Quick Excerpts, from a Library of 492 Titles

Generated 2022-07-28 13:25:59

Excerpt #1, from The Aztec Treasure

…group of Indians. In the midst of the group was a very old man, who with out-stretched arm was pointing towards Pablo and El Sabio, and who at the same time was talking to his companions in grave and earnest tones. There was a look of awe upon his age-worn face, and as we fairly came abreast of him he dropped upon his knees and raised his arms above his head, as though in supplication to some higher power. The action, truly, was a most impressive one; and even more strongly than we were affected by it did it affect those who were clustered around him. In a moment all in the group had fallen upon their knees and had raised their arms upward; and then a low moaning, that presently grew louder and more thrilling, broke forth among them as they gave vent to the feeling of awful dread that was in their hearts. “That’s business, that is,” Young said, in tones of great satisfaction. "Those fellows do believe in th’ prophecy, for a fact; and if th’ folks once get it fairly into their heads that th’ time has come for their rascally Priest Captain t’ have an upset, that’s a good long start for our side towards upsettin’ him. It was just everlastin’ly level-headed in th’ Colonel t’ make Pablo ride El Sabio, and so regularly cram th’ thing down these critters’ throats. I don’t know how much of th’ prophecy he believes himself, but he’s workin’ it for all it’s worth, any way. There don’t seem t’ be any flies worth speakin’ of on th’…

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Excerpt #2, from Notes from the Underground, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

…high-official tone, it would not matter, I thought—I could pay him back for it one way or another. But what if, in reality, without the least desire to be offensive, that sheepshead had a notion in earnest that he was superior to me and could only look at me in a patronising way? The very supposition made me gasp. “I was surprised to hear of your desire to join us,” he began, lisping and drawling, which was something new. “You and I seem to have seen nothing of one another. You fight shy of us. You shouldn’t. We are not such terrible people as you think. Well, anyway, I am glad to renew our acquaintance.” And he turned carelessly to put down his hat on the window. “Have you been waiting long?” Trudolyubov inquired. “I arrived at five o’clock as you told me yesterday,” I answered aloud, with an irritability that threatened an explosion. “Didn’t you let him know that we had changed the hour?” said Trudolyubov to Simonov. “No, I didn’t. I forgot,” the latter replied, with no sign of regret, and without even apologising to me he went off to order the hors d’œuvres. “So you’ve been here a whole hour? Oh, poor fellow!” Zverkov cried ironically, for to his notions this was bound to be extremely funny….

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Excerpt #3, from A Week at Waterloo in 1815, by Lady Magdalene De Lancey

…William and I leant over the window, seeing them march off–so few to return. It was a clear refreshing morning, and the scene was very solemn and melancholy.(10) The fifes played alone, and the regiments one after another marched past, and I saw(11) them melt away through the great gate at the end of the Square. Shall I ever forget the tunes played by the shrill fifes and the buglehorns which disturbed that night! At six in the morning, Friday the 16th, I went to Antwerp: Sir William gave me a letter to Captain Mitchell, in the Q.M.-General’s department, requesting him to take charge of me. Accordingly, soon after we arrived I was settled in very comfortable apartments. I was at first for an hour in the inn,(12) and I lay down in a small back room. In the evening I sent my maid from the lodgings to get some wine at the inn; when wandering in the passage to find some English person, she opened the door of the room I had been in, and saw the body(13) of the Duke of Brunswick on the very bed. I was fortunate enough to have a room at the back, so shut in with buildings that I could not hear any noise in the streets. Sir William had made me promise to believe no reports, and not upon any account to move without his written order for it. I thought it was best not to listen to any stories, so I told my maid Emma not to tell me any, and…

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Excerpt #4, from The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus, by Christopher Marlowe

…SECOND SCHOLAR. That shall we know, for see, here comes his boy. Enter WAGNER. FIRST SCHOLAR. How now, sirrah! where’s thy master? WAGNER. God in heaven knows. SECOND SCHOLAR. Why, dost not thou know? WAGNER. Yes, I know; but that follows not. FIRST SCHOLAR. Go to, sirrah! leave your jesting, and tell us where he is. WAGNER. That follows not necessary by force of argument, that you, being licentiates, should stand upon:[45] therefore acknowledge your error, and be attentive. SECOND SCHOLAR. Why, didst thou not say thou knewest? WAGNER. Have you any witness on’t? FIRST SCHOLAR. Yes, sirrah, I heard you. WAGNER. Ask my fellow if I be a thief. SECOND SCHOLAR. Well, you will not tell us? WAGNER. Yes, sir, I will tell you: yet, if you were not dunces, you would never ask me such a question; for is not he corpus naturale? and is not that mobile? then wherefore should you ask me such a question? But that I am by nature phlegmatic, slow to wrath, and prone to lechery (to love, I would say),…

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Excerpt #5, from The History of the 33rd Divisional Artillery, in the War, 1914 to 1918.

