Steel True, Blade Straight.

Too Much! Wait Till You Have Lived Here Longer. Look Down The Valley! See The Cloud Of A Hundred Chimneys That Overshadows It! I Tell You That The Cloud Of Murder Hangs Thicker And Lower Than That Over The Heads Of The People. It Is The Valley Of Fear, The Valley Of Death. The Terror Is In The Hearts Of The People From The Dusk To The Dawn. Wait, Young Man, And You Will Learn For Yourself.

To His Eyes All Seemed Beautiful, But To Me A Tinge Of Melancholy Lay Upon The Countryside, Which Bore So Clearly The Mark Of The Waning Year, Yellow Leaves Carpeted The Lanes And Fluttered Down Upon Us As We Passed, The Rattle Of Our Wheels Died Away As We Drove Through Drifts Of Rotting Vegetation--sad Gifts, As It Seemed To Me, For Nature To Throw Before The Carriage Of The Returning Heir Of The Baskervilles.

Sherlock Holmes Took His Bottle From The Corner Of The Mantel-piece, And His Hypodermic Syringe From Its Neat Morocco Case. With His Long, White, Nervous Fingers He Adjusted The Delicate Needle, And Rolled Back His Left Shirt-cuff. For Some Little Time His Eyes Rested Thoughtfully Upon The Sinewy Forearm And Wrist, All Dotted And Scarred With Innumerable Puncture-marks. Finally, He Thrust The Sharp Point Home, Pressed Down The Tiny Piston, And Sank Back Into The Velvet-lined Armchair With A Long Sigh Of Satisfaction.

I Have Wrought My Simple Plan If I Give One Hour Of Joy To The Boy Who’s Half A Man, Or The Man Who’s Half A Boy.

It Is Not My Intention To Be Fulsome, But I Confess That I Covet Your Skull.