The Great Big Treasury of Beatrix Potterby Beatrix PotterCONTENTSTHE TALE OF PETER RABBITTHE TAILOR OF GLOUCESTERTHE TALE OF SQUIRREL NUTKINTHE TALE OF BENJAMIN BUNNYTHE TALE OF TWO BAD MICETHE TALE OF MRS. TIGGY-WINKLETHE PIE AND THE PATTY-PANTHE TALE OF MR. JEREMY FISHERTHE STORY OF A FIERCE BAD RABBITTHE STORY OF MISS MOPPETTHE TALE OF TOM KITTENTHE TALE OF JEMIMA PUDDLE-DUCKTHE ROLY-POLY PUDDINGTHE TALE OF THE FLOPSY BUNNIESTHE TALE OF MRS. TITTLEMOUSETHE TALE OF TIMMY TIPTOESTHE TALE OF MR. TODTHE TALE OF PIGLING BLANDGINGER AND PICKLES...
Algernon Charles Swinburne, _Chastelard, a tragedy_ . Boston: E.P. Dutton, 1866.ChastelardAlgernon Charles Swinburne1- Page 2-Algernon Charles Swinburne, _Chastelard, a tragedy_ . Boston: E.P. Dutton, 1866.PERSONS.MARY STUART. MARY BEATON. MARY SEYTON. MARYCARMICHAEL. MARY HAMILTON. PIERRE DE BOSCOSEL DECHASTELARD. DARNLEY. MURRAY. RANDOLPH. MORTON....
FOR NATALIE ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Special thanks to Natalie Freer-the most genuine and giving person I know. To Stephen Reilly, my brother and my good friend and my loyal supporter, even from thousands of miles away. To Mum for her ments on the text and to Dad for his woeful title suggestions and to both of them for their love and support. And, last, thanks to everyone at Pan and Thomas Dunne Books (in particular, my editors, Cate Paterson, Pete Wolverton, and Madonna Duffy, first, for "discovering" me and, second, for enduring all of my crazy ideas). To all of you, never underestimate the power
dedicates this book to Barry and Jody Turkus. Lincoln Child dedicates this book to his daughter, Veronica. Acknowledgments Lincoln Child would like to thank Bruce Swanson, Mark Mendel, Pat Allocco, Chris and Susan Yango, Jerry and Terry Hyland, Anthony Cifelli, M.D., Norman San Agustin, M.D., and Lee Suckno, M.D., for their friendship and assistance. Ongoing thanks to Special Agent Douglas Margini for his advice on New York, New Jersey, and federal law enforcement matters. Thanks to Jill Nowak for an insightful reading of the text. Bob Przybylski was very useful in nailing down some of th
THE GUILLOTINE; brutal instantaneous bloody death, a hellish instrument of execution. It dominated the white-tiled room, a. metallic structure that gleamed evilly in the stark fluorescent light. Louis Nevillon was calm as his guards allowed him a few seconds to savour his fate. They were gloating, he could read it in their smug, supposedly impassive, expressions. Even the priest. Tete-de-chien! The executioner was masked, a custom that went back centuries, but there was a gleam in the pale blue eyes that stared out of the cloth slits that was unmistakable. It was Gallon, of course. Who e
Clinch padded to the kitchen and fixed himself a pot of coffee, four eggs scrambled (with ketchup), a quarter-pound of Jimmy Dean sausage, and two slices of whole-wheat toast with grape jam. As he ate, he listened to the radio for a weather report. The temperature outside was forty-one degrees, humidity thirty-five percent, wind blowing from the northeast at seven miles per hour. According to the weatherman, thick fog lay on the highway between Harney and Lake Jesup. Robert Clinch loved to drive in the fog because it gave him a chance to use the amber fog lights on his new Blazer truck. The
SUDDENLY THE child began to scream, piercing shrieks of terror that died down to shaking sobs, clutching at his mother so that his tiny ringers pinched her skin agonisingly through her flimsy summer dress. Veronica Jones grimaced in the deep green gloom of the reptile house, had to check herself from giving her five-year-old son one of her habitual cuffs across his head. She held him to her, closed her eyes momentarily, a human ostrich trying to hide her embarrassment from the ghostly white faces that turned in her direction. Trust the little sod to start playing up. You squandered a s
