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.
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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.
短篇小说 | Von Kempelen and his Discovery
In Europe, as yet, the most noticeable results have been a rise of two hundred per cent. in the price of lead, and nearly twenty-five per cent. that of silver.
短篇小说 | Georgia's Ruling
If you should chance to visit the General Land Office, step into the draughtsmen's room and ask to be shown the map of Salado County.
短篇小说 | The Lilies
THAT little vagabond Mamouche amused himself one afternoon by letting down the fence rails that protected Mr. Billy's young crop of cotton and corn.
短篇小说 | Three Sundays in a Week
YOU hard-headed, dunder-headed, obstinate, rusty, crusty, musty, fusty, old savage!" said I, in fancy, one afternoon, to my grand uncle Rumgudgeon -- shaking my fist at him in imagination.
短篇小说 | From the Cabby's Seat
The cabby has his point of view. It is more single-minded, perhaps, than that of a follower of any other calling.
