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Widdershins by Oliver [pseud.] Onions
page 45 of 299 (15%)

The next moment he had given a high cry.

"What is it? What's there? _Who's_ there?"

A sound of scuttling caused his knees to bend under him for a moment; but
that, he knew, was a mouse. That was not something that his stomach
turned sick and his mind reeled to entertain. That other sound, the like
of which was not in the world, had now entirely ceased; and again he
called....

He called and continued to call; and then another terror, a terror of the
sound of his own voice, seized him. He did not dare to call again. His
shaking hand went to his pocket for a match, but found none. He thought
there might be matches on the mantelpiece--

He worked his way to the mantelpiece round a little recess, without for a
moment leaving the wall. Then his hand encountered the mantelpiece, and
groped along it. A box of matches fell to the hearth. He could just see
them in the firelight, but his hand could not pick them up until he had
cornered them inside the fender.

Then he rose and struck a light.

The room was as usual. He struck a second match. A candle stood on the
table. He lighted it, and the flame sank for a moment and then burned up
clear. Again he looked round.

There was nothing.

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