ComicBooks.com Register / Loginit's free!

Pulp Fiction, 1947 · page 51 of 132

Avon Modern Short Story Monthly #36 — page 51: what you’re looking at

📖 Open the full issue in the page-flip reader →
Avon Modern Short Story Monthly #36 — page 51: Pulp Fiction, 1947

A restored page from Pulp Fiction, 1947. Page through the whole issue in the reader above.

📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

-. . A tas . / . ~~ ? < ‘~ ; é ‘/ a - HISTORICAL NIGHTS’ ENTERTAINMENT 51 “Yesterday,” she said, “you made, or seemed to make, me a pro- osal.” ; He looked up at first in surprise, then with a faint smile on his coarse, red mouth. His glance had read her meaning clearly. “Look you, mistress, here I am lord of life and death. Yet in the case of your husband I yield up that power to you. Say but the word and I sign the order for his gaol delivery at dawn.” “I have come to say that word,” she informed him. A moment he looked up at her, his smile broadening, a flush mounting to his cheek-bones. Then he rose and sent his chair crash- ing behind him to the ground. “Herrgott!” he grunted; and he gathered her ‘slau trembling body — | to his massive gold-laced breast. Soon after sunrise on the morrow she was beating at the gates of Middelburg gaol, a paper clutched convulsively in her left hand. She was admitted, and to the head gaoler she showed the paper that she carried. “An order from the Governor of Zeeland for the gaol delivery of Philip Danvelt!” she announced almost hysterically. The gaoler scanned the paper, then her face. His lips tightened. “Come this way,” he said; and led her down a gloomy corridor to the cell where yesterday she had seen her husband. He threw wide the door, and Sapphira sprang in. “Philip!” she cried, and checked as suddenly. He lay supine and still upon the miserable pallet, his hands folded upon his breast, his face waxen, his eyes staring glassily through half- closed lids. : She sped to his side in a sudden chill of terror. She fell on her knees and touched him. “Dead!” she screamed, and, kneeling, span round questioning to face the gaoler in the doorway. “Dead!” “He was hanged at daybreak, mistress,” said the gaoler gently. She rocked a moment, moaning, then fell suddenly forward across her husband’s body in a swoon. That evening she was again at the Gravenhof to see Rhynsaul, and again she was admitted—a haggard-faced woman now, in whom : (E(0) > hee 4 4 o*§3%> pe , ? ~ ro ee ey hee eas * i, Per, Pit MATIN ote mia es. ss "3h TAM Ae kes et Me en hs > 4 » tf. n'a “e res ' d " “ . - . a - * ee ia o> Ya S Pd aay as be ST et Oe, Tee 5 ae) yo pee ee alte Le, ner ere i . 4 « ¥ Ww "« * Ry aT = ‘ Cyt" 4 Yo ee Cad . 4, ga ae at eo ah ety Sher Por. Ds. <7 oper he-Syoa! erg lew oh The tates ss. <> 7 .. Py eh ew. “te POS a SG «Bore san v - ss - >. Se et ie oo oa A oY re ~) es omit, Gomichbooks , arta at PLT FUP 4 est mh: