"The Story of An Hour"

Kate Chopin (1894)

Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to
her as gently as possible the news of her husband's death.

It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences; veiled hints that revealed in half
concealing. Her husband's friend Richards was there, too, near her. It was he who had been in
the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently
Mallard's name leading the list of "killed." He had only taken the time to assure himself of its
truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in
bearing the sad message.

She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzed inability to
accept its significance. She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister's arms.
When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone. She would have no
one follow her.

There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair. Into this she sank,
pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul.

She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the
new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was
crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly,
and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves.

There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and
piled one above the other in the west facing her window.

She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless, except when
a sob came up into her throat and shook her, as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to
sob in its dreams.

She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain
strength. But now there was a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on
one of those patches of blue sky. It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a
suspension of intelligent thought.

There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it, fearfully. What was it? She did
not know; it was too subtle and elusive to name. But she felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching
toward her through the sounds, the scents, the color that filled the air.

Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was beginning to recognize this thing that was
approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will--as powerless as
her two white slender hands would have been. When she abandoned herself a little whispered
word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under hte breath: "free, free,
free!" The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes. They
stayed keen and bright. Her pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every
inch of her body.

She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous joy that held her. A clear and exalted
perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial. She knew that she would weep again
when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death; the face that had never looked save with
love upon her, fixed and gray and dead. But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long
procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely. And she opened and spread
her arms out to them in welcome.

There would be no one to live for during those coming years; she would live for herself. There
would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women
believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature. A kind intention or a
cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment of
illumination.

And yet she had loved him--sometimes. Often she had not. What did it matter! What could love,
the unsolved mystery, count for in the face of this possession of self-assertion which she
suddenly recognized as the strongest impulse of her being!

"Free! Body and soul free!" she kept whispering.

Josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her lips to the keyhold, imploring for
admission. "Louise, open the door! I beg; open the door--you will make yourself ill. What are
you doing, Louise? For heaven's sake open the door."

"Go away. I am not making myself ill." No; she was drinking in a very elixir of life through that
open window.

Her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her. Spring days, and summer days, and
all sorts of days that would be her own. She breathed a quick prayer that life might be long. It
was only yesterday she had thought with a shudder that life might be long.

She arose at length and opened the door to her sister's importunities. There was a feverish
triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of Victory. She clasped
her sister's waist, and together they descended the stairs. Richards stood waiting for them at the
bottom.

Some one was opening the front door with a latchkey. It was Brently Mallard who entered, a
little travel-stained, composedly carrying his grip-sack and umbrella. He had been far from the
scene of the accident, and did not even know there had been one. He stood amazed at
Josephine's piercing cry; at Richards' quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife.

When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease--of the joy that kills.
The last leaf summary in short

This article contains the last leaf summary. It is all about the last leaf summary in short. The last
leaf summary starts with two girls namely Sue and Johnsy lived together in a small flat. Both were
artists. They resided on the third floor of an old house.

Johnsy fell critically ill in November. She suffered from pneumonia and used to lie in her bed
without moving. She continuously gazed out of the window. Sue, her friend, became very worried.
She called the doctor. Although he came every day, yet Johnsy’s condition showed no
improvement.

The doctor confirmed that Johnsy was not willing to live. As a result, the medicines were
ineffective to cure her ill-health.

Sue tried her greatest to make Johnsy take an interest in things around her. She talked about
clothes and fashion. However, Johnsy was irresponsive. She continued to lie still on her bed. Sue
brought her drawing-board into the room and began to paint.

Suddenly Sue heard Johnsy whispering something. She speedily rushed to the bed and heard
Johnsy counting backward. She speedily rushed to the bed and heard Johnsy counting backward.
Looking out of the window, she was saying, “Twelve!”

However, after some time she whispered “eleven”, then “ten” and so on. She saw an old ivy
creeper climbing half-way up the brick wall opposite to the window. Also, the creeper was
shedding its leaves in the strong wind.

Johnsy was very depressed. She created a thought that she would die when the last leaf fell.
Moreover, she did not accept the soup offered to her.

