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I could not find any sixpenny entrance and, fearing that the bazaar would be closed, I passed in quickly through a turnstile, handing a shilling to a weary-looking man. I found myself in a big hall girdled at half its height by a gallery. Nearly all the stalls were closed and the greater part of […]

At nine o’clock I heard my uncle’s latchkey in the halldoor. I heard him talking to himself and heard the hallstand rocking when it had received the weight of his overcoat. I could interpret these signs. When he was midway through his dinner I asked him to give me the money to go to the

On Saturday morning I reminded my uncle that I wished to go to the bazaar in the evening. He was fussing at the hallstand, looking for the hat-brush, and answered me curtly: “Yes, boy, I know.” As he was in the hall I could not go into the front parlour and lie at the window.

One evening I went into the back drawing-room in which the priest had died. It was a dark rainy evening and there was no sound in the house. Through one of the broken panes I heard the rain impinge upon the earth, the fine incessant needles of water playing in the sodden beds. Some distant

Every morning I lay on the floor in the front parlour watching her door. The blind was pulled down to within an inch of the sash so that I could not be seen. When she came out on the doorstep my heart leaped. I ran to the hall, seized my books and followed her. I

By James Joyce (1882-1941) NORTH RICHMOND STREET being blind, was a quiet street except at the hour when the Christian Brothers’ School set the boys free. An uninhabited house of two storeys stood at the blind end, detached from its neighbours in a square ground The other houses of the street, conscious of decent lives

When the general and his pack reached the place by the sea, the Cossackstopped. For some minutes he stood regarding the blue-green expanse ofwater. He shrugged his shoulders. Then be sat down, took a drink ofbrandy from a silver flask, lit a cigarette, and hummed a bit from/Madame Butterfly/. General Zaroff had an exceedingly good dinner

They would be on him any minute now. His mind worked frantically. Hethought of a native trick he had learned in Uganda. He slid down thetree. He caught hold of a springy young sapling and to it he fastenedhis hunting knife, with the blade pointing down the trail; with a bit ofwild grapevine he tied

“You’ve done well, Rainsford,” the voice of the general called. “YourBurmese tiger pit has claimed one of my best dogs. Again you score. Ithink, Mr. Rainsford, Ill see what you can do against my whole pack. I’mgoing home for a rest now. Thank you for a most amusing evening.” At daybreak Rainsford, lying near the swamp,

Then, as he stepped forward, his foot sank into the ooze. He tried towrench it back, but the muck sucked viciously at his foot as if it werea giant leech. With a violent effort, he tore his feet loose. He knewwhere he was now. Death Swamp and its quicksand. His hands were tight closed as if

Following the trail with the sureness of a bloodhound came GeneralZaroff. Nothing escaped those searching black eyes, no crushed blade ofgrass, no bent twig, no mark, no matter how faint, in the moss. Sointent was the Cossack on his stalking that he was upon the thingRainsford had made before he saw it. His foot touched

Rainsford did not want to believe what his reason told him was true, butthe truth was as evident as the sun that had by now pushed through themorning mists. The general was playing with him! The general was savinghim for another day’s sport! The Cossack was the cat; he was the mouse.Then it was that

Rainsford held his breath. The general’s eyes had left the ground andwere traveling inch by inch up the tree. Rainsford froze there, everymuscle tensed for a spring. But the sharp eyes of the hunter stoppedbefore they reached the limb where Rainsford lay; a smile spread overhis brown face. Very deliberately he blew a smoke ring

An apprehensive night crawled slowly by like a wounded snake and sleepdid not visit Rainsford, although the silence of a dead world was on thejungle. Toward morning when a dingy gray was varnishing the sky, the cryof some startled bird focused Rainsford’s attention in that direction.Something was coming through the bush, coming slowly, carefully, comingby

Rainsford had fought his way through the bush for two hours. “I mustkeep my nerve. I must keep my nerve,” he said through tight teeth. He had not been entirely clearheaded when the chateau gates snapped shutbehind him. His whole idea at first was to put distance between himselfand General Zaroff; and, to this end, he

Then a businesslike air animated him. “Ivan,” he said to Rainsford,”will supply you with hunting clothes, food, a knife. I suggest you wearmoccasins; they leave a poorer trail. I suggest, too, that you avoid thebig swamp in the southeast corner of the island. We call it Death Swamp.There’s quicksand there. One foolish fellow tried it.

“You don’t mean–” cried Rainsford. “My dear fellow,” said the general, “have I not told you I always meanwhat I say about hunting? This is really an inspiration. I drink to afoeman worthy of my steel – at last.” The general raised his glass, butRainsford sat staring at him. “You’ll find this game worth playing,” the general

Then, taking a second helping of cr�pes Suzette, the generalexplained: “The hunting was not good last night. The fellow lost hishead. He made a straight trail that offered no problems at all. That’sthe trouble with these sailors; they have dull brains to begin with, andthey do not know how to get about in the woods.

