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While Dr. Watson is quietly taking his breakfast, Sherlock Holmes interrupts him by deducing what he was thinking. Astonished, Watson asks for an explanation. Holmes explains the thought process, which of course Watson is amazed by the extreme simplicity of his explanation.

A lyrical ballad by the English poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson. It tells the story of a young noble woman imprisoned in a tower on an island near Camelot. She can only watch the outside world through a mirror and must weave what she sees. She has heard that if she looks at Camelot directly, she will be cursed.

The story details a chance encounter between a young soldier and an old Spaniard at a pontoon bridge. The old man's hometown of San Carlos is being evacuated because of artillery fire, and he sits at the roadside before the bridge crossing, too tired to walk. The soldier, while anticipating contact with the enemy, expresses concern about the man's safety and encourages him to continue moving. The old man, on the other hand, is not concerned about himself but worries about the animals he left behind. The old man's view of himself as a guardian of animals contrasts ironically with the soldier's identity as a killer of people.

The old man tells the soldier that he was forced to leave behind two goats, one cat, and four pairs of doves. The old man admits that "there is no need to be unquiet" about the welfare of a clever cat, and also confirms that he left the dove cage unlocked—the birds will certainly fly to safety. It is the fate of "the others"—the two goats—that he laments. The old man is very much like the goats he left in harm's way, since they have nowhere to go and cannot take care of themselves. Unlike the goats, however, this man is completely alone. Ultimately, both the goats and the old man are left to their fates because the soldier admits that "there was nothing to do" but leave the old man behind.

Finally, and almost parenthetically, the young soldier mentions that this encounter took place on Easter Sunday. The image of the risen Christ is not unlike the image of the old man's doves being released from their cage—both are symbols of hope and peace. The soldier, however, is not hopeful about the old man's fate—he bitterly remarks that "all the good luck that old man would ever have" was the fact that artillery planes were not flying that day and "the fact that cats know how to look after themselves." In this tale of contrasts, Hemingway portrays the natural world as morally and spiritually superior to the manufactured world of human beings because it does not destroy itself in war. As a keeper of animals, the old man, though he has no family and no political affiliations, is also morally and spiritually superior to the young soldier who leaves him behind.

Framton Nuttel, seeking a "nerve cure" prescribed by his doctor, visits a rural area where he knows no one. His sister provides letters of introduction so he can meet people there.

He pays a visit to Mrs. Sappleton. While he waits for her, her 15-year-old niece keeps him company in the parlor. When she realizes Nuttel has never met her aunt and knows nothing about her, she explains that it has been three years since Mrs. Sappleton's "great tragedy," when her husband and brothers went hunting and never returned, presumably engulfed by a bog. Mrs. Sappleton keeps the large French window open every day, hoping for their return.

When Mrs. Sappleton appears she is inattentive to Nuttel, talking instead about her husband's hunting trip and how she expects him home any minute. Her delusional manner and constant glances at the window make Nuttel uneasy.

Then the hunters appear in the distance, and Nuttel, horrified, grabs his walking stick and exits abruptly. When the Sappletons exclaim over his sudden, rude departure, the niece calmly explains that he was probably frightened by the hunters' dog. She claims that Nuttel told her he was once chased into a cemetery in India and held at bay by a pack of aggressive dogs.

''A Strange Story'' introduces us to the Smothers family: father, John; his wife; and their daughter are the key characters. Henry thinks it's important to tell readers that the family is honest, and that's really the only description of them we get. (Which makes it all that much more important, right?)

One night, the Smothers' daughter develops colic, an onset of abdominal pain common in infants. John Smothers rushes out to get his daughter some medicine but never returns.

The story, and the Smothers' lives, progress. The daughter recovers and grows up, gets married and has a daughter of her own. John's wife grieves his disappearance but later remarries.