Later, in the last leaf summary, Sue tried to show affection towards Johnsy. Sue told her that she
would not die. She kept the curtain open as she needed the light to complete her painting. She
desired to fetch money for them by selling it. Sue pleaded Johnsy not to look out of the window.

Also, she told Johnsy that she would not die. She has to live for her friends. Moreover, Sue would
become lonely without Johnsy.  But Johnsy was sure that she would die as soon as the last leaf
falls.

She added that she would sleep after the last leaf falls and would sleep forever. Sue was very
worried about her friend’s condition. She was helpless.
Sue rushed to the ground floor to seek help from a 60-year-old painter. His name was Behrman.
His lifelong dream was to paint a masterpiece. Unfortunately, it remained a dream only.

Sue told the condition of his friend to Behrman. She refused to eat and continuously looked
outside the window. She declares that she would not survive after the falling of the last leaf. He
condemned Johnsy for being silly. However, he agrees to paint the last leaf for Johnsy so that she
could recover.

Johnsy woke up the next morning. To her surprise, the last leaf survived the storm and it was
clinging to the creeper. It survived another storm in the evening too.

This incident opened Johnsy’s eyes. She apologized to her friend for being so irresponsive and
depressed. She realized that it was a sin to think of death. Then, she combed, had soup, and a
desire to live.

The doctor arrived. He told about the improvement in her health. He added that she would recover
soon as her desire to live was back.

Sue went to see Behrman. He was only two days ill. However, he dies of pneumonia contracted
while being out in the wet and cold. Sue tells this news to Johnsy. She tells her to look at the last
leaf clinging to the creeper. She reveals the truth that it was the masterpiece of the old artist,
Behrman.

He always wanted to produce a masterpiece painting but had never succeeded in his attempt to
produce the same. However, to help her recover from her depression, he spent considerable time
painting with great realism a leaf on the wall. Thus, he himself dies of pneumonia contracted while
being out in the wet and cold.
THE COCK by Tao Kim Hai (full story)
          You're quite right; he has certainly outlived his usefulness, and we should kill him. But
my husband would never agree to it, and neither would I. Help yourself betel again, honored
sister and I will tell you why.

          Yes, he's getting quite old for a rooster, and he doesn't perform his conjugal duties as he
should. But there's no question of killing him, nor even of giving his harem to a younger cock.
In the first place, he would fight until his crop were torn open rather than be disposed. He
comes of a fighting stock-see how long and sharp his spurs are, and how curved. And, in spite
of his age, he's still on his fast feet to defend his right. His feet are his most aristocratic feature:
notice how the scales grow in two straight lines like the Chinese mottoes on either side of a
door, with not a sign of feather between them. His mother was only an ordinary Cochin-China
hen, but his sire was a real Cambodian fighting cock but I've no idea how many fights to his
credit. But that's neither here nor there; it's not for his fighting blood that I value him. The truth
is that he did me a great service five years ago. . It's thanks to my poor old rooster that I married
the man I love.

          Five years ago, my husband lived next door to my parents. We were neighbors but the
distance between us was immeasurable, unbridgeable. He had neither father nor mother; my
father was ly-troung of the community. His house was a little hut built on date-palm post,
walled with bamboo and thatched with water-palm leaves: my house had four rows of carved
teak-wood columns, wall of white washed-brick and red-tiled roof. My father had twenty oxen
and ten buffaloes, and a thousand acres of rice fields; he hadn't even a patch of ground, and
raised only a few chickens. To tell the truth, he was our tadien (tenant farmer).

          Tenant or not, he was a handsome young man, the best monochord player and the fastest
rice planter of the whole district. You should have heard him play the monochord in those days;
it was enough to bring a goddess down from heaven. I have made him give up playing since we
have married, although I love music myself. It was not all because I was jealous of his
monochord; I was afraid of his eyesight, too. Everybody says the monochord causes blindness,
and the better musician, the greater the danger.

          He was eighteen, and I was two years younger. We were in love, and our love was all the
stronger because it was hopeless. An irresistable attraction drew me to him., in spite of his
rough farm clothes and his unkempt hair.

