Dogs Don't Make Mistakes.

A Study Of Family Portraits Is Enough To Convert A Man To The Theory Of Reincarnation.

It May Have Been A Comedy, Or It May Have Been A Tragedy. It Cost One Man His Reason, It Cost Me A Blood-letting, And It Cost Yet Another Man The Penalties Of The Law. Yet There Was Certainly An Element Of Comedy. Well, You Shall Judge For Yourselves.

...holmes, Who Loathed Every Form Of Society With His Whole Bohemian Soul, Remained In Our Lodgings In Baker Street, Buried Among His Old Books, And Alternating From Week To Week Between Cocaine And Ambition, The Drowsiness Of The Drug, And The Fierce Energy Of His Own Keen Nature.

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 A Huge Creature, Luminous, Ghastly, And Spectral. I Have Cross-examined These Men, One Of Them A Hard-headed Countryman, One A Farrier, And One A Moorland Farmer, Who All Tell The Same Story Of This Dreadful Apparition, Exactly Corresponding To The Hell-hound Of The Legend. I Assure You That There Is A Reign Of Terror In The District, And That It Is A Hardy Man Who Will Cross The Moor At Night.