read by Frank McCourt. THERE was no hope for him this time: it was the third stroke. Night after night I had passed the house (it was vacation time) and studied the lighted square of window: and night after night I had found it lighted in the same wa

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The Star by H.G. Wells (1897) - as read by Alex Wilson It was on the first day of the new year that the announcement was made, almost simultaneously from three observatories, that the motion of the planet Neptune, the outermost of all the planets tha

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31. The Story of El-ahrairah and the Black Rabbit of Inl The power of the night, the press of the storm, The post of the foe; Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form, Yet the strong man must go. Robert Browning Prospice Sooner or later, ever

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22. The Story of the Trial of El-ahrairah Now one evening, when El-ahrairah and Rabscuttle were sitting on a sunny bank, Prince Rainbow came through the meadows and with him was a rabbit that El-ahrairah had never seen before. Good evening, El-ahrair

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15. The Story of the Kings Lettuce Don Alfonso: Eccovi il medico, signore belle. Ferrando and Guglielmo: Despina in maschera, che triste pelle! Lorenzo da Ponte Cost fan Tutte They say that there was a time when El-ahrairah and his followers lost all

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These are stories about the legendary hero of rabbits, El-ahrairah, and his trusty companion, Rabscuttle as told by Dandelion to his friends Hazel, Fiver, Bigwig, Pipkin, and others. Important Lapine (rabbit) words: owsla = guards; fighters, silflay

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HE HAD PICKED up his prisoner at Fort Huachuca shortly after midnight and now, in a silent early morning mist, they approached Contention. The two riders moved slowly, one behind the other. Entering Stockman Street, Paul Scallen glanced back at the o

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I reported this trial simply for my own amusement, one idle day last week, and without expecting to publish any portion of it - but I have seen the facts in the case so distorted and misrepresented in the daily papers that I feel it my duty to come f

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I visited St. Louis lately, and on my way West, after changing cars at Terre Haute, Indiana, a mild, benevolent-looking gentleman of about forty-five, or maybe fifty, came in at one of the way-stations and sat down beside me. We talked together pleas

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Alix leaped to a knowledge born of instinct. It was to be tonight But there was still a chance. Gerald, humming his little tune, went round to the back of the house. Without hesitating a moment, she ran down the stairs and out of the cottage. But jus

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Of the many adventures in which I have participated with my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes, none has been more singularly horrifying than the case of the Whitechapel killings, nor ever had I previously had cause to doubt the sanity of my friend. I need b

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41. The Story of Rowsby Woof and the Fairy Wogdog There was a big rabbit, said Dandelion. There was a small rabbit. There was El-ahrairah; and he had the frost in his fine new whiskers. The earth up and down the runs of the warren was so hard that yo

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I confronted Holmes with the papers and my suspicions. I had hoped, more than I hope for paradise, that he would dismiss my deductions with his soft, mocking laugh, and show me some utterly commonplace alternative explanation of the facts. My hopes w

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Listening to his narrative I had completely forgotten the events of the previous night, the slain streetwalkers, and my suspicion of Holmes. At this point, Holmes continued, I knew that I needed to consult an expert. Mr. Wells, of whom I spoke earlie

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There is a wild beast in your woods, said the artist Cunningham, as he was being driven to the station. It was the only remark he had made during the drive, but as Van Cheele had talked incessantly his companion's silence had not been noticeable. A s

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Conradin was ten years old, and the doctor had pronounced his professional opinion that the boy would not live another five years. The doctor was silky and effete, and counted for little, but his opinion was endorsed by Mrs. de Ropp, who counted for

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Octavian Ruttle was one of those lively cheerful individuals on whom amiability had set its unmistakable stamp, and, like most of his kind, his soul's peace depended in large measure on the unstinted approval of his fellows. In hunting to death a sma

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I regret exceedingly... said M. Hercule Poirot. He was interrupted. Not rudely interrupted. The interruption was suave, dexterous, persuasive rather than contradictory. Please don't refuse offhand, M. Poirot. There are grave issues of State. Your coo

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Salt I WROTE THE OBITUARY for the OBITUARIES editor. Her name was Lois Andrews. Breast cancer. She was only forty-five. One in eight women get breast cancer, an epidemic. Loiss parents had died years earlier. Dads cigarettes kept their promises. Moms

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Holmes was up before six and I found him in the hall pacing back and forth when I came down for breakfast just after half past seven. He swung around to face me. Ah, at last, he said critically. Go and question the child again, he commanded. Learn an

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