Armadaleby Wilkie CollinsTOJOHN FORSTER.In acknowledgment of the services which he has rendered to thecause of literature by his "Life of Goldsmith;" and inaffectionate remembrance of a friendship which is associated withsome of the happiest years of my life.READERS in generalon whose friendly reception experience hasgiven me some reason to relywill, I venture to hope, appreciatewhatever merit there may be in this story without any prefatorypleading for it on my part. They will, I think, see that it hasnot been hastily meditated or idly wrought out. They will judge...　

　On the fine, bright morning in early May when the whole sensational affair of the Gwytherin relics may properly be considered to have begun, Brother Cadfael had been up long before Prime, pricking out cabbage seedlings before the day was aired, and his thoughts were all on birth, growth and fertility, not at all on graves and reliquaries and violent deaths, whether of saints, sinners or ordinary decent, fallible men like himself. Nothing troubled his peace but the necessity to take himself indoors for Mass, and the succeeding half-hour of chapter, which was always liable to stray over by an 　

　　　　The Treloar Building was, and is, on Olive Street, near Sixth, on the west side. The sidewalk in front of it had been built of black and white rubber blocks. They were taking them up now to give to the government, and a hatless pale man with a face like a building superintendent was watching the work and looking as if it was breaking his heart.　　I went past him through an arcade of specialty shops into a vast black and gold lobby. The Gillerlain pany was on the seventh floor, in front, behind swinging double plate glass doors bound in platinum. Their reception room had Chinese rugs, dull 　

　Kona Weather　　MISS MINERVA WINTERSLIP was a Bostonian in good standing, and long past the romantic age. Yet beauty thrilled her still, even the semi-barbaric beauty of a Pacific island. As she walked slowly along the beach she felt the little catch in her throat that sometimes she had known in Symphony Hall, Boston, when her favorite orchestra rose to some new and unexpected height of loveliness.　It was the hour at which she liked Waikiki best, the hour just preceding dinner and the quick tropic darkness. The shadows cast by the tall cocoanut palms lengthened and deepened, the light of the f　

Aucassin and NicoleteTranslated by Andrew LangINTRODUCTIONThere is nothing in artistic poetry quite akin to "Aucassin andNicolete."By a rare piece of good fortune the one manuscript of the Song-Storyhas escaped those waves of time, which have wrecked the bark ofMenander, and left of Sappho but a few floating fragments. The veryform of the tale is peculiar; we have nothing else from the twelfthor thirteenth century in the alternate prose and verse of the cante-fable. {1} We have fabliaux in verse, and prose Arthurian romances....　

RECALLED TO LIFECHAPTER IThe PeriodIt was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other wayin short, the period was so. far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil　

The Queen of Heartsby Wilkie CollinsLETTER OF DEDICATION.-TOEMILE FORGUES.-AT a time when French readers were altogether unaware of theexistence of any books of my writing, a critical examination ofmy novels appeared under your signature in the _Revue des DeuxMoudes_. I read that article, at the time of its appearance, withsincere pleasure and sincere gratitude to the writer, and I havehonestly done my best to profit by it ever since.At a later period, when arrangements were made for thepublication of my novels in Paris, you kindly undertook, at some...　

Lays of Ancient RomeLays of Ancient RomeBy Thomas Babbington Macaulay1- Page 2-Lays of Ancient RomePrefaceHoratius The LayThe Battle of the Lake Regillus The LayVirginia The LayThe Prophecy of Capys The LayThat what is called the history of the Kings and early Consuls ofRome is to a great extent fabulous, few scholars have, since the time of...　

KING HENRY THE EIGHTHKING HENRY THEEIGHTHWilliam Shakespeare16111- Page 2-KING HENRY THE EIGHTHDRAMATIS PERSONAEKING HENRY THE EIGHTH CARDINAL WOLSEY CARDINALCAMPEIUS CAPUCIUS, Ambassador from the Emperor Charles VCRANMER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY DUKE OF NORFOLKDUKE OF BUCKINGHAM DUKE OF SUFFOLK EARL OF SURREYLORD CHAMBERLAIN LORD CHANCELLOR GARDINER, BISHOP...　

　　Captain Sir Horatio Hornblower sat in his bath, regarding with distaste his legs dangling over the end. They were thin and hairy, and recalled to his mind the legs of the spiders he had seen in Central America. It was hard to think about anything except his legs, seeing how much they were forced upon his attention by their position under his nose as he sat in this ridiculous bath; they hung out at one end while his body protruded from the water at the other. It was only the middle portion of him, from his waist to above his knees, which was submerged, and that was bent almost double. Hornbl　

　1　 With a gentle sigh the service tube dropped a message capsule into the receiving cup. The attention bell chimed once and was silent. Jason dinAlt stared at the harmless capsule as though it were a ticking bomb.　 Something was going wrong. He felt a hard knot of tension form inside of him. This was no routine service memo or hotel munication, but a sealed personal message. Yet he knew no one on this planet, having arrived by spacer less than eight hours earlier. Since even his name was new-dating back to the last time he had changed ships- there could be no personal messages. Yet here one 　

Warlord of Marsby Edgar Rice BurroughsCONTENTSOn the River IssUnder the MountainsThe Temple of the SunThe Secret TowerOn the Kaolian RoadA Hero in KaolNew AlliesThrough the Carrion CavesWith the Yellow MenIn DuranceThe Pity of Plenty"Follow the Rope!"The Magnet SwitchThe Tide of BattleRewardsThe New RulerTHE WARLORD OF MARSON THE RIVER ISSIn the shadows of the forest that flanks the crimson plain by...　

The Spirit of Place and Other EssaysThe Spirit of Place andOther Essaysby Alice Meynell1- Page 2-The Spirit of Place and Other EssaysTHE SPIRIT OF PLACEWith mimicry, with praises, with echoes, or with answers, the poetshave all but outsung the bells. The inarticulate bell has found too muchinterpretation, too many rhymes professing to close with her inaccessible...　

　　ACKNOWLEDGMENTS　A debt of gratitude to Emily Bestler, Jason Kaufman, Ben Kaplan, and everyone at Pocket Books for their belief in this project.　To my friend and agent, Jake Elwell, for his enthusiasm and unflagging effort.　To the legendary George Wieser, for convincing me to write novels.　To my dear friend Irv Sittler, for facilitating my audience with the Pope, secreting me into parts of Vatican City few ever see, and making my time in Rome unforgettable.　To one of the most ingenious and gifted artists alive, John Langdon, who rose brilliantly to my impossible challenge and created the amb　

　　While Europe was a collection of warring tribes and Rome merely another city-state on the Tiber and the people of Israel shepherds in the Judean hills, a little girl could carry a sack of diamonds across the Loni Empire in East Africa and never fear even one being taken from her. If she suffered an injured eye, here alone in all the world were men who could repair it. In any village she could receive a parchment for her jewels, take it to any other village, then collect gems of exactly identical weight and purity. Waters from the great Busati River were stored in artificial lakes and channe　

　　Book One　　Chapter 01　　Behind every great fortune there is a crime.　BALZAC　Amerigo Bonasera sat in New York Criminal Court Number 3 and waited for justice; vengeance on the men who had so cruelly hurt his daughter, who had tried to dishonor her.　　The judge, a formidably heavy-featured man, rolled up the sleeves of his black robe as if to physically chastise the two young men standing before the bench. His face was cold with majestic contempt. But there was something false in all this that Amerigo Bonasera sensed but did not yet understand.　　"You acted like the worst kind of degenerates," the