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Hodgson, William Hope, 1877-1918

"The House on the Borderland"


For some little time, I stood there, lost in perplexing thought. 'What
does it all mean?' was the cry that had begun to reiterate through
my brain.
A sudden idea struck me, and I searched 'round for a piece of stone.
Presently, I found a bit of rock, about the size of a small loaf.
Sticking the candle upright in a crevice of the floor, I went back from
the edge, somewhat, and, taking a short run, launched the stone forward
into the chasm--my idea being to throw it far enough to keep it clear of
the sides. Then, I stooped forward, and listened; but, though I kept
perfectly quiet, for at least a full minute, no sound came back to me
from out of the dark.
I knew, then, that the depth of the hole must be immense; for the
stone, had it struck anything, was large enough to have set the echoes
of that weird place, whispering for an indefinite period. Even as it
was, the cavern had given back the sounds of my footfalls,
multitudinously. The place was awesome, and I would willingly have
retraced my steps, and left the mysteries of its solitudes unsolved;
only, to do so, meant admitting defeat.


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