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Unlike some other reproductions of classic texts (1) We have not used OCR(Optical Character Recognition), as this leads to bad quality books with introduced typos. (2) In books where there are images such as portraits, maps, sketches etc We have endeavoured to keep the quality of these images, so they represent accurately the original artefact. Although occasionally there may be certain imperfections with these old texts, we feel they deserve to be made available for future generations to enjoy.
The Maker of Moons is the first collection of short stories to follow the publication of The King in Yellow. It contains eight stories, including the title story, with the first three linked by a common theme. The other stories are a mix of romantic, humorous romantic and weird stories. This production includes all the stories of the original publication, including the black and white frontispiece illustration by Lancelot Speed.
There are some women who will brew mystery from the decoction of even a very simple life. Matilda is one of them, remarked the major to himself as he filled his pipe and settled himself before his high-piled, violet-flamed logs. "It was waxing strong in h
Maizie wanted to sleep a little longer, but though the clock had but just chimed six Suzanna was up and had drawn the window curtain letting in a flood of sunshine. Maizie lay watching her sister, her gray eyes still blurred with sleep; not wide and inter
When you come to reflect that there are only a few planks between you and the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, it makes you feel sort of pensive. "I beg your pardon?" The stranger, smoking his cigarette in the lee of the deck-cabins, turned his hea
Tom Slade, bending over the office table, scrutinized the big map of Temple Camp. It was the first time he had really looked at it since his return from France, and it made him homesick to see, even in its cold outlines, the familiar things and scenes whi
A fair day's business. A very fair day's business, said Leonard Jasper, as he closed a small account-book, over which he had been poring, pencil in hand, for some ten minutes. The tone in which he spoke expressed more than ordinary gratification. "To
On every hand stretched the forest primeval, -the home of noisy comedy and silent tragedy. Here the struggle for survival continued to wage with all its ancient brutality. Briton and Russian were still to overlap in the Land of the Rainbow's End-and this was the very heart of it-nor had Yankee gold yet purchased its vast domain. The wolf-pack still clung to the flank of the cariboo-herd, singling out the weak and the big with calf, and pulling them down as remorselessly as were it a thousand, thousand generations into the past. The sparse aborigines still acknowledged the rule of their chiefs and medicine men, drove out bad spirits, burned their witches, fought their neighbors, and ate their...
Boys, what do you say to a trip in the Dartaway this afternoon? "Suits me, Sam," replied Tom Rover. "Providing the breeze doesn't get too strong," returned Dick Rover, as he put up his hand to feel the air. "Oh, I don't think it will blow too much," went on Sam Rover. "I don't mind some air." "But no more storms for me!" cried his brother Tom, with a shake of his head. "That last old corker was enough for me." "Where shall we go?" questioned Dick, with a queer little smile creeping around the corners of his mouth. "Oh, my, just to hear Dick!" cried Tom, with a grin. "As if he would go anywhere but to Hope Seminary, to call on Dora!"