          In his poultry yard, a young cock with green and gold plumage and blood-red comb
lorded it over the admiring hens. He fought all the other cocks in the village, and galantly
refused the paddy and broken rice thrown to his flock until his wives had eaten their fill: He was
brave, and he was not at all bashful, either with the hens or before me. You would have said he
took a wicked delight in making love to them in my presence. Then he would cock a glittering
eye at me, and crow.
          One day, his master and I were talking behind the bamboo hut, where we were safe from
all indiscreet eyes. Suddenly, we heard a loud "Ha, ha, ha!" We turned around in alarm; it was
only the cock. My suitor threw a stick at him. He saw the stick coming and made the
magnificent leap to one side, so the stick only grazed his tail. Then with an indignant "kut-kut-
kut" he stalked off to rejoin his hens, looking for the entire world like an insulted sovereign.
from the safety of the poultry yard he looked back at us, and like a practical joker who had just
pulled off a good one, he crowed, "Ha, ha, ha-a-a!"

          Another day we found a trysting place at the foot of a big straw stack, from which we
could look out over the endless reaches of my father's rice fields, the obstacle to our marriage.
The accursed cock came and perched on top of the straw stack , discovered us, and beating his
wings in the air as if to call the world to witness, he let out a scandalized "Oh-ho-oh-rooo!"

          In trying to chase the old tatle-tale away, we all lost sense of caution, and he was not the
only one to see us together that time. Soon, the village was buzzing with gossip about us; the
cock had set tongues wagging. jealous girls, and young men, too, whispered that I had lost my
virtue, and the old bagia shook their heads and began to speculate on the date when my figure
would show results of my fall. And of course, the rumors did not fail to reach my parents' ears.

          The cock joined the other gossips. No longer satisfied to crow all day, he started to crow
in the evening, too, after the lamps were lit. His competitors, a thousand times outcrowed but
still ambitious, replied from all the hen houses of the village. You never heard such a racket.

          Do you believe here in our province, honorable elder sister, that the crowing of the cock
in the evening is a sign of extramarital pregnancy? In our district, everybody believed it, even
my mother. My poor mother is superstitious. In spite of my tears and my denials, she took me
for a lost virgin who dared not acknowledge he fall. No need for me to admit it; the cocks were
there to proclaim it far and wide.

          My grandparents were summoned, and my aunts and uncles on my mother's side and on
my fathers. They shut me up in my little room and held a family caucus in the living room
before the altar of our ancestors. I thought my last hour has come, and I waited for them to
bring me the lethal cup, the saber, and the red silk cord. Which death should I choose-
poisoning, bleeding, or hanging? Would they shave my head like a nun before they force me to
commit suicide? Suicide, it certainly must be, for the family of a mayor must never lose face.

          But, I was an only child, and my mother was already old. No matter what the sacrifice,
the family must have another generation to carry on the cult of the ancestors. If I were to die
without issue, my mother would be forced to choose a concubine for my father and to admit her
to marriage bed, to cherish the concubine's children as her own. Then, too, I suspect that my
father was beginning to be influenced by European ideas. Above all, he loved me a great deal,
although the traditional reserve that a father must observe toward his daughter kept him from
showing it. Whatever the reason, the family council decided to do nothing worse than to marry
me off in all haste. And to whom, God in Heaven? To my seducer, no less. I agreed without a
murmur.

          The six preliminary marriage ceremonies were gotten through with before two weeks had
passed, and we were married in the strictest privacy. The formal proposal was without pomp
and palaver; the betel ceremony was reduced to a little more than a tete-a-tete in everyday
clothes. As for the suitor's period of probation in the house of his future wife, which usually
lasts from six months to two years, we simply omitted it. No invitations on scarlet paper with
gold script, no official delegation from the town council, no gift of ring-necked ducks on a brass
platter, nor open-air banquet lasting far into the night. But there were also none of those more
annoying jokes which most young people have to resign themselves to-the drinking party in the
bridal chamber, the bed that rocks, the bridegroom who is kidnapped. We had only to prostrate
ourselves: i, in a wide-sleeved dress and he, in a black tunic and turban, before the altars of our
ancestors and before my parents, less to ask their benediction than to make honorable amends.

