Genre - Short Story. You are on the page - 27
By W. A. Clouston.The Tale of Zayn Al-AsnamAlaeddin; or, The Wonderful LampKhudadad and His BrothersThe Story of the Blind Man, Baba AbdullahHistory of Sisi Nu'umanHistory of Khwajah Hasan Al-HabbalAli Baba and the Forty ThievesAli Khwajah and the Merchant of BaghdadPrince Ahmad and the Fairy Peri-BanuThe Two Sisters Who Envied Their Cadette Additional Notes:-- The Tale of Zayn Al-AsnamAlaeddin; or, The Wonderful LampAli Baba and the Forty ThievesPrince Ahmad and the Fairy Peri-Banu The
men of your cruelties to him, brought him away from the swamp by the very trail by which we came, and murdered him here in the night."Ezra cringed and snarled. "You can not prove this lie!" Kane spoke a few words to an agile villager. The youth clambered up the rotting bole of the tree and from a crevice, high up, dragged something that fell with a clatter at the feet of the miser. Ezra went limp with a terrible shriek. The object was a man's skeleton, the skull cleft.
he Chief of Police47. Al-Malik Al-Nasir and the Three Chiefs of Policea. Story of the Chief of Police of Cairob. Story of the Chief of the Bulak Policec. Story of the Chief of the Old Cairo Police48. The Thief and the Shroff49. The Chief of the Kus Police and the Sharper50. Ibrahim Bin Al-Mahdi and the Merchant's Sister51. The Woman Whose Hands were Cut Off For Giving Alms to thePoor52. The Devout Israelite53. Abu Hassan Al-Ziyadi and the Khorasan54. The Poor Man and His Friend in Need55. The
athlete of Olympic proportions to make up for the love he wouldn't feel for her. Too much trouble for the few weeks before her presence began to drain him of everything he held dear. Then she'd be gone, and the bar would be raised another notch for whomever came next, and where would it all lead him? A woman with superhuman flexibility and the perverse nature of an Indian God, perhaps. A woman made of fingertips and tongues, with no sense of shame.And he still wouldn't love her. He sat at his
s a new and a miraculous revelation superseding the old revelation of fifteen hundred years ago, when Thou didst so repeatedly tell the people: "The truth shall make you free." Behold then, Thy "free" people now!' adds the old man with sombre irony. 'Yea!... it has cost us dearly.' he continues, sternly looking at his victim. 'But we have at last accomplished our task, and--in Thy name.... For fifteen long centuries we had to toil and suffer owing to that
t for my hate, oh scaled and shining One!The sun was setting, etching the green and hazy blue of the forest in brief gold. The waning beams glinted on the thick golden chain which Dion of Attalus twisted continually in his pudgy hand as he sat in the flaming riot of blossoms and flowerΒ-trees which was his garden. He shifted his fat body on his marble seat and glanced furtively about, as if in quest of a lurking enemy. He sat within a circular grove of slender trees, whose interlapping branches