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THE WIFE WRITES, AND CLOSES THE STORY. THE TWO DESTINIES By Wilkie Collins The Prelude. THE GUEST WRITES AND TELLS THE STORY OF THE DINNER PARTY. MANY years have passed since my wife and I left …
LOOK back, my memory, through the dim labyrinth of the past, through the mingling joys and sorrows of twenty years. Rise again, my boyhood’s days, by the winding green shores of the little lake. Come…
“HE is growing too fast,” said the doctor to my mother; “and he is getting a great deal too clever for a boy at his age. Remove him from school, ma’am, for six months; let him run about in the open a…
MY narrative may move on again from the point at which it paused in the first chapter. Mary and I (as you may remember) had left the bailiff alone at the decoy, and had set forth on our way together…
FOR the rest of the day, and through the night, I was kept a close prisoner in my room, watched by a man on whose fidelity my father could depend. The next morning I made an effort to escape, and wa…
WHEN YOU last saw me, I was a boy of thirteen. You now see me a man of twenty-three. The story of my life, in the interval between these two ages, is a story that can be soon told. Speaking of my f…
WHAT I have now to tell you of Mary is derived from information obtained at a date in my life later by many years than any date of which I have written yet. Be pleased to remember this. Dermody, the…
MY mother looked in at the library door, and disturbed me over my books. “I have been hanging a little picture in my room,” she said. “Come upstairs, my dear, and give me your opinion of it.” I ros…
THE morning sunlight shining in at a badly curtained window; a clumsy wooden bed, with big twisted posts that reached to the ceiling; on one side of the bed, my mother’s welcome face; on the other si…
I POINTED to the writing in the sketch book, and looked at my mother. I was not mistaken. She had seen it, as I had seen it. But she refused to acknowledge that anything had happened to alarm her—pl…
