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Stevenson, Burton Egbert, 1872-1962

"The Gloved Hand"

Will you stay?"
"Yes," I said, "of course. But please get back as soon as you can."
"I will," he promised, and, after a last look around the room, stepped
out upon the walk.
I went to the door and looked after him until the sound of his
footsteps died away. Then, feeling very lonely, I turned back into the
room. Those regular tremors were still shaking the girl's body in a
way that seemed to me most alarming, but there was nothing I could do
for her, and I finally pulled a chair to Swain's side. He, at least,
offered a sort of companionship. He was sitting with his head hanging
forward in a way that reminded me most unpleasantly of the huddled
figure by the table, and did not seem to be aware of my presence. I
tried to draw him into talk, but a slight nod from time to time was
all I could get from him, and I finally gave it up. Mechanically, my
hand sought my coat pocket and got out my pipe--yes, that was what I
needed; and, sitting down in the open doorway, I filled it and lighted up.
My nerves grew calmer, presently, and I was able to think connectedly
of the events of the night, but there were two things which, looked at
from any angle, I could not understand.


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