          It was a bad match, and a scandalous one; the less said the better.

          It had been agreed that we should leave our native village immediately and make our
home in some distant province where we were not known. On our wedding night, we set out on
the long journey, in a big barge that my parents had loaded with rice, salt, fish, and piastres. We
were accompanied by two faithful servants and the cock, which followed us into exile with all
his harem.

          We have been here for five years now, honorable sister, in your rich and peaceful
province, and as you know, we have not yet had a child.My poor mother writes me that she
spends her days running to the pagodas having prayers said and sacrifices made, in the hope of
becoming a grandmother before she joins her ancestors at the Golden Spring. The poor old cock
has been proved a liar. But thanks to his lies, I'm a happy woman, and he shall have all the
white rice he can eat to the end of his days.
The Necklace summary
Mathilde Loisel is “pretty and charming” but feels she has been born into a family of
unfavorable economic status. She was married off to a lowly clerk in the Ministry of Education,
who can afford to provide her only with a modest though not uncomfortable lifestyle. Mathilde
feels the burden of her poverty intensely. She regrets her lot in life and spends endless hours
imagining a more extravagant existence. While her husband expresses his pleasure at the small,
modest supper she has prepared for him, she dreams of an elaborate feast served on fancy china
and eaten in the company of wealthy friends. She possesses no fancy jewels or clothing, yet
these are the only things she lives for. Without them, she feels she is not desirable. She has one
wealthy friend, Madame Forestier, but refuses to visit her because of the heartbreak it brings
her.
One night, her husband returns home proudly bearing an invitation to a formal party hosted by
the Ministry of Education. He hopes that Mathilde will be thrilled with the chance to attend an
event of this sort, but she is instantly angry and begins to cry. Through her tears, she tells him
that she has nothing to wear and he ought to give the invitation to one of his friends whose wife
can afford better clothing. Her husband is upset by her reaction and asks how much a suitable
dress would cost. She thinks about it carefully and tells him that 400 francs would be enough.
Her husband quietly balks at the sum but agrees that she may have the money.

As the day of the party approaches, Mathilde starts to behave oddly. She confesses that the
reason for her behavior is her lack of jewels. Monsieur Loisel suggests that she wear flowers,
but she refuses. He implores her to visit Madame Forestier and borrow something from her.
Madame Forestier agrees to lend Mathilde her jewels, and Mathilde selects a diamond necklace.
She is overcome with gratitude at Madame Forestier’s generosity.

At the party, Mathilde is the most beautiful woman in attendance, and everyone notices her. She
is intoxicated by the attention and has an overwhelming sense of self-satisfaction. At 4 a.m., she
finally looks for Monsieur Loisel, who has been dozing for hours in a deserted room. He cloaks
her bare shoulders in a wrap and cautions her to wait inside, away from the cold night air, while
he fetches a cab. But she is ashamed at the shabbiness of her wrap and follows Monsieur Loisel
outside. They walk for a while before hailing a cab.
When they finally return home, Mathilde is saddened that the night has ended. As she removes
her wrap, she discovers that her necklace is no longer around her neck. In a panic, Monsieur
Loisel goes outside and retraces their steps. Terrified, she sits and waits for him. He returns
home much later in an even greater panic—he has not found the necklace. He instructs her to
write to Madame Forestier and say that she has broken the clasp of the necklace and is getting it
mended.
They continue to look for the necklace. After a week, Monsieur Loisel says they have to see
about replacing it. They visit many jewelers, searching for a similar necklace, and finally find
one. It costs 40,000 francs, although the jeweler says he will give it to them for 36,000. The
Loisels spend a week scraping up money from all kinds of sources, mortgaging the rest of their
existence. After three days, Monsieur Loisel purchases the necklace. When Mathilde returns the
necklace, in its case, to Madame Forestier, Madame Forestier is annoyed at how long it has
taken to get it back but does not open the case to inspect it. Mathilde is relieved.

The Loisels began to live a life of crippling poverty. They dismiss their servant and move into
an even smaller apartment. Monsieur Loisel works three jobs, and Mathilde spends all her time
doing the heavy housework. This misery lasts ten years, but at the end they have repaid their
financial debts. Mathilde’s extraordinary beauty is now gone: she looks just likes the other
women of poor households. They are both tired and irrevocably damaged from these years of
hardship.

