I Suspect Victims; They Win In The

The Slight Sense Of Degeneracy Induced By Reading Novels Before Luncheon

Everything Is Very Quiet, The Streets Are Never Crowded, And The People One Dislikes Are Out Of Town.

I Suspect Victims; They Win In The Long Run.

Art, At Any Rate In A Novel, Must Be Indissolubly Linked With Craft.

Ghosts, We Hope, May Be Always With Us - That Is, Never Too Far Out Of The Reach Of Fancy. On The Whole, It Would Seem They Adapt Themselves Well, Perhaps Better Than We Do, To Changing World Conditions - They Enlarge Their Domain, Shift Their Hold On Our Nerves, And, Dispossessed Of One Habitat, Set Up House In Another. The Universal Battiness Of Our Century Looks Like Providing Them With A Propitious Climate.