短篇小说

One sunny autumn afternoon a child strayed away from its rude home in a small field and entered a forest unobserved.

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.

The Baroness and Clovis sat in a much-frequented corner of the Park exchanging biographical confidences about the long succession of passers-by.

Van Cheele gave way to his aunt in most things, but he flatly refused to subscribe to the Gabriel-Ernest memorial.

THE thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge.

UPON THE HALF decayed veranda of a small frame house that stood near the edge of a ravine near the town of Winesburg, Ohio, a fat little old man walked nervously up and down.

PLEASE, God, let him telephone me now. Dear God, let him call me now.

Do not trust thy body with a physician. He'll make thy foolish bones go without flesh in a fortnight, and thy soul walk without a body in a se'nnight after.

The time, a pleasant Sunday afternoon in the early autumn of 1861.

The red death had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous.