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Showing posts with label
Stephen Crane
.
Show all posts
Showing posts with label
Stephen Crane
.
Show all posts
War Is Kind / Stephen Crane
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Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind. Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky And the affrighted steed ran on alone, Do n...
The Victory of the Moon / Stephen Crane
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The Strong Man of the Hills lost his wife. Immediately he went abroad, calling aloud. The people all crouched afar in the dark of their hu...
Why Did the Young Clerk Swear? ( THE UNSATISFACTORY FRENCH) / Stephen Crane
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All was silent in the little gent's furnishing store. A lonely clerk with a blonde moustache and a red necktie raised a languid hand t...
The Voice of the Mountain / Stephen Crane
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The old man Popocatepetl was seated on a high rock with his white mantle about his shoulders. He looked at the sky, he looked at the sea, ...
At Clancy's Wake / Stephen Crane
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Scene—Room in the house of the lamented Clancy. The curtains are pulled down. A perfume of old roses and whisky hangs in the air. A weepin...
A Tale of Mere Chance / Stephen Crane
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Being an Account of the Pursuit of the Tiles, the Statement of the Clock, and the Grip of a Coat of Orange Spots, together with some Criti...
A Self-Made Man / Stephen Crane
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An Example of Success that Any One can Follow. Tom had a hole in his shoe. It was very round and very uncomfortable, particularly when...
A Poker Game / Stephen Crane
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Usually a poker game is a picture of peace. There is no drama so low-voiced and serene and monotonous. If an amateur loser does not softly...
A Man By the Name of Mud / Stephen Crane
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Deep in a leather chair, the Kid sat looking out at where the rain slanted before the dull brown houses and hammered swiftly upon an occas...
How the Donkey Lifted the Hills / Stephen Crane
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Many people suppose that the donkey is lazy. This is a great mistake. It is his pride. Years ago, there was nobody quite so fine as th...
The Squire's Madness / Stephen Crane
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Linton was in his study remote from the interference of domestic sounds. He was writing verses. He was not a poet in the strict sense of t...
Irish Notes / Stephen Crane
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I.—AN OLD MAN GOES WOOING. The melancholy fisherman made his way through a street that was mainly as dark as a tunnel. Sometimes an op...
The Assassin in Modern Battles / Stephen Crane
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The Torpedo Boat Destroyers that "Perform in the Darkness. An Act which Is more Peculiarly Murderous than most Things in War." ...
New York Sketches / Stephen Crane
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STORIES TOLD BY AN ARTIST IN NEW YORK A Tale about How "Great Grief" got His Holiday Dinner. Wrinkles had been peering i...
Wyoming Valley Tales / Stephen Crane
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I.—THE SURRENDER OF FORTY FORT. Immediately after the battle of 3rd July, my mother said, "We had best take the children and go i...
'And If He Wills, We Must Die' / Stephen Crane
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A sergeant, a corporal, and fourteen men of the Twelfth Regiment of the Line had been sent out to occupy a house on the main highway. They...
The Shrapnel of Their Friends / Stephen Crane
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From over the knolls came the tiny sound of a cavalry bugle singing out the recall, and later, detached parties of His Majesty's 2nd H...
The Kicking Twelfth / Stephen Crane
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The Spitzbergen army was backed by tradition of centuries of victory. In its chronicles, occasional defeats were not printed in italics, b...
The Scotch Express / Stephen Crane
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The entrance to Euston Station is of itself sufficiently imposing. It is a high portico of brown stone, old and grim, in form a casual ...
London Impressions / Stephen Crane
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CHAPTER I London at first consisted of a porter with the most charming manners in the world, and a cabman with a supreme intelligenc...
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