Chance is a woman, my friends, and she has her eye always upon a gallant Hussar.
Chance is a woman, my friends, and she has her eye always upon a gallant Hussar.
A fine horse or a beautiful woman, I cannot look at them unmoved, even now when seventy winters have chilled my blood.
He held up the lantern, and his hand shook until the circles of light flickered and wavered all round us. Miss Morstan seized my wrist, and we all stood with thumping hearts, straining our ears. From the great black house there sounded through the silent night the saddest and most pitiful of sounds--the shrill, broken whimpering of a frightened woman.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories