It was not my husband speaking, but some passerby. However, I looked up at George with a smile, and found him looking down at me with much the same humour. We had often spoken of the odd phrases one hears in the street, and how interesting it would be sometimes to hear a little more of the conversation.
“A remarkable man!”It was not my husband speaking, but some passerby. However, I looked up at George with a smile, and found him looking down at me with much the same humour. We had often spoken of the odd phrases one hears in the street, and how interesting it would be sometimes to hear a little more of the conversation.“That’s a case in point,” he laughed, as he guided me through the crowd of theatre-goers which invariably block this part of Broadway at the hour of eight. “We shall never know whose eulogy we have just heard.
‘A remarkable man!’ There are not many of them.”“No,” was my somewhat indifferent reply. It was a keen winter night and snow was packed upon the walks in a way to throw into sharp relief the figures of such pedestrians as happened to be walking alone. “But it seems to me that, so far as general appearance goes, the one in front answers your description most admirably.”I pointed to a man hurrying around the corner just ahead of us.“Yes, he’s remarkably well built. I noticed him when he came out of the Clermont.” This was a hotel we had just passed.“But it’s not only that. It’s his height, his very striking features, his expression —” I stopped suddenly, gripping George’s arm convulsively in a surprise he appeared to share. We had turned the corner immediately behind the man of whom we were speaking and so had him still in full view.“What’s he doing?” I asked, in a low whisper. We were only a few feet behind. “Look! look! don’t you call that curious?”My husband stared, then uttered a low, “Rather.” The man ahead of us, presenting in every respect the appearance of a gentleman, had suddenly stooped to the kerb and was washing his hands in the snow, furtively, but with a vigour and purpose which could not fail to arouse the strangest conjectures in any chance onlooker.“Pilate!” escaped my lips, in a sort of nervous chuckle. But George shook his head at me.“I don’t like it,” he muttered, with unusual gravity. “Did you see his face?” Then as the man rose and hurried away from us down the street, “I should like to follow him. I do believe —”But here we became aware of a quick rush and sudden clamour around the corner we had just left, and turning quickly, saw that something had occurred on Broadway which was fast causing a tumult.“What’s the matter?” I cried. “What can have happened? Let’s go see, George. Perhaps it has something to do with our man.”My husband, with a final glance down the street at the fast disappearing figure, yielded to my importunity, and possibly to some new curiosity of his own.“I’d like to stop that man first,” said he. “But what excuse have I? He may be nothing but a crank, with some crack-brained idea in his head. We’ll soon know; for there’s certainly something wrong there on Broadway.”“He came out of the Clermont,” I suggested.“I know. If the excitement isn’t there, what we’ve just seen is simply a coincidence.” Then, as we retraced our steps to the corner “Whatever we hear or see, don’t say anything about this man. It’s after eight, remember, and we promised Adela that we would be at the house before nine.”“I’ll be quiet.”“Remember.”It was the last word he had time to speak before we found ourselves in the midst of a crowd of men and women, jostling one another in curiosity or in the consternation following a quick alarm. All were looking one way, and, as this was towards the entrance of the Clermont, it was evident enough to us that the alarm had indeed had its origin in the very place we had anticipated. I felt my husband’s arm press me closer to his side as we worked our way towards the entrance, and presently caught a warning sound from his lips as the oaths and confused cries everywhere surrounding us were broken here and there by articulate words and we heard:“Is it murder?”“The beautiful Miss Challoner!”“A millionairess in her own right!”“Killed, they say.”“No, no! suddenly dead; that’s all.”“George, what shall we do?” I managed to cry into my husband’s ear.“Get out of this. There is no chance of our reaching that door, and I can’t have you standing round any longer in this icy slush.”“But — but is it right?” I urged, in an importunate whisper. “Should we go home while he —”“Hush! My first duty is to you. We will go make our visit; but to-morrow —”“I can’t wait till to-morrow,” I pleaded, wild to satisfy my curiosity in regard to an event in which I naturally felt a keen personal interest.He drew me as near to the edge of the crowd as he could. There were new murmurs all about us.“If it’s a case of heart-failure, why send for the police?” asked one.