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19.10.2013
Playwright, poet, essayist, flamboyant man-about-town, Oscar Wilde pack an astonishing amount of work, genius, and controversy into two short decades, producing masterworks in every literary genre. In love with a mysterious woman, Lord Murchison one day follows her in order to learn her secrets. Copyright to the artwork in these Galleries belongs to Geoff Taylor, unless otherwise stated. The Sphinx without a Secret: Short Story ePub (Adobe DRM) can be read on any device that can open ePub (Adobe DRM) files. This selection includes almost all of his short stories, including "The Canterville Ghost," "The Fisherman and his Soul," and "The Remarkable Rocket."Alongside THE MODEL MILLIONAIRE, Harper Perennial will publish the short fiction of Fyodor Dostoevsky, Herman Melville, Willa Cather, Leo Tolstoy, and Stephen Crane to be packaged in a beautifully designed, boldly colorful boxset in the aim to attract contemporary fans of short fiction to these revered masters of the form.
It seemed to me the face of some one who had a secret, but whether that secret was good or evil I could not say.? I went down to the club quite unhappy and very much puzzled, and after long consideration wrote her a letter, asking if I might be allowed to try my chance some other afternoon.? Sometimes I thought that she was in the power of some man, but she looked so unapproachable, that I could not believe it.? But when, after the ladya€™s death, her secret is revealed, Murchison is left to ponder its meaning.Victorian author Oscar Wilde is known both as a playwright and prose author.
But when, after the lady’s death, her secret is revealed, Murchison is left to ponder its meaning.Victorian author Oscar Wilde is known both as a playwright and prose author. Also, in each of these selections will appear a story from one of the new collections being published in the "Summer of the Short Story." A story from Simon Van Booy's forthcoming collection, LOVE BEGINS IN WINTER, will be printed at the back of this volume. It was really very difficult for me to come to any conclusion, for she was like one of those strange crystals that one sees in museums, which are at one moment clear, and at another clouded.?
I wanted to get to Piccadilly, and took a short cut through a lot of shabby little streets.?
She took these rooms for the pleasure of going there with her veil down, and imagining she was a heroine.?
Among his most famous works are The Picture of Dorian Gray, his only novel, the plays An Ideal Husband and The Importance of Being Earnest, and the short story collections Lord Arthur Savile's Crime and Other Stories and The Happy Prince and Other Stories.HarperPerennial Classics brings great works of literature to life in digital format, upholding the highest standards in ebook production and celebrating reading in all its forms.


We had not met since we had been at college together, nearly ten years before, so I was delighted to come across him again, and we shook hands warmly.?
She was tall and slight, and strangely picturesque with her large vague eyes and loosened hair.? Close to the pavement was standing a little yellow brougham, which, for some reason or other, attracted my attention.? On Sunday she received me, and was perfectly charming; but when I was going away she begged of me, if I ever had occasion to write to her again, to address my letter to ?Mrs. At last I determined to ask her to be my wife: I was sick and tired of the incessant secrecy that she imposed on all my visits, and on the few letters I sent her.? Look for more titles in the HarperPerennial Classics collection to build your digital library. Also, we are not an art dealers and can't estimate the value of a print or a painting or figure out if it's an orginal, so please don't ask for it. On coming to the last house in the street, she went up the steps, took out a latch-key, and let herself in.? We used to say of him that he would be the best of fellows, if he did not always speak the truth, but I think we really admired him all the more for his frankness.?
I wandered up and down that wretched Row, peering into every carriage, and waiting for the yellow brougham; but I could not find ma belle inconnue, and at last I began to think she was merely a dream.? I felt it could not be modern scepticism, for Murchison was the stoutest of Tories, and believed in the Pentateuch as firmly as he believed in the House of Peers; so I concluded that it was a woman, and asked him if he was married yet.
Dinner was for eight o?clock; but at half-past eight we were still waiting in the drawing-room.? She came in very slowly, looking like a moonbeam in grey lace, and, to my intense delight, I was asked to take her in to dinner.? After we had sat down, I remarked quite innocently, ?I think I caught sight of you in Bond Street some time ago, Lady Alroy.?? She was lying on a sofa, in a tea-gown of silver tissue looped up by some strange moonstones that she always wore.?


She grew very pale, and said to me in a low voice, ?Pray do not talk so loud; you may be overheard.?? I felt miserable at having made such a bad beginning, and plunged recklessly into the subject of the French plays.? She spoke very little, always in the same low musical voice, and seemed as if she was afraid of some one listening.? I said; but the woman assured me that it was not so, that she always came alone, and saw no one.?
I fell passionately, stupidly in love, and the indefinable atmosphere of mystery that surrounded her excited my most ardent curiosity.? I stared at her in amazement, and pulling the handkerchief out of my pocket, handed it to her.? When she was going away, which she did very soon after dinner, I asked her if I might call and see her.? She hesitated for a moment, glanced round to see if any one was near us, and then said, ?Yes; to-morrow at a quarter to five.?? I begged Madame de Rastail to tell me about her; but all that I could learn was that she was a widow with a beautiful house in Park Lane, and as some scientific bore began a dissertation on widows, as exemplifying the survival of the matrimonially fittest, I left and went home. She stood up, and, looking me straight in the face, said, ?Lord Murchison, there is nothing to tell you.? She wrote me a letter the next day; I sent it back unopened, and started for Norway with Alan Colville.? After a month I came back, and the first thing I saw in the Morning Post was the death of Lady Alroy.? She had caught a chill at the Opera, and had died in five days of congestion of the lungs.?



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