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THE MAN WHO WAS THURSDAY A NIGHTMARE by G. K. Chesterton A WILD, MAD, HILARIOUS AND PROFOUNDLY MOVING TALE It is very difficult to classify THE MAN WHO WAS THURSDAY. It is possible to say that…
THE suburb of Saffron Park lay on the sunset side of London, as red and ragged as a cloud of sunset. It was built of a bright brick throughout; its sky-line was fantastic, and even its ground plan wa…
THE cab pulled up before a particularly dreary and greasy beershop, into which Gregory rapidly conducted his companion. They seated themselves in a close and dim sort of bar-parlour, at a stained woo…
BEFORE one of the fresh faces could appear at the doorway, Gregory’s stunned surprise had fallen from him. He was beside the table with a bound, and a noise in his throat like a wild beast. He caught…
GABRIEL SYME was not merely a detective who pretended to be a poet; he was really a poet who had become a detective. Nor was his hatred of anarchy hypocritical. He was one of those who are driven ear…
AT first the large stone stair seemed to Syme as deserted as a pyramid; but before he reached the top he had realised that there was a man leaning over the parapet of the Embankment and looking out a…
SUCH were the six men who had sworn to destroy the world. Again and again Syme strove to pull together his common sense in their presence. Sometimes he saw for an instant that these notions were subj…
“SIT down!” said Sunday in a voice that he used once or twice in his life, a voice that made men drop drawn swords. The three who had risen fell away from Gogol, and that equivocal person himself re…
WHEN Gabriel Syme found himself finally established in a chair, and opposite to him, fixed and final also, the lifted eyebrows and leaden eyelids of the Professor, his fears fully returned. This inco…
“BURGUNDY is a jolly thing,” said the Professor sadly, as he set his glass down. “You don’t look as if it were,” said Syme; “you drink it as if it were medicine.” “You must excuse my manner,” said …
