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Updated: June 22, 2025
"Well, finding your matchbox like that there in Sannet Wood and I know you must have lost it just about then because I remember your looking for it here. I thought that perhaps you might have seen somebody, had some kind of suspicion. . . ." "Well, I was, as a matter of fact, there that very afternoon. I walked through the wood with Bunker rather late. I met no one during the whole of the time."
Curse you! he muttered, not knowing whom or what he was cursing, and he flung away the crushed cigarette. He was about to throw away the matchbox too, but checked the movement of his hand and put the box in his pocket instead. He was seized with such unrest that he could no longer remain in one spot.
You see the mountains shimmering in the haze. You see the little square adobe matchbox houses of Papago Indians, with the red chile hanging against the wall, and the women coming from the spring, and the men husking the corn.
She threw a matchbox across. Fitzpiers caught it, and having lit up, regarded her from his new position, which, with the shifting of the candles, for the first time afforded him a full view of her face. "How many years have passed since first we met!" she resumed, in a voice which she mainly endeavored to maintain at its former pitch of composure, and eying him with daring bashfulness.
After what seemed five minutes he found the matchbox and struck a light, and all the time the torrent of sound poured about his ears with such an effect of bewilderment that he hardly realized what he was doing. A strange terror poured into him that he would change with the room. At length the match flared, and while he lit the candle with shaking fingers, he looked wildly, quickly about him.
When Matchbox galloped home the winner of the Cesarewitch by five lengths, William was lying in his bed, seemingly at death's door. He had remained out late one evening, had caught cold, and his mouth was constantly filled with blood. He was much worse, and could hardly take notice of the good news. When he revived a little he said, "It has come too late."
He's a fine fellow, everyone praises him, says Lukashka's mother. 'All I wish is to get him married; then I could die in peace. 'Well, aren't there plenty of young women in the village? answered the cornet's wife slyly as she carefully replaced the lid of the matchbox with her horny hands. 'Plenty, Mother, plenty, remarked Lukashka's mother, shaking her head.
Doggie lit another cigarette, chiefly in order to gain time for thought; but an odd instinct made him secure the matchbox before he picked out the cigarette. Superficially, Peggy's proposition was incontrovertible.
The lettering on the matchbox could be seen in the silvered mirror, enlarged to such a point that the letters were plainly visible! "Think of the possibilities in that," he added excitedly. "I saw them at once. You can read what some one is writing at a desk a hundred, perhaps two hundred feet away." "Yes," I cried, more interested in the practical aspects of it than in the mechanics and optics.
"If one could trouble monsieur for a match!" Hunterleys turned towards the newcomer as he handed his matchbox. He was a young man of medium height, with sandy complexion, a little freckled, and with a straggling fair moustache. He had keen grey eyes and the faintest trace of a Scotch accent. He edged his chair a little nearer to Hunterleys. "Much obliged," he said. "Wonderful evening, isn't it?"
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