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It was eleven o’clock of a Spring night in Florida. It was Sunday. Any other night, Delia Jones would have been in bed for two hours by this time. But she was a washwoman, and Monday morning meant a great deal to her. So she collected the soiled clothes on Saturday when she returned the clean things. Sunday night after church, she sorted them and put the white things to soak. It saved her almost a half day’s start. A great hamper in the bedroom held the clothes that she brought home. It was so much neater than a number of bundles lying around.

“The Nose” by Nikolai Gogol

I On the 25th March, 18—, a very strange occurrence took place in St Petersburg. On the Ascension Avenue there lived a barber of the name of Ivan Jakovlevitch. He had lost his family name, and on his sign-board, on which was depicted the head of a gentleman with one cheek soaped, the only inscription to be read was, “Blood-letting done here.

“The Mark on the Wall” by Virginia Woolf

Perhaps it was the middle of January in the present year that I first looked up and saw the mark on the wall. In order to fix a date it is necessary to remember what one saw. So now I think of the fire; the steady film of yellow light upon the page of my book; the three chrysanthemums in the round glass bowl on the mantelpiece. Yes, it must have been the winter time, and we had just finished our tea, for I remember that I was smoking a cigarette when I looked up and saw the mark on the wall for the first time. I looked up through the smoke of my cigarette and my eye lodged for a moment upon the burning coals, and that old fancy of the crimson flag flapping from the castle tower came into my mind, and I thought of the cavalcade of red knights riding up the side of the black rock. Rather to my relief the sight of the mark interrupted the fancy, for it is an old fancy, an automatic fancy, made as a child perhaps. The mark was a small round mark, black upon the white wall, about six or sev...

* The Google Translate feature is not intended to fill the role of a true translator – which is really an art unto itself – but merely to be used as a tool for convenience, say, if English were not one’s first language and a specific word or phrase required further clarification. Unless no other option is available, those in search of a true translation are encouraged to look elsewhere, as the translations provided by Google almost certainly lack the context, nuance, and artistry of the original, and that also goes for the many wonderful, classic translations the English-reading world has come to know and love over the last century.

** The short stories and images on this website are either in the public domain or cleared for your enjoyment. Original material, such as commentary, falls under © Story Stumbler 2023. All Rights Reserved.

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