<p> <span>„The Wife of Sir Isaac Harman” is a novel set in the era surrounding the days of women’s suffrage. The story revolves around the wife of a baking magnate who goes into hiding after his female employees go on strike. Although the hero of this novel Sir Isaac Harman didn’t think much of the suffragette movement, his female employees certainly did, and he thought it prescient that he too should do his bit for women’s rights. His wife totally agreed, so he locked her up. However, this gesture was to have far-reaching reverberations as Sir Isaac’s wife becomes the absolute embodiment of women’s independence. „The Wife of Sir Isaac Harman” is a novel by H. G. Wells, first written in 1914. Lots of familiar subjects here – feminism, jealousy, the corporation vs. the little guy. A very very satisfying novel with a wonderfully ambiguous ending.</span></p>
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A gruesome murder leads Professor Peter Shandy to uncover an ancient Viking curse. When 105-year-old Hilda Horsefall tells young reporter Cronkite Swope of a stone carved with Norse runes that once sat in the nearby woods, the writer starts salivating at the thought of breaking the news that Vikings once marauded through their sleepy Massachusetts countryside. But while he's jotting down notes, a scream rings out, and Cronkite finds an even bigger story. A farmhand has been burned to death by quicklime, and Cronkite gets an exclusive scoop. In this neck of New England, strange deaths are invariably referred to Professor Peter Shandy, the only local with the know-how to connect fearsome quicklime to the Vikings of old. But as he digs into the ancient mystery, he finds the forgotten Norse gods are not above demanding a modern sacrifice. Review quotes. "One of the most gifted mystery authors writing today." - Sojourner Magazine. "The screwball mystery is Charlotte MacLeod's cup of tea." - Chicago Tribune. "Charlotte MacLeod does what she does better than anybody else does it; and what she does is in the top rank of modern mystery fiction." - Elizabeth Peters, creator of the Amelia Peabody series. Biographical note. Charlotte MacLeod (1922-2005) was an internationally bestselling author of cozy mysteries. Born in Canada, she moved to Boston as a child, and lived in New England most of her life. After graduating from college, she made a career in advertising, writing copy for the Stop & Shop Supermarket Company before moving on to Boston firm N. H. Miller & Co., where she rose to the rank of vice president. In her spare time, MacLeod wrote short stories, and in 1964 published her first novel, a children's book called Mystery of the White Knight. In Rest You Merry (1978), MacLeod introduced Professor Peter Shandy, a horticulturist and amateur sleuth whose adventures she would chronicle for two decades. The Family Vault (1979) marked the first appearance of her other best-known characters: the husband and wife sleuthing team Sarah Kelling and Max Bittersohn, whom she followed until her last novel, The Balloon Man, in 1998.
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The room was completely darkened, his image appeared on the screen. At this moment my perception of space and time disappeared. My body felt like a thunder went through it. Everything around me began to vibrate in a kind of fire. My heart shattered and was lost. A feeling of infinite and eternal love rushed into my body from above, yes, into my entire life, like a waterfall that had only been waiting for this moment and this opportunity. In front of me sat God incarnate, the Truth, the eternal, limitless unconditional Love that I had been looking for incessantly and desperately in life after life. The prophesied figure of the God-man. My heart just knew it. Could it be? Here in Freiburg? Now? It was unearthly! That which has no name sat in front of me in human form and shape. At that moment I fell into this infinite love, I couldn't grab hold of myself any more, I couldn't think. It was as if lightening flashes of love were chasing through my body and each lightening flash confirmed that the Truth, the Reality as such had assumed a human form in front of my eyes.
