Summary

Portrait of Arthur Conan Doyle Arthur Conan Doyle The Stark Munro Letters — OAKLEY VILLAS, BIRCHESPOOL, 3rd August… (1895)

Do you think that such a thing as chance exists? Rather an explosive sentence to start a letter with; but pray cast your mind back over your own life, and tell me if you think that we really are the sports of chance. You know how often the turning down this street or that, the accepting or rejecting of an invitation, may deflect the whole current of our lives into some other channel. Are we mere leaves, fluttered hither and thither by the wind, or are we rather, with every conviction that we are free agents, carried steadily along to a definite and pre-determined end?
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Arthur Conan Doyle Arthur Conan Doyle The Stark Munro Letters — OAKLEY VILLAS, BIRCHESPOOL, 3rd August… (1895)

We know that many of the permanent facts of the universe are NOT chance. It is not chance that the heavenly bodies swing clear of each other, that the seed is furnished with the apparatus which will drift it to a congenial soil, that the creature is adapted to its environment. Show me a whale with its great-coat of fat, and I want no further proof of design. But logically, as it seems to me, ALL must be design, or all must be chance. I do not see how one can slash a line right across the universe, and say that all to the right of that is chance, and all to the left is pre-ordained.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Arthur Conan Doyle Arthur Conan Doyle The Stark Munro Letters — OAKLEY VILLAS, BIRCHESPOOL, 3rd August… (1895)

I did not wake until eight in the morning, when I was roused by the jingling of a spoon in a saucer, and the step of Miss Williams passing my door. She was taking him the arrowroot which I had ordered over-night. I heard her open the door, and the next moment my heart sprang into my mouth as she gave a hoarse scream, and her cup and saucer crashed upon the floor. An instant later she had burst into my room, with her face convulsed with terror.
"My God!" she cried, "he's gone!"
Source: Wikisource

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