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Stevenson, Burton Egbert, 1872-1962

"The Gloved Hand"


I have never seen a more impressive figure than Silva made that
morning. His robes were dead black, and in contrast to them and to his
hair and beard, his face looked white as marble. But, after the first
moments, the ceremony failed to interest me; for Silva spoke a
language which I supposed to be Hindustani, and there was a monotony
about it and about his gestures which ended in getting on my nerves.
It lasted half an hour, and the moment it was over, Miss Vaughan
slipped away. The yogi and Mahbub followed her, and then we three
stepped forward for a last look at the body.
It was robed all in white. The undertaker had managed to compose the
features, and the high stock concealed the ugly marks upon the neck.
So there was nothing to tell of the manner of his death, and there was
a certain majesty about him as he lay with hands crossed and eyes
closed.
We left the room in silence, and Hinman signed to the undertaker that
the service was ended.
"I am going with the body to the crematory," he said, and presently
drove away with the undertaker, ahead of the hearse. Godfrey and I
stood gazing after it until it passed from sight, then, in silence, we
walked down the drive to the entrance.


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