There Is A Soul-jealousy That Can Be

Too Much! Wait Till You Have Lived Here Longer. Look Down The Valley! See The Cloud Of A Hundred Chimneys That Overshadows It! I Tell You That The Cloud Of Murder Hangs Thicker And Lower Than That Over The Heads Of The People. It Is The Valley Of Fear, The Valley Of Death. The Terror Is In The Hearts Of The People From The Dusk To The Dawn. Wait, Young Man, And You Will Learn For Yourself.

Steel True, Blade Straight *in 1955, Doyle's Family Sold Windlesham, Which Was Turned Into A Hotel. The Bodies Of Conan Doyle And His Wife, Jean, Were Moved To A Grave At Minstead Churchyard, Hampshire.

"i Can See Nothing," Said I, Handing It Back To My Friend. "on The Contrary, Watson, You Can See Everything. You Fail, However, To Reason From What You See. You Are Too Timid In Drawing Your Inferences."

His Incredible Untidiness, His Addiction To Music At Strange Hours, His Occasional Revolver Practice Within Doors, His Weird And Often Malodorous Scientific Experiments, And The Atmosphere Of Violence And Danger Which Hung Around Him Made Him The Very Worst Tenant In London.

I Cannot Live Without Brainwork. What Else Is There To Live For? Stand At The Window Here. Was Ever Such A Dreary, Dismal, Unprofitable World? See How The Yellow Fog Swirls Down The Street And Drifts Across The Duncoloured Houses. What Could Be More Hopelessly Prosaic And Material?