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163 stories from 11 authors
I don’t think much of Stephen Mackaye any more, though I used to swear by him.
The picturesque city and state of Heiligwaldenstein was one of those toy kingdoms of which certain parts of the German Empire still consist.
The bell rang furiously and, when Miss Parker went to the tube, a furious voice called out in a piercing North of Ireland accent: “Send Farrington here!” Miss Parker returned to her machine, saying to a man who was writing at a desk: “Mr Alleyne wants you upstairs.” The man muttered “Blast him!” under his breath and pushed back his chair to stand up.
The matron had given her leave to go out as soon as the women’s tea was over and Maria looked forward to her evening out.
Old Jack raked the cinders together with a piece of cardboard and spread them judiciously over the whitening dome of coals.
There was not a sound in the forest save the indistinct, fluttering sound of the snow falling on the trees.
We were seated at breakfast one morning, my wife and I, when the maid brought in a telegram.
The road of the pass was hard and smooth and not yet dusty in the early morning.