High into air are the great New York buildings lifted by a ray whose source no telescope can find.It seemed only fitting and proper that the greatest of all leaps into space should start from Roosevelt Field, where so many great flights had begun and ended. Fliers whose names had rung—for a space—around the world, had landed here and been received by New York with all the pomp of visiting kings. Fliers had departed here for the lands of kings, to be received by them when their journeys were ended. Of course Lucian Jeter and Tema Eyer were disappointed that Franz Kress had beaten them out in the race to be first into the stratosphere above fifty-five thousand feet. There was a chance that Kress would fail, when it would be the turn of Jeter and Eyer. They didn't wish for his failure, of course. They were sports-men as well as scientists; but they were just human enough to anticipate the plaudits of the world which would be showered without stint upon the fliers who succeeded. The warship simply vanished into the night sky. "At least, Tema," said Jeter quietly, "we can look his ship over and see if there is anything about it that will suggest something to us. Of course, whether he succeeds or fails, we shall make the attempt as soon as we are ready.""Indeed, yes," replied Eyer. "For no man will ever fly so high that another may not fly even higher. Once planes are constructed of unlimited flying radius ... well, the universe is large and there should be no end of space fights for a long time."

Holmes decodes a warning from Porlock, an informant against arch-criminal Moriarty, for "Douglas" resident five years at "Birlstone". Scotland Yard's MacDonald asks them to investigate a corpse with the same look and circle-in-triangle brand on the forearm as Birlstone owner Douglas. The head was blown off by an American-style sawed-off shotgun. Apparently, an intruder dropped a card with VV341, and left across a shallow moat. Watson observes the bereaved English wife and best male friend in unusually good spirits. When Holmes pretends the moat will be drained, the conspirators retrieve a missing dumb-bell weighting down the visitor's clothes beneath the water. Douglas comes from hiding, to explain he killed the assassin Baldwin in self-defence; the plan was to save him from more attacks by criminal survivors of Vermissa Valley. He hands Dr. Watson the following account. Young McMurdo gains reputation as tough counterfeiter, Freemen Lodge member fleeing murder charges in Chicago. In the Vermissa coal mine area, McGinty rules Scowrers branded by a circle in square, the local Lodge 341 who extort, murder, and exchange vicious deeds with nearby Lodges. Pretty Ettie prefers McMurdo to nasty Baldwin, and wants to flee, but will wait some months. When word comes that Pinkerton sent Edwards, McMurdo gathers ringleaders in one room, and springs his trap on them, surrounded by the law. Although the worst were hanged, after ten years, villains were freed, and chased McMurdo-Edwards-Douglas, despite changes of name, location, and wife. He married Ettie, then she died in California, where he made a fortune. The Valley of Fear, notable for Professor Moriarty's involvement, is set before "The Final Problem", the short story in which Moriarty was introduced. This introduces a logical difficulty, as in "The Final Problem" Dr. Watson has never heard of Moriarty, whereas by the end of The Valley Of Fear he is, or should be, familiar with his name and character. The "Moriarty" element in the story is tied into the fate of the informer in the story. It ties the Molly Maguire background to another event of that period: the murder of James Carey, an informer who was shot on board a ship off the coast of Natal, South Africa in 1883 by Patrick O'Donnell, an Irish republican who had relatives in the Mollies and briefly visited the Pennsylvania coal mining district, supposedly looking for the suspected informer among them.

