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163 stories from 11 authors
“I do not see why you should not turn this immense amount of unusual information to account,” I told him.
A man stood upon a railroad bridge in northern Alabama, looking down into the swift water twenty feet below.
“Upon my word,” said Colonel Laporte, “although I am old and gouty, my legs as stiff as two pieces of wood, yet if a pretty woman were to tell me to go through the eye of a needle, I believe I should take a jump at it, like a clown through a hoop.
Every Sunday, as soon as they were free, the little soldiers would go for a walk.
The grey warm evening of August had descended upon the city and a mild warm air, a memory of summer, circulated in the streets.
For several days in succession fragments of a defeated army had passed through the town.