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A Bid for Fortune. Or, Dr Nikolas Vendetta
Guy Boothby
Guy Boothby, an Australian writer, became famous thanks to his famous character the mysterious Dr. Nicolas, who has truly terrible power over people, and a clever con man hiding under the guise of gentlemen. The author deliberately introduces us into the story through a generally outsider who accidentally gets involved in the ups and downs of this story. And the riddle here is not who the criminal is, but what he needs from his victim.
Fred M. White
Fred M. White gives us the opportunity to plunge into the past of Gladys Brooke. The book begins with the perfect life of Gladys in a small town. Then we come back three years ago, where we find out that she has a brother. And they, too, then lived well, but in another place. The main character begins to notice the strange behavior of her brother. At one point, a calm and perfect life ends.
Guy Boothby
The city itself, climbing a hillside almost at the waters edge, was painted pale pink at sunset, and even the old Vesuvius, from the top of which a thin column of black smoke seemed a little less gloomy than usual. Because of heaven, the sky was a mass of golden and raspberry-colored, and this was reflected in the calm waters of the bay until the whole world turned into a real radiance. The evening could hardly be desired. And yet this is not the city, mountain or sunset that we must make, but the first movement of the conspiracy, which was ultimately destined to shake one of the greatest Empires that the Earth has ever seen.
Arthur Morrison
A Child of the Jago is London-born journalist Arthur Morrisons best known novel. It was first published in November 1896 and is set in a fictional East End slum known as the Jago, which Morrison based a real district called the Old Nichol. The novel recounts the brief life of Dicky Perrott, who is at heart full of humane instinct but his environment ensures his down fall. The Perrott family, and their friends and enemies, must struggle for their very survival in the harsh environment they live within. Tension and desperation amid the crime and roughness is constant in the overcrowded slums of the East End, with fortune hard to come by and danger ever present. The author, who rejected the label realist, doesnt minimize the violence of the community and A Child of the Jago is an exciting tale indeed.
Fred M. White
Fred M. White gives us the opportunity to plunge into the past of Gladys Brooke. The book begins with the perfect life of Gladys in a small town. Then we come back three years ago, where we find out that she has a brother. And they, too, then lived well, but in another place. The main character begins to notice the strange behavior of her brother. At one point, a calm and perfect life ends.
Guy Boothby
There is an old saying that one half of the world does not know how the other half lives, but as far as this is true, very few of us really understand. In the East, indeed, it is almost amazing. There are people involved in trade, some of whom are very profitable, about whom the world as a whole has never heard of, and which an ordinary Englishman, in all likelihood, would refuse to believe, even if the most reliable evidence had been provided before him.
Fred M. White
Frederick Merrick White has written many novels or short stories, many related to London. Modest stories in his spirit. A Clue in Wax is a simple, kind story. The story that even in a dark London place a bright life can occur.
E. Phillips Oppenheim
BEHOLD! cried Sabul Ahmid, with an upward sweep of his bare, brown arm, behold the Sacred Temple of the people of Astrea! I stood up in the boat, my portfolio under my arm. High on the mountains side, crowning a thick mass of laurel undergrowth, and flanked by a grove of deep, cool, byana trees, was the building to which my servant was pointing. The material whereof it was fashioned I could not at that distance determine. Only in the broad, tropical sunlight it flashed forth, a glorious and spotless white, as flawless and perfect as the purest marble or alabaster. Little minarets rose from the flat roof; and flowering shrubs, planted along the mountain terrace above, drooped about it, a brilliant scintilla of purple coloring. My fingers began to crave for my pencil. I turned to my guide with beaming face.