Chapter one He had been walking the dirty streets since twilight first began to gather. The pain streamed like liquid fire through every cell of his body - but he locked it away in a corner of his mind, ignored it, and walked. There was little to please the eye in his surroundings, and he paid scant attention to them. He was on a small poor unimportant planet whose very name, Coranex, meant nothing to him. But around the spaceport clustered a drab, seedy town, which was a well-known stopover on the main space lanes. It attracted freightermen, traders, wandering technicians, space drifters o
In what felt to him like the first cold morning of the world, he groped for fire. It was a high place where he searched, a lifeless, wind-scoured place, a rough, forbidding shelf of black and splintered rock. Snow, driven by squalls of frigid air, streamed across the black rock in white powder, making shifting veils of white over layers of gray ancient ice that was almost as hard as the rock itself. Dawn was in the sky, but still hundreds of kilometers away, as distant as the tiny sawteeth of the horizon to the northwest. The snowfields and icefields along that far edge of the world were
Neither do they expect trouble with a cargo that is sewn up tight. Only a privileged few knew exactly when the Kruxator Collection would arrive in the country. That it was due to e to Britain was mon knowledge, and you had only to read a newspaper to discover that March 15th was the day on which the fabled group of paintings and jewellery were to go on display - for two weeks - at the Victoria and Albert Museum. The Kruxator Collection is called after its founder, the late Niko Kruxator, whose fabulous wealth arose from sources unknown, for he had arrived penniless in the United States at a
Cyrano de BergeracA Play in Five Actsby Edmond RostandTranslated from the French by Gladys Thomas and Mary F. GuillemardThe CharactersCYRANO DE BERGERACCHRISTIAN DE NEUVILLETTECOUNT DE GUICHERAGUENEAULE BRETCARBON DE CASTEL-JALOUXTHE CADETSLIGNIEREDE VALVERTA MARQUISSECOND MARQUISTHIRD MARQUISMONTFLEURYBELLEROSEJODELETCUIGYBRISSAILLETHE DOORKEEPERA LACKEYA SECOND LACKEYA BOREA MUSKETEERANOTHERA SPANISH OFFICERA PORTERA BURGHERHIS SONA PICKPOCKETA SPECTATORA GUARDSMANBERTRAND THE FIFERA MONKTWO MUSICIANS...
The PrinceThe Princeby Nicolo MachiavelliTranslated by W. K. Marriott1- Page 2-The PrinceNicolo Machiavelli, born at Florence on 3rd May 1469. From 1494 to1512 held an official post at Florence which included diplomatic missionsto various European courts. Imprisoned in Florence, 1512; later exiled andreturned to San Casciano. Died at Florence on 22nd June 1527.2...
To the Right Honourable my very good lord the Dukeof Buckingham his Grace, Lord High Admiral of EnglandEXCELLENT LORD - Solomon says; a good name is as a precious ointment; and I assure my self, such will your Grace's name be, with posterity. For your fortune, and merit both, have been eminent And you have planted things, that are like to last I do now publish my essays; which, of all my other works, have been most current: for that, as it seems, they come home, to men's business, and bosoms. I have enlarged them, both in number, and weight; so that they are indeed a new work. I thought it
The Stokesley Secretby Charlotte M. YongeCHAPTER I."How can a pig pay the rent?"The question seemed to have been long under consideration, to judge by the manner in which it came out of the pouting lips of that sturdy young five-year-old gentleman, David Merrifield, as he sat on a volume of the great Latin Dictionary to raise him to a level with the tea-table.Long, however, as it had been considered, it was unheeded on account of one more interesting to the general public assembled round the table."I say!" hallooed out a tall lad of twelve holding aloft a slice taken from the dish in the cent
NOTE TO GENERAL PREFACE, p.
BUTTERCUP GOLD AND OTHER STORIESBUTTERCUP GOLDAND OTHER STORIESEllen Robena Field1- Page 2-BUTTERCUP GOLD AND OTHER STORIESThe Little New YearOne cold morning Maurice awoke from his dreams and sat up in bedand listened. He thought he heard a knock at his window; but though themoon was shining brightly, Jack Frost had been so busily at work thatMaurice could not see through the thickly painted panes. So he crept...