Other editions of book Green Eyes

Roy Justin Snell wrote more than 75 novels under his own name and also using the pseudonyms David O'Hara, James Craig and Joseph Marino.He had a lengthy career as a novelist, claiming that he often wrote 2,000 words per hour, and was later to say, "You have to develop a second personality to write. It's a hard thing to do. Oftentimes I felt like giving up the whole business."Readers got what they wanted though, for as a testimony to his skill, more than one and one-half million copies of his books have been sold.

Green Eyes by Roy J. SnellA Mystery Story for GirlsIt was night on Morton’s Bay. A bright half moon painted a path of silver over water as still as the night.At the very center of this narrow bay some dark object cast a shadow. This was a rowboat. It was painted black. The anchor lay in its prow. The boat did not drift. There are times of perfect calm on the upper waters of Lake Huron.One figure was noticeable in this boat. A slight girl, she sat bent over as if in sleep, or perhaps in deep meditation.There was another person in the stern of the boat. A large girl, she lay in perfect repose against a pile of pillows. Was she asleep? Did she dream? She was thinking. One thinks best when at perfect repose. Where could be found more perfect repose? Perhaps nowhere. Yet this girl, who was none other than our old friend, Florence Huyler, was slightly disturbed.The rowboat had but now ceased rocking. The moment before, a powerful speed boat, passing at a terrific rate, had stirred the waters and had sent deep ridges and furrows to lift and drop it, lift and drop it many times.

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It was night on Morton’s Bay. A bright half moon painted a path of silver over water as still as the night.At the very center of this narrow bay some dark object cast a shadow. This was a rowboat. It was painted black. The anchor lay in its prow. The boat did not drift. There are times of perfect calm on the upper waters of Lake Huron.One figure was noticeable in this boat. A slight girl, she sat bent over as if in sleep, or perhaps in deep meditation.[12]There was another person in the stern of the boat. A large girl, she lay in perfect repose against a pile of pillows. Was she asleep? Did she dream? She was thinking. One thinks best when at perfect repose. Where could be found more perfect repose? Perhaps nowhere. Yet this girl, who was none other than our old friend, Florence Huyler, was slightly disturbed.