One Sunday, while she is out for a walk, Mathilde spots Madame Forestier. Feeling emotional,
she approaches her and offers greetings. Madame Forestier does not recognize her, and when
Mathilde identifies herself, Madame Forestier cannot help but exclaim that she looks different.
Mathilde says that the change was on her account and explains to her the long saga of losing the
necklace, replacing it, and working for ten years to repay the debts. At the end of her story,
Madame Forestier clasps her hands and tells Mathilde the original necklace was just costume
jewelry and not worth anything.
The Gift of the Magi Summary

O. Henry’s short story “The Gift of the Magi” opens with one dollar and eighty-seven cents.
That's all Della Dillingham Young has to buy a Christmas gift for her beloved husband, James
Dillingham Young—better known as Jim. Oh yeah, and it’s Christmas Eve—so she’s not only
low on money, but time. Faced with such a situation, Della promptly bursts into tears on the
couch, which gives the narrator the opportunity to tell us a bit more about the situation of Jim
and Della. The short of it is they live in a shabby New York City flat and they're poor. But they
love each other.
Once Della's recovered herself, she goes to a mirror to let down her beautiful hair and examine
it. Della's gorgeous, brown, knee-length hair is one of the two great treasures of the poor couple.
The other is Jim's gold watch. Her hair examined, Della puts it back up, sheds a tear, and
bundles up to head out into the cold. She leaves the flat and walks to Madame Sofronie's hair
goods shop, where she sells her hair for twenty dollars. Now she has $21.87 cents. (When was
the last time you got a haircut and made a profit?)

With her new funds, Della is able to find Jim the perfect Christmas present: an elegant platinum
watch chain for his pocket watch. It's $21, and she buys it. Excited by her gift, Della returns
home and tries to make her now-short hair presentable (with a curling iron). She's not convinced
Jim will approve, but she did what she had to do to get him a good present. When she finishes
with her hair, she gets to work preparing coffee and dinner.

Jim arrives at 7 p.m. to find Della waiting by the door and stares fixedly at her, not able to
understand that Della's hair is gone. Della can't understand quite what his reaction means.

After a little while, Jim snaps out of it and gives Della her present, explaining that his reaction
will make sense when she opens it. Della opens it and cries out in joy, only to burst into tears
immediately afterward. Jim has given her the fancy set of combs she's wanted for ages, a really
nice set made from real tortoiseshell. The combs would’ve been the perfect gift, but now she
has no long hair in which to wear them. Jim nurses Della out of her sobs. Once she's recovered,
she gives Jim his present, holding out the watch chain. Jim smiles, falling back on the couch.
Having very little money himself, he sold his pocket watch to get enough money to buy Della's
tortoiseshell combs, he explains. He recommends they put away their presents and have dinner.
As they do so, the narrator brings the story to a close by pronouncing that Della and Jim, though
they sold their most prized possessions, are the wisest of everyone who gives gifts. Comparing
the young couple to the wise men who brought the baby Jesus gifts in the Christmas story, he
says that “they are the magi.”

“The Fall of the House of Usher” 

The narrator finds the inside of the house just as spooky as the outside. He makes his way
through the long passages to the room where Roderick is waiting. He notes that Roderick is
paler and less energetic than he once was. Roderick tells the narrator that he suffers from nerves
and fear and that his senses are heightened. The narrator also notes that Roderick seems afraid
of his own house. Roderick’s sister, Madeline, has taken ill with a mysterious sickness—
perhaps catalepsy, the loss of control of one’s limbs—that the doctors cannot reverse. The
narrator spends several days trying to cheer up Roderick. He listens to Roderick play the guitar
and make up words for his songs, and he reads him stories, but he cannot lift Roderick’s spirit.
Soon, Roderick posits his theory that the house itself is unhealthy, just as the narrator supposes
at the beginning of the story.
Madeline soon dies, and Roderick decides to bury her temporarily in the tombs below the
house. He wants to keep her in the house because he fears that the doctors might dig up her
body for scientific examination, since her disease was so strange to them. The narrator helps
Roderick put the body in the tomb, and he notes that Madeline has rosy cheeks, as some do after
death. The narrator also realizes suddenly that Roderick and Madeline were twins. Over the
next few days, Roderick becomes even more uneasy. One night, the narrator cannot sleep either.
Roderick knocks on his door, apparently hysterical. He leads the narrator to the window, from
which they see a bright-looking gas surrounding the house. The narrator tells Roderick that the
gas is a natural phenomenon, not altogether uncommon.

The narrator decides to read to Roderick in order to pass the night away. He reads “Mad Trist”
by Sir Launcelot Canning, a medieval romance. As he reads, he hears noises that correspond to
the descriptions in the story. At first, he ignores these sounds as the vagaries of his imagination.
Soon, however, they become more distinct and he can no longer ignore them. He also notices
that Roderick has slumped over in his chair and is muttering to himself. The narrator
approaches Roderick and listens to what he is saying. Roderick reveals that he has been hearing
these sounds for days, and believes that they have buried Madeline alive and that she is trying to
escape. He yells that she is standing behind the door. The wind blows open the door and
confirms Roderick’s fears: Madeline stands in white robes bloodied from her struggle. She
attacks Roderick as the life drains from her, and he dies of fear. The narrator flees the house. As
he escapes, the entire house cracks along the break in the frame and crumbles to the ground.
 The Lottery
By Shirley Jackson

The villagers of a small town gather together in the square on June 27, a beautiful day, for the
town lottery. In other towns, the lottery takes longer, but there are only 300 people in this
village, so the lottery takes only two hours. Village children, who have just finished school for
the summer, run around collecting stones. They put the stones in their pockets and make a pile
in the square. Men gather next, followed by the women. Parents call their children over, and
families stand together.

Mr. Summers runs the lottery because he has a lot of time to do things for the village. He
arrives in the square with the black box, followed by Mr. Graves, the postmaster. This black
box isn’t the original box used for the lottery because the original was lost many years ago,
even before the town elder, Old Man Warner, was born. Mr. Summers always suggests that they
make a new box because the current one is shabby, but no one wants to fool around with
tradition. Mr. Summers did, however, convince the villagers to replace the traditional wood
chips with slips of paper.

Mr. Summers mixes up the slips of paper in the box. He and Mr. Graves made the papers the
night before and then locked up the box at Mr. Summers’s coal company. Before the lottery can
begin, they make a list of all the families and households in the village. Mr. Summers is sworn
in. Some people remember that in the past there used to be a song and salute, but these have
been lost.

Tessie Hutchinson joins the crowd, flustered because she had forgotten that today was the day
of the lottery. She joins her husband and children at the front of the crowd, and people joke
about her late arrival. Mr. Summers asks whether anyone is absent, and the crowd responds that
Dunbar isn’t there. Mr. Summers asks who will draw for Dunbar, and Mrs. Dunbar says she
will because she doesn’t have a son who’s old enough to do it for her. Mr. Summers asks
whether the Watson boy will draw, and he answers that he will. Mr. Summers then asks to make
sure that Old Man Warner is there too.

Mr. Summers reminds everyone about the lottery’s rules: he’ll read names, and the family heads
come up and draw a slip of paper. No one should look at the paper until everyone has drawn.
He calls all the names, greeting each person as they come up to draw a paper. Mr. Adams tells
Old Man Warner that people in the north village might stop the lottery, and Old Man Warner
ridicules young people. He says that giving up the lottery could lead to a return to living in
caves. Mrs. Adams says the lottery has already been given up in other villages, and Old Man
Warner says that’s “nothing but trouble.”Mr. Summers finishes calling names, and everyone
opens his or her papers. Word quickly gets around that Bill Hutchinson has “got it.” Tessie
argues that it wasn’t fair because Bill didn’t have enough time to select a paper. Mr. Summers
asks whether there are any other households in the Hutchinson family, and Bill says no, because
his married daughter draws with her husband’s family. Mr. Summers asks how many kids Bill
has, and he answers that he has three. Tessie protests again that the lottery wasn’t fair.Mr.
Graves dumps the papers out of the box onto the ground and then puts five papers in for the
Hutchinsons. As Mr. Summers calls their names, each member of the family comes up and
draws a paper. When they open their slips, they find that Tessie has drawn the paper with the
black dot on it. Mr. Summers instructs everyone to hurry up.

