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The local directory is a useful institution to the stranger, but the intimate directory of suburbia, the libellous "Who's Who," has never and will never be printed. Set in parallel columns, it must be clear to the meanest intelligence that, given a free hand, the directory editor could produce a volume which for sparkle and interest, would surpass the finest work that author has produced, or free library put into circulation.
In this adventure story, the author rides a bicycle back home nearly 3,300 miles in order to witness firsthand how the landscape slowly changes across the vast and diverse North American continent. It took two weeks to navigate across one continental watershed that had been entirely covered by a mile-thick ice sheet a mere 20,000 years ago. One massive glacier had lain right there on the path with, if you were paying attention, the telltale signs of the earthen scars, the piles of rock left behind, and the erratic boulder here and there. It then took 7,000 years for Earth's temperature to slowly rise 9 degrees while that ice sheet retreated to the North Pole. And it took us less than a generation to raise it another 2 degrees from the burning of mined fossil-lightning speed compared to geological time. This first person narrative briefly paints the climate story along the way - the past, present, and future - with over 50 references from scientific journals, news reports, interviews, films, videos, university data, and governmental agencies. It attempts to answer two of the most important questions of our time - What does the path forward look like and who will lead us out of the most daunting environmental challenge humanity has ever faced? Be surprised and enjoy the ride.
In this pretty thoroughfare with its £100 p.a. houses (detached), its tiny carriage drives, its white muslin curtains hanging stiffly from glittering brass bands, its window boxes of clustering geraniums and its neat lawns, it was a tradition that no one house knew anything about its next-door neighbour-or wanted to know. You might imagine, did you find yourself deficient in charity, that such a praiseworthy attitude was in the nature of a polite fiction, but you may judge for yourself. The news that No. 64, for so long standing empty, and bearing on its blank windows the legend "To Let-apply caretaker," had at length found a tenant was general property on September 6. The information that the new people would move in on the 17th was not so widespread until two days before that date. Master Willie Outram (of 65, "Fairlawn ") announced his intention of "seeing what they'd got," and was very promptly and properly reproved by his mother. "You will be good enough to remember that only rude people stare at other people's furniture when it is being carried into the house," she admonished icily; "be good enough to keep away, and if I see you near 64 when the van comes I shall be very cross." Which gives the lie to the detractors of Kymott Crescent. Her next words were not so happily chosen. "You might tell me what She's like," she added thoughtfully. To the disgust of Willie, the van did not arrive at 64 until dusk. He had kept the vigil the whole day to no purpose. It was a small van, damnably small, and I do not use the adverb as an expletive, but to indicate how this little pantechnicon, might easily have ineffaceably stamped the penury of the new tenants.
The local directory is a useful institution to the stranger, but the intimate directory of suburbia, the libellous "Who's Who," has never and will never be printed. Set in parallel columns, it must be clear to the meanest intelligence that, given a free hand, the directory editor could produce a volume which for sparkle and interest, would surpass the finest work that author has produced, or free library put into circulation.
The Duke de Montvillier and George Hankey, who discovered silver in Los Madges, have moved into Kymott Crescent. Alicia Terrill, widow and relation of Sir Harry Tanner, finds the Duke a distinctly unpleasant neighbour. Sir Harry's son is sent to intervene. Unannounced, Sir Harry arrives with a stranger. 'The coming of Big Bill Slewer, ripe for murder and with the hatred he had accumulated during his five years' imprisonment', has played splendidly into his hands.