Old Man Rabbit’s Thanksgiving Dinner Carolyn Sherwin Bailey
Old Man Rabbit sat at the door of his little house eating a nice, ripe, juicy turnip. It was a cold, frosty day, but Old Man Rabbit
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Cold Shoulder by Hugh Cartwright
Freshly dead, she was pinned to the desk by a knife. Smears of blood oozed between his fingers and dripped to the floor.
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Two Gallants by James Joyce
The grey warm evening of August had descended upon the city and a mild warm air, a memory of summer, circulated in the streets.
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The Skylight Room by O.Henry
The Skylight Room by O.Henry First Mrs. Parker would show you the double parlours. You would not dare to interrupt
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Open Hands by Angela Townsend
They did not give me money.
There was never a version in which they were going to give me money.
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An Unwritten Novel by Virginia Woolf
Virginia Woolf (1882-1941) was an English novelist, essayist, publisher, and writer of short stories who was considered one
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Two Thanksgiving Day Gentlemen by O.Henry
There is one day that is ours. There is one day when all we Americans who are not self-made go back to the old home to eat saleratus biscuits and marvel how much nearer to the porch the old pump looks than it used to.
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From the Cabby’s Seat by O.Henry
The cabby has his point of view. It is more single-minded, perhaps, than that of a follower of any other calling. From the high, swaying seat of his hansom
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An Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving by Louisa May Alcott
“Yes’m,” answered two meek voices, and after a few irrepressible giggles, silence reigned, broken only by an occasional snore from the boys, or the soft scurry of mice in the buttery, taking their part in this old-fashioned Thanksgiving.
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The Manhattan Club by John RC Potter
In the early 1990s I had just emerged from a long-term relationship (my first as, and with, a young gay man) that ended with more of a whimper than a bang. Being pro-active by nature, and more social than I am now, I decided that my sister and closest friends and I
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