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Stevenson, Burton Egbert, 1872-1962

"The Gloved Hand"

I could guess how the gasping city welcomed
it, and I lay for a long time listening to it, as it dripped from the
leaves and beat against the house. A delightful coolness filled the
room, an odour fresh and clean; and when, at last, with nerves
quieted, I fell asleep again, it was not to awaken until the sun was
bright against my curtains.


CHAPTER III
THE DRAMA IN THE GARDEN

I glanced at my watch, as soon as I was out of bed, and saw that it
was after ten o'clock. All the sleep I had lost during the hot nights
of the previous week had been crowded into the last nine hours; I felt
like a new man, and when, half an hour later, I ran downstairs, it was
with such an appetite for breakfast as I had not known for a long
time.
There was no one in the hall, and I stepped out through the open door
to the porch beyond, and stood looking about me. The house was built
in the midst of a grove of beautiful old trees, some distance back
from the road, of which I could catch only a glimpse. It was a small
house, a story and a half in height, evidently designed only as a
summer residence.
"Good morning, sir," said a voice behind me, and I turned to find a
pleasant-faced, grey-haired woman standing in the doorway.


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