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The Bronze Bell by Louis Joseph Vance
page 72 of 360 (20%)

"You know what Bengalis are; that fellow'd do anything, brave any
ordinary danger, rather than try to cross that sandbar again--if he
really came that way; which I am inclined to doubt. On the other hand,
he's intelligent enough to know that a night like this in the dunes
would kill him. Well, what then?"

Rutton was not listening. As Amber concluded he seemed to find what he
had been seeking, thrust it hurriedly into the breast-pocket of his
coat, and with a muttered word, unintelligible, dashed to the door and
flung it open and himself out.

With a shriek of demoniac glee the wind entered into and took
possession of the room. A cloud of snow swept across the floor like a
veil. The door battered against the wall as if trying to break it down.
A pile of newspapers was swept from the table and scattered to the four
corners of the room. The rug lifted beneath the table and flapped
against it like a broken wing. The cheap tin kerosene lamp jumped as
though caught up by a hand; its flame leapt high and blue above the
chimney--and was not. In darkness but for the fitful flare of the fire
that had been dying in embers on the hearth, Amber, seeking the
doorway, fell over a chair, blundered flat into the wall, and stumbled
unexpectedly out of the house.

His concern was all for Rutton; he had no other thought. He ran a
little way down the hollow, heartsick with horror and cold with dread.
Then he paused, bewildered. Other than the wan glimmer of the snow-clad
earth he had no light to guide him; with this poor aid he could see no
more than that the vale was deserted. Whither in that white whirling
world Rutton might have wandered, it was impossible to surmise. In
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