The villagers grab stones and run toward Tessie, who stands in a clearing in the middle of the
crowd. Tessie says it’s not fair and is hit in the head with a stone. Everyone begins throwing
stones at her.
 The yellow wallpaper by charlotte Perkins Gilman summary
The narrator begins her journal by marveling at the grandeur of the house and grounds her
husband has taken for their summer vacation. She describes it in romantic terms as an
aristocratic estate or even a haunted house and wonders how they were able to afford it, and
why the house had been empty for so long. Her feeling that there is “something queer” about
the situation leads her into a discussion of her illness—she is suffering from “nervous
depression”—and of her marriage. She complains that her husband John, who is also her doctor,
belittles both her illness and her thoughts and concerns in general. She contrasts his practical,
rationalistic manner with her own imaginative, sensitive ways. Her treatment requires that she
do almost nothing active, and she is especially forbidden from working and writing. She feels
that activity, freedom, and interesting work would help her condition and reveals that she has
begun her secret journal in order to “relieve her mind.” In an attempt to do so, the narrator
begins describing the house. Her description is mostly positive, but disturbing elements such as
the “rings and things” in the bedroom walls, and the bars on the windows, keep showing up.
She is particularly disturbed by the yellow wallpaper in the bedroom, with its strange, formless
pattern, and describes it as “revolting.” Soon, however, her thoughts are interrupted by John’s
approach, and she is forced to stop writing.
As the first few weeks of the summer pass, the narrator becomes good at hiding her journal, and
thus hiding her true thoughts from John. She continues to long for more stimulating company
and activity, and she complains again about John’s patronizing, controlling ways—although she
immediately returns to the wallpaper, which begins to seem not only ugly, but oddly menacing.
She mentions that John is worried about her becoming fixated on it, and that he has even
refused to repaper the room so as not to give in to her neurotic worries. The narrator’s
imagination, however, has been aroused. She mentions that she enjoys picturing people on the
walkways around the house and that John always discourages such fantasies. She also thinks
back to her childhood, when she was able to work herself into a terror by imagining things in
the dark. As she describes the bedroom, which she says must have been a nursery for young
children, she points out that the paper is torn off the wall in spots, there are scratches and
gouges in the floor, and the furniture is heavy and fixed in place. Just as she begins to see a
strange sub-pattern behind the main design of the wallpaper, her writing is interrupted again,
this time by John’s sister, Jennie, who is acting as housekeeper and nurse for the narrator.
As the Fourth of July passes, the narrator reports that her family has just visited, leaving her
more tired than ever. John threatens to send her to Weir Mitchell, the real-life physician under
whose care Gilman had a nervous breakdown. The narrator is alone most of the time and says
that she has become almost fond of the wallpaper and that attempting to figure out its pattern
has become her primary entertainment. As her obsession grows, the sub-pattern of the
wallpaper becomes clearer. It begins to resemble a woman “stooping down and creeping”
behind the main pattern, which looks like the bars of a cage. Whenever the narrator tries to
discuss leaving the house, John makes light of her concerns, effectively silencing her. Each time
he does so, her disgusted fascination with the paper grows.
As the Fourth of July passes, the narrator reports that her family has just visited, leaving her
more tired than ever. John threatens to send her to Weir Mitchell, the real-life physician under
whose care Gilman had a nervous breakdown. The narrator is alone most of the time and says
that she has become almost fond of the wallpaper and that attempting to figure out its pattern
has become her primary entertainment. As her obsession grows, the sub-pattern of the
wallpaper becomes clearer. It begins to resemble a woman “stooping down and creeping”
behind the main pattern, which looks like the bars of a cage. Whenever the narrator tries to
discuss leaving the house, John makes light of her concerns, effectively silencing her. Each time
he does so, her disgusted fascination with the paper grows.