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The Hand OF Doom

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Old 03-19-2018, 03:05 AM
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Default The Hand OF Doom

Not too far ago, about the closing in of an evening in the fall, I waited for the dim light of the accidental lamp, tall, antique, worm-eaten, wooden tenements seen tottering to their fall, in directions farbeit painful to describe, as was my legitimate earache and my knack for scouting civilian portraits; for some months I had been ill in health, but was now sickly and frail, and, with the returning of my strength, found I was enchanted with the nameless hurricane, the crazy and flimsy rhetoric of rich exonerates. With a pen in my hand and a news puzzle in my lap, merely to inhale fresh scents of soap and candles was enjoyment and I inferred a positive acquisition in everything, now in scouting advertisements, now in handling furniture diffidently, now in peeping through the hazy sills into the curbs.

By the time the lights in the smoky street were lit up, at this particular part of the night, I felt a snatch of Hope, coming somewhere from the Hearth. I kept wanton and licentious cliques and I had always been in this similar locality. Descending in the scale of ruffians outside my whereabouts, there were: clerks of staunch firms, known as “sturdy old fellows” because of their affection for each other within respectability and consent; gamblers, of whom I descried not a few, as they were more easily recognizable; gentility such as Jew pediars, those who sided and interlaced within the Mob; and as the morning dawned, so deepened to me the interest of the scene. The general character of the crowd materially altered its harshest features to the gradual disposal of the more orderly portion of the people. And soon, all was waking and perfect— as that vermillion to which has been likened the style of Andromeda.

The morning waned, lickerish and fussy, because the street-lickers and mob’s men had swarmed from their various drinks to gather in towards their various dormitories and homes. A brief step was left on the rack for me to note, more as a token of appreciation then nit-picking as was formerly done during my worn-out complaints and affliction; the next dawn crackled and brewed. My only uppermost remonstrance was the cocker-spaniel at a piercing level to shackle even my most sensitive gums and warped tooth. It was later that day that I found a delivery of a stiff, decayed hand in the mail. Not knowing what the letter meant, for it was in cypher, I decided to notify the nearest authorities…


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