短篇小说 | The Unexpected
He was to return at the close of the month. Daily letters, impassioned and interminable, passed between them.
文摘
短篇小说 | Hostages to Momus
I never got inside of the legitimate line of graft but once. But, one time, as I say, I reversed the decision of the revised statutes and undertook a thing that I'd have to apologize for even under the New Jersey trust laws.
短篇小说 | The Storm
Calixta, at home, felt no uneasiness for their safety. She sat at a side window sewing furiously on a sewing machine.
短篇小说 | X-ing a Paragrab
AS it is well known that the 'wise men' came 'from the East,' and as Mr. Touch-and-go Bullet-head came from the East, it follows that Mr. Bullet-head was a wise man; and if collateral proof of the matter be needed, here we have it -- Mr. B. was an editor.
短篇小说 | Holding Up a Train
Most people would say, if their opinion was asked for, that holding up a train would be a hard job.
短篇小说 | The Return of Alcibiade
MR. FRED BARTNER was sorely perplexed and annoyed to find that a wheel and tire of his buggy threatened to part company.
短篇小说 | William Wilson
"You have conquered, and I yield. Yet, henceforward art thou also dead -- dead to the World, to Heaven and to Hope! In me didst thou exist -- and, in my death, see by this image, which is thine own, how utterly thou hast murdered thyself."
短篇小说 | Hearts And Crosses
Baldy Woods reached for the bottle, and got it. Whenever Baldy went for anything he usually--but this is not Baldy's story.
短篇小说 | The Recovery
She was a woman of thirty-five, possessing something of youthfulness. It was not the bloom, the softness, nor delicacy of coloring which had once been hers; those were all gone.
短篇小说 | Why the Little Frenchman Wears his Hand in a Sling
It's on my visiting cards sure enough (and it's them that's all o' pink satin paper) that inny gintleman that plases may behould the intheristhin words, "Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt, 39 Southampton Row, Russell Square, Parrish o' Bloomsbury."
短篇小说 | He Also Serves
If I could have a thousand years--just one little thousand years--more of life, I might, in that time, draw near enough to true Romance to touch the hem of her robe.
短篇小说 | The Locket
One night in autumn a few men were gathered about a fire on the slope of a hill. They belonged to a small detachment of Confederate forces and were awaiting orders to march.
