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MacGrath, Harold, 1871-1932

"Hearts and Masks"


Here was a pretty fix! I had never even dreamed of such a contingency.
Hang it! I now wished I had stuck to my original plan, and gone to the
theater. Decidedly I was in for it; there was no backing down at this
late hour, unless I took the return train for Jersey City; and I
possessed too much stubbornness to surrender to any such weakness.
Either I should pass the door-committee, or I shouldn't; of one thing I
was certain--
"Blankshire!" bawled the trainman; then the train slowed down and
finally came to a stop.
No turning back for me now. I picked up my suit-case and got out. On
the platform I saw the curio-shop fellow again. Tramping on ahead, the
smell from his villainous pipe assailing my nostrils, was the man who
had asked for a match. The former stood undecided for a moment, and
during this space of time he caught sight of me. He became erect, gave
me a sudden sardonic laugh, and swiftly disappeared into the dark. All
this was uncommonly disquieting; in vain I stared into the blackness
that had swallowed him. What could he be doing here at Blankshire? I
didn't like his laugh at all; there was at once a menace and a
challenge in it.
"Any baggage, sir?" asked one of the station hands.
"No.


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