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Stevenson, Burton Egbert, 1872-1962

"The Gloved Hand"

The black lips were parted over the ugly teeth, and the eyes
had rolled upward till they gleamed, two vacant balls of white. At the
side of his neck, just under the jaw, was a hideous swelling.
Godfrey's torch ran over the body from head to foot, and I sickened as
I looked at it.
"I'm going out," I said. "I can't stand this!" and I hurried to the
open window.
Godfrey joined me there in a moment.
"I'm feeling pretty bad myself," he said, putting the torch in his
pocket and mopping his shining forehead. "It's plain enough what
happened. I caught a glimpse of Miss Vaughan on the floor there,
realised that we couldn't do anything with the snake in the way, and
shot at it, but I only ripped away a portion of the hood, and the
thing, mad with rage, sprang upon the Hindu. Nothing on earth could
have saved him after it got its fangs in his neck. Ugh!"
He shivered slightly, and stood gazing for a moment down into the
garden. Then he turned back to me with a smile.
"It's a good night's work, Lester," he said, "even if we don't catch
Silva. I fancy Miss Vaughan will change her mind, now, about becoming
a priestess of Siva!"
"But, Godfrey," I asked, "what happened? What was she doing in there?
What .


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