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Thackeray, William Makepeace, 1811-1863

"The Best British Short Stories of 1922"

" His lids quivered, but he made no
answer. I poured out some water into my basin and, with that cold
pictured azure eye fixed on us, bespattered Seaton's sallow face and
forehead and dabbled his hair. He presently sighed and opened fish-like
eyes.
"Come on!" I said. "Don't get shamming, there's a good chap. Get on my
back, if you like, and I'll carry you into your bedroom."
He waved me away and stood up. So, with my candle in one hand, I took
him under the arm and walked him along according to his direction down
the corridor. His was a much dingier room than mine, and littered with
boxes, paper, cages, and clothes. I huddled him into bed and turned to
go. And suddenly, I can hardly explain it now, a kind of cold and
deadly terror swept over me. I almost ran out of the room, with eyes
fixed rigidly in front of me, blew out my candle, and buried my head
under the bedclothes.
When I awoke, roused by a long-continued tapping at my door, sunlight
was raying in on cornice and bedpost, and birds were singing in the
garden. I got up, ashamed of the night's folly, dressed quickly, and
went downstairs.


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