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1984 George Or**ll

Part I sets up the misery of Winston's world before he outwardly expresses any sort of rebellion.
Winston Smith is living in London, chief city of Airstrip One (formerly known as England), in the superstate of Oceania. It ishe thinks1984.
Oceania is a totalitarian state dominated by the principles of Ingsoc (English Socialism) and ruled by an ominous organization known simply as the Party. Oceania and the two other world superstates, Eurasia and Eastasia, are involved in a continuous war over the remaining world, and constantly shift alliances. As the novel progresses, it becomes clear that the war is largely an illusion, and that the three superstates maintain this illusion for their mutual benefit. It serves their shared purpose of holding onto absolute po**r over their respective peoples. Much of the warfare, in fact, is inflicted by these governments upon their own citizens.

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A Coward

Guy de Maupassant
Society called him Handsome Signoles. His name was Viscount Gontran-Joseph de Signoles.
An orphan, and possessed of an adequate income, he cut a dash, as the saying is. He had a good figure and a good carriage, a sufficient flow of words to pass for wit, a certain natural grace, an air of nobility and pride, a gallant moustache and an eloquent eye, attributes which women like.
He was in demand in drawing-rooms, sought after for valses, and in men he inspired that smiling hostility which is reserved for vital and attractive rivals. He had been suspected of several love-affairs of a sort calculated to create a good opinion of a youngster. He lived a happy, care-free life, in the most complete **ll-being of body and mind. He was known to be a fine swordsman and a still finer shot with the pistol.
"When I come to fight a duel," he would say, "I shall choose pistols. With that **apon, I'm sure of killing my man."
One evening, he **nt to the theatre with two ladies, quite young, friends of his, whose husbands **re also of the party, and after the performance he invited them to take ices at Tortoni's.
They had been sitting there for a few minutes when he noticed a gentleman at a neighbouring table staring obstinately at one of the ladies of the party. She seemed embarrassed and ill at ease, and bent her head. At last she said to her husband:
"There's a man staring at me. I don't know him; do you?"
The husband, who had seen nothing, raised his eyes, but declared:
"No, not in the least."
Half smiling, half in anger, she replied:
"It's very annoying; the creature's spoiling my ice."
Her husband shrugged his shoulders.
"Deuce take him, don't appear to notice it. If ** had to deal with all the discourteous people one meets, **'d never have done with them."
But the Viscount had risen abruptly. He could not permit this stranger to spoil an ice of his giving. It was to him that the insult was addressed, since it was at his invitation and on his account that his friends had come to the cafe. The affair was no business of anyone but himself.
He **nt up to the man and said:
"You have a way of looking at those ladies, sir, which I cannot stomach. Please be so good as to set a limit to your persistence."
"You hold your tongue," replied the other.
"Take care, sir," retorted the Viscount, clenching his teeth;" you'll force me to overstep the bounds of common politeness."
The gentleman replied with a single word, a vile word which rang across the cafe from one end to the other, and, like the release of a spring, jerked every person present into an abrupt movement. All those with their backs towards him turned round, all the rest raised their heads; three waiters spun round on their heels like tops; the two ladies behind the counter started, then the whole upper half of their bodies twisted round, as though they **re a couple of automata worked by the same handle.
There was a profound silence. Then suddenly a sharp noise resounded in the air. The Viscount had boxed his adversary's ears. Every one rose to intervene. Cards **re exchanged.
Back in his home, the Viscount walked for several minutes up and down his room with long quick strides. He was too excited to think. A solitary idea dominated his mind: "a duel"; but as yet the idea stirred in him no emotion of any kind. He had done what he was compelled to do; he had shown himself to be what he ought to be. People would talk of it, would approve of him, congratulate him. He repeated aloud, speaking as a man speaks in severe mental distress:
"What a hound the fellow is!"
Then he sat down and began to reflect. In the morning he must find seconds. Whom should he choose? He searched his mind for the most important and celebrated names of his acquaintance. At last he decided on the Marquis de la Tour-Noire and Colonel Bourdin, an aristocrat and a soldier; they would do excellently. Their names would look **ll in the papers. He realised that he was thirsty, and drank three glasses of water one after the other; then he began to walk up and down again. He felt full of energy. If he played the gallant, sho**d himself determined, insisted on the most strict and dangerous arrangements, demanded a serious duel, a thoroughly serious duel, a positively terrible duel, his adversary would probably retire an apologist.
He took up once more the card which he had taken from his pocket and thrown down upon the table, and read it again as he had read it before, in the cafe, at a glance, and in the cab, by the light of each gas-lamp, on his way home.
"Georges Lamil, 51 rue Moncey." Nothing more.
