When Dreams Come True; A Story of Emotional Life (Paperback)

Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: m. "nothing for me, Mr. Harris?" It was the housemaid, aproned and capped, very pink in her gingham, standing on the wide, white flagging of the hall. The butler thumbed the letters thoughtfully, mumbling the inscriptions, "Mrs. Ennever," "Taucred Enuever, Esq," sorting them into packs. "No, Eose, nothing for you. Here, take these to the old lady." And gathering the others on a tray, he passed with them up the stair. At an open door on the floor above Harris hesitated, but from beyond came a reassuring swirl and splash. He entered at once, and laying the letters on a table, disappeared, noiselessly, as he had come. From the adjoining bath the swirl and splatter continued, interrupted now by the downpour of the douche, the rasp of brushes, the commotion of towels, and, presently, in the sandals and whiteness of a sheik, Tancred issued, fresh as paint, a flush on his face, and in his eyes that brilliance which health alone provides. The room was large, high-ceiled. On two sides the walls were wainscoted with bookcases. In one corner was a lounge. Opposite was atable on-which the sunlight fell. It was there the letters had been placed. At sight of them he went forward, spreading them out with the flat of his hand, and selecting a gray envelope, he opened it with a stab of the forefinger and sat himself down to read. The preceding day had been blank. Till evening he had waited expectant of an answer to the note which he had mailed the night before. But nothing had come. He had tried to work at his book, and had failed. Helen is the personification of passive beauty, was the one phrase which he had been able to evolve, and even that he was not quite sure he could claim as his own. "It is not my fault," he had declared to himself. "It is not at all my fault...