The Metamorphosis (German: Die Verwandlung, also sometimes translated as The Transformation) is a novella by Franz Kafka, first published in 1915. It has been cited as one of the seminal works of fiction of the 20th century and is studied in colleges and universities across the Western world. The story begins with a traveling salesman, Gregor Samsa, waking to find himself transformed (metamorphosed) into a large, monstrous insect-like creature. The cause of Samsa's transformation is never revealed, and Kafka never did give an explanation. The rest of Kafka's novella deals with Gregor's attempts to adjust to his new condition as he deals with being burdensome to his parents and sister, who are repulsed by the horrible, verminous creature Gregor has become. Part I: One day, Gregor Samsa, a traveling salesman, wakes up to find himself transformed into a "ungeheures Ungeziefer", literally "monstrous vermin", often interpreted as a giant bug or insect. He believes it is a dream, and reflects on how dreary life as a traveling salesman is. As he looks at the wall clock, he realizes he has overslept, and missed his train for work. He ponders on the consequences of this delay. Gregor becomes annoyed at how his boss never accepts excuses or explanations from any of his employees no matter how hard working they are, displaying an apparent lack of trusting abilities. Gregor's mother knocks on the door and he answers her. She is concerned for Gregor because he is late for work, which is unorthodox for Gregor. Gregor answers his mother and realizes that his voice has changed, but his answer is short so his mother does not notice the voice change. His sister, Grete, to whom he was very close, then whispers through the door and begs him to open the door. All his family members think that he is ill and ask him to open the door. He tries to get out of bed, but he is incapable of moving his body. While trying to move, he finds that his office manager, the chief clerk, has shown up to check on him. He finally rocks his body to the floor and calls out that he will open the door shortly.

In these times of ours, though concerning the exact year there is no need to be precise, a boat of dirty and disreputable appearance, with two figures in it, floated on the Thames, between Southwark bridge which is of iron, and London Bridge which is of stone, as an autumn evening was closing in. The figures in this boat were those of a strong man with ragged grizzled hair and a sun-browned face, and a dark girl of nineteen or twenty, sufficiently like him to be recognizable as his daughter. The girl rowed, pulling a pair of sculls very easily; the man, with the rudder-lines slack in his hands, and his hands loose in his waistband, kept an eager look out. He had no net, hook, or line, and he could not be a fisherman; his boat had no cushion for a sitter, no paint, no inscription, no appliance beyond a rusty boathook and a coil of rope, and he could not be a waterman; his boat was too crazy and too small to take in cargo for delivery, and he could not be a lighterman or river-carrier; there was no clue to what he looked for, but he looked for something, with a most intent and searching gaze. The tide, which had turned an hour before, was running down, and his eyes watched every little race and eddy in its broad sweep, as the boat made slight head-way against it, or drove stern foremost before it, according as he directed his daughter by a movement of his head. She watched his face as earnestly as he watched the river. But, in the intensity of her look there was a touch of dread or horror. Allied to the bottom of the river rather than the surface, by reason of the slime and ooze with which it was covered, and its sodden state, this boat and the two figures in it obviously were doing something that they often did, and were seeking what they often sought. Half savage as the man showed, with no covering on his matted head, with his brown arms bare to between the elbow and the shoulder, with the loose knot of a looser kerchief lying low on his bare breast in a wilderness of beard and whisker, with such dress as he wore seeming to be made out of the mud that begrimed his boat, still there was a business-like usage in his steady gaze. So with every lithe action of the girl, with every turn of her wrist, perhaps most of all with her look of dread or horror; they were things of usage. 'Keep her out, Lizzie. Tide runs strong here. Keep her well afore the sweep of it.' Trusting to the girl's skill and making no use of the rudder, he eyed the coming tide with an absorbed attention. So the girl eyed him. But, it happened now, that a slant of light from the setting sun glanced into the bottom of the boat, and, touching a rotten stain there which bore some resemblance to the outline of a muffled human form, coloured it as though with diluted blood. This caught the girl's eye, and she shivered. 'What ails you?' said the man, immediately aware of it, though so intent on the advancing waters; 'I see nothing afloat.' The red light was gone, the shudder was gone, and his gaze, which had come back to the boat for a moment, travelled away again. Wheresoever the strong tide met with an impediment, his gaze paused for an instant. At every mooring-chain and rope, at every stationery boat or barge that split the current into a broad-arrowhead, at the offsets from the piers of Southwark Bridge, at the paddles of the river steamboats as they beat the filthy water, at the floating logs of timber lashed together lying off certain wharves, his shining eyes darted a hungry look. After a darkening hour or so, suddenly the rudder-lines tightened in his hold, and he steered hard towards the Surrey shore. Always watching his face, the girl instantly answered to the action in her sculling; presently the boat swung round, quivered as from a sudden jerk, and the upper half of the man was stretched out over the stern.

