What A Lovely Thing A Rose Is!

Violence Does, In Truth, Recoil Upon The Violent, And The Schemer Falls Into The Pit Which He Digs For Another.

I Had Neither Kith Nor Kin In England, And Was Therefore As Free As Air -- Or As Free As An Income Of Eleven Shillings And Sixpence A Day Will Permit A Man To Be. Under Such Circumstances, I Naturally Gravitated To London, That Great Cesspool Into Which All The Loungers And Idlers Of The Empire Are Irresistibly Drained.

It Was An Ideal Spring Day, A Light Blue Sky, Flecked With Little Fleecy White Clouds Drifting Across From West To East. The Sun Was Shining Very Brightly, And Yet There Was An Exhilarating Nip In The Air, Which Set An Edge To A Man's Energy.

Far Away On The Path We Saw Sir Henry Looking Back, His Face White In The Moonlight, His Hands Raised In Horror, Glaring Helplessly At The Frightful Thing Which Was Hunting Him Down. But That Cry Of Pain From The Hound Had Blown All Our Fears To The Winds. If He Was Vulnerable He Was Mortal, And If We Could Wound Him We Could Kill Him. Never Have I Seen A Man Run As Holmes Ran That Night.

Never Trust To General Impressions, My Boy, But Concentrate Yourself Upon Details.