“It is better to have an officer or two here,” grumbled another.“Here comes a cop.”“Well, I’m going to vamoose.”“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” whispered George, who, for all his bluster was as curious as myself. “We will try the rear door where there are fewer persons. Possibly we can make our way in there, and if we can, Slater will tell us all we want to know.”Slater was the assistant manager of the Clermont, and one of George’s oldest friends.“Then hurry,” said I. “I am being crushed here.”George did hurry, and in a few minutes we were before the rear entrance of the great hotel. There was a mob gathered here also, but it was neither so large nor so rough as the one on Broadway. Yet I doubt if we should have been able to work our way through it if Slater had not, at that very instant, shown himself in the doorway, in company with an officer to whom he was giving some final instructions. George caught his eye as soon as he was through with the man, and ventured on what I thought a rather uncalled for plea.“Let us in, Slater,” he begged. “My wife feels a little faint; she has been knocked about so by the crowd.”The manager glanced at my face, and shouted to the people around us to make room. I felt myself lifted up, and that is all I remember of this part of our adventure. For, affected more than I realised by the excitement of the event, I no sooner saw the way cleared for our entrance than I made good my husband’s words by fainting away in earnest.When I came to, it was suddenly and with perfect recognition of my surroundings. The small reception room to which I had been taken was one I had often visited, and its familiar features did not hold my attention for a moment. What I did see and welcome was my husband’s face bending close over me, and to him I spoke first. My words must have sounded oddly to those about. “Have they told you anything about it?” I asked. “Did he —”A quick pressure on my arm silenced me, and then I noticed that we were not alone. Two or three ladies stood near, watching me, and one had evidently been using some restorative, for she held a small vinaigrette in her hand. To this lady, George made haste to introduce me, and from her I presently learned the cause of the disturbance in the hotel.It was of a somewhat different nature from what I expected, and during the recital, I could not prevent myself from casting furtive and inquiring glances at George.Edith, the well-known daughter of Moses Challoner, had fallen suddenly dead on the floor of the mezzanine. She was not known to have been in poor health, still less in danger of a fatal attack, and the shock was consequently great to her friends, several of whom were in the building. Indeed, it was likely to prove a shock to the whole community, for she had great claims to general admiration, and her death must be regarded as a calamity to persons in all stations of life.I realised this myself, for I had heard much of the young lady’s private virtues, as well as of her great beauty and distinguished manner. A heavy loss, indeed, but —“Was she alone when she fell?” I asked.“Virtually alone. Some persons sat on the other side of the room, reading at the big round table. They did not even hear her fall. They say that the band was playing unusually loud in the musicians’ gallery.”“Are you feeling quite well, now?”“Quite myself,” I gratefully replied as I rose slowly from the sofa. Then, as my kind informer stepped aside, I turned to George with the proposal we should go now.He seemed as anxious as myself to leave and together we moved towards the door, while the hum of excited comment which the intrusion of a fainting woman had undoubtedly interrupted, recommenced behind us till the whole room buzzed.In the hall we encountered Mr. Slater, whom I have before mentioned. He was trying to maintain order while himself in a state of great agitation. Seeing us, he could not refrain from whispering a few words into my husband’s ear.“The doctor has just gone up — her doctor, I mean. He’s simply dumbfounded. Says that she was the healthiest woman in New York yesterday — I think — don’t mention it, that he suspects something quite different from heart failure.”“What do you mean?” asked George, following the assistant manager down the broad flight of steps leading to the office. Then, as I pressed up close to Mr. Slater’s other side, “She was by herself, wasn’t she, in the half floor above?”“Yes, and had been writing a letter. She fell with it still in her hand.”“Have they carried her to her room?” I eagerly inquired, glancing fearfully up at the large semi-circular openings overlooking us from the place where she had fallen.“Not yet. Mr. Hammond insists upon waiting for the coroner.” (Mr. Hammond was the proprietor of the hotel.) “She is lying on one of the big couches near which she fell. If you like, I can give you a glimpse of her. She looks beautiful. It’s terrible to think that she is dead.”I don’t know why we consented. We were under a spell, I think. At all events, we accepted his offer and followed him up a narrow staircase open to very few that night. At the top, he turned upon us with a warning gesture which I hardly think we needed, and led us down a narrow hall flanked by openings corresponding to those we had noted from below. At the furthest one he paused and, beckoning us to his side, pointed across the lobby into the large writing-room which occupied the better part of the mezzanine floor.We saw people standing in various attitudes of grief and dismay about a couch, one end of which only was visible to us at the moment. The doctor had just joined them, and every head was turned towards him and every body bent forward in anxious expectation. I remember the face of one grey haired old man. I shall never forget it. He was probably her father. Later, I knew him to be so. Her face, even her form, was entirely hidden from us, but as we watched (I have often thought with what heartless curiosity) a sudden movement took place in the whole group — and for one instant a startling picture presented itself to our gaze. Miss Challoner was stretched out upon the couch. She was dressed as she came from dinner, in a gown of ivory-tinted satin, relieved at the breast by a large bouquet of scarlet poinsettias. I mention this adornment, because it was what first met and drew our eyes and the eyes of every one about her, though the face, now quite revealed, would seem to have the greater attraction. But the cause was evident and one not to be resisted. The doctor was pointing at these poinsettias in horror and with awful meaning, and though we could not hear his words, we knew almost instinctively, both from his attitude and the cries which burst from the lips of those about him, that something more than broken petals and disordered laces had met his eyes; that blood was there — slowly oozing drops from the heart — which for some reason had escaped all eyes till now.Miss Challoner was dead, not from unsuspected disease, but from the violent attack of some murderous weapon; As the realisation of this brought fresh panic and bowed the old father’s head with emotions even more bitter than those of grief, I turned a questioning look up at George’s face.It was fixed with a purpose I had no trouble in understanding.
Amazingly, Anna Katherine Green turned to writing detective fiction out of desperation after her poetry failed to earn much in the way of either recognition or compensation. The Amethyst Box is a fine example of the meticulously plotted classic mysteries that comprise Green's remarkable body of work.
According to Wikipedia: "Anna Katharine Green (November 11, 1846 – April 11, 1935) was an American poet and novelist. She was one of the first writers of detective fiction in America and distinguished herself by writing well plotted, legally accurate stories."
An early innovator in the detective fiction genre, author Anna Katherine Green gained acclaim for her careful attention to detail and accuracy. However, as she gained confidence as a writer, she also broke ground in the genre by focusing her attention on the motivation and psyche of both criminals and the detectives that pursued them. The Circular Study highlights both of Green's talents, offering readers an expertly plotted story and a fascinating glimpse into the mind of a killer.
American author Anna Katharine Green is credited with being an enormously influential figure in the development of the detective, mystery and crime genre. One of her chief strengths is her accurate depictions of the complex machinery of the American legal system, which comes into play in this suspenseful novel dealing with a short-lived marriage and a contested inheritance.
[Cute Baby + Secret Identity + Powerful hero and heroine!] Caroline loved Damian with all her heart for five whole years. She devoted herself to him and lived humbly for his sake. However, when the couple faced a crisis, she hoped that the news of her pregnancy would fix their marriage, but what she got in return was just a divorce agreement. And to make things worse, while she was about to give birth, she had fallen into someone's trap and her life was in danger. After managing to survive such a harrowing experience, she was determined to cut all ties with the man. Five years later, she re-emerged with her head held high, being the CEO of a famous company. Those who used to bully her now got a taste of their own medicine. And the truth about the past gradually surfaced... Dazzled by Caroline's newfound confidence, her ex-husband wanted to get back together with her, but she just turned a blind eye to his advances. Damian pleaded desperately, "Honey, our baby needs both his parents. Please remarry me!"
