It is dark here. The flame of the candle stands still in the air. Nothing moves in this tunnel save our hand on the paper. We are alone here under the earth. It is a fearful word, alone.
Category: Novella
The Call of the Wild by Jack London
Buck staggered over against the sled, exhausted, sobbing for breath, helpless. This was Spitz’s opportunity. He sprang upon Buck, and twice his teeth sank into his unresisting foe and ripped and tore the flesh to the bone.
The Story of Joan of Arc by Andrew Lang
THE end of the year of the Maid was at hand. She had often said that she would last but a year, or little more, counting from May 1429.