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Stout, Rex, 1886-1975

"Under the Andes"


But--faugh! The unspeakable odor of their hairy bodies is in my
nostrils yet.
"Are you hurt, Paul?"
"Not a bit, Harry lad. How do you like the perfume?"
"To the deuce with your perfume! But we're done for. What's the
use? They've lived in this infernal