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Locke and the thug sank immediately to the bottom of the river and, under water, there ensued a terrific battle. Locke, semi-helpless because of his shakles, had the greatest difficulty in preventing the thug from breaking loose. But he was determined that the fellow at least would pay for his crimes with his life. The thug's struggles gradually became more feeble.
The emissary, taken totally by surprise, struggled to break the hold, and Locke's thumbs were almost wrenched from their sockets. But he held on grimly. Soon the thug's struggles subsided, Locke released him, and he slipped to the floor. Locke was wearing a low-cut shoe. Strange that a man's life may hinge on such a slight detail, but this fact enabled him to work off his right shoe and his sock.
"Dost think so?" cried Djalma, carried away in spite of himself by the Thug's wild eloquence. "You know, you feel, that I speak the truth," cried the latter, extending his arm towards the young Indian. "Why, yes!" exclaimed Djalma, his eyes sparkling, his nostrils swelling, as he moved about the apartment with savage bounds.
A tiger, a panther, a buffalo or a hog rouses your utmost energies for its destruction you even risk your lives in its pursuit. How much higher game is a Thug's!" That must really be the secret of the rise and development of Thuggee. The joy of killing! the joy of seeing killing done these are traits of the human race at large.
Example, from a Thug's testimony: "We passed through to Kurnaul, where we found a former Thug named Junooa, an old comrade of ours, who had turned religious mendicant and become a disciple and holy. He came to us in the serai and weeping with joy returned to his old trade." Neither wealth nor honors nor dignities could satisfy a reformed Thug for long.
The flowing sleeve of his robe, falling back from his arm, which was round as that of a woman, revealed mysterious signs formerly tattooed there in India by a Thug's needle. The son of Radja-sing held in his left hand the amber mouthpiece of his pipe.
The flowing sleeve of his robe, falling back from his arm, which was round as that of a woman, revealed mysterious signs formerly tattooed there in India by a Thug's needle. The son of Radja-sing held in his left hand the amber mouthpiece of his pipe.
At sight of Djalma in his deep sleep, the Thug's bright eyes glittered with increased brilliancy; a nervous contraction, or rather a mute, ferocious laugh, curling the corners of his mouth, drew them up towards the cheekbones, and exposed rows of teeth, filed sharp like the points of a saw, and dyed of a shining black.
"Dost think so?" cried Djalma, carried away in spite of himself by the Thug's wild eloquence. "You know, you feel, that I speak the truth," cried the latter, extending his arm towards the young Indian. "Why, yes!" exclaimed Djalma, his eyes sparkling, his nostrils swelling, as he moved about the apartment with savage bounds.
To an amateur in sensations there was true piquancy in the thought that one was travelling in company with a thug who had already had two tries for one's life and would not hesitate to essay a third; in the same coach, separated only by the thin partition between the compartments, safe only in the thug's unconsciousness of one's proximity!
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