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"Heralded by a rumbling sound which was perceptible above the roar of the fire below, the centre block in the roof slid open. A tremendous draught of air swept along the passage in which I was standing, and doubtless along other passages which opened upon this hell-pit.
I told him I had only dropped in on my rounds for an order, as they were running off right smart, and I didn't know but he might like to pick up some bargains. 'Bargains! he roared, 'don't you know the day? Don't you know it is Friday, the 13th? Go back to that hell-pit and sell, sell, sell. 'Sell what and how much? I asked. 'Anything, everything.
"So liv'd on all happy the host of the kinsmen In game and in glee, until one night began, A fiend out of hell-pit, the framing of evil, And Grendel forsooth the grim guest was hight, The mighty mark-strider the holder of moorland, The fen and the fastness." This monster, Grendel, came from the moors and devoured thirty of the thanes.
Why had an abundance of food been lowered with him into this hell-pit? Did not the circumstance make as though it was in their full vigour that the monster was designed to seize its victims and in that event, with what an extent of strength and fell ferocity must it not be endowed? But what was this thing?
"It's all right, old man my fault. The knot slipped." "You own it! You own it's your fault!" cried Ashton. "You've brought me down here into this hell-pit! We can't get out! Lost! All your fault yours!" He made a frantic snatch and jerked the revolver from Blake's holster. The engineer caught his wrist in an iron grasp and wrenched the weapon from him.
Then there were nights like to-night when the ghastly hell-pit was covered, and when to tell her squarely what the future held, without taunt or apology, stirred him on to ardent resolution.
These thoughts flashed through my brain, as I stood in the dark, searching my pockets for matches. I had the box in my hand now, and, striking a light, I stepped to the trap door, and closed it. Then, I piled the stones back upon it; after which, I made my way out from the cellars. And so, I suppose the water goes on, thundering down into that bottomless hell-pit.
Because he did not seek to depict a modern battlefield, knowing that Shakespeare himself must have waxed trite upon such a theme, the hell-pit of Flanders and the agony of France were draped behind his drama like a curtain. No man had come so near to the truth in naked words. His silence was the silence of genius. The tears of the world flowed through his work, yet no weeping woman was depicted.
They jostled one another; they collided. They rushed together and collapsed upon one another, or fell apart like a thousand waterfalls all at once. It was no ocean any man had ever dreamed of, that hurricane centre. It was confusion thrice confounded. It was anarchy. It was a hell-pit of sea-water gone mad. The Petite Jeanne? I don't know. The heathen told me afterward that he did not know.
They jostled one another, they collided. They rushed together and collapsed upon one another, or fell apart like a thousand waterfalls all at once. It was no ocean any man ever dreamed of, that hurricane-center. It was confusion thrice confounded. It was anarchy. It was a hell-pit of sea water gone mad. The Petite Jeanne? I don't know. The Heathen told me afterward that he did not know.
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