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Category： Author：杰罗米·K·杰罗米 Jerome Klapka Jerome
“Charmed. Very hot weather we’ve been having of late—I mean cold. Let me see, I did not quite catch your name just now. Thank you so much. Yes, it is a bit close.” And a silence falls, neither of us being able to think what next to say.
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Category： Author：Amy E. Blanchard
It was a very warm morning in June. Edna and her friend Dorothy Evans were sitting under the trees trying to keep cool.
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Category： Author：G. K. Chesterton
The Man Who Was Thursday: A Nightmare is a novel by G. K. Chesterton, first published in 1908. The book is sometimes referred to as a metaphysical thriller. Its importance was recognized in its later revival in paperback by Ballantine Books as the thirty-second volume of the celebrated Ballantine Adult Fantasy series in July 1971.
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Category： Author：Edward George Bulwer-Lytton
The Last Days of Pompeii is a novel written by the baron Edward Bulwer-Lytton in 1834. It culminates in the cataclysmic destruction of the city of Pompeii by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in AD 79. The novel uses its characters to contrast the decadent culture of 1st-century Rome with both older cultures and coming trends. The protag...
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Category： Author：novel
"She very probably will miss her train, we will miss her at the station, she will take a ride up with old Bill Mason, stay talking to him until dinner is too cold to wait any longer; then—then—well, she may steal in through a window and give you a midnight scare, just for a joke. That's my recollection of Miss Tavia."
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Category： Author：Joseph A. Altsheler
The three, the white youth, the red youth, and the white man, lay deep in the forest, watching the fire that burned on a low hill to the west, where black figures flitted now and then before the flame. They did not stir or speak for a long time, because a great horror was upon them. They had seen an army destroyed a few days befo...
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Category： Author：Joseph A. Altsheler
The three, the white youth, the red youth, and the white man, lay deep in the forest, watching the fire that burned on a low hill to the west, where black figures flitted now and then before the flame. They did not stir or speak for a long time, because a great horror was upon them. They had seen an army destroyed a few days befo...
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Category： Author：novel
Up until the moment when he first looked into Hippolyte Adolphe Taine's History of English Literature, Herbert Quidley's penchant for old books had netted him nothing in the way of romance and intrigue. Not that he was a stranger to either.
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Category： Author：novel
"Is there anything you want to make disappear?" Clarence Willoughby asked his mother.
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