Even The Best Of Us Are Thrown

There Is But One Step From The Grotesque To The Horrible.

It Is A Capital Mistake To Theorize Before One Has Data. Insensibly One Begins To Twist Facts To Suit Theories, Instead Of Theories To Suit Facts.

His Love Of Danger, His Intense Appreciation Of The Drama Of An Adventure--all The More Intense For Being Held Tightly In--his Consistent View That Every Peril In Life Is A Form Of Sport, A Fierce Game Betwixt You And Fate, With Death As A Forfeit, Made Him A Wonderful Companion At Such Hours.

The Setting Is A Worthy One, If The Devil Did Desire To Have A Hand In The Affairs Of Men.

To His Eyes All Seemed Beautiful, But To Me A Tinge Of Melancholy Lay Upon The Countryside, Which Bore So Clearly The Mark Of The Waning Year, Yellow Leaves Carpeted The Lanes And Fluttered Down Upon Us As We Passed, The Rattle Of Our Wheels Died Away As We Drove Through Drifts Of Rotting Vegetation--sad Gifts, As It Seemed To Me, For Nature To Throw Before The Carriage Of The Returning Heir Of The Baskervilles.