United States or Kosovo ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Organizing a posse from men like themselves, sheriffs or others pretending to be sheriffs would take their mobs, rout men out of their beds at night under service of writs, on which the only return ever made was a pistol shot somewhere in the darkness, maybe in the victim’s dooryard, perhaps in some lonely country road.
Greenacre, when he carried his victim’s head about town in a blue bag, they both remarked a singular twitching in the muscles of his countenance; and walking down Fish Street Hill, a few weeks since, the egotistical gentleman said to his lady—slightly casting up his eyes to the top of the Monument—‘There’s a boy up there, my dear, reading a Bible. It’s very strange.
The Athenian cast at the stranger a glance of keenest scrutiny. He knew by every instinct in his being that Lycon was telling a barefaced lie. Why he did not cry out as much that instant he hardly himself knew. But the gaze of the “Cyprian” pierced through him, fascinating, magnetizing, and Lycon’s great hand was on his victim’s shoulder. The “Cyprian’s” own hand went out seeking Democrates’s.
They will skin the soles of the Bábí’s feet, soak the wounds in boiling oil, shoe the foot like the hoof of a horse, and compel the victim to run. No cry escaped from the victim’s breast; the torment is endured in dark silence by the numbed sensation of the fanatic; now he must run; the body cannot endure what the soul has endured; he falls. Give him the coup de grâce! Put him out of his pain! No!
Had it been Smerdyakov, for instance, murdering his master to rob him, he would have simply carried away the envelope with him, without troubling himself to open it over his victim’s corpse, for he would have known for certain that the notes were in the envelope—they had been put in and sealed up in his presence—and had he taken the envelope with him, no one would ever have known of the robbery.
Lycon could surmise what he liked, but the proof to make the damning charges good Democrates believed he had safe in his own keeping. Only one man could have unlocked the casket of infamy—Agis—and the mention of his name was as a bolt from the blue. “Where is he? I heard he was killed at Artemisium.” Lycon hardly understood his victim’s thick whispers.
The dog—as might have been expected—abused the situation, while pretending to be very kind to his charge, never allowed him to roll on the grass, as he would have liked, or drink in peace, and harassed the poor beast in many other ways, getting, however, much credit from the neighbors for devotion and intelligence. Finally, one day after months of waiting, the patient victim’s chance came.
This was the reason why the half-breed shrank from any expression of thanks from Martin Holt why he avoided Martin Holt, the victim’s brother. The boatswain had just struck six bells. The schooner was sailing with the caution demanded by navigation in unknown seas. There might be shoals or reefs barely hidden under the surface on which she might run aground or be wrecked.
The seaman addressed passed a cord about the Phœnician’s forehead with a fearful dexterity, and put the iron pin at the back of the skull. “Twist!” commanded Cimon. Two mariners gripped the victim’s arms. Naon pressed the cord tighter, tighter. A beastlike groan came through the lips of the Phœnician. His beady eyes started from his head, but he did not speak.
And when these deceivers—Ambition, Pride, Pleasure, and the like—have plundered and sacked their victim’s goods, when these painted idols of a passing world have led away their worshippers as slaves, and stripped them of all they possessed, they give them over to evil habits and to masters that scourge and tear them.
Word Of The Day