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Doyle, Arthur Conan

"The Memoirs Of Sherlock Holmes"

He loved to lie in the very centre of five millions of people, with his filaments stretching out and running through them, responsive to every little rumour or suspicion of unsolved crime. Appreciation of nature found no place among his many gifts, and his only change was when he turned his mind from the evildoer of the town to track down his brother of the country.


? ? ? ? Finding that Holmes was too absorbed for conversation, I had tossed aside the barren paper, and, leaning back in my chair I fell into a brown study. Suddenly my companion's voice broke in upon my thoughts.


? ? ? ? "You are right, Watson," said he. "It does seem a very preposterous way of settling a dispute."


? ? ? ? "Most preposterous!" I exclaimed, and then, suddenly realizing how he had echoed the inmost thought of my soul, I sat up in my chair and stared at him in blank amazement.


? ? ? ? "What is this, Holmes?" I cried. "This is beyond anything which I could have imagined."


? ? ? ? He laughed heartily at my perplexity.


? ? ? ? "You remember," said he, "that some little time ago, when I read you the passage in one of Poe's sketches, in which a close reasoner follows the unspoken thoughts of his companion, you were inclined to treat the matter as a mere tour de force of the author.


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