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Category： Author：Andre Alice Norton
Nahuatl's larger moon pursued the smaller, greenish globe of its companion across a cloudless sky in which the stars made a speckled pattern like the scales of a huge serpent coiled around a black bowl. Ras Hume paused at the border of scented spike-flowers on the top terrace of the Pleasure House to wonder why he thought of serpents....
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Category： Author：novel
I have been reading this morning a very pathetic and characteristic document. It is a paper that has lurked for years in an old collection of archives, a preface, sketched by a great writer, who is famous wherever the English language is spoken or read, for the second edition of a noble book. The book, on its first appearance, wa...
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Category： Author：novel
Bridget Kelly stood at the foot of the rocket lift and watched the loading operation. The freight had long since been inspected and stowed, and now it was the passengers' turn. Bridget was glad that for once she was not responsible. Let others worry and snoop. This time she was a passenger herself, starward bound. Inspected, pass...
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Category： Author：novel
The roads at the crossing were wide and smooth, with cool woods on either side, but beyond them to the left rose the high, jagged, yellow-and-black mass of the mountains, bare on their upper reaches, and wooded in the shelter of the valleys, a splintered peak or two farthest inland showing snowcapped even in August. They dominated the ...
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Category： Author：novel
The dingy little cart containing the clean linen of the Rectory, was on its way by an unusually roundabout route. Neddy Mellin, the washer woman's son, who disliked work as much as he liked play, which was natural in a lad of thirteen, grumbled openly at the uncongenial task of driving the large white donkey. The animal herself, who an...
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Category： Author：novel
The writing of this book has been to me no joyful task, as its making has been at the expense of much-needed rest and peace of mind. In returning to my dear native land after a long imprisonment, I cherished the hope that I might as quietly as possible be permitted to take up the threads of outward existence so cruelly broken, little d...
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Category： Author：novel
It was the dreariest of November days. The only bright spot was a crimson sumach, spreading its gorgeous foliage against the watery grey of the sky, and misty back-ground of fog-hidden fields. It was a day that made the burdens of life seem heavier than they really were, and set the heart aching for the sunshine of the vanished summer.
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Category： Author：novel
One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin. He lay on his armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a little he could see his brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections. The bedding was hardly able to cover it and seemed ready to ...
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Category： Author：novel
Unlike most of Machen's other works, "The Secret Glory" is not usually considered a work of horror. Instead it is a semi-autobiographical tale of a young man, Ambrose Meyrick, and his attempt to struggle through the public school system all the while preoccupied with a childhood memory of the Holy Grail hidden in his native Wales. Arth...
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Category： Author：弗.司各特.菲茨杰拉德 F. Scott Fitzgerald
This is a Southern story, with the scene laid in the small Lily of Tarleton, Georgia. I have a profound affection for Tarleton, but somehow whenever I write a story about it I receive letters from all over the South denouncing me in no uncertain terms. “The Jelly-Bean,” published in “The Metropolitan,” drew its full share of these admo...
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