The Hounds of Fate
by H.H. Munro (SAKI) In the fading light of a close dull autumn afternoon Martin Stoner plodded his way along muddy lanes and rut-seamed cart
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by H.H. Munro (SAKI) In the fading light of a close dull autumn afternoon Martin Stoner plodded his way along muddy lanes and rut-seamed cart
by Melville Davisson Post There was a snapping fire in the chimney. I was cold through and I was glad to stand close beside it
by Robert Barr Bertram Eastford had intended to pass the shop of his old friend, the curiosity dealer, into whose pockets so much of his
by Anthony Trollope The house of Heine Brothers, in Munich, was of good repute at the time of which I am about to tell,–a time
by George Gissing From The House of Cobwebs and Other Stories (1906). It was five o’clock on a June morning. The dirty-buff blind of the
by Jack London Despite the heavy clumsiness of her lines, the Aorai handled easily in the light breeze, and her captain ran her well in
by Jack London Percival Ford wondered why he had come. He did not dance. He did not care much for army people. Yet he knew
by Rudyard Kipling On an evening after Easter Day, I sat at a table in a homeward bound steamer’s smoking-room, where half a dozen of
by Edith Wharton I “Above all,” the letter ended, “don’t leave Siena without seeing Doctor Lombard’s Leonardo. Lombard is a queer old Englishman, a mystic
by Elia W. Peattie BART FLEMING took his bride out to his ranch on the plains when she was but seventeen years old, and the
by Charlotte M. Yonge 1631 Brave deeds have been done by the burgher dames of some of the German cities collectively. Without being of the
The House with the Mezzanine by Anton Chekhov (A PAINTER’S STORY) It happened nigh on seven years ago, when I was living in one of
by T.S. Arthur “What was that?” exclaimed Mrs. Andrews, to the lady who was seated next to her, as a single strain of music vibrated
by Rabindranath Tagore My kinsman and myself were returning to Calcutta from our Puja trip when we met the man in a train. From his
The Huntsman by Anton Chekhov A SULTRY, stifling midday. Not a cloudlet in the sky. . . . The sun-baked grass had a disconsolate, hopeless
by Franz Kafka Translation by Ian Johnston The helmsman was further held up a little by a woman with disheveled hair, who now appeared on
by Jack London THERE are some stories that have to be true – the sort that cannot be fabricated by a ready fiction-reckoner. And by
The Husband by Anton Chekhov IN the course of the maneuvres the N—- cavalry regiment halted for a night at the district town of K—-.
The Hypnotist by Ambrose Bierce By those of my friends who happen to know that I sometimes amuse myself with hypnotism, mind reading and kindred
by O. Henry LAWYER GOOCH bestowed his undivided attention upon the engrossing arts of his profession. But one flight of fancy did he allow his
by Henry Lawson OLD MAC used to sleep in his wagon in fine weather, when he had no load, on his blankets spread out on
by William Dean Howells The first Ohio stories are part of the common story of the wonderful Ice Age, when a frozen deluge pushed down
by Maxim Gorky On a frozen river near a certain Russian town, a gang of seven carpenters were hastily repairing an icebreaker which the townsfolk