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Updated: June 29, 2025
I was then acting as interpreter for the Assistant-Head of the British Police Mission to Greece. I remember vividly with what relish he described to Colonel Prosser his method of torturing E.L.A.S. prisoners, which left no physical marks on any part of the body.
Apparently, Prosser and his followers shared a deep distrust of most white men. When they had gathered a large supply of guns and powder, and taken over the state's treasury, the rebels calculated, they would be able to hold out for several weeks.
Verily, those women who sacrifice all to this mental forcing, to this race for intellectual distinction, verily, they have their reward. But they can look for no other." "But stay, my dear friend," interposed Dr Prosser. "I have been going with you heart and soul, only I felt a little jolt just then, as if the wheels ran over a stone. Was not that last expression a little uncharitable?
When Dr Prosser had finished reading his letters, and had answered such as needed an immediate reply, he betook himself to the drawing-room. This was a large apartment, occupying upstairs the same area as the library, hall, and dining-room. It was handsomely furnished, bearing marks in every direction of a highly cultivated taste and of woman's handiwork.
"All right, sir; I'll see to it if you'll get into the cab." So the gentleman, who was John Prosser, PhD, got into the cab which was waiting for him; and having seen that his luggage was all brought to the conveyance, threw himself into a corner and closed his eyes, having given his direction to the driver as he was stepping into the vehicle.
Prosser a thin, grave, but rather chatty old gentleman, with very white hair drawn back into a pigtail and he told us all, with a concise particularity, a story of his cousin, James Prosser, who, when an infant, had slept for some time in what his mother said was a haunted nursery in an old house near Chapelizod, and who, whenever he was ill, over-fatigued, or in anywise feverish, suffered all through his life as he had done from a time he could scarce remember, from a vision of a certain gentleman, fat and pale, every curl of whose wig, every button and fold of whose laced clothes, and every feature and line of whose sensual, benignant, and unwholesome face, was as minutely engraven upon his memory as the dress and lineaments of his own grandfather's portrait, which hung before him every day at breakfast, dinner, and supper.
Parlin, "can you tell me where Mrs. Parlin and the rest of the family are gone?" "Yes, Caddy Prosser, the house is shut up," added Dotty, "and I'm afraid they're dead." "I don't know where they're gone, nor anything," sobbed Carrie. "I didn't know the trunk was in the entry, and I came so fast I fell right over it." "I am very sorry you are hurt," said Mr. Parlin. "Is your mother at home?"
We can say all that is to be said " "If you will look on the register you will discover that Mr. J. H. Prosser registered here about half an hour ago. He is in room 30. He left a call for five o'clock. Well, Prosser is another name for Ugo." "Here in this hotel? In room 30?" cried Barnes, incredulously. "Sure as you're alive. Left the cottage an hour ago.
I had read as far as "Dear Madam". But one thing I do remember about it, and that was that it was sent from some hotel in Cheltenham, and I could remember it if I heard it. Now, then? 'I can tell it you. It was Wilbraham's. I was stopping there. 'You pass, said Mr Prosser. 'It was Wilbraham's. Owen's heart gave a jump. For a moment he walked on air.
Dotty ran to every door, and shook it. "Why, papa, papa, do you s'pose there's anybody dead?" "The probability is, Alice, that they have gone away. I will run over to Mrs. Prosser's, and see if she knows anything about it." Mrs. Prosser was the nearest neighbor on the left. Her little daughter came to the door in tears, having hurt herself against a trunk in the hall. "Miss Carrie," said Mr.
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