April. Tyranny of objects. There is a point beyond which the apparent antagonism of certain chairs, or paper-weights, if dwelt on, ceases to be ludicrous. As though they might crush or crowd out. This may also be true of human beings. I find myself assuming hostility in, for instance, Miss Barton...
he said. “I have this problem with my landlady.” He picked a long, bright hair off the back of her dress, so deftly that the act seemed simply considerate. He had been skilful at balancing glass, plate and cutlery, too. He had a look of dignified misery, like a dejected hawk. She was interested. ...
Aaron was not asleep)—he moved sideways along the table towards her, his shoulders hunched, one black eye glittering at her. ‘Nevermore,’ Emily Jesse said to the bird, with a certain grim wit, and reached into her leather pouch for another morsel for him. He sidled round, peering, and opened his ...
He set out at two o’clock from Victoria Terrace, and walked to the Grand Hotel. He dressed carefully, always in the same clothes—a black, broadcloth frock-coat, black trousers, concertinaed at the ankles over highly polished, high-heeled black boots, a carefully folded umbrella, a glistening silk...