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The Crisis — Volume 08
The Crisis — Volume 08
The Crisis — Volume 08
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The Crisis — Volume 08

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Not to be confused with the famous British prime minister, Winston Churchill was a 20th century American author known for best-selling historical fiction and adventure novels. One of his novels, The Crisis, is set in the American Civil War and was the most popular book of 1901.
LanguageEnglish
PublisherKrill Press
Release dateJan 13, 2016
ISBN9781518368714
The Crisis — Volume 08
Author

Winston Churchill

Sir Winston Churchill was a British military man, statesman, and Nobel-prize winning author, and, by virtue of his service during both the First and Second World Wars, is considered to be one of the greatest wartime leaders of the twentieth century. Born to the aristocracy, Churchill pursued a career in the British Army, seeing action in British India and in the Second Boer War, and later drew upon his experiences in these historic conflicts in his work as a war correspondent and writer. After retiring from active duty, Churchill moved into politics and went on to hold a number of important positions in the British government. He rose to the role of First Lord of the Admiralty during the First World War and later to the role of prime minister, a position that he held twice, from 1940-1945 and from 1951-1955. A visionary statesman, Churchill was remarkable for his ability to perceive emerging threats to international peace, and predicted the rise of Nazi Germany, the Second World War, and the Iron Curtain. In his later years Churchill returned to writing, penning the six-volume Second World War series, A History of the English-Speaking Peoples, and many other historical and biographical works. Winston Churchill died in 1965 and, after one of the largest state funerals to that point in time, was interred in his family’s burial plot.

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    Book preview

    The Crisis — Volume 08 - Winston Churchill

    THE CRISIS — VOLUME 08

    ..................

    Winston Churchill

    SILVER SCROLL PUBLISHING

    Thank you for reading. In the event that you appreciate this book, please consider sharing the good word(s) by leaving a review, or connect with the author.

    This book is a work of fiction; its contents are wholly imagined.

    All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.

    Copyright © 2016 by Winston Churchill

    Interior design by Pronoun

    Distribution by Pronoun

    TABLE OF CONTENTS

    Volume 8.: CHAPTER XII

    CHAPTER XIII

    CHAPTER XIV

    CHAPTER XV

    CHAPTER XVI

    The Crisis — Volume 08

    By

    Winston Churchill

    The Crisis — Volume 08

    Published by Silver Scroll Publishing

    New York City, NY

    First published circa 1947

    Copyright © Silver Scroll Publishing, 2015

    All rights reserved

    Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

    About SILVER SCROLL PUBLISHING

    Silver Scroll Publishing is a digital publisher that brings the best historical fiction ever written to modern readers. Our comprehensive catalogue contains everything from historical novels about Rome to works about World War I.

    VOLUME 8.: CHAPTER XII

    ..................

    MR. BRINSMADE AND THE DOCTOR were the first to leave the little room where Silas Whipple had lived and worked and died, Mr. Brinsmade bent upon one of those errands which claimed him at all times. He took Shadrach with him. Virginia sat on, a vague fear haunting her,—a fear for her father’s safety. Where was Clarence? What had he seen? Was the place watched? These questions, at first intruding upon her sorrow, remained to torture her.

    Softly she stirred from the chair where she had sat before the piano, and opened the door of the outer office. A clock in a steeple near by was striking twelve. The Colonel did not raise his head. Only Stephen saw her go; she felt his eyes following her, and as she slipped out lifted hers to meet them for a brief instant through the opening of the door. Then it closed behind her.

    First of all she knew that the light in the outer office was burning dimly, and the discovery gave her a shock. Who had turned it down? Had Clarence? Was he here? Fearfully searching the room for him, her gaze was held by a figure in the recess of the window at the back of the room. A solid, bulky figure it was, and, though uncertainly outlined in the semi-darkness, she knew it. She took a step nearer, and a cry escaped her.

    The man was Eliphalet Hopper. He got down from the sill with a motion at once sheepish and stealthy. Her breath caught, and instinctively she gave back toward the door, as if to open it again.

    Hold on! he said. "I’ve got something I want to say to you, Miss

    Virginia."

    His tones seemed strangely natural. They were not brutal. But she shivered and paused, horrified at the thought of what she was about to do. Her father was in that room—and Stephen. She must keep them there, and get this man away. She must not show fright before him, and yet she could not trust her voice to speak just then. She must not let him know that she was afraid of him—this she kept repeating to herself. But how to act? Suddenly an idea flashed upon her.

    Virginia never knew how she gathered the courage to pass him, even swiftly, and turn up the gas. He started back, blinking as the jet flared. For a moment she stood beside it, with her head high; confronting him and striving to steady herself for speech.

    Why have you come here? she said. Judge Whipple—died—to-night.

    The dominating note in his answer was a whine, as if, in spite of himself, he were awed.

    I ain’t here to see the Judge.

    She was pale, and quite motionless. And she faltered now. She felt her lips moving, but knew not whether the words had come.

    What do you mean?

    He gained confidence. The look in his little eyes was the filmy look of those of an animal feasting.

    I came here to see you, he said, —you. She was staring at him now, in horror. "And if

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