Red Eve was written in the year 1911 by Henry Rider Haggard. This book is one of the most popular novels of Henry Rider Haggard, and has been translated into several other languages around the world.This book is published by Booklassic which brings young readers closer to classic literature globally.

In 1888 a client, Mary Morstan, comes with two puzzles for Holmes. The first is the disappearance of her father Captain Arthur Morstan in December 1878 and the second is that she has received 6 pearls in the mail from an anonymous benefactor once a year since 1882, since she answered an anonymous newspaper query inquiring for her. With the last pearl she has received a letter remarking that she has been a wronged woman and asks for meeting. Holmes takes the case and soon discovers that Major Sholto — Morstan's only friend who had denied seeing Morstan — had died in 1882 and that within a short span of time Mary began to receive the pearls, implying a connection. The only clue Mary can give Holmes is a map of a fortress with the names of Jonathan Small and three Sikhs, who are named Dost Akbar, Abdullah Khan, and Mahomet Singh. Holmes, Watson, and Mary meet Thaddeus Sholto, the son of the late Major Sholto and Capt Morstan's Army friend who has sent her the pearls. Thaddeus remarks that his father had a paranoid fear of one-legged men and confirms that Mary's father had seen the Major the night he died. That night, in a quarrel about an Agra Treasure, Morstan — who was in weak health — suffered a heart attack. Not wanting to bring attention to the object of the quarrel to public notice, Sholto disposed of the body and hid the treasure. However his own health became worse when he received a letter from India. Dying, he called his two sons and confessed to Morstan's death and was about to divulge the location of the treasure when he suddenly cried "Keep him out!". The puzzled sons glimpsed a face in the window but the only trace was a single footstep in the dirt. On their father's body is a note reading "The Sign of Four". Both brothers quarreled over whether a legacy should be left to Mary Morstan and Thaddeus left his brother Bartholomew, taking a chaplet and sending its pearls to Mary. The reason he sent the letter is that Bartholomew has found the treasure and possibly Thaddeus and Mary might confront him for a division of it. Bartholomew is found dead in his home from a poison dart and the treasure is missing. While the police wrongly take Thaddeus in as a suspect Holmes deduces that there are two persons involved in the murder: a one-legged man, Jonathan Small, as well as another "small" accomplice. He traces them to a boat landing where Small has hired a launch named the Aurora. With the help of his Baker Street Irregulars and his own disguise Holmes traces the launch. In a Police launch Holmes and Watson chase the Aurora and capture it but in the process end up killing the "small" companion after he attempts to kill Holmes with a poisoned dart shot from a blow-pipe. Small tries to escape but is captured. However the iron treasure box is empty; Small claims to have dumped the treasure over the side during the chase.

THE ARABIAN NIGHTS “THE ORIENT MAGIC” The Talking Bird, The Singing Tree, and the Golden WaterThe Story of the Fisherman and the GenieThe History of the Young King of the Black IslesThe Story of Gulnare of the SeaThe Story of Aladdin; Or, the Wonderful LampThe Story of Prince AgibThe Story of the City of BrassThe Story of Ali Baba and the Forty ThievesThe History of Codadad and His BrothersThe Story of Sinbad the Voyager The Talking Bird:It will be sufficient to break off a branch and carry it to plant in your gardenThe Fisherman and the GenieThe smoke ascended to the clouds, and extending itself along the sea and upon the shore formed a great mist The Young King of the Black IslesWhen he came to this part of his narrative the young king could not restrain his tearsGulnare of the SeaAnd she proceeded to burn perfume and repeat spells until the sea foamed and was agitatedAladdinAt the same time the earth, trembling, opened just before the magician, and uncovered a stone, laid horizontally, with a brass ring fixed into the middlePrince AgibAnd when the boat came to me I found in it a man of brass, with a tablet of lead upon his breast, engraven with names and talismans Prince AgibAt the approach of evening I opened the first closet and, entering it, found a mansion like paradiseThe City of BrassAnd when they had ascended that mountain they saw a city than which eyes had not beheld any greaterThe Story of Ali Baba and the Forty ThievesCassim ... was so alarmed at the danger he was in that the more he endeavoured to remember the word Sesame the more his memory was confoundedThe History of Codadad and His BrothersAs it drew near we saw ten or twelve armed pirates appear on the deckSecond Voyage of SinbadThe spot where she left me was encompassed on all sides by mountains that seemed to reach above the clouds, and so steep that there was no possibility of getting out of the valleyThird Voyage of SinbadHaving finished his repast, he returned to his porch, where he lay and fell asleep, snoring louder than thunder.. Little excuse is needed, perhaps, for any fresh selection from the famous "Tales of a Thousand and One Nights," provided it be representative enough, and worthy enough, to enlist a new army of youthful readers. Of the two hundred and sixty-four bewildering, unparalleled stories, the true lover can hardly spare one, yet there must always be favourites, even among these. We have chosen some of the most delightful, in our opinion; some, too, that chanced to appeal particularly to the genius of the artist. If, enticed by our choice and the beauty of the pictures, we manage to attract a few thousand more true lovers to the fountain-book, we shall have served our humble turn. The only real danger lies in neglecting it, in rearing a child who does not know it and has never fallen under its spell. You remember Maimoune, in the story of Prince Camaralzaman, and what she said to Danhasch, the genie who had just arrived from the farthest limits of China? "Be sure thou tellest me nothing but what is true or I shall clip thy wings!" This is what the modern child sometimes says to the genies of literature, and his own wings are too often clipped in consequence."The Empire of the Fairies is no more. Reason has banished them from ev'ry shore;Steam has outstripped their dragons and their cars,Gas has eclipsed their glow-worms and their stars."?douard Laboulaye says in his introduction to Nouveaux Contes Bleus: "Mothers who love your children, do not set them too soon to the study of history; let them dream while they are young.

In offering this study to a public accustomed only to the unquestioning acceptance of the home as something perfect, holy, quite above discussion, a word of explanation is needed. First, let it be clearly and definitely stated, the purpose of this book is to maintain and improve the home. Criticism there is, deep and thorough; but not with the intention of robbing us of one essential element of home life—rather of saving us from conditions not only unessential, but gravely detrimental to home life. Every human being should have a home; the single person his or her home; and the family their home. The home should offer to the individual rest, peace, quiet, comfort, health, and that degree of personal expression requisite; and these conditions should be maintained by the best methods of the time. The home should be to the child a place of happiness and true development; to the adult a place of happiness and that beautiful reinforcement of the spirit needed by the world's workers. We are here to perform our best service to society, and to find our best individual growth and expression; a right home is essential to both these uses. The place of childhood's glowing memories, of youth's ideals, of the calm satisfaction of mature life, of peaceful shelter for the aged; this is not attacked, this we shall not lose, but gain more universally. What is here asserted is that our real home life is clogged and injured by a number of conditions which are not necessary, which are directly inimical to the home; and that we shall do well to lay these aside. As to the element of sanctity—that which is really sacred can bear examination, no darkened room is needed for real miracles; mystery and shadow belong to jugglers, not to the truth. The home is a human institution. All human institutions are open to improvement. This specially dear and ancient one, however, we have successfully kept shut, and so it has not improved as have some others.

Flaming Island:“Look, Dave. See those strange clouds?” Florence Huyler shaded her eyes to look away toward the horizon. Her face wore an expression of bewildered curiosity. “Yes, I see them. They are queer!” young “Captain Davie,” as everyone called him, replied as he wrinkled his brow. After giving the wheel of his motor-driven craft a turn, he studied those clouds. “Scurrying along the horizon,” he murmured, “they roll quite a bit, don’t they?” “Yes, and such a peculiar shade of yellow,” Florence added. “Oh well, clouds are different up here on Lake Superior.” “Nothing to worry about, I guess,” said Dave, as once again he gave his attention to the wheel.As for Florence, at the moment she had nothing to do but think. And such bitter-sweet thoughts as they were! She was cruising on Lake Superior. That was grand! She had always loved the water. What was still more magnificent, she was landing twice a week on the shores of that place of great enchantment—Isle Royale.Once, you will recall from reading The Phantom Violin, Florence with two companions had made her summer home on a huge wrecked ship off the rocky shores of this very island. What a summer that had been! Adventure? Plenty of it. The ship had at last been completely destroyed during a storm. They had barely escaped with their lives. The girl shuddered a little even now at the thought of it. Florence was large, strong, fearless. A marvelous swimmer and a grand athlete, she had little to fear on land or water. And yet, as her eyes swept the deck of the Wanderer, the sixty-foot motor-boat on which she rode, a troubled look came into her fine blue eyes. Nor were those low, circling clouds the cause of her worry. She and her cousin Dave, quite as courageous and venturesome as she, had embarked upon an enterprise that promised to be a failure.“Grandfather will lose his money. He can’t afford to lose, and it’s not all our fault,” she told herself a little bitterly. But now her thoughts were broken by a short, stout, bronze-faced man, an Indian who appeared at the cabin door.“Look, John!” she pointed, speaking to the Indian. “Look at those strange clouds!”“Huh!” he grunted. “Smoke!”“Sm-smoke!” the girl stared. Then she breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, from Canada! Forest fires. I’ve heard—”

