Come, Watson, Come!" He Cried. The Game

You Wish To Put Me In The Dark. I Tell You That I Will Never Be Put In The Dark. You Wish To Beat Me. I Tell You That You Will Never Beat Me.

There's An East Wind Coming All The Same, Such A Wind As Never Blew On England Yet. It Will Be Cold And Bitter, Watson, And A Good Many Of Us May Wither Before Its Blast. But It's God's Own Wind None The Less And A Cleaner, Better Stronger Land Will Lie In The Sunshine When The Storm Has Cleared.

I Fear That If The Matter Is Beyond Humanity, It Is Certainly Beyond Me.

Anything Seems Commonplace, Once Explained.

It Is Hardly Fair To Blame America For The State Of San Francisco, For Its Population Is Cosmopolitan And Its Seaport Attracts The Floating Vice Of The Pacific; But Be The Cause What It May, There Is Much Room For Spiritual Betterment.