COALESCENCE OF THE FIVE SERIES BOOK ONE: THE 5-TIME REJECTED GAMMA & THE LYCAN KING BOOK TWO: THE ROGUES WHO WENT ROGUE BOOK THREE: THE INDOMITABLE HUNTRESS & THE HARDENED DUKE *** BOOK ONE: After being rejected by 5 mates, Gamma Lucianne pleaded with the Moon Goddess to spare her from any further mate-bonds. To her dismay, she is being bonded for the sixth time. What’s worse is that her sixth-chance mate is the most powerful creature ruling over all werewolves and Lycans - the Lycan King himself. She is certain, dead certain, that a rejection would come sooner or later, though she hopes for it to be sooner. King Alexandar was ecstatic to meet his bonded mate, and couldn’t thank their Goddess enough for gifting him someone so perfect. However, he soon realizes that this gift is reluctant to accept him, and more than willing to sever their bond. He tries to connect with her but she seems so far away. He is desperate to get intimate with her but she seems reluctant to open up to him. He tries to tell her that he is willing to commit to her for the rest of his life but she doesn’t seem to believe him. He is pleading for a chance: a chance to get to know her; a chance to show her that he’s different; and a chance to love her. But when not-so-subtle crushes, jealous suitors, self-entitled Queen-wannabes, an old flame, a silent protector and a past wedding engagement threaten to jeopardize their relationship, will Lucianne and Xandar still choose to be together? Is their love strong enough to overcome everything and everyone? Or will Lucianne resort to enduring a sixth rejection from the one person she thought she could entrust her heart with?
22-year-old Evelyn Carter is attempting to start over in California while avoiding her past. She will be embarking on a new career path as a private school teacher. She is smart, attractive, and doesn't put up with nonsense. Who wouldn't notice her? However, what happens when she attracts the attention of someone unwilling to let her go? Who wants her and nothing else after falling in love at first sight? A 25-year-old billionaire CEO and single father, Lucian Carrington. He takes what he wants and he is also a very dangerous man. All it needed was one look at a stunning woman to realize she was HIS, even though he doesn't believe in relationships because they always end. Preview: Miss Carter, you will be mine. I say firmly. "Release my arm, Mr. Carrington, before I force you to." She says, seeming to smile at me. I give her a sly smile. Squeezing my wrist with her other hand, she twists it uncomfortably. I gave a painful hiss. "Don't underestimate me, Mr. Carrington." "This is the only time I will allow you to walk away from me, Miss Carter." She glared at me as she turned. "Mr. Carrington, I am no possession of yours." I was left standing there when she opened the classroom door and left.
On their wedding night, Rogelio wrapped his fingers around Marian's neck and spat at her, "Congratulations! From now on, you live in hell!" The reason for his wrath was that he believed she was responsible for the death of his elder brother. So, he married her but refused to touch her, determined to make her suffer for the rest of her pitiful life! However, due to an unforeseen accident, Marian was forced to sleep with Rogelio in order to save him, and she ended up getting pregnant. Concealing her pregnancy, Marian lived cautiously under Rogelio's watchful eyes. He hated her and relentlessly humiliated her, yet he would never allow anyone else to lay a finger on her— "Mr. Bailey, your wife got into a fight with someone!" Rogelio secretly took action, eliminating that person completely. "Sir, your wife claimed that all of your family's wealth belongs to her!" Rogelio quietly transferred all the shares to her. Unaware of all this, Marian only wanted to escape, but Rogelio pulled her into his warm embrace, whispering, "Mrs. Bailey, where do you intend to go with our unborn child?"
"I heard you're going to marry Marcelo. Is this perhaps your revenge against me? It's very laughable, Renee. That man can barely function." Her foster family, her cheating ex, everyone thought Renee was going to live in pure hell after getting married to a disabled and cruel man. She didn't know if anything good would ever come out of it after all, she had always thought it would be hard for anyone to love her but this cruel man with dark secrets is never going to grant her a divorce because she makes him forget how to breathe.
Sandra Hill, the long-lost real heiress of the Hill family, was shunned by her own kin. Instead of embracing her, they bestowed their affection upon an impostor. They even arranged her to marry a vegetative man in place of her so-called “sister”. Sandra sneered, refusing to put up with this humiliation, cut off ties with the Hill family immediately and ran into the flash marriage with Wesley Cooper, her unconscious billionaire husband. With her incredible medical skills, she defied the odds and revived him. Little did she expect that her husband spoiled her with all his love... A medical genius, a computer prodigy, a national treasure in painting, and a racing legend... Her husband revealed her various identities, leaving the Hill family regretful. Her father came pleading, "It's Dad's fault. Please come back." Her mother wept, "Mom will protect you from now on. Please come back." Even her five brothers knelt before he, begging for forgiveness. Yet, Sandra's smile held a hint of mockery as she vowed, “Never!”