The middle years - the eighteen-seventies, 'eighties, 'nineties - were a time of moral bankruptcy when men stole millions by a stroke of the pen or by the simple expedient of printing tons of worthless paper.
When it was over, it was not really over, and that was the trouble.
From where they stood, they could see the castle.
There was no wind in all that sweep of sky.
About fifteen miles above New Orleans the river goes very slowly. It has broadened out there until it is almost a sea and the water is yellow with the mud of half a continent. Where the sun strikes it, it is golden.
Maturity is reached the day we don't need to be lied to about anything.