“Of course, they’re all dears, my family, but as fiction material there is nothing to them; no drama, you know; no color; just nice, ordinary, unimaginative dears.”
Classic FictionMore Classic Fiction
Over there, there’s a girl waiting. She’s had faith in me and what I stand for. She’s staked her job on my ability to solve this mystery by four o’clock this afternoon, simply because she’s a wholehearted, loyal friend. She hasn’t any money, smart clothes, influential friends or fine houses.”
“When they put his first-born in his arms a strange nausea suffused this father’s frame and he handed the warm little bundle back to his sister hastily, as if it were hot.”
“The devil of it is, this isn’t like one of those detective stories, which you can solve by merely pointing the finger of suspicion at the guilty person. This is a real life, flesh-and-blood murder case.”
Contemporary FictionMore Contemporary Fiction
For draft dodgers and gold-star parents alike, the losses of war run deep.
Along the Iron Line, there’s more to repairing the damage left by vandals than simply cleaning up the mess they left behind.
A stranger asks for help, with a promise to return the favor.
Professor Mulligan has been hiding his true identity for 60 years. The world may be ready for him to reveal his secret, but is he?
Fiction by Jack London
In this short story, a frivolous game turns deadly.
A wealthy city woman strikes up a surprising camaraderie with a late-night intruder, and they discover what lies beneath the surface of each person’s intentions.
A barn burner fight with a nimble fighter stands between an aging boxer and his prize money.
Old San Francisco, which is the San Francisco of only the other day, the day before the earthquake, was divided midway by the Slot. The Slot was an iron crack that ran along the center of Market Street, and from the Slot arose the burr of the ceaseless, endless cable that was hitched at will to the cars it dragged up and down.