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I could tell you several very sad stories of people who have stolen when they were children, and who have grown more and more wicked, as they have advanced in years, till they became a curse to society and themselves. "The way of transgressors is hard." These people have no true enjoyment. There is always a fearful looking forward to the future.
Relying on what you had told me I sent for Bridget and we both told her we had made every enquiry and now refused absolutely to believe in her stories of five years ago that we were sure you were not the father of her eldest child. Bridget, for example, believed the postman was its father.
When the adventurers returned, two years later, they brought back tales of islands richer than anything of which the Dutch burghers had ever dreamed, and produced cargoes of Eastern merchandise to back their stories up.
"Why, sir, it's told in a few words. I took your advice, and brought the old gentleman presents, and I sat with him and heard all his old stories at least fifty times over, and laughed at his jokes as regularly the last time as the first; and he told Jane and her mother that I was a very pleasant, sensible and amusing young man although he had all the talk, and I had none.
Whatever may have been Ashe's defects, so far as the handling of the inductive-reasoning side of Gridley Quayle's character was concerned, there was one scene in each of his stories in which he never failed. That was the scene in the last chapter where Quayle, confronting his quarry, unmasked him.
Her eyes had fixed themselves on Mlle. Mauret. "Have you had a talk with her yet?" "I haven't had a talk and I yield my claim to you," said Gregory. "Are you very eager to meet the lady?" "Who wouldn't be, my dear Gregory! What a wonderful face! What thought and suffering! Oh, it has been the most extraordinary of stories. You don't know? Well, I will tell you about her some time.
"I consider her vision extending as it does from the time the homeward-bound vessel left the harbour, over many days, until the burial of her son's body at sea worthy of a place alongside the best of the Ghost Stories you have given to the world." Mr. Arthur, the son of the percipient in this strange story, wrote to me as follows from Loch-side, New Cumnock, Ayrshire, on the 14th January, 1892:
As soon as Mary Erskine could read fluently, Mary Bell used to bring out books to her, containing entertaining stories. At first Mary Bell would read these stories to her once, while she was at her work, and then Mary Erskine, having heard Mary Bell read them, could read them herself in the evening without much difficulty.
Then answered the king, as if she were of his kin: "Lady, say thou it to me well it shall be to thee here is Merlin thy son, who begat him? Who was held for father to him among the folk?" Then hung she her head, and bent toward her breast; by the king she sate full softly, and thought a little while, after a while she spake, and said to the king: "King, I will tell thee marvellous stories.
So good-bye, and when you have read a fairy book, lend it to other children who have none, or tell them the stories in your own way, which is a very pleasant mode of passing the time. Contents
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