短篇小说 | Lionizing

2020年1月15日

I AM - that is to say I was - a great man; but I am neither the author of Junius nor the man in the mask; for my name, I believe, is Robert Jones, and I was born somewhere in the city of Fum-Fudge.

短篇小说 | A Little Local Colour

2020年1月15日

I mentioned to Rivington that I was in search of characteristic New York scenes and incidents -- some- thing typical, I told him, without necessarily having to spell the first syllable with an "i."

短篇小说 | An Idle Fellow

2020年1月15日

I am tired. At the end of these years I am very tired. I have been studying in books the languages of the living and those we call dead.

短篇小说 | Ligeia

2020年1月14日

I Cannot, for my soul, remember how, when, or even precisely where, I first became acquainted with the lady Ligeia. Long years have since elapsed, and my memory is feeble through much suffering.

短篇小说 | An Egyptian Cigarette

2020年1月14日

MY friend, the Architect, who is something of a traveller, was showing us various curios which he had gathered during a visit to the Orient.

短篇小说 | Landor's Cottage

2020年1月13日

DURING A pedestrian trip last summer, through one or two of the river counties of New York, I found myself, as the day declined, somewhat embarrassed about the road I was pursuing.

短篇小说 | After Twenty Years

2020年1月13日

The policeman on the beat moved up the avenue impressively. The impressiveness was habitual and not for show, for spectators were few.