Fiction Books

The Cask of Amontillado by Edgar Allan Poe The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance to a threat. At length I would be avenged; this was a point definitely settled—but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved, precluded the... more...

OURSELVES I'm Jack. I've always been Jack, ever since I can remember at least, though I suppose I must have been called 'Baby' for a bit before Serena came. But she's only a year and a half younger than me, and Maud's only a year and a quarter behind her, so I can scarcely remember even Serena being 'Baby'; and Maud's always been so very grown up for her age... more...

MOON-FACE John Claverhouse was a moon-faced man. You know the kind, cheek-bones wide apart, chin and forehead melting into the cheeks to complete the perfect round, and the nose, broad and pudgy, equidistant from the circumference, flattened against the very centre of the face like a dough-ball upon the ceiling. Perhaps that is why I hated him, for truly he had become an offense to my eyes, and I... more...

Incidental to studies of speciation of North American mammals, made possible by assistance from the National Science Foundation and the Kansas University Endowment Association, a number of bats have been taken beyond the limits of their previously known geographic ranges. Pending the completion of more detailed faunal accounts, these notes are published so that the distributional records will be... more...

I VANISHING ROADS   Though actually the work of man's hands—or, more properly speaking, the work of his travelling feet,—roads have long since come to seem so much a part of Nature that we have grown to think of them as a feature of the landscape no less natural than rocks and trees. Nature has adopted them among her own works, and the road that mounts the hill to meet the sky-line, or winds... more...

  (1832—1850.)Lewis Carroll's forebears—The Bishop of Elphin—Murder of Captain Dodgson—Daresbury—Living in "Wonderland"—Croft—Boyish amusements—His first school-Latin verses—A good report—He goes to Rugby—The Rectory Umbrella—"A Lay of Sorrow."ARCHDEACON DODGSONAS A YOUNG MANThe Dodgsons appear to have been for a long time connected with the north of... more...

The place was dark and damp, and smelled like moldy leaves. Meyerhoff followed the huge, bear-like Altairian guard down the slippery flagstones of the corridor, sniffing the dead, musty air with distaste. He drew his carefully tailored Terran-styled jacket closer about his shoulders, shivering as his eyes avoided the black, yawning cell-holes they were passing. His foot slipped on the slimy flags from... more...

THE TSAREVNA FROG   In an old, old Russian , I do not know when, there lived a sovereign prince with the princess his wife. They had three sons, all of them young, and such brave fellows that no pen could describe them. The youngest had the name of Ivan . One day their father said to his sons: "My dear boys, take each of you an arrow, draw your strong bow and let your arrow fly; in whatever court... more...

THE WAY OF IT Patsy O’Connell sat on the edge of her cot in the women’s free ward of the City Hospital. She was pulling on a vagabond pair of gloves while she mentally gathered up a somewhat doubtful, ragged lot of prospects and stood them in a row before her for contemplation, comparison, and a final choice. They strongly resembled the contents of her steamer trunk, held at a respectable... more...

ACTUS PRIMUS. SCENA PRIMA. Enter a Merchant and Herman. Mer. Is he then taken? Her. And brought back even now, Sir. Mer. He was not in disgrace? Her. No man more lov'd, Nor more deserv'd it, being the only man That durst be honest in this Court. Mer. IndeedWe have heard abroad, Sir, that the State hath sufferedA great change, since the Countesses death. Her. It hath, Sir. Mer. My five years... more...