This darkness troubles me. I yearn for the light.　　This silence is so deep. I long for voices, the drumming of rain, the whistle of wind, music.　　Why are you being so cruel to me? Let me see. Let me hear. Let me live. I beg of you.　　I am so lonely in this bottomless darkness.　　So lonely.　　Lost.　　You think I have no heart. But if I have no heart, what is this ache? What is this anguish? If I have no heart, what is it that threatens to break inside me?　　This darkness is haunted. I am afraid here. I am lost and afraid here.　　Have you no passion?　　I only wanted to be like you. To walk in the sunshine. To swim in the sea. To feel the winter cold against my skin, the summer heat. To smell a ros　

I stood in line, as patient as the other taxpayers, my filled out forms and my cash gripped body in my hand. Cash, money, the old fashioned green folding stuff. A local custom that I intended to make expensive to the local customers. I was scratching under the artificial beard, which itched abominably, when the man before me stepped out of the way and I was at the window. My finger stuck in the glue and I had a job freeing it without pulling the beard off as well."e, e, pass it over," the aging, hatchet-faced, bitter and shrewish female official said, hand extended impatiently."On the contrary," I said, letting the papers and banknotes fall away to disclose the immense .75 recoilless pistol　

1872FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSENTHE TOP AND BALLby Hans Christian AndersenA WHIPPING TOP and a little ball lay together in a box, amongother toys, and the top said to the ball, "Shall we be married, aswe live in the same box?"But the ball, which wore a dress of morocco leather, and thoughtas much of herself as any other young lady, would not evencondescend to reply.The next day came the little boy to whom the playthingsbelonged, and he painted the top red and yellow, and drove abrass-headed nail into the middle, so that while the top wasspinning round it looked splendid."Look at me," said the top to the ball. "What do you say now?Shall we be engaged to each other? We should suit s　

The Adventure of the Cardboard BoxThe Adventure of theCardboard BoxBy Sir Arthur Conan Doyle1- Page 2-The Adventure of the Cardboard BoxIn choosing a few typical cases which illustrate the remarkable mentalqualities of my friend, Sherlock Holmes, I have endeavoured, as far aspossible, to select those which presented the minimum of sensationalism,while offering a fair field for his talents. It is, however, unfortunatelyimpossible entirely to separate the sensational from the criminal, and a...　

　　 HIS NAME WAS THORNE. In the ancient language of the runes, it had been longer-Thornevald. But when he became a blood drinker, his name had been changed to Thorne. And Thorne he remained now, centuries later, as he lay in his cave in the ice, dreaming.　 When he had first e to the frozen land, he had hoped he would sleep eternally. But now and then the thirst for blood awakened him and using the Cloud Gift, he rose into the air, and went in search of the Snow Hunters.　 He fed off them, careful never to take too much blood from any one so that none died on account of him. And when he needed furs and boots he took them as well, and returned to his hiding place.　 These Snow Hunters were n　

March 9, 1918Caribbean SeaThe Cyclops had less than one hour to live. In forty-eight minutes she would bee a mass tomb for her 309 passengers and crew a tragedy unforeseen and unheralded by ominous premonitions, mocked by an empty sea and a diamond-clear sky. Even the seagulls that had haunted her wake for the past week darted and soared in languid indifference, their keen instincts dulled by the mild weather.There was a slight breeze from the southeast that barely curled the American flag on her stern. At three-thirty in the morning, most of the off-duty crewmen and passengers were asleep. A few, unable to drift off under the oppressive heat of the trade winds, stood around on the upper de　

THE DOOR IN THE WALLIOne confidential evening, not three months ago, Lionel Wallace toldme this story of the Door in the Wall. And at the time I thoughtthat so far as he was concerned it was a true story.He told it me with such a direct simplicity of conviction thatI could not do otherwise than believe in him. But in the morning,in my own flat, I woke to a different atmosphere, and as I lay inbed and recalled the things he had told me, stripped of the glamourof his earnest slow voice, denuded of the focussed shaded tablelight, the shadowy atmosphere that wrapped about him and thepleasant bright things, the dessert and glasses and napery of the...　

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSENA STORY FROM THE SAND-HILLSby Hans Christian AndersenTHIS story is from the sand-dunes or sand-hills of Jutland, but itdoes not begin there in the North, but far away in the South, inSpain. The wide sea is the highroad from nation to nation; journeyin thought; then, to sunny Spain. It is warm and beautiful there;the fiery pomegranate flowers peep from among dark laurels; a coolrefreshing breeze from the mountains blows over the orange gardens,over the Moorish halls with their golden cupolas and coloured walls.Children go through the streets in procession with candles and...　

The Ninth Vibration, et. al.by L. Adams BeckCONTENTSTHE NINTH VIBRATIONTHE INTERPRETERA ROMANCE OF THE EASTTHE INCOMPARABLE LADYA STORY OF CHINA WITH A MORALTHE HATRED OF THE QUEENA STORY OF BURMAFIRE OF BEAUTYTHE BUILDING OF THE TAJ MAHAL"HOW GREAT IS THE GLORY OF KWANNON!""THE ROUND-FACED BEAUTY"THE NINTH VIBRATIONThere is a place uplifted nine thousand feet in purest air where one of the most ancient tracks in the world runs from India into Tibet. It leaves Simla of the Imperial councils by a stately road; it passes beyond, but now narrowing, climbing higher beside the khuds or steep drops to the precipitous valleys beneath, and the rumor of Simla grows distant and the way is quiet, for,　

TheWatsonsJane Austen- Page 2-ELECBOOK CLASSICSebc0051. Jane Austen: The WatsonsThis file is free for individual use only. It must not be altered or resold.Organisations wishing to use it must first obtain a licence.Low cost licenses are available. Contact us through our web site(C) The Electric Book Co 1998The Electric Book Company Ltd20 Cambridge Drive, London SE12 8AJ, UKwww.elecbook- Page 3-Jane Austen: The Watsons 3...　

Record of Buddhistic Kingdomsby Fa-HienBeing an Account by the Chinese Monk Fa-Hien of his Travels in India and Ceylon (A.D. 399-414) in Search of the Buddhist Books of DisciplineTranslated and annotated with a Corean recension of the Chinese textBYJAMES LEGGEPREFACESeveral times during my long residence in Hong Kong I endeavoured to read through the "Narrative of Fa-hien;" but though interested with the graphic details of much of the work, its columns bristled so constantlynow with his phonetic representations of Sanskrit words, and now with his substitution for them of their meanings in Chinese characters, and I was, moreover, so much occupied with my own special labours on the Confucian 　

Cambridge Neighborsby William Dean HowellsBeing the wholly literary spirit I was when I went to make my home inCambridge, I do not see how I could well have been more content if I hadfound myself in the Elysian Fields with an agreeable eternity before me.At twenty-nine, indeed, one is practically immortal, and at that age,time had for me the effect of an eternity in which I had nothing to dobut to read books and dream of writing them, in the overflow of endlesshours from my work with the manuscripts, critical notices, and proofs ofthe Atlantic Monthly. As for the social environment I should have beenpuzzled if given my choice among the elect of all the ages, to find poets...