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A Shameful Affair by Kate Chopin Mildred Orme, seated in the snuggest corner of the big front porch of the Kraummer farmhouse, was as content

by Guy de Maupassant Marguerite de Therelles was dying. Although she was-only fifty-six years old she looked at least seventy-five. She gasped for breath, her

by D. H. Lawrence She was too good for him, everybody said. Yet still she did not regret marrying him. He had come courting her

by William Dean Howells I Matthew Lanfear had stopped off, between Genoa and Nice, at San Remo in the interest of a friend who had

A Slander by Anton Chekhov SERGE KAPITONICH AHINEEV, the writing master, was marrying his daughter to the teacher of history and geography. The wedding festivities

by Ray Bradbury Also known as Perchance to Dream. First published in Planet Stories, 1948; reprinted in Avon Fantasy Reader #11 (1949). Even when dealing

by Henry van Dyke Furl your sail, my little boatie; Here ‘s the haven, still and deep, Where the dreaming tides, in-streaming, Up the channel

by H.G. Wells Outside the laboratory windows was a watery-grey fog, and within a close warmth and the yellow light of the green-shaded gas lamps

by Virginia Woolf Published in 1921, A Society was one of eight short stories in her collection, Monday or Tuesday. THIS IS HOW it all

by O. Henry (It will be remembered that about a month ago there were special rates offered to the public for a round trip to

A Solitary by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman A Solitary first appeared in Harper’s Bazaar (November, 1890). It was snowing hard, as it had been for

by Robert Barr “O Unseen Hand that ever makes and deals us, And plays our game! That now obscures and then to light reveals us,

by Lucy Maud Montgomery There was a very fine sunset on the night Paul and Miss Trevor first met, and she had lingered on the

A Son of the Gods by Ambrose Bierce A breezy day and a sunny landscape. An open country to right and left and forward; behind,

by Stacy Aumonier TO look at old Sam Gates you would never sus- pect him of having nei-ves. His sixty-nine years of close application to

by Elia W. Peattie WILLIAM PERCY CECIL happened to be a younger son, so he left home — which was England — and went to

by Leo Tolstoy Translated by Louise and Aylmer Maude. ‘Then came Peter, and said to him, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me,

by James Baldwin In the rude days of King Richard and King John there were many great woods in England. The most famous of these

by W. W. Jacobs Mr. John Blows stood listening to the foreman with an air of lofty disdain. He was a free-born Englishman, and yet

by W.C. Morrow One night, when the storm had come up from the south, apparently for the sole purpose of renewing war with its old

by Amelia B. Edwards A few years ago, no matter how many, I, Harcourt Blunt, was travelling with my friend Coventry Turnour, and it was

A Story Without An End by Anton Chekhov SOON after two o’clock one night, long ago, the cook, pale and agitated, rushed unexpectedly into my

by Leonid Andreyev Exhausted with the painful uncertainty of the day, I fell asleep, dressed, on my bed. Suddenly my wife aroused me. In her

A Story Without A Title by Anton Chekhov IN the fifth century, just as now, the sun rose every morning and every evening retired to