to do the work all over again. On one occasion I searched every pocket, my desk, the trash-baskets, and then, deciding that I had dropped it outdoors, where I work with my typewriter, I figured the direction of the wind, and picked up all the…

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Excerpt #10, from The Black Arrow: A Tale of the Two Roses, by Robert Louis Stevenson

…Presently the skiff put out from the vessel’s side, and the two men, keeping her head well to the wind, pulled lustily for shore. Lawless turned to a loiterer. “How call ye her?” he asked, pointing to the little vessel. “They call her the Good Hope, of Dartmouth,” replied the loiterer. “Her captain, Arblaster by name. He pulleth the bow oar in yon skiff.” This was all that Lawless wanted. Hurriedly thanking the man, he moved round the shore to a certain sandy creek, for which the skiff was heading. There he took up his position, and as soon as they were within earshot, opened fire on the sailors of the Good Hope. “What! Gossip Arblaster!” he cried. “Why, ye be well met; nay, gossip, ye be right well met, upon the rood! And is that the Good Hope? Ay, I would know her among ten thousand!–a sweet shear, a sweet boat! But marry come up, my gossip, will ye drink? I have come into mine estate which doubtless ye remember to have heard on. I am now rich; I have left to sail upon the sea; I do sail now, for the most part, upon spiced ale. Come, fellow; thy hand upon ’t! Come, drink with an old shipfellow!” Skipper Arblaster, a long-faced, elderly, weather-beaten man, with a knife hanging about his neck by a plaited cord, and for all the world like any modern seaman in his gait and bearing, had hung back in obvious amazement and distrust. But the name of an estate, and a certain air of…

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Excerpt #11, from Anticipations, by H. G. Wells

…demoralizing sort simply to be in one for any length of time. A first-rate man who has been breathing carbonic acid and oil vapour under a pressure of four atmospheres becomes presently a second-rate man. Imagine yourself in a submarine that has ventured a few miles out of port, imagine that you have headache and nausea, and that some ship of the Cobra type is flashing itself and its search-lights about whenever you come up to the surface, and promptly tearing down on your descending bubbles with a ram, trailing perhaps a tail of grapples or a net as well. Even if you get their boat, these nicely aerated men you are fighting know they have a four to one chance of living; while for your submarine to be “got” is certain death. You may, of course, throw out a torpedo or so, with as much chance of hitting vitally as you would have if you were blindfolded, turned round three times, and told to fire revolver-shots at a charging elephant. The possibility of sweeping for a submarine with a seine would be vividly present in the minds of a submarine crew. If you are near shore you will probably be near rocks–an unpleasant complication in a hurried dive. There would, probably, very soon be boats out too, seeking with a machine-gun or pompom for a chance at your occasionally emergent conning-tower. In no way can a submarine be more than purblind, it will be, in fact, practically blind. Given a derelict ironclad on a still night within…

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Excerpt #12, from Thrilling Narratives of Mutiny, Murder and Piracy, by Anonymous

…consideration of his having been well drubbed by us. On the 22d of April, we arrived at Sallee, and pitched our tents in an old castle, whence we soon afterwards embarked on board the Gibraltar, which landed us at Gibraltar on the 27th of June. From that place the captain and crew were put on board the Marlborough store ship, prepared expressly for their reception, and arrived in England in the month of August, 1760. [Illustration] [Illustration] WRECK OF THE ROTHSAY CASTLE STEAMER. The Rothsay Castle was a steam packet which formerly traded on the Clyde. She belonged to the line of steamers which sailed from Liverpool to Beaumaris and Bangor, and was furnished with one engine only. She was commanded by Lieut. Atkinson. At ten o’clock on the – of August, 1831 the vessel was appointed to sail from the usual place, George’s Pierhead, but a casual delay took place in starting, and it was eleven o’clock before she had got every thing in readiness. Whilst taking passengers on board, a carriage arrived at the Pierhead for embarkation. It belonged to M. W. Foster, Esq. of Regent’s park, London, who, with his wife and servant, were conveyed in it to the packet, and took their passage at the same time. They were all…

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