Robert Frost wrote the poem Home Burial after he and his wife suffered the tragic loss of their 4-year-old son. Home Burial shows the emotions people feel after such a loss, and how they face those emotions. Through Frost's experience he shows that men and women grieve in different ways.

He wants to be the man of the house and be able to make everything the way it was. He wants to be the one who helps Amy get past the pain of the child they lost.

There were once six blind men who stood by the roadside every day, and begged from the people who passed. They had often heard of elephants, but they had never seen one; for, being blind, how could they?

It so happened one morning that an elephant was driven down the road where they stood. When they were told that the great beast was before them, they asked the driver to let him stop so that they might see him.

Of course they could not see him with their eyes; but they thought that by touching him they could learn just what kind of animal he was.

The first one happened to put his hand on the elephant's side. "Well, well!" he said, "now I know all about this beast. He is exactly like a wall."

The second felt only of the elephant's tusk. "My brother," he said, "you are mistaken. He is not at all like a wall. He is round and smooth and sharp. He is more like a spear than anything else."

The third happened to take hold of the elephant's trunk. "Both of you are wrong," he said. "Anybody who knows anything can see that this elephant is like a snake."

The fourth reached out his arms, and grasped one of the elephant's legs. "Oh, how blind you are!" he said. "It is very plain to me that he is round and tall like a tree."

The fifth was a very tall man, and he chanced to take hold of the elephant's ear. "The blindest man ought to know that this beast is not like any of the things that you name," he said. "He is exactly like a huge fan."

The sixth was very blind indeed, and it was some time before he could find the elephant at all. At last he seized the animal's tail. "O foolish fel-lows!" he cried. "You surely have lost your senses. This elephant is not like a wall, or a spear, or a snake, or a tree; neither is he like a fan. But any man with a particle of sense can see that he is exactly like a rope."

Then the elephant moved on, and the six blind men sat by the roadside all day, and quarreled about him. Each believed that he knew just how the animal looked; and each called the others hard names because they did not agree with him. People who have eyes sometimes act as foolishly.

The space rocket Clarissa was nine days out from Venus. The members of the crew were also out for nine days. They were hunters, fearless expeditionists who bagged game in Venusian jungles. At the start of our story they are busy bagging their pants, not to forget their eyes. A sort of lull has fallen over the ship (Note: a lull is a time warp that frequently attacks rockets and seduces its members into a siesta). It was during this lull that Anthony Quelch sat sprawled at his typewriter looking as baggy as a bag of unripe grapefruit. ANTHONY QUELCH, the Cosmic Clamor Boy, with a face like turned linoleum on the third term, busy writing a book: “Fascism is Communism with a shave” for which he would receive 367 rubles, 10 pazinkas and incarceration in a cinema showing Gone With The Wind.

The boys upstairs were throwing a party in the control room. They had been throwing the same party so long the party looked like a worn out first edition of a trapeze artist. There is doubt in our mind as to whether they were trying to break the party up or just do the morning mopping and break the lease simultaneously. Arms, legs and heads littered the deck. The boys, it seems, threw a party at the drop of a chin. Sort of a space cataclysm with rules and little regulation—kind of an atomic convulsion in the front parlor. The neighbors never complained. The neighbors were 450 million miles away. And the boys were tighter than a catsup bottle at lunch-time. The last time the captain had looked up the hatch and called to his kiddies in a gentle voice, “HELL!” the kiddies had thrown snowballs at him. The captain had vanished. Clever way they make these space bombs nowadays. A few minutes previous the boys had been tearing up old Amazings and throwing them at one another, but now they contented themselves with tearing up just the editors. Palmer was torn in half and he sat in a corner arguing with himself about rejecting a story for an hour before someone put him through an orange juice machine killing him. (Orange juice sorry, now?)

And then they landed on Venus. How in heck they got back there so quick is a wonder of science, but there they were. “Come on, girls!” cried Quelch, “put on your shin guards, get out there and dig ditches for good old W.P.A. and the Rover Boys Academy, earth branch 27!”