…On April 28th the battle was again resumed on a grand scale. The 12th Division assaulted on the front of the batteries, this time with the 3rd Division on the right and the 34th on the left; at 4.25 A.M. the infantry attack was launched under cover of a very heavy artillery barrage, the objectives being those portions of Bayonet and Rifle trenches which still lay in the hands of the enemy. Three minutes after the attack began the enemy put down a light barrage of 10·5 cm. and 77 mm. shells, which became heavier on Bayonet Trench itself at about 7.30 A.M., but generally speaking the hostile artillery fire was slight. In the main the enemy appeared to depend upon his machine guns to ward off attacks, and in this he was fairly successful. Mist and smoke shell rendered observation very difficult, but by six o’clock the objective was reported to have been gained; from here, however, machine-gun fire began to tell and, although the right battalion of the brigade covered by the 33rd Divisional Artillery advanced according to plan, and was reported to have reached the second objective, the left battalion was held up by machine guns and could not advance. At half-past six in the morning a smoke barrage was put down along the south bank of the Scarpe to try and help the left battalion, while at the same time the field howitzers turned on to the troublesome machine guns. All day long the batteries kept up a protective barrage in front…

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Excerpt #6, from The Last Stroke: A Detective Story, by Lawrence L. Lynch

…“I hope one of you has got a pistol,” she said, nervously, as they approached the stairs. “There’s no one up there, Mrs. Fry,” replied Ferrars. “Never fear.” But Mrs. Fry was not so positive. She closed the sitting-room door, all but the merest crack, and stood ready to clap it entirely shut at the first sound of attack and defence from the room above. Meantime Robert Brierly, who had led the way upstairs, placed a firm hand upon the key, turned it and softly opened the door. Then, for a moment, all three stood still at the threshold, gazing within. It was Francis Ferrars who spoke the first word, with his hand upon Robert Brierly’s shoulder, and his voice little more than a whisper. “Go inside, Brierly, quickly and quietly.” He gave the shoulder under his hand a quick, light, forward pressure, and instinctively, as it seemed, Brierly stepped across the threshold with the other two close at his heels, and, the moment they were inside the room, Ferrars turned and silently withdrew the key from the outer side, closed the door cautiously, and relocked it from within. “We will do well to dispense with Mrs. Fry, at least for the present,” he said, coolly. “It’s plain enough there has been mischief here. Mr. Brierly, you saw this room last night, for a moment.” Robert Brierly, who had dropped weakly upon a chair, stopped him with a…

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Excerpt #7, from Privateering and Piracy in the Colonial Period, by J. Franklin Jameson

…60 lb. of Old Pewter and Copper at 3s. 6 10.10. 0 7 Casks of Lime Juice 5.15. 0 1 Bed Pillar and 3 Cushions 4.10. 0 2 Looking Glasses 1 Booke 7. 5. 0 5 old Tea Kettles 6. 0. 0 Sundry old Earthen Ware, Pewter, Empty Cases, empty Chests and old Rusty Tools etc. 20. 0. 0 1 Cag of old Butter 1. 0. 0 1 Brl. of Flour 1.10. 0 1 Case of Oyl 7. 0. 0 1 Basket of Nails and Paint 6. 0. 0 1 Case of Oyl part full 3. 0. 0 11 Old Mapps 1. 0. 0 8 Boxes of Sweet Meats 16. 0. 0 1 Box of Nails 2. 0. 0 19 Ironbound old Casks 25. 0. 0 1 Cask of Lamp Oyl 10. 0. 0 2 Boxes Shells 1. 0. 0 2 Cags pickled Limes 2. 0. 0 1 Case Spirrits 5. 0. 0 1 Tub of Cartridges 3. 0. 0…

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Excerpt #8, from A History of Indian Philosophy, Volume 1, by Surendranath Dasgupta

…beginning from the first disturbance of the prak@rti to the final transformation as the world-order, is subject to “a definite law which it cannot overstep.” In the words of Dr B.N.Seal [Footnote ref 1], "the process of evolution consists in the development of the differentiated (_vai@samya_) within the undifferentiated (sâmyâvasthâ) of the determinate (vies’a) within the indeterminate (avis’esa) of the coherent (yutasiddha) within the incoherent (ayutasiddha). The order of succession is neither from parts to whole nor from whole to the parts, but ever from a relatively less differentiated, less determinate, less coherent whole to a relatively more differentiated, more determinate, more coherent whole." The meaning of such an evolution is this, that all the changes and modifications in the shape of the evolving collocations of gu@na reals take place within the body of the prak@rti. Prak@rti consisting of the infinite reals is infinite, and that it has been disturbed does not mean that the whole of it has been disturbed and upset, or that the totality of the gu@nas in the prak@rti has been unhinged from a state of equilibrium. It means rather that a very vast number of gu@nas constituting the worlds of thought and matter has been upset. These gu@nas once thrown out of balance begin to group themselves together first in one form, then in another, then…

