Genre - Short Story. You are on the page - 5
pon my beard and ear-locks, and you will understand that you will receive fair treatment from me. I want to earn a Mitzvah (good deed) and a little money thereby.'Then he cautioned me not to leave the station and go out into the street, because in the street were to be found Jews without beards, who would inform on me and give me up to the police. 'The world does not contain a sea of Kazelias,' said he. (Would that it did not contain even that one!) Then he continued: 'Shake out your money on
The merchants, nobles, and the slaves lucky enough to attend had waited outside Dan Trex's arena for days. They knew the value of entertainment in such a dark world. They wore cowls to protect themselves from the sun as they waited. Entire businesses thrived on the forced mercantile of the captive audience. Food went for thrice its cost to those waiting near the entrance. Water went for five times as much.The arena was as old as the city, built in the days of the old empire for a king now long
'to live in love with Onas'--as they called him--'and with the children of Onas, as long as the sun and the moon shall endure.' 'This treaty of peace and friendship was made,' as Bancroft says, 'under the open sky, by the side of the Delaware, with the sun and the river and the forest for witnesses. It was not confirmed by an oath; it was not ratified by signatures and seals; no written record of the conference can be found; and its terms and conditions had no abiding monument, but on the
to strength. I think the two of them are rather aghast at their own daring; they've been planning, all the way home, how they're going to get the "goods" through the Customs.Mr. Armes mentioned to me the proposition he and the Second Mate had in mind. This was after they'd bought the stuff, and I told him it would not interfere with anything I was doing, and they could go ahead. Only, if the Customs dropped on the saccharine, they must own up and pay the fine themselves. For I was not
as at sea on aclear day, with one line of light, definite as the cut of a sword.The Provencal threw his arms round the trunk of one of the palm trees,as though it were the body of a friend, and then, in the shelter ofthe thin, straight shadow that the palm cast upon the granite, hewept. Then sitting down he remained as he was, contemplating withprofound sadness the implacable scene, which was all he had to lookupon. He cried aloud, to measure the solitude. His voice, lost in thehollows of the
know, I know! That will do-o-o, that will do-o-o!" cooed theWood-Pigeon obstinately in her soft, foolish little voice, withoutpaying the least attention to Mother Magpie's directions."We all know that--anything more?" chirped the chorus of birds, tryingto conceal how anxious they were to know what came next, for the nestswere only half finished. But Mother Magpie was thoroughly disgusted, and refused to go on withthe lesson which had been so rudely interrupted by her pupils.