He examined the grouped letters; they seemed to him mysterious, full of confused meaning. Georges Lamil? Who was this man? What did he do? Why had he looked at the woman in that way? Was it not revolting that a stranger, an unknown man, could thus disturb a man's life, without warning, just because he chose to fix his insolent eyes upon a woman? Again the Viscount repeated aloud:
"What a hound!"
Then he remained standing stock-still, lost in thought, his eyes still fixed upon the card. A fury against this scrap of paper awoke in him, a fury of hatred in which was mingled a queer sensation of uneasiness. This sort of thing was so stupid! He took up an open knife which lay close at hand and thrust it through the middle of the printed name, as though he had stabbed a man.
So he must fight. Should he choose swords or pistols?--for he regarded himself as the insulted party. With swords there would be less risk, but with pistols there was a chance that his adversary might withdraw. It is very rare that a duel with swords is fatal, for mutual prudence is apt to restrain combatants from engaging at sufficiently close quarters for a point to penetrate deeply. With pistols he ran a grave risk of death; but he might also extricate himself from the affair with all the honours of the situation and without actually coming to a meeting.
"I must be firm," he said. "He will take fright."
The sound of his voice set him trembling, and he looked round. He felt very nervous. He drank another glass of water, then began to undress for bed.
As soon as he was in bed, he blew out the light and closed his eyes.
"I've the whole of to-morrow," he thought, "in which to set my affairs in order. I'd better sleep now, so that I shall be quite calm."
He was very warm in the blankets, but he could not manage to compose himself to sleep. He turned this way and that, lay for five minutes upon his back, turned on to his left side, then rolled over on to his right.
He was still thirsty. He got up to get a drink. A feeling of uneasiness crept over him:
"Is it possible that I'm afraid?"
Why did his heart beat madly at each familiar sound in his room? When the clock was about to strike, the faint squeak of the rising spring made him start; so shaken he was that for several seconds afterwards he had to open his mouth to get his breath.
He began to reason with himself on the possibility of his being afraid.
"Shall I be afraid?"
No, of course he would not be afraid, since he was resolved to see the matter through, and had duly made up his mind to fight and not to tremble. But he felt so profoundly distressed that he wondered:
"Can a man be afraid in spite of himself?"
He was attacked by this doubt, this uneasiness, this terror; suppose a force more po**rful than himself, masterful, irresistible, overcame him, what would happen? Yes, what might not happen? Assuredly he would go to the place of the meeting, since he was quite ready to go. But supposing he trembled? Supposing he fainted? He thought of the scene, of his reputation, his good name.
There came upon him a strange need to get up and look at himself in the mirror. He relit his candle. When he saw his face reflected in the polished glass, he scarcely recognised it, it seemed to him as though he had never yet seen himself. His eyes looked to him enormous; and he was pale; yes, without doubt he was pale, very pale.
He remained standing in front of the mirror. He put out his tongue, as though to ascertain the state of his health, and abruptly the thought struck him like a bullet:
"The day after to-morrow, at this very hour, I may be dead."
His heart began again its furious beating.
"The day after to-morrow, at this very hour, I may be dead. This person facing me, this me I see in the mirror, will be no more. Why, here I am, I look at myself, I feel myself alive, and in t**nty-four hours I shall be lying in that bed, dead, my eyes closed, cold, inanimate, vanished."
He turned back towards the bed, and distinctly saw himself lying on his back in the very sheets he had just left. He had the hollow face of a corpse, his hands had the slackness of hands that will never make another movement.
At that he was afraid of his bed, and, to get rid of the sight of it, **nt into the smoking-room. Mechanically he picked up a cigar, lit it, and began to walk up and down again. He was cold; he **nt to the bell to wake his valet; but he stopped, even as he raised his hand to the rope.
"He will see that I am afraid."
He did not ring; he lit the fire. His hands shook a little, with a nervous tremor, whenever they touched anything. His brain whirled, his troubled thoughts became elusive, transitory, and gloomy; his mind suffered all the effects of intoxication, as though he **re actually drunk.
Over and over again he thought:
"What shall I do? What is to become of me?"
His whole body trembled, seized with a jerky shuddering; he got up and, going to the window, drew back the curtains.
Dawn was at hand, a summer dawn. The rosy sky touched the town, its roofs and walls, with its own hue. A broad descending ray, like the caress of the rising sun, enveloped the awakened world; and with the light, hope--a gay, swift, fierce hope--filled the Viscount's heart! Was he mad, that he had allo**d himself to be struck down by fear, before anything was settled even, before his seconds had seen those of this Georges Lamil, before he knew whether he was going to fight?
He washed, dressed, and walked out with a firm step.
He repeated to himself, as he walked:
"I must be energetic, very energetic. I must prove that I am not afraid."
His seconds, the Marquis and the Colonel, placed themselves at his disposal, and after hearty handshakes discussed the conditions.
"You are anxious for a serious duel? " asked the Colonel.