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Heilgeheimnisse der Meditation Jahrhundertelang war die meditative Heilkunst Sat Nam Rasayan nur wenigen Menschen zugänglich. Die Techniken zur Entwicklung von Heilkräften aus der Sikh-Tradition wurden fernab der Öffentlichkeit von Meister zu Schüler weitergegeben. Autor Subagh Singh Khalsa, Schüler von Yogi Bhajan und Guru Dev Singh zeigt in diesem Praxisbuch, wie Sie durch einfache Übungen Ihre Heilfähigkeit entwickeln können. Zitat: „Ein außergewöhnliches und wichtiges Buch, das die eleganten Prinzipien und die einfache Anwendung von Sat Nam Rasayan erklärt. Das Praxisbuch zeigt, wie Sie ein neutrales liebevolles Bewusstsein erlangen und mit diesem Bewusstsein sich selbst und andere heilen können.“ Guru Dev Singh
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<p> <span>Zu den Bekannten des Reporters Michael Quigley gehörten Einbrecher, Diebe, Schwindler, Bankräuber, Taschendiebe und viele andere Leute, die nicht gern mit der Polizei in Berührung kamen. Auch mit fast allen Beamten von Scotland Yard stand Mike auf gutem Fuß, und mehrmals hatte er schon das Wochenende mit dem Henker Dumont verbracht. Der Reporter Michael Quigley liebt die bezaubernde Janice Harman. Diese verlobt sich jedoch mit dem reichen Donald Bateman, obwohl sie ihn noch nicht lange kennt. Wenig später Donald Bateman wird ermordet aufgefunden, neben ihm liegt eine verdächtige Dolchscheide die einem gewissen Louis Landor gehört. Die Polizei ist sicher, auf der richtigen Spur zu sein. Doch dann wird Sergeant Elk überfallen. Der Unbekannte bedroht ihn mit einem Messer – es gehört wiederum Louis Landor...</span></p>
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On the 18th June, 1815, at the very moment when the destiny of Europe was being decided at Waterloo, a man dressed like a beggar was silently following the road from Toulon to Marseilles. Arrived at the entrance of the Gorge of Ollioulles, he halted on a little eminence from which he could see all the surrounding country; then either because he had reached the end of his journey, or because, before attempting that forbidding, sombre pass which is called the Thermopylae of Provence, he wished to enjoy the magnificent view which spread to the southern horizon a little longer, he went and sat down on the edge of the ditch which bordered the road, turning his back on the mountains which rise like an amphitheatre to the north of the town, and having at his feet a rich plain covered with tropical vegetation, exotics of a conservatory, trees and flowers quite unknown in any other part of France.
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<p>I t was in Copenhagen, in one of the houses on East Street, not far from King's Newmarket, that someone was giving a large party. For one must give a party once in a while, if one expects to be invited in return. Half of the guests were already at the card tables, and the rest were waiting to see what would come of their hostess's query:</p> <br> <p>"What can we think up now?"</p> <br> <p>Up to this point, their conversation had gotten along as best it might. Among other things, they had spoken of the Middle Ages. Some held that it was a time far better than our own. Indeed Councilor of Justice Knap defended this opinion with such spirit that his hostess sided with him at once, and both of them loudly took exception to Oersted's article in the Almanac, which contrasted old times and new, and which favored our own period. The Councilor of Justice, however, held that the time of King Hans, about 1500 A.D., was the noblest and happiest age.</p> <br> <p>While the conversation ran pro and con, interrupted only for a moment by the arrival of a newspaper, in which there was nothing worth reading, let us adjourn to the cloak room, where all the wraps, canes, umbrellas, and galoshes were collected together. Here sat two maids, a young one and an old one. You might have thought they had come in attendance upon some spinster or widow, and were waiting to see their mistress home. However, a closer inspection would reveal that these were no ordinary serving women. Their hands were too well kept for that, their bearing and movements too graceful, and their clothes had a certain daring cut.</p> <br> <p>They were two fairies. The younger one, though not Dame Fortune herself, was an assistant to one of her ladies in waiting, and was used to deliver the more trifling gifts of Fortune. The older one looked quite grave. She was Dame Care, who always goes in her own sublime person to see to her errands herself, for then she knows that they are well done.</p> <br> <p>They were telling each other about where they had been that day. The assistant of Fortune had only attended to a few minor affairs, she said, such as saving a new bonnet from the rain, getting a civil greeting for an honest man from an exalted nincompoop, and such like matters. But her remaining errand was an extraordinary one.</p>
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Jack Holloway found himself squinting, the orange sun full in his eyes. He raised a hand to push his hat forward, then lowered it to the controls to alter the pulse rate of the contragravity-field generators and lift the manipulator another hundred feet. For a moment he sat, puffing on the short pipe that had yellowed the corners of his white mustache, and looked down at the red rag tied to a bush against the rock face of the gorge five hundred yards away. He was smiling in anticipation...
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