The Flayed Hand
One evening about eight months ago I met with some college comrades at
the lodgings of our friend Louis R. We drank punch and smoked, talked
of literature and art, and made jokes like any other company of young
men. Suddenly the door flew open, and one who had been my friend since
boyhood burst in like a hurricane.
"Guess where I come from?" he cried.
"I bet on the Mabille," responded one. "No," said another, "you are
too gay; you come from borrowing money, from burying a rich uncle, or
from pawning your watch." "You are getting sober," cried a third,
"and, as you scented the punch in Louis' room, you came up here to get
drunk again."
"You are all wrong," he replied. "I come from P., in Normandy, where I
have spent eight days, and whence I have brought one of my friends, a
great criminal, whom I ask permission to present to you."
With these words he drew from his pocket a long, black hand, from
which the skin had been stripped. It had been severed at the wrist.
Its dry and shriveled shape, and the narrow, yellowed nails still
clinging to the fingers, made it frightful to look upon. The muscles,
which showed that Its first owner had been possessed of great
strength, were bound in place by a strip of parchment-like skin.
"1108218354"
the lodgings of our friend Louis R. We drank punch and smoked, talked
of literature and art, and made jokes like any other company of young
men. Suddenly the door flew open, and one who had been my friend since
boyhood burst in like a hurricane.
"Guess where I come from?" he cried.
"I bet on the Mabille," responded one. "No," said another, "you are
too gay; you come from borrowing money, from burying a rich uncle, or
from pawning your watch." "You are getting sober," cried a third,
"and, as you scented the punch in Louis' room, you came up here to get
drunk again."
"You are all wrong," he replied. "I come from P., in Normandy, where I
have spent eight days, and whence I have brought one of my friends, a
great criminal, whom I ask permission to present to you."
With these words he drew from his pocket a long, black hand, from
which the skin had been stripped. It had been severed at the wrist.
Its dry and shriveled shape, and the narrow, yellowed nails still
clinging to the fingers, made it frightful to look upon. The muscles,
which showed that Its first owner had been possessed of great
strength, were bound in place by a strip of parchment-like skin.
The Flayed Hand
One evening about eight months ago I met with some college comrades at
the lodgings of our friend Louis R. We drank punch and smoked, talked
of literature and art, and made jokes like any other company of young
men. Suddenly the door flew open, and one who had been my friend since
boyhood burst in like a hurricane.
"Guess where I come from?" he cried.
"I bet on the Mabille," responded one. "No," said another, "you are
too gay; you come from borrowing money, from burying a rich uncle, or
from pawning your watch." "You are getting sober," cried a third,
"and, as you scented the punch in Louis' room, you came up here to get
drunk again."
"You are all wrong," he replied. "I come from P., in Normandy, where I
have spent eight days, and whence I have brought one of my friends, a
great criminal, whom I ask permission to present to you."
With these words he drew from his pocket a long, black hand, from
which the skin had been stripped. It had been severed at the wrist.
Its dry and shriveled shape, and the narrow, yellowed nails still
clinging to the fingers, made it frightful to look upon. The muscles,
which showed that Its first owner had been possessed of great
strength, were bound in place by a strip of parchment-like skin.
the lodgings of our friend Louis R. We drank punch and smoked, talked
of literature and art, and made jokes like any other company of young
men. Suddenly the door flew open, and one who had been my friend since
boyhood burst in like a hurricane.
"Guess where I come from?" he cried.
"I bet on the Mabille," responded one. "No," said another, "you are
too gay; you come from borrowing money, from burying a rich uncle, or
from pawning your watch." "You are getting sober," cried a third,
"and, as you scented the punch in Louis' room, you came up here to get
drunk again."
"You are all wrong," he replied. "I come from P., in Normandy, where I
have spent eight days, and whence I have brought one of my friends, a
great criminal, whom I ask permission to present to you."
With these words he drew from his pocket a long, black hand, from
which the skin had been stripped. It had been severed at the wrist.
Its dry and shriveled shape, and the narrow, yellowed nails still
clinging to the fingers, made it frightful to look upon. The muscles,
which showed that Its first owner had been possessed of great
strength, were bound in place by a strip of parchment-like skin.
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Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940013743618 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | WDS Publishing |
| Publication date: | 01/12/2012 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 11 KB |
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