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Fiction

Fiction

by Lord Dunsany WHEN ONE HAS seen Spring’s blossom fall in London, and Summer appear and ripen and decay, as it does early in cities, and one is in London still, then, at some moment or another, the country places lift their flowery heads and call to one with an urgent, masterful clearness, upland…
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Fiction

by James Harting AT AGE 37, Ubungu Rodriquez Goldstein Johnson was the oldest man in his village. He did not know that he was 37, for record keeping and numbers were not part of his people’s culture. The villagers only knew that he was old past all reckoning and they called him “Grandpa Ubi.” In truth, he…
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Fiction

by Lord Dunsany ALL ALONG the farmyard gables the swallows sat a-row, twittering
uneasily to one another, telling of many things, but thinking only of
Summer and the South, for Autumn was afoot and the North wind
waiting. And suddenly one day they were all quite gone. And everyone
spoke of the swallows…
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EssaysFictionH. Millard

by H. Millard IF YOU’RE reading this I’m pretty sure you already know most of the history of the swastika and its variants some of which are called fylfots. We all know there are Buddhist versions, Hindu versions, National Socialist versions, ancient American Indian versions, Scandinavian…
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Fiction

by Lord Dunsany ALL WE WHO WRITE put me in mind of sailors hastily making rafts upon doomed ships. When we break up under the heavy years and go down into eternity with all that is ours our thoughts like small lost rafts float on awhile upon Oblivion’s sea. They will not carry much over those tides,…
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Fiction

by Lord Dunsany CHARON leaned forward and rowed. All things were one with his weariness. It was not with him a matter of years or of centuries, but of wide floods of time, and an old heaviness and a pain in the arms that had become for him part of the scheme that the gods had made and was of a piece with Eternity.…
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Fiction

by Lord Dunsany GOING DOWN Picadilly one day and nearing Grosvenor Place I saw, if my memory is not at fault, some workmen with their coats off — or so they seemed. They had pickaxes in their hands and wore corduroy trousers and that little leather band below the knee that goes by the astonishing name of “York-to-London.”…
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Fiction

by Lord Dunsany ONE’S SPIRIT goes further in dreams than it does by day. Wandering once by night from a factory city I came to the edge of Hell. The place was foul with cinders and cast-off things, and jagged, half-buried things with shapeless edges, and there was a huge angel with a hammer building…
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Fiction

by Lord Dunsany HE WAS ALL in black, but his friend was dressed in brown, members of two old families. “Is there any change in the way you build your houses?” said he in black. “No change,” said the other. “And you?” “We change not,” he said. A man went…
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Fiction

by Lord Flint’s Volunteer I WENT TO the track.
A good night out watching the greyhounds race and having a bet. The mechanical rabbit whizzed past.
Traps sprang open.
Dogs chased.
They ran full tilt.
Perfect canine athletes, they ran as if their lives depended on it.
Trying to catch a mechanical…
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