"Yes, a very serious one," replied the Viscount.
"You still insist on pistols?" said the Marquis.
"You will leave us free to arrange the rest?"
In a dry, jerky voice the Viscount stated:
"T**nty paces; at the signal, raising the arm, and not lo**ring it. Exchange of shots till one is seriously wounded."
"They are excellent conditions," declared the Colonel in a tone of satisfaction. "You shoot **ll, you have every chance."
They departed. The Viscount **nt home to wait for them. His agitation, momentarily quietened, was now growing minute by minute. He felt a strange shivering, a ceaseless vibration, down his arms, down his legs, in his chest; he could not keep still in one place, neither seated nor standing. There was not the least moistening of saliva in his mouth, and at every instant he made a violent movement of his tongue, as though to prevent it sticking to his palate.
He was eager to have breakfast, but could not eat. Then the idea came to him to drink in order to give himself courage, and he sent for a decanter of rum, of which he swallo**d six liqueur glasses full one after the other.
A burning warmth flooded through his body, follo**d immediately by a sudden dizziness of the mind and spirit.
"Now I know what to do," he thought. "Now it is all right."
But by the end of an hour he had emptied the decanter, and his state of agitation had once more become intolerable. He was conscious of a wild need to roll on the ground, to scream, to bite. Night was falling.
The ringing of a bell gave him such a shock that he had not strength to rise and **lcome his seconds.
He did not even dare to speak to them, to say "Good evening" to them, to utter a single word, for fear they guessed the whole thing by the alteration in his voice.
"Everything is arranged in accordance with the conditions you fixed," observed the Colonel. "At first your adversary claimed the privileges of the insulted party, but he yielded almost at once, and has accepted everything. His seconds are two military men."
"Thank you," said the Viscount.
"Pardon us," interposed the Marquis, "if ** merely come in and leave again immediately, but ** have a thousand things to see to. ** must have a good doctor, since the combat is not to end until a serious wound is inflicted, and you know that pistol bullets are no laughing-matter. ** must appoint the ground, near a house to which ** may carry the wounded man if necessary, etc. In fact, ** shall be occupied for two or three hours arranging all that there is to arrange."
"Thank you," said the Viscount a second time.
"You are all right?" asked the Colonel. "You are calm?"
"Yes, quite calm, thank you."
The two men retired.
When he realised that he was once more alone, he thought that he was going mad. His servant had lit the lamps, and he sat down at the table to write letters. After tracing, at the head of a sheet: "This is my will," he rose shivering and walked away, feeling incapable of connecting two ideas, of taking a resolution, of making any decision whatever.
So he was going to fight! He could no longer avoid it. Then what was the matter with him? He wished to fight, he had absolutely decided upon this plan of action and taken his resolve, and he now felt clearly, in spite of every effort of mind and forcing of will, that he could not retain even the strength necessary to get him to the place of meeting. He tried to picture the duel, his own attitude and the bearing of his adversary.
From time to time his teeth chattered in his mouth with a slight clicking noise. He tried to read, and took down Chateauvillard's code of duelling. Then he wondered:
"Does my adversary go to shooting-galleries? Is he **ll known? Is he classified anywhere? How can I find out?"
He bethought himself of Baron Vaux's book on marksmen with the pistol, and ran through it from end to end. Georges Lamil was not mentioned in it. Yet if the man **re not a good shot, he would surely not have promptly agreed to that dangerous **apon and those fatal conditions?
He opened, in passing, a case by Gastinne Renette standing on a small table, and took out one of the pistols, then placed himself as though to shoot and raised his arm. But he was trembling from head to foot and the barrel moved in every direction.
At that, he said to himself:
"It's impossible. I cannot fight in this state."
He looked at the end of the barrel, at the little, black, deep hole that spits death; he thought of the disgrace, of the whispers at the club, of the laughter in drawing-rooms, of the contempt of women, of the allusions in the papers, of the insults which cowards would fling at him.
He was still looking at the **apon, and, raising the hammer, caught a glimpse of a cap gleaming beneath it like a tiny red flame. By good fortune or forgetfulness, the pistol had been left loaded. At the knowledge, he was filled with a confused inexplicable sense of joy.
If, when face to face with the other man, he did not show a proper gallantry and calm, he would be lost for ever. He would be sullied, branded with a mark of infamy, hounded out of society. And he would not be able to achieve that calm, that swaggering poise; he knew it, he felt it. Yet he was brave, since he wanted to fight I ... He was brave, since....
The thought which hovered in him did not even fulfil itself in his mind; but, opening his mouth wide, he thrust in the barrel of his pistol with savage gesture until it reached his throat, and pressed on the trigger.
When his valet ran in, at the sound of the report, he found him lying dead upon his back. A sho**r of blood had splashed the white paper on the table, and made a great red mark beneath these four words:
"This is my will."

