Stories of Intellect
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Томас Де Квинси. Stories of Intellect
Stories of Intellect
Table of Contents
THE HOUSE AND THE BRAIN. BY E. BULWER LYTTON
D’OUTRE MORT. BY HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD
THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER BY EDGAR ALLAN POE
CHOPS THE DWARF. BY CHARLES DICKENS
WAKEFIELD. BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE
MURDER, CONSIDERED AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS. BY THOMAS DE QUINCEY
LECTURE
THE CAPTAIN’S STORY. BY REBECCA HARDING DAVIS
Отрывок из книги
Charles Dickens, Edgar Allan Poe, Thomas De Quincey, Rebecca Harding Davis, Nathaniel Hawthorne
Published by Good Press, 2021
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“I! not a bit of it, sir!” And the man’s bold look reassured me on one point, namely, that, happen what might, he would not desert me.
We were in the hall, the street door closed, and my attention was now drawn to my dog. He had at first run in eagerly enough, but had sneaked back to the door, and was scratching and whining to get out. After I had patted him on the head and encouraged him gently, the dog seemed to reconcile himself to the situation, and followed me and F—— through the house, but keeping close at my heels, instead of hurrying inquisitively in advance, which was his usual and normal habit in all strange places. We first visited the subterranean apartments, the kitchen and other offices, and especially the cellars, in which last were two or three bottles of wine still left in a bin, covered with cobwebs, and evidently, by their appearance, undisturbed for many years. It was clear that the ghosts were not winebibbers. For the rest, we discovered nothing of interest. There was a gloomy little back yard, with very high walls. The stones of this yard were very damp; and what with the damp, and what with the dust and smoke-grime on the pavement, our feet left a slight impression where we passed. And now appeared the first strange phenomenon witnessed by myself in this strange abode. I saw, just before me, the print of a foot suddenly form itself, as it were. I stopped, caught hold of my servant, and pointed to it. In advance of that footprint as suddenly dropped another. We both saw it. I advanced quickly to the place; the footprint kept advancing before me; a small footprint,—the foot of a child; the impression was too faint thoroughly to distinguish the shape, but it seemed to us both that it was the print of a naked foot. This phenomenon ceased when we arrived at the opposite wall, nor did it repeat itself when we returned. We remounted the stairs, and entered the rooms on the ground-floor,—a dining-parlor, a small back parlor, and a still smaller third room, that had probably been appropriated to a footman,—all still as death. We then visited the drawing-rooms, which seemed fresh and new. In the front room I seated myself in an arm-chair. F—— placed on the table the candlestick with which he had lighted us. I told him to shut the door. As he turned to do so, a chair opposite to me moved from the wall quickly and noiselessly, and dropped itself about a yard from my own chair, immediately fronting it.
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