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Kipling, Rudyard, 1865-1936

"The Phantom Rickshaw and Other Ghost Stories"

Instinctively I halted too, giving my
reason. Heatherlegh rapped out an oath.
"Now, if you think I'm going to spend a cold night on the hillside
for the sake of a stomach-_cum_-Brain-_cum_-Eye illusion.... Lord,
ha' mercy! What's that?"
There was a muffled report, a blinding smother of dust just in front
of us, a crack, the noise of rent boughs, and about ten yards of the
cliff-side--pines, undergrowth, and all--slid down into the road
below, completely blocking it up. The uprooted trees swayed and
tottered for a moment like drunken giants in the gloom, and then
fell prone among their fellows with a thunderous crash. Our two
horses stood motionless and sweating with fear. As soon as the
rattle of falling earth and stone had subsided, my companion
muttered:--"Man, if we'd gone forward we should have been ten
feet deep in our graves by now. 'There are more things in heaven
and earth.' ... Come home, Pansay, and thank God. I want a peg
badly."
We retraced our way over the Church Ridge, and I arrived at Dr.
Heatherlegh's house shortly after midnight.


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