A Dark Brown Dog Stepahn Crane

A Dark Brown Dog
Stepahn Crane
A child was standing on a street-corner. He leaned with one shoulder against a high board-fence and swayed the other to and fro, the while kicking carelessly at the gravel.
Sunshine beat upon the cobbles, and a lazy summer wind raised yellow dust which trailed in clouds down the avenue. Clattering trucks moved with indistinctness through it. The child stood dreamily gazing.
After a time, a little dark-brown dog came trotting with an intent air down the sidewalk. A short rope was dragging from his neck. Occasionally he trod upon the end of it and stumbled.
He stopped opposite the child, and the two regarded each other. The dog hesitated for a moment, but presently he made some little advances with his tail. The child put out his hand and called him. In an apologetic manner the dog came close, and the two had an interchange of friendly pattings and waggles. The dog became more enthusiastic with each moment of the interview, until with his gleeful caperings he threatened to overturn the child. Whereupon the child lifted his hand and struck the dog a blow upon the head.
rk-brown friend.

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In the immediate aftermath of the fall of Troy, the play opens at King Agamemnon's palace in Argos with the lonely Watchman's soliloquy. From the roof of the palace, the Watchman begs the gods for respite from his interminable watch. The stars, his sole, plentiful and steadfast, companions seem to him like so many "dynasties" revolving in endless cycles, waxing and waning, moving out of winter into summer and back again. What he wishes, in short, is rest.
He relates how he has been obliged by the queen to keep watch for a fire. Further he cannot sleep for restless fear. In his musings he hints of a great bygone woe, "the pity of this house," which he hopes will soon be redeemed. The flames, he says, would presage positively. Far off in the distance, then, a light glows, and the Watchman spies a messenger's blaze that hails the fall of Troy. He draws a joyous analogy to a sunrise. The soliloquy closes with the Watchman hopeful that his king will return home, since the house, he says, has too long wallo**d in a dismal sadness.

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A Hounted House

Virginia Woolf
Whatever hour you woke there was a door shutting. From room to room they **nt, hand in hand, lifting here, opening there, making sure--a ghostly couple.
"Here ** left it," she said. And he added, "Oh, but here tool" "It's upstairs," she murmured. "And in the garden," he whispered. "Quietly," they said, "or ** shall wake them."
But it wasn't that you woke us. Oh, no. "They're looking for it; they're drawing the curtain," one might say, and so read on a page or two. "Now they've found it,' one would be certain, stopping the pencil on the margin. And then, tired of reading, one might rise and see for oneself, the house all empty, the doors standing open, only the wood pigeons bubbling with content and the hum of the threshing machine sounding from the farm. "What did I come in here for? What did I want to find?" My hands **re empty. "Perhaps its upstairs then?" The apples **re in the loft. And so down again, the garden still as ever, only the book had slipped into the grass.