Out into the staggering rain they dashed. Five minutes later they came back in, gasping, reeling. They had forgotten their corsets! The Venusians closed in like a million land-lords. “Charge, men!” cried Quelch, running the other way. And then—BATTLE! “What a fight; folks,” cried Quelch. “Twenty thousand earth men against two Venusians! We're outnumbered, but we'll fight!" BLOOSH! "Correction—ten thousand men fighting!” KERBLOM! “One hundred men from earth left!” BOOM! “This is the last man speaking, folks! What a fight. I ain't had so much fun since—Help, someone just clipped my corset strings!” BWOM! “Someone just clipped me!”

The field was silent. The ship lay gleaming in the pink light of dawn that was just blooming over the mountains like a pale flower. The two Venusians stood weeping over the bodies of the Earthlings like onion peelers or two women in a bargain basement. One Venusian looked at the other Venusian, and in a high-pitched, hoarse, sad voice said: “Aye, aye, aye—THIS—HIT SHOODEN HEPPEN TO A DOG—NOT A DOIDY LEEDLE DOG!” And dawn came peacefully, like beer barrels, rolling.

The story starts with a busy upper-class man who has a unique passion for books. His passion boarders on obsession described in great detail by Cortazar, “He tasted the almost perverse pleasure of disengaging himself line by line from the things around him.” The man’s career clearly takes up a large amount of his time, but his velvet green armchair was a safe haven, a place to forget about the world and indulge his obsession. The man’s current fix, was a tale of two lovers. Once the man begins to read and dive into a different world Cortazar begins blurring the lines of reality and the book. The reader’s imagination brings the book he is reading to life. The two lovers meet in a cabin, it was not a meeting of passion, but one with devious intentions. Cortazar uses very specific word choice like continually referencing to blood and describing the dialog as, “raced down the pages like a rivulet of snakes,” to underscore the malice intentions they had. The lovers head off into the night, taking separate paths the male lover headed for an estate. The lovers clearly had an in intimate knowledge of the estate, in fact the woman lived there, as they had every detailed accounted for there was no chance for him to be detected. This was not a crime of passion it was one carefully planned, probably for months. He did not need to search extensively through the house for his lover’s husband, he knew where the husband would be. In the last line the husband is revealed to be the very same man reading the novel.

The Emperor—so they say—has sent a message, directly from his death bed, to you alone, his pathetic subject, a tiny shadow which has taken refuge at the furthest distance from the imperial sun. He ordered the herald to kneel down beside his bed and whispered the message in his ear. He thought it was so important that he had the herald speak it back to him. He confirmed the accuracy of verbal message by nodding his head. And in front of the entire crowd of those witnessing his death—all the obstructing walls have been broken down, and all the great ones of his empire are standing in a circle on the broad and high soaring flights of stairs—in front of all of them he dispatched his herald. The messenger started off at once, a powerful, tireless man. Sticking one arm out and then another, he makes his way through the crowd. If he runs into resistance, he points to his breast where there is a sign of the sun. So he moves forwards easily, unlike anyone else. But the crowd is so huge; its dwelling places are infinite. If there were an open field, how he would fly along, and soon you would hear the marvellous pounding of his fist on your door. But instead of that, how futile are all his efforts. He is still forcing his way through the private rooms of the innermost palace. Never will he win his way through. And if he did manage that, nothing would have been achieved. He would have to fight his way down the steps, and, if he managed to do that, nothing would have been achieved. He would have to stride through the courtyards, and after the courtyards through the second palace encircling the first, and, then again, through stairs and courtyards, and then, once again, a palace, and so on for thousands of years. And if he finally burst through the outermost door—but that can never, never happen—the royal capital city, the centre of the world, is still there in front of him, piled high and full of sediment. No one pushes his way through here, certainly not someone with a message from a dead man. But you sit at your window and dream of that message when evening comes.