The bed was good, and the pajamas of the softest silk, and he was tiredin every fiber of his being, but nevertheless Rainsford could not quiethis brain with the opiate of sleep. He lay, eyes wide open. Once hethought he heard stealthy steps in the corridor outside his room. Hesought to throw open the door;

The smile on the general’s face widened. “To date I have not lost,” hesaid. Then he added, hastily: “I don’t wish you to think me a braggart,Mr. Rainsford. Many of them afford only the most elementary sort ofproblem. Occasionally I strike a tartar. One almost did win. Ieventually had to use the dogs.” “The dogs?” “This way,

“What do you mean?” “We’ll visit my training school,” smiled the general. “It’s in thecellar. I have about a dozen pupils down there now. They’re from theSpanish bark San Lucar that had the bad luck to go on the rocks outthere. A very inferior lot, I regret to say. Poor specimens and moreaccustomed to the deck

“Watch! Out there!” exclaimed the general, pointing into the night.Rainsford’s eyes saw only blackness, and then, as the general pressed abutton, far out to sea Rainsford saw the flash of lights. The general chuckled. “They indicate a channel,” he said, “where there’snone; giant rocks with razor edges crouch like a sea monster withwide-open jaws. They can

“Did not make me condone cold-blooded murder,” finished Rainsford stiffly. Laughter shook the general. “How extraordinarily droll you are!” hesaid. “One does not expect nowadays to find a young man of the educatedclass, even in America, with such a naive, and, if I may say so,mid-Victorian point of view. It’s like finding a snuffbox in alimousine.

joke about hunting. I needed a new animal. I found one. So I bought thisisland built this house, and here I do my hunting. The island is perfectfor my purposes–there are jungles with a maze of traits in them, hills,swamps–” “But the animal, General Zaroff?” “Oh,” said the general, “it supplies me with the most exciting huntingin

The general smiled. “I had no wish to go to pieces,” he said. “I must dosomething. Now, mine is an analytical mind, Mr. Rainsford. Doubtlessthat is why I enjoy the problems of the chase.” “No doubt, General Zaroff.” “So,” continued the general, “I asked myself why the hunt no longerfascinated me. You are much younger than I

The general filled both glasses, and said, “God makes some men poets.Some He makes kings, some beggars. Me He made a hunter. My hand was madefor the trigger, my father said. He was a very rich man with a quarterof a million acres in the Crimea, and he was an ardent sportsman. When Iwas only

“You have some wonderful heads here,” said Rainsford as he ate aparticularly well-cooked filet mignon. “That Cape buffalo is thelargest I ever saw.” “Oh, that fellow. Yes, he was a monster.” “Did he charge you?” “Hurled me against a tree,” said the general. “Fractured my skull. But Igot the brute.” “I’ve always thought,” said Rains{ord, “that the Cape buffalo

The dining room to which Ivan conducted him was in many ways remarkable.There was a medieval magnificence about it; it suggested a baronial hallof feudal times with its oaken panels, its high ceiling, its vastrefectory tables where twoscore men could sit down to eat. About thehall were mounted heads of many animals–lions, tigers, elephants,moose, bears;

Rainsford’s first impression was that the man was singularly handsome;his second was that there was an original, almost bizarre quality aboutthe general’s face. He was a tall man past middle age, for his hair wasa vivid white; but his thick eyebrows and pointed military mustache wereas black as the night from which Rainsford had come.

The menacing look in the eyes did not change. The revolver pointing asrigidly as if the giant were a statue. He gave no sign that heunderstood Rainsford’s words, or that he had even heard them. He wasdressed in uniform–a black uniform trimmed with gray astrakhan. “I’m Sanger Rainsford of New York,” Rainsford began again. “I fell

Bleak darkness was blacking out the sea and jungle when Rainsfordsighted the lights. He came upon them as he turned a crook in the coastline; and his first thought was that be had come upon a village, forthere were many lights. But as he forged along he saw to his greatastonishment that all the lights

When he opened his eyes he knew from the position of the sun that it waslate in the afternoon. Sleep had given him new vigor; a sharp hunger waspicking at him. He looked about him, almost cheerfully. “Where there are pistol shots, there are men. Where there are men, thereis food,” he thought. But what kind

Rainsford remembered the shots. They had come from the right, anddoggedly he swam in that direction, swimming with slow, deliberatestrokes, conserving his strength. For a seemingly endless time he foughtthe sea. He began to count his strokes; he could do possibly a hundredmore and then– Rainsford heard a sound. It came out of the darkness, a

An abrupt sound startled him. Off to the right he heard it, and hisears, expert in such matters, could not be mistaken. Again he heard thesound, and again. Somewhere, off in the blackness, someone had fired agun three times. Rainsford sprang up and moved quickly to the rail, mystified. Hestrained his eyes in the direction from

“Cannibals?” suggested Rainsford. “Hardly. Even cannibals wouldn’t live in such a God-forsaken place. Butit’s gotten into sailor lore, somehow. Didn’t you notice that the crew’snerves seemed a bit jumpy today?” “They were a bit strange, now you mention it. Even Captain Nielsen–” “Yes, even that tough-minded old Swede, who’d go up to the devil himselfand ask him for

by Richard Connell (1893-1949) “OFF THERE to the right–somewhere–is a large island,” said Whitney.”It’s rather a mystery–” “What island is it?” Rainsford asked. “The old charts call it `Ship-Trap Island,”‘ Whitney replied.” Asuggestive name, isn’t it? Sailors have a curious dread of the place. Idon’t know why. Some superstition–” “Can’t see it,” remarked Rainsford, trying to peer through