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Once there was a man and his wife.
They had no house.
They lived in the fields.
And they slept at the foot of a tree.
The man caught fish.
He was a fisherman.
The man was happy.
He said ” why do men live in houses”.
“This tree is my house”.
“We have no house”.
“We have no bed”.
The fields are my bed.
But his wife was not happy.
She said ”why did I marry a poor fisherman”.
We have no house.

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The lost Ring

The Lost Ring


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Hansel and Grathel

Hansel and Grathel

Hard by a great forest dwelt a poor wood-cutter with his wife and his two children. The boy was called Hansel and the girl Gretel. He had little to bite and to break, and once, when great dearth fell on the land, he could no longer procure even daily bread.

Now when he thought over this by night in his bed, and tossed about in his anxiety. He groaned and said to his wife, “What is to become of us? How are we to feed our poor children, when we no longer have anything even for ourselves?”

”I’ll tell you what, husband,” answered the woman, “early tomorrow morning we will take the children out into the forest to where it is the thickest. There we will light a fire for them, and give each of them one more piece of bread, and then we will go to our work and leave them alone. They will not find the way home again, and we shall be rid of them.”

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The young tiger was walking up and down with nervous and fast steps in his cage, behind the railings. Somehow somebody was squeezing his heart with a barbed wire rope today. The sun had risen and set a lot of times since he had been locked up in this cage. He was about one month old. The hunters had caught him when had gone for a walk in the forest one day and they had sold him to this zoo. He was as tall as a fairly large cat. He grew up and got srong as time passed. His cage wasn’t tiny but he didn’t want to live here. He would like to be free and to reach the forest, whose name he started to forget and where he longed for, and he would like to direct his life. People were crowding into there, were standing in front of the cage and were watching him for a lot of minutes with full of admiration.

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Poor Ahmet (Fakir Ahmet)

Poor Ahmet (Fakir Ahmet)

Ahmet’s mother and father were poor. They were living in a small house with only one room. Since his father’s lungs were ill, he compulsorily retired. Ahmet finished primary school in difficulty by selling pretzel out of school time. Later by the help of his neighbour he started to work in a restaurant to do the washing up. Ahmet had taken the first step to realize his dreams. He had met the wonderful meals which he formerly used to see behind the restaurant windows. Now he had ¤¤¤¤ three courses a day. He had kept Uncle Veli, who was cooking in the restaurant, observing. He would learn cooking from him and he would be a cook himself, too but Ahmet would work not in somebody else’s restaurant but in his own one.
Ahmet opened a restaurant in the city centre after he had done his military service. Because his meals were very delicious, the restaurant was ¤¤¤¤ of customers. He was earning well. Sometimes poor people used to come to the restaurant and eat free meal.
The waiters working in the restaurant and the customers couldn’t find any sense of Ahmet’s going and leaving two plates of meals to an empty table during lunch times. How would they know that they were Ahmet’s present to his mother and father, whom the poverty had finished years ago? They also wouldn’t be able to hear that while putting the plates on the table Ahmet was murmuring “you aren’t going stay hungry any more from now on mummy and daddy. Have your meals and get yourself very ¤¤¤¤.”

Written by: Serdar YILDIRIM

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One of the jackals found a rifle while it was walking in the jungle. It recognised there were two cartridge in the rifle, and it immediately started robberies. Animals in the jungle, properties of which were
stolen and were under threat convened and they arrived before lion.
The lion was informed about the circumstance and this made it very angry and thereafter, it followed the jackal around.

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Robot Eagle (Robot Kartal)

Robot Eagle – ?ngilizce Hikaye-Türkçe Tercümesiyle

Professor Jack Stingo used to make some experiments, was trying to invent things in his free time on the basement floor of his house, which he converted into a laboratory. In the last few years he paid all his attention to make a robot eagle and concentrated his works on this way. He had already made two robot eagles and had flown them with a remote control in his house’s large garden, which was in the ghetto, but that was not his main aim.

Professor Jack Stingo knew that making a well – developed robot eagle was in turn. This robot eagle would have a lot more different qualifications than the other robot eagles: It would have all the information it should know through the mini computer in its brain and it would search the eagles’ lives by having close relationships with them by the light of this information. It would transfer its observations to the professor’s computer in the laboratory after interpreting them in the mini computer in its brain. By the way everything he saw through the camera in its eyes would be seen by the professor on the computer’s screen being in the laboratory.

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