
短篇小说 | How the Widow Won the Deacon
Of course the Widow Stimson never tried to win Deacon Hawkins, nor any other man, for that matter.
Of course the Widow Stimson never tried to win Deacon Hawkins, nor any other man, for that matter.
2022年7月1日上午,庆祝香港回归祖国25周年大会暨香港特别行政区第六届政府就职典礼在香港会展中心隆重举行。中共中央总书记、国家主席、中央军委主席习近平出席并发表重要讲话。
However, lacking both time and inclination, I did not wait to hear about the afflicted cow, but took my leave.
IT was Christmas Eve. Marya had long been snoring on the stove; all the paraffin in the little lamp had burnt out, but Fyodor Nilov still sat at work.
Never are there such departures as from the dock at Honolulu. The great transport lay with steam up, ready to pull out.
The conversation drifted smoothly and pleasantly along from weather to crops, from crops to literature, from literature to scandal, from scandal to religion; then took a random jump, and landed on the subject of burglar alarms.
One sunny afternoon in the autumn of the year 1861 a soldier lay in a clump of laurel by the side of a road in western Virginia. He lay at full length upon his stomach, his feet resting upon the toes, his head upon the left forearm.
One sunny autumn afternoon a child strayed away from its rude home in a small field and entered a forest unobserved.
Restless, shifting, fugacious as time itself is a certain vast bulk of the population of the red brick district of the lower West Side.
An honest man he had been in all the known acts of his life, in his words, in his examples, his attitude, his behavior, his enterprises, in the cut of his beard and the shape of his hats.
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