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Excerpt #9, from The Golden Wheel Dream

…of which I have had confided to me by learned astrologers, and a few were revealed to me by Madame Le Normand, a celebrated fortune-teller, in whose predictions the Emperor Napoleon put great confidence. TO PREPARE A LOVE POTION. The following substances must be gathered in silence when the full moon is in the heavens: Three white rose leaves, three red rose leaves, three forget-me-nots, and five blossoms of Veronica. All these things you must place in a vessel, then pour upon them five hundred and ninety-five drops of clear Easter water, and place the vessel over the fire, or what is better still, over a spirit-lamp. This mixture must be allowed to boil for exactly the sixteenth part of an hour. When it has boiled for the requisite length of time, remove it from the fire, and pour it into a flask. Cork it tightly, and seal it, and it will keep for years without losing its virtue. That this potion is certain in its effect I myself will guarantee, for I have gained more than thirty hearts by its help. Three drops swallowed by the person whose love you desire, will suffice. ANOTHER MEANS TO COMPEL LOVE. Take a healthy, well-grown frog. Place it in a box which has been pierced all over with holes with a stout darning needle or gimlet. Then…

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Excerpt #10, from Soldiers’ Stories of the War, by Walter Wood and A. C. Michael

…Number 1, Sergeant Barker, who was in charge of the gun, had been struck by a piece of shrapnel, which had fractured his leg; but though that was quite enough to knock him out of time, he never flinched or faltered. He held on to his gun, and went on fighting pretty much as if nothing had happened. Number 2, Gunner Weedon, had been wounded through the thigh, a bad injury about three inches long being caused; but he, too, held gamely on. I tried to crawl out of the pit; but could not do so, and I passed the time by trying to cheer my chums, just as they did their best to help me to keep my own spirits up. The sergeant found time occasionally to turn round and ask how I was getting on. “It’s all right, old Bean,” he shouted cheerily. “Keep quiet. We can manage without you.” And he went on firing, while the officers continued to give orders and encourage the men. I was getting very thirsty and craved for a drink; but I saw no prospect of getting either water or anything else at such a time. The sergeant noticed my distress and gave me the sweetest drink I ever tasted, and that was a draught from his own canteen. He managed to stop firing for a few seconds while he did this–just long enough to sling his canteen round, let me take a pull, and sling it back. I learned…

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Excerpt #11, from Tales from a Rolltop Desk, by Christopher Morley

…engaged to be married, and everything was lovely. But he objected to the work I was doing, said it was not a good job for a girl and that I ought to give it up. I knew he was right, but the way he said it made me mad. I guess I am hot-tempered and stubborn–anyway, I told him to mind his own business, and he went away. Now I am heart-broken, because I love him and I know he loves me. Tell me what to do._ Jessie. Ann sat looking at the cheap blue paper with the initial J gaudily embossed upon it in gilt. In the sprawling lines of unlettered handwriting she saw an exact parallel to her own unhappy rupture with Arthur. How much more clearly we can see the answer in others’ tangles than in our own! Jessie, with her pathetic pretentious gilt initial, knew that she had been in the wrong, and was brave enough to want to make amends. And she–had she not been less true to Love than Jessie? Her false pride and obstinacy had brought their own punishment. Seeing the situation through Jessie’s eyes, she could read her duty plain. Arthur, no doubt, was through with her forever, but she must play the game no less. She put Jessie’s letter at the head of the Lovelorn column for the next day. Under it she wrote: _Certainly, dear Jessie, if you feel you were in the wrong, you ought…

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Excerpt #12, from Something New, by P. G. Wodehouse

…shot hit a life-size picture of his lordship’s grandmother in the face and improved it out of all knowledge. One thinks no worse of Lord Emsworth’s grandmother because she looked like Eddie Foy, and had allowed herself to be painted, after the heavy classic manner of some of the portraits of a hundred years ago, in the character of Venus–suitably draped, of course, rising from the sea; but it was beyond the possibility of denial that her grandson’s bullet permanently removed one of Blandings Castle’s most prominent eyesores. Having emptied his revolver, Lord Emsworth said, “Who is there? Speak!” in rather an aggrieved tone, as though he felt he had done his part in breaking the ice, and it was now for the intruder to exert himself and bear his share of the social amenities. The Efficient Baxter did not reply. Nothing in the world could have induced him to speak at that moment, or to make any sound whatsoever that might betray his position to a dangerous maniac who might at any instant reload his pistol and resume the fusillade. Explanations, in his opinion, could be deferred until somebody had the presence of mind to switch on the lights. He flattened himself on the carpet and hoped for better things. His…

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