We Have Much To Hope

A Hound It Was, An Enormous Coal-black Hound, But Not Such A Hound As Mortal Eyes Have Ever Seen. Fire Burst From Its Open Mouth, Its Eyes Glowed With A Smouldering Glare, Its Muzzle And Hackles And Dewlap Were Outlined In Flickering Flame. Never In The Delirious Dream Of A Disordered Brain Could Anything More Savage, More Appalling, More Hellish Be Conceived Than That Dark Form And Savage Face Which Broke Upon Us Out Of The Wall Of Fog.

The Goose We Retained Until This Morning, When There Were Signs That, In Spite Of The Slight Frost, It Would Be Well That It Should Be Eaten Without Delay. Its Finder Has Carried It Off Therefore To Fulfil The Ultimate Destiny Of A Goose.

We Had Got As Far As This, When Who Should Walk In But The Gentleman Himself, Who Had Been Drinking His Beer In The Taproom And Had Heard The Whole Conversation. Who Was I? What Did I Want? What Did I Mean By Asking Questions? He Had A Fine Flow Of Language, And His Adjectives Were Very Vigorous.

The Devil’s Agents May Be Of Flesh And Blood, May They Not?

Should I Ever Marry, Watson, I Should Hope To Inspire My Wife With Some Feeling Which Would Prevent Her From Being Walked Off By A Housekeeper When My Corpse Was Lying Within A Few Yards Of Her.