The End of the World. Eggleston Edward

The End of the World - Eggleston Edward


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THE GIANT GREAT-HEART.

       CHAPTER XXV.

       A CHAPTER OF BETWEENS.

       CHAPTER XXVI.

       A NICE LITTLE GAME.

       CHAPTER XXVII.

       THE RESULT OF AN EVENING WITH GENTLEMEN.

       CHAPTER XXVIII.

       WAKING UP AN UGLY CUSTOMER.

       CHAPTER XXIX.

       AUGUST AND NORMAN.

       CHAPTER XXX.

       AGROUND.

       CHAPTER XXXI.

       CYNTHY ANN'S SACRIFICE.

       CHAPTER XXXII.

       JULIA'S ENTERPRISE.

       CHAPTER XXXIII.

       THE SECRET STAIRWAY.

       CHAPTER XXXIV.

       THE INTERVIEW.

       CHAPTER XXXV.

       GETTING READY FOR THE END.

       CHAPTER XXXVI.

       THE SIN OF SANCTIMONY.

       CHAPTER XXXVII.

       THE DELUGE.

       CHAPTER XXXVIII.

       SCARING A HAWK.

       CHAPTER XXXIX.

       JONAS TAKES AN APPEAL

       CHAPTER XL.

       SELLING OUT.

       CHAPTER XLI.

       THE LAST DAY AND WHAT HAPPENED IN IT.

       CHAPTER XLII.

       FOR EVER AND EVER.

       CHAPTER XLIII.

       THE MIDNIGHT ALARM.

       CHAPTER XLIV.

       SQUARING ACCOUNTS.

       CHAPTER XLV.

       NEW PLANS.

       CHAPTER XLVI.

       THE SHIVEREE.

       THE END.

       Table of Contents

       Table of Contents

      It is the pretty unanimous conclusion of book-writers that prefaces are most unnecessary and useless prependages, since nobody reads them. And it is the pretty unanimous practice of book-writers to continue to write them with such pains and elaborateness as would indicate a belief that the success of a book depends upon the favorable prejudice begotten of u graceful preface. My principal embarrassment is that it is not customary for a book to have more than one. How then shall I choose between the half-dozen letters of introduction I might give my story, each better and worse on many accounts than either of the others? I am rather inclined to adopt the following, which might for some reasons be styled the

       Table of Contents

      Perhaps no writer not infatuated with conceit, can send out a book full of thought and feeling which, whatever they may be worth, are his own, without a parental anxiety in regard to the fate of his offspring. And there are few prefaces which do not in some way betray this nervousness. I confess to a respect for even the prefatory doggerel of good Tinker Bunyan--a respect for his paternal tenderness toward his book, not at all for his villainous rhyming. When I saw, the other day, the white handkerchiefs of my children waving an adieu as they sailed away from me, a profound anxiety seized me. So now, as I part company


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