Explore "The Calendar" by Edgar Wallace on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
THERE WAS little cheer in the gloomy house whose chimneys he could see above the elms from his window. Wenda had returned from the races snappy and bad-tempered. There had been a brief but one-sided exchange between Molly and herself, and then Willie, instead of going to London, had come home to get his suitcase and he had not made matters any easier. He had had a fortunate day.
"There is a touch of Midas in me, old boy," he said to Henry Lascarne, offering him the sixth cocktail. "I haven't backed a loser. I thought Mr. Garry Anson looked a little green about the gills, didn't he, darling?"