هذا القسم يحتوي علي العديد من القصص والروايات باللغة الإنجليزية

(Stories and novels) القصص والروايات
الرواية هي سرد نثري طويل يصف شخصيات خيالية أو واقعية وأحداثاً على شكل قصة متسلسلة، كما أنها أكبر الأجناس القصصية من حيث الحجم وتعدد الشخصيات وتنوع الأحداث، وقد ظهرت في أوروبا بوصفها جنساً أدبياً مؤثراً في القرن الثامن عشر، والرواية حكاية تعتمد السرد بما فيه من وصف وحوار وصراع بين الشخصيات وما ينطوي عليه ذلك من تأزم وجدل وتغذيه الأحداث
A novel is a relatively long work of narrative fiction, normally written in prose form, and which is typically published as a book. The present English word for a long work of prose fiction derives from the Italian novella for "new", "news", or "short story of something new", itself from the Latin novella, a singular noun use of the neuter plural of novellus, diminutive of novus, meaning "new". Walter Scott made a distinction between the novel, in which (as he saw it) "events are accommodated to the ordinary train of human events and the modern state of society" and the romance, which he defined as "a fictitious narrative in prose or verse; the interest of which turns upon marvellous and uncommon incidents". However, many such romances, including the historical romances of Scott, Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights and Herman Melville's Moby-Dick, are also frequently called novels, and Scott describes romance as a "kindred term". This sort of romance is in turn different from the genre fiction love romance or romance novel
A short story is a piece of prose fiction that typically can be read in one sitting and focuses on a self-contained incident or series of linked incidents, with the intent of evoking a "single effect" or mood.

A dictionary definition is "an invented prose narrative shorter than a novel usually dealing with a few characters and aiming at unity of effect and often concentrating on the creation of mood rather than plot."

The short story is a crafted form in its own right. Short stories make use of plot, resonance, and other dynamic components as in a novel, but typically to a lesser degree. While the short story is largely distinct from the novel or novella (a shorter novel), authors generally draw from a common pool of literary techniques.

The Secret Agent    

Mr Verloc, going out in the morning, left his shop nominally in charge of his brother-in-law. It could be
done, because there was very little business at any time, and practically none at all before the evening.
Mr Verloc cared but little about his ostensible business. And, moreover, his wife was in charge of his
brother-in-law.
The shop was small, and so was the house. It was one of those grimy brick houses which existed in large
quantities before the era of reconstruction dawned upon London. The shop was a square box of a place,
with the front glazed in small panes. In the daytime the door remained closed; in the evening it stood
discreetly but suspiciously ajar.
The window contained photographs of more or less undressed dancing girls; nondescript packages in
wrappers like patent medicines; closed yellow paper envelopes, very flimsy, and marked two-and-six in
heavy black figures; a few numbers of ancient French comic publications hung across a string as if to dry;
a dingy blue china bowl, a casket of black wood, bottles of marking ink, and rubber stamps; a few books,
with titles hinting at impropriety; a few apparently old copies of obscure newspapers, badly printed, with
titles like The Torch, The Gong—rousing titles. And the two gas jets inside the panes were always turned
low, either for economy’s sake or for the sake of the customers.
These customers were either very young men, who hung about the window for a time before slipping in
suddenly; or men of a more mature age, but looking generally as if they were not in funds. Some of that
last kind had the collars of their overcoats turned right up to their moustaches, and traces of mud on the
bottom of their nether garments, which had the appearance of being much worn and not very valuable.
And the legs inside them did not, as a general rule, seem of much account either. With their hands plunged
deep in the side pockets of their coats, they dodged in sideways, one shoulder first, as if afraid to start the
bell going.

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