His Sanguine Spirit Turns Every Firefly Into

His Love Of Danger, His Intense Appreciation Of The Drama Of An Adventure--all The More Intense For Being Held Tightly In--his Consistent View That Every Peril In Life Is A Form Of Sport, A Fierce Game Betwixt You And Fate, With Death As A Forfeit, Made Him A Wonderful Companion At Such Hours.

You Say That Your Fare Told You That He Was A Detective?" "yes, He Did." "when Did He Say This?" "when He Left Me." "did He Say Anything More?" "he Mentioned His Name." Holmes Cast A Swift Glance Of Triumph At Me. "oh, He Mentioned His Name, Did He? That Was Imprudent. What Was The Name That He Mentioned?" “his Name," Said The Cabman, "was Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

No Violence, Gentlemen — No Violence, I Beg Of You! Consider The Furniture!

I Do Hate The City Of London! It Is The Only Thing Which Ever Comes Between Us.

You Would Not Call Me A Marrying Man, Watson?" "no, Indeed!" "you'll Be Interested To Hear That I'm Engaged." "my Dear Fellow! I Congrat-" "to Milverton's Housemaid." "my Dear Holmes!" "i Wanted Information, Watson.