"?nsan ancak evcille?tirirse anlar," dedi tilki."?nsanlar?n art?k anlamaya zamanlar? yok. Dükk?nlardan her istediklerini sat?n al?yorlar. Ama dostluk sat?lan bir dükk?n olmad??? i?in dostlar? yok art?k. E?er dost istiyorsan beni evcille?tir.""Seni evcille?tirmek i?in ne yapmal?y?m?" diye sordu kü?ük prens."?ok sab?rl? olmal?s?n," dedi tilki. "?nce kar??ma, ??yle uza?a ?imenlerin üstüne oturacaks?n.G?zümün ucuyla sana bakaca??m, ama bir ?ey s?ylemeyeceksin. S?zler yanl?? anlamalar?n kayna??d?r. Her gün biraz daha yak?n?ma oturacaks?n..."Ertesi gün kü?ük prens yine geldi."Ayn? saatte gelmen daha iyi olur," dedi tilki. "?rne?in sen ??leden sonra d?rtte geleceksen, ben saat ü?te mutlu olmaya ba?lar?m. Mutlulu?um her dakika artar. Saat d?rtte art?k sevin?ten ve meraktan deli gibi olurum. Ne kadar mutlu oldu?umu g?rmü? olursun. Ama herhangi bir zamanda gelirsen yüre?im saat ka?ta senin i?in ?arpaca??n? bilemez. ?nsan?n belli al??kanl?klar? olmal?..." Tilkinin yan?na d?ndü sonra. "Ho??a kal," dedi. "Ho??a kal," dedi tilki. "??te sana bir s?r, ?ok basit bir ?ey: ?nsan yaln?z yüre?iyle do?ruyu g?rebilir. As?l g?rülmesi gerekeni g?zler g?remez." "As?l g?rülmesi gerekeni g?zler g?remez," diye yineledi kü?ük prens; unutmamal?yd? bunu. "Gülünü senin i?in ?nemli k?lan, onun i?in harcam?? oldu?un zamand?r." "Onun i?in harcam?? oldu?um zaman..." diye yineledi kü?ük prens. Unutmamal?yd? bunu. "?nsanlar unuttular bunu," dedi tilki. "Ama sen unutmamal?s?n. Evcille?tirdi?imiz ?eyden sorumlu oluruz. Sen gülünden sorumlusun..." "Ben gülümden sorumluyum," diye yineledi kü?ük prens. Bunu da unutmamal?yd?. ? Antoine Saint Exupéry (29 Haziran 1900 - 31 Temmuz 1944), Frans?z pilot, yazar ve ?airdir. ?zellikle "Kü?ük Prens" (Le Petit Prince) isimli eseriyle ünlenmi?tir. Fransa'n?n Lyon ?ehrinde do?du. Be? karde?in ü?üncüsüydü. Aristokrat bir aileye mensup olan Exupéry d?rt ya??ndayken babas?n? kaybetti. Babas?n?n ard?ndan aile h?zla yoksulla?t?. Anneleri kültürlü bir kad?nd?. ?lk ??retmenleri anneleri oldu. Exupéry okulda ba?ar?l? de?ildi. ?devlerle aras? yoktu, sürekli ceza al?yordu. U?aklarla 12 ya??nda tan??t?. Evlerinin yan?ndaki hava alan?na gizlice girer u?aklar? yak?ndan seyrederdi. 12 ya??ndayken bir pilot onu u?a??na ald? ve u?urdu. Karde?i Fran?ois'in ?lümü onu ve ailesini ?ok sarst?. Liseyi bitirdikten sonra pilot olmay? ?ok istedi?i halde annesini k?rmamak i?in denizcilik okuluna kaydoldu. 19 ya??nda Ecole des Beaux-Arts'ta mimarl?k fakültesine girdi. 21 ya??nda orduya ?a?r?ld?. E?itimini yar?da b?rak?p askere gitti. Askerlik g?revini Frans?z Hava Kuvvetlerinde teknisyen olarak yapt?. Strasbourg ?ehrinde pilotluk e?itimi ald?. Askerli?in ard?ndan ailesinin iste?i üzerine Paris'te bir ofiste kamyon sat?c?s? olarak ?al??maya ba?lad?. Ticaret ya?ant?s?nda ba?ar?s?z oldu. ? Kü?ük Prens Kü?ük Prens?(Frans?zca??zgün ad?:?Le Petit Prince), Frans?z yazar ve pilot?Antoine de Saint-Exupéry?taraf?ndan yaz?lan ve 1943'te yay?mlanan hik?ye. Dünyan?n en ?ok satan ve okunan kitaplar?ndan biridir.?Eserde bir ?ocu?un g?zünden büyüklerin dünyas? anlat?l?r.?Sahra ??lü'ne dü?en pilotun Kü?ük Prens'le kar??la?mas? ile ba?layan kitap yirmi yedi b?lümden olu?ur. ?zellikle Kü?ük Prens'in yurdundan ayr?l?p alt? ayr? gezegene yapt??? gezileri anlatan b?lümlerde baz? tipik yeti?kin ya?am bi?imlerinin ele?tirisi yap?l?r. Kral?n gezegeni otorite tutkusunu, sanat??n?n gezegeni, kendini be?enmi?li?i ve sanat??n?n toplumla yitirmi? oldu?u ileti?imsizli?i, sarho?un gezegeni, umutsuzluk ve buna dayanan unutma iste?ini, i?adam?n?n ya?ad??? gezegen, ama?s?z sahip olma tutkusunu, fenercinin gezegeni anlams?z ve sorgulamaks?z?n yerine getirilen g?rev duygusunu, co?rafyac?n?n ya?ad??? gezegen ise bilimi kimin i?in yapt???n? unutan bilim adam?n? ve bilim anlay???n? sembolize eder.?Son gezegen ise dünyad?r ve dünya insanlar?n kendi de?erlerinden daha ?ok giysileriyle anlam ve de?er kazand?klar?, bi?imin ?zden daha fazla ?nemli oldu?unu yans?tan bir imge g?rünümündedir. Yazar,?New York'ta bir otel odas?nda kaleme ald??? hik?yenin ?izimlerini de yapm??t?r. Exupéry hem ?izimleri hem de hik?yeleri bir ?ocuk kitab? gibi kurgulam?? olsa da, bu kitap onun moderniteye ve?II. Dünya Sava??'n?n etkilerinin sürmekte oldu?u topluma ele?tirisini ifade etti?i bir kitap olarak da de?erlendirilir. Yazar?n ilham?n? kendi ba??ndan ge?en olaylardan ald??? dü?ünülür. Bir pilot olan Exupéry, 1935 y?l?nda bir h?z rekorunu denerken, Sahra ??lü’nün ortas?na dü?mü?tü. Ayr?ca kar?s? Consuelo’nun Kü?ük Prens gibi bitmek bilmeyen arzular? ve korunma arzusu oldu?u, Kü?ük Prens’in gezegeni gibi volkanlarla dolu El Salvador’da ya?am??t?. Hik?ye ilk defa 6 Nisan 1943’te hem Frans?zca hem ?ngilizce olarak yay?mland?. Günümüzde 210 ayr? dil ve leh?eye ?evrildi.?Türk?e’de 15 farkl? dilde ?evirisi bulunur.?Selim ?leri,?Azra Erhat,?Nihal Ye?inobal?,?Tomris Uyar?ve?Cemal Süreya eseri Türk?e’ye ?evirenler aras?ndad?r. Yazar eseri, dostu Leon Werth’in ?ocuklu?una adam??t?r.

Swallow was written in the year 1898 by Henry Rider Haggard. This book is one of the most popular novels of Henry Rider Haggard, and has been translated into several other languages around the world.This book is published by Booklassic which brings young readers closer to classic literature globally.

The Captain's Doll was written in the year 1923 by David Herbert Lawrence. This book is one of the most popular novels of David Herbert Lawrence, and has been translated into several other languages around the world.This book is published by Booklassic which brings young readers closer to classic literature globally.

The Wanderer's Necklace was written in the year 1914 by Henry Rider Haggard. This book is one of the most popular novels of Henry Rider Haggard, and has been translated into several other languages around the world.This book is published by Booklassic which brings young readers closer to classic literature globally.

St Mawr was written in the year 1925 by David Herbert Lawrence. This book is one of the most popular novels of David Herbert Lawrence, and has been translated into several other languages around the world.This book is published by Booklassic which brings young readers closer to classic literature globally.

There once lived, in a sequestered part of the county of Devonshire, one Mr Godfrey Nickleby: a worthy gentleman, who, taking it into his head rather late in life that he must get married, and not being young enough or rich enough to aspire to the hand of a lady of fortune, had wedded an old flame out of mere attachment, who in her turn had taken him for the same reason. Thus two people who cannot afford to play cards for money, sometimes sit down to a quiet game for love. Some ill-conditioned persons who sneer at the life-matrimonial, may perhaps suggest, in this place, that the good couple would be better likened to two principals in a sparring match, who, when fortune is low and backers scarce, will chivalrously set to, for the mere pleasure of the buffeting; and in one respect indeed this comparison would hold good; for, as the adventurous pair of the Fives' Court will afterwards send round a hat, and trust to the bounty of the lookers-on for the means of regaling themselves, so Mr Godfrey Nickleby and HIS partner, the honeymoon being over, looked out wistfully into the world, relying in no inconsiderable degree upon chance for the improvement of their means. Mr Nickleby's income, at the period of his marriage, fluctuated between sixty and eighty pounds PER ANNUM. There are people enough in the world, Heaven knows! and even in London (where Mr Nickleby dwelt in those days) but few complaints prevail, of the population being scanty. It is extraordinary how long a man may look among the crowd without discovering the face of a friend, but it is no less true. Mr Nickleby looked, and looked, till his eyes became sore as his heart, but no friend appeared; and when, growing tired of the search, he turned his eyes homeward, he saw very little there to relieve his weary vision. A painter who has gazed too long upon some glaring colour, refreshes his dazzled sight by looking upon a darker and more sombre tint; but everything that met Mr Nickleby's gaze wore so black and gloomy a hue, that he would have been beyond description refreshed by the very reverse of the contrast. At length, after five years, when Mrs Nickleby had presented her husband with a couple of sons, and that embarrassed gentleman, impressed with the necessity of making some provision for his family, was seriously revolving in his mind a little commercial speculation of insuring his life next quarter-day, and then falling from the top of the Monument by accident, there came, one morning, by the general post, a black-bordered letter to inform him how his uncle, Mr Ralph Nickleby, was dead, and had left him the bulk of his little property, amounting in all to five thousand pounds sterling.

Suddenly, Honath lost his temper. "Lose it, then!" he shouted. "Let us unlearn everything we know only by rote, go back to the beginning, learn all over again, and continue to learn, from our own experience. Spokesman, you are an old man, but there are still some of us who haven't forgotten what curiosity means!" "Quiet!" the Spokesman said. "We have heard enough. We call on Alaskon the Navigator.""Much of the Book is clearly untrue," Alaskon said flatly, rising. "As a handbook of small trades it has served us well. As a guide to how the universe is made, it is nonsense, in my opinion; Honath is too kind to it. I've made no secret of what I think, and I still think it." "And will pay for it," the Spokesman said, blinking slowly down at Alaskon. "Charl the Reader.""Nothing," Charl said, without standing, or even looking up."You do not deny the charges?""I've nothing to say," Charl said, but then, abruptly, his head jerked up, and he glared with desperate eyes at the Spokesman. "I can read, Spokesman. I have seen words in the Book of Laws that contradict each other. I've pointed them out. They're facts, they exist on the pages. I've taught nothing, told no lies, preached no unbelief. I've pointed to the facts. That's all.""Seth the Needlesmith, you may speak now." The guards took their hands gratefully off Seth's mouth; they had been bitten several times in the process of keeping him quiet up to now. Seth resumed shouting at once."I'm no part of this group! I'm the victim of gossip, envious neighbors, smiths jealous of my skill and my custom! No man can say worse of me than that I sold needles to this pursemaker—sold them in good faith! The charges against me are lies, all lies!" Honath jumped to his feet in fury, and then sat down again, choking back the answering shout almost without tasting its bitterness. What did it matter? Why should he bear witness against the young man? It would not help the others, and if Seth wanted to lie his way out of Hell, he might as well be given the chance.The Spokesman was looking down at Seth with the identical expression of outraged disbelief which he had first bent upon Honath. "Who was it cut the blasphemies into the hardwood tree, by the house of Hosi the Lawgiver?" he demanded. "Sharp needles were at work there, and there are witnesses to say that your hands held them.""More lies!"

The stranger came early in February, one wintry day, through a biting wind and a driving snow, the last snowfall of the year, over the down, walking from Bramblehurst railway station, and carrying a little black portmanteau in his thickly gloved hand. He was wrapped up from head to foot, and the brim of his soft felt hat hid every inch of his face but the shiny tip of his nose; the snow had piled itself against his shoulders and chest, and added a white crest to the burden he carried. He staggered into the "Coach and Horses" more dead than alive, and flung his portmanteau down. "A fire," he cried, "in the name of human charity! A room and a fire!" He stamped and shook the snow from off himself in the bar, and followed Mrs. Hall into her guest parlour to strike his bargain. And with that much introduction, that and a couple of sovereigns flung upon the table, he took up his quarters in the inn. Mrs. Hall lit the fire and left him there while she went to prepare him a meal with her own hands. A guest to stop at Iping in the wintertime was an unheard-of piece of luck, let alone a guest who was no "haggler," and she was resolved to show herself worthy of her good fortune. As soon as the bacon was well under way, and Millie, her lymphatic maid, had been brisked up a bit by a few deftly chosen expressions of contempt, she carried the cloth, plates, and glasses into the parlour and began to lay them with the utmost éclat. Although the fire was burning up briskly, she was surprised to see that her visitor still wore his hat and coat, standing with his back to her and staring out of the window at the falling snow in the yard. His gloved hands were clasped behind him, and he seemed to be lost in thought. She noticed that the melting snow that still sprinkled his shoulders dripped upon her carpet. "Can I take your hat and coat, sir?" she said, "and give them a good dry in the kitchen?"

When Siren and the Kid are reported missing Nick Justice is determined to find them. After learning they are being held on a remote planet known as Poseidon, a water world far from Alliance space, he and his team race to their rescue. Blaster Squad soon finds themselves having to fight for survival. Someone is determined to stop them and Nick suspects the mysterious figure known as the Master is behind the attacks. They soon discover the Master is plotting to overthrow the galaxy and rule as Emperor throwing civilization into a new dark age ruled by terror and fear. Nick Justice and Blaster Squad are determined to stop them or die trying. ? ? .

Otfried Preussler, a Torzonborz-trilógia és A kis szellem alkotójának újabb kedves regénye a Kolibri Klasszikusok sorozatban.

THIS is a fierce bad Rabbit; look at his savage whiskers, and his claws and his turned-up tail. THIS is a nice gentle Rabbit. His mother has given him a carrot. THE bad Rabbit would like some carrot.

The Ladybird was written in the year 1923 by David Herbert Lawrence. This book is one of the most popular novels of David Herbert Lawrence, and has been translated into several other languages around the world.This book is published by Booklassic which brings young readers closer to classic literature globally.