... You see that big nail to the right of the front door? I can scarcely look at it even now and yet I could not bear to take it out. I should like to think it was there always even after my time. I sometimes hear the next people saying, “There must have been a cage hanging from there.” And it comforts me. I feel he is not quite forgotten. world of warcraft gold

　　... You cannot imagine how wonderfully he sang. It was not like the singing of other canaries. And that isn't just my fancy. Often, from the window I used to see people stop at the gate to listen, or they would lean over the fence by the mock-orange2) for quite a long time — carried away. I suppose it sounds absurd to you — it wouldn't if you had heard him — but it really seemed to me he sang whole songs, with a beginning and an end to them.

　　For instance, when I finished the house in the afternoon, and changed my blouse and brought my sewing on the verandah3) here, he used to hop, hop, hop from one perch4) to the other, tap against the bars as if to attract my attention, sip a little water, just as a professional singer might, and then break into a song so exquisite5) that I had to put my needle down to listen to him. I can't describe it; I wish I could. But it was always the same, every afternoon, and I felt that I understood every note of it.

　　... I loved him. How I loved him! Perhaps it does not matter so very much what it is one loves in this world. But love something one must! Of course there was always my little house and the garden, but for some reason they were never enough. Flowers respond wonderfully, but they don't sympathize. Then I loved the evening star. Does that sound ridiculous? I used to go into the backyard, after sunset, and wait for it until it shone above the dark gum tree. I used to whisper, “There you are, my darling.” And just in that first moment it seemed to be shining for me alone. It seemed to understand this... something which is like longing, and yet it is not longing. Or regret — it is more like regret. And yet regret for what? I have much to be thankful for!

　　... But after he came into my life I forgot the evening star; I did not need it any more. But it was strange. When the Chinaman who came to the door with birds to sell held him up in his tiny cage, and instead of fluttering6), fluttering, like the poor little goldfinches7), he gave a faint, small chirp8). I found myself saying, just as I had said to the star over the gum tree, “There your are, my darling.” From that moment he was mine! cheap wow gold

　　... It surprises even me now to remember how he and I shared each other's lives. The moment I came down in the morning and took the cloth off his cage he greeted me with a drowsy9) little note. I knew it meant “Missus10)! Missus!” Then I hung him on the nail outside while I got my three young men their breakfasts, and I never brought him in, to do his cage, until we had the house to ourselves again. Then, when the washing-up was done, it was quite a little entertainment. I spread a newspaper over a corner of the table and when I put the cage on it he used to beat with his wings, despairingly, as if he didn't know what was coming. “You're a regular little actor,” I used to scold him. I scraped, dusted it with fresh sand, filled his seed and water tins, tucked a piece of chickweed11) and half a chili12) between the bars. And I am perfectly certain he understood and appreciated every item of this little performance. You see by nature he was exquisitely neat. There was never a speck13) on his perch. And you'd only to see him enjoy his bath to realise he had a real small passion for cleanliness. His bath was put in last. And themoment it was in he positively leapt into it. First he fluttered one wing, then the other, then he ducked his head and dabbled14) his breast feathers. Drops of water were scattered all over the kitchen, but still he would not get out. I used to say to him, “Now that's quite enough. You're only showing off.” And at last out he hopped and standing on one leg he began to peck himself dry. Finally he gave a shake, a flick15), a twitter16) and he lifted his throat — Oh, I can hardly bear to recall it. I was always cleaning the knives by then. And it almost seemed to me the knives sang too, as I rubbed them bright on the board. (buy wow gold)

　　... Company, you see, that was what he was. Perfect company. If you have lived alone you will realize how precious that is. Of course there were my three young men who came in to supper every evening, and sometimes they stayed in the dining-room afterwards reading the paper. But I could not expect them to be interested in the little things that made my day. Why should they be? I was nothing to them. In fact, I overheard them one evening talking about me on the stairs as “the Scarecrow17)”. No matter. It doesn't matter. Not in the least. I quite understand. They are young. Why should I mind? But I remember feeling so especially thankful that I was not quite alone that evening. I told him, after they had gone. I said, “Do you know what they call Missus?” And he put his head on one side and looked at me with his little bright eye until I could not help laughing. It seemed to amuse him.

　　... Have you kept birds? If you haven't, all this must sound, perhaps, exaggerated. People have the idea that birds are heartless, cold little creatures, not like dogs or cats. My washerwoman used to say every Monday when she wondered why I didn't keep “a nice fox terrier”, “There's no comfort, Miss, in a canary.” Untrue! Dreadfully untrue! I remember one night. I had had a very awful dream — dreams can be terribly cruel — even after I had woken up I could not get over it. So I put on my dressing-gown and came down to the kitchen for a glass of water. It was a winter night and raining hard. I suppose I was half asleep still, but through the kitchen window that hadn't a blind, it seemed to me the dark was staring in, spying. And suddenly I felt it was unbearable that I had no one to whom I could say, “I've had such a dreadful dream,” or — “Hide me from the dark.” I even covered my face for a minute. And then there came a little“Sweet! Sweet!” His cage was on the table, and the cloth had slipped so that a chink18) of light shone through. “Sweet! Sweet!” said the darling little fellow again, softly, as much as to say, “I'm here, Missus. I'm here!” That was so beautifully comforting that I nearly cried. (world of warcraft gold)

　　... And now he's gone. I shall never have another bird, another pet of any kind. How could I? When I found him, lying on his back, with his eye dim and his claws wrung, when I realised that never again should I hear my darling sing, something seemed to die in me. My breast felt hollow, as if it was his cage. I shall get over it. Of course. I must. One can get over anything in time. And people always say I have a cheerful disposition. They are quite right. I thank God I have.

　　... All the same, without being morbid19), or giving way to — to memories and so on, I must confess that there does seem to me something sad in life. It is hard to say what it is. I don't mean the sorrow that we all know, like illness and poverty and death. No, it is something different. It is there, deep down, deep down, part of one, like one's breathing. However hard I work and tire myself I have only to stop to know it is there, waiting. I often wonder if everybody feels the same. One can never know. But isn't it extraordinary that under his sweet, joyful little singing it was just this — sadness? — Ah, what is it? — that I heard.

The Letter

The following day was dull and foggy.The Hall was sur rounded by heavy,low clouds,which opened now and then to show the grim,cold moor and its wet,grey rocks.The weather made us miserable.It was difficult to be cheerful when we felt danger all around us.I thougth of Sir Charles'death,and the awful sound of the hound,which I had now heard twice.Holmes did not believe that there was a supernatural hound.But facts are facts,and I had heard a hound.Was there a huge hound living on the moor?If so,where could it hide?Where did it get its food?Why was it never seen by day? It was almost as difficult to accept a natural explanation as a su pernatural explanation.
wow power leveling,
That morning Sir Henry and Barrymore argued about Selden,the escaped prisoner.Barrymore said that it was wrong to try to catch Selden.

'But the man is dangerous,'said Sir Henry.'He'll do any thing.Nobody is safe until he is in prison again.We must tell the police.'

'I promise he won't break into any house,'said Barrymore,'and he won't cause any trouble.In a few days he will catch a boat for South America.Please don't tell the police about him.If you tell the police,my wife and I will be in serious trouble.'

'What do you say,Watson?' asked Sir Henry,turning to me.

'I don't think he will break into houses,or cause trouble.If he did,the police would know where to look for him and would catch him.He's not a stupid man.'

'I hope you're right,'said Sir Henry.'I'm sure we're breaking the law.But I don't want to get Barrymore and his wife into trouble,so I shall not tell the police.I shall leave Selden in peace.',ffxi gil,

Barrymore could not find the words to thank Sir Henry enough.Then he said:'You have been so kind to us that I want to do something for you in return.I have never told any one else.I know something more about poor Sir Charles'death.'

Sir Henry and I jumped up at once.

'Do you know how he died?'Sir Henry asked.

'No,sir,I don't know that,but I know why he was waiting at the gate He was going to meet a woman.'

'Sir Charles was meeting a woman?Who was the woman?'

'I don't know her name,'Barrymore said,'but it begins with L.L.'

'How do you know this,Barrymore?'I asked.
cheap aion kinah,
'Well,Sir Charles got a letter on the morning of the day he died.It was from Newtown,and the address was in a woman's writing.I forgot all about it,but some time after Sir Charles died my wife was cleaning the fireplace in his study.She found a letter.Most of it was burned,but the bottom of one page was not burned.On it was written:?Please,please,burn this letter,and be at the gate by ten o'clock.L.L.?The paper fell into pieces as my wife went to move it.We don't know who L.L.is,but if you could find out,you might learn more about Sir Charles'death.We haven't told anyone else.We felt it would not be good for poor,kind Sir Charles.But we thought we ought to tell you,Sir Henry.'

The Barrymores left us and Sir Henry turned to me.'If we can find L.L.,the mystery may be at an end,'he said.'What do you think we should do,Watson?'

'I must write to Holmes at once,'I said,and I went straight to my room and wrote a letter to Holmes,which gave him all the details of Barrymore's story.

On the following day heavy rain fell without stopping.I put on my coat and went for a long walk on the moor.I thought of Selden out on the cold moor in this weather.And I thought of the other man,the mysterious watcher.

As I walked,Dr Mortimer drove past me.He stopped and said he would take me back to the Hall.

'I expect you know almost everybody living near here,'I said.'Do you know a woman whose names begin with the let ters L.L.?',wedding dresses,

Dr Mortimer thought for a minute,and then he said:'Yes,Mrs Laura Lyons.She lives in Newtown.'

'Who is she?'I asked.

'She's Mr Frankland's daughter.'

'What,old Frankland who has the large telescope?'

'Yes,'said Dr Mortimer.'Laura married a painter called Lyons who came to paint pictures of the moor.But he was cruel to her,and after a while he left her.Her father will not speak to her,because she married against his wishes.So her husband and her father have made her life very unhappy.'
wedding dresses,

The Letter