The Heavenly Christmas Tree by Fyodor Dostoevsky I am a novelist, and I suppose I have made up this story. I write “I suppose,” though I know for a fact that I have made it up, but yet I keep fancying that it must have happened somewhere at some time, that it must have […]
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Thanksgiving at the Polls by Edward Everett Hale
Frederick Dane was on his way towards what he called his home. His home, alas, was but an indifferent attic in one of the southern suburbs of Boston.
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 her description of their advantages and of the merits of the gentleman who had occupied them for eight years. Then you would manage to stammer forth the confession that you were neither a doctor nor […]
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
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.
The Mummy’s Foot Théophile Gautier
I had entered, in an idle mood, the shop of one of those curiosity venders who are called marchands de bric-à-brac in that Parisian
The Gold-Bug by Edgar Allan Poe
William Legrand, who discovers a peculiar gold-colored beetle while on Sullivan’s Island in South Carolina. Legrand is obsessed with the scarab beetle and makes drawings of it. Later, Legrand receives a scrap of parchment paper with a cryptic coded
A Nightmare by Anton Chekhov
Kunin, a wealthy landowner and member of the Rural Board, invites Father Yakov, the young village priest, to discuss opening a church school. Kunin is shocked by Father Yakov’s shabby appearance and lack of dignity, seeing him as unfit for the priesthood.
A Dream of Armageddon by H.G. Wells
The man with the white face entered the carriage at Rugby. He moved slowly in spite of the urgency of his porter, and even while he was still on the platform I noted how ill he seemed. He dropped into the corner over against me with a sigh, made an incomplete attempt to arrange his […]
The Moth by H. G. Wells
Probably you have heard of Hapley—not W. T. Hapley, the son, but the celebrated Hapley, the Hapley of Periplaneta Hapliia, Hapley the entomologist. If so you know at least of the great feud between Hapley and Professor Pawkins, though certain of its consequences may be new to you. For those who have not, a word […]
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