Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Till the Clock Stops by John Joy Bell (thriller novels to read TXT) 📖
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fervently wished one could. And I could give him a wedding present, too!"
"We!"
"No, big!"
They both laughed, then sighed, and with one accord said--
"But he'll never do it!"
* * * * *
Dusk was falling on the loch. The figures of Lancaster and Handyside walking in front were becoming invisible.
"But why," asked Doris, "are you going back to London? I thought you had decided to spend the winter at Grey House and help Alan with his book about the Eskimos."
"I'm afraid it's a blue lookout for the Eskimos. You see, Alan hopes Marjorie will agree to marry him in January. The stopping of the clock has altered a good many things," he finished, rather drearily.
"It seems to have altered you, Teddy," she said shyly.
He did not respond, and there was another of the long pauses which had been frequent during the walk.
"Father and I must be going, too, before long," she said at last.
"Your father is looking a new man, Doris," he returned, with an effort.
"Thanks to you.... Oh, I know you have told me not to speak about it, but I implore you to tell me how you did that wonderful thing about the debt to the Syndicate. Tell me, Teddy."
"You must excuse me."
"But why should you want to hide the truth from me? Do you know what you force me to think?--that you paid the debt yourself!"
"Well, I didn't."
"Not some of it?"
There was silence, then--"For heaven's sake, Doris, let the matter rest. Forget about it!"
"Forget! What do you think I'm made of? ... Oh, I'm beginning to wonder whether Christopher's diamonds have brought me any real happiness."
Controlling himself he said: "You know they have, for your father's sake alone--"
"Even so," she said, and halted.
"Doris," he whispered with passionate bitterness, "I will say it only once: it's rotten to be poor. That's all. Now let's--"
"And I think I will say it all my life," she answered almost inaudibly; "... it's rotten to be rich, and I'm afraid we shall be late for tea."
They were,--very late.
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"We!"
"No, big!"
They both laughed, then sighed, and with one accord said--
"But he'll never do it!"
* * * * *
Dusk was falling on the loch. The figures of Lancaster and Handyside walking in front were becoming invisible.
"But why," asked Doris, "are you going back to London? I thought you had decided to spend the winter at Grey House and help Alan with his book about the Eskimos."
"I'm afraid it's a blue lookout for the Eskimos. You see, Alan hopes Marjorie will agree to marry him in January. The stopping of the clock has altered a good many things," he finished, rather drearily.
"It seems to have altered you, Teddy," she said shyly.
He did not respond, and there was another of the long pauses which had been frequent during the walk.
"Father and I must be going, too, before long," she said at last.
"Your father is looking a new man, Doris," he returned, with an effort.
"Thanks to you.... Oh, I know you have told me not to speak about it, but I implore you to tell me how you did that wonderful thing about the debt to the Syndicate. Tell me, Teddy."
"You must excuse me."
"But why should you want to hide the truth from me? Do you know what you force me to think?--that you paid the debt yourself!"
"Well, I didn't."
"Not some of it?"
There was silence, then--"For heaven's sake, Doris, let the matter rest. Forget about it!"
"Forget! What do you think I'm made of? ... Oh, I'm beginning to wonder whether Christopher's diamonds have brought me any real happiness."
Controlling himself he said: "You know they have, for your father's sake alone--"
"Even so," she said, and halted.
"Doris," he whispered with passionate bitterness, "I will say it only once: it's rotten to be poor. That's all. Now let's--"
"And I think I will say it all my life," she answered almost inaudibly; "... it's rotten to be rich, and I'm afraid we shall be late for tea."
They were,--very late.
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Publication Date: 08-16-2010
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