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Phantom Fingers

open mouth bluishly, his open mouth, which still seemed grotesquely to be gasping for air for his tortured lungs . . . air which he was now never more to receive, throughout eternity.

I repeat, it was unbelievable. And yet, it had happened. Later, I was to wonder whether, if I had been quicker, I could have prevented it. I was to wonder and speculate about the phantom hand I had felt in my fingers, which I had vainly tried to tear away from the throat of its prey. I was to wonder whether I had really seen all this and it was to be some time before I found an answer to it.

“But how could this be, no?” asked Humbert, looking up at the doctor who seemed to him for the moment to represent constituted authority and might, therefore, be able to answer questions that puzzled us.

The doctor shook his head. “You saw as much as I did . . . perhaps more. I could see from my seat that the man was being strangled, but I was so surprised, thinking, on the instant, that perhaps it was part of the action of the piece, that it was all over before anyone really had a chance to do anything about it. And even if somebody had jumped to the rescue instantly, it would probably have been too late, because I think his neck was snapped almost in an instant, and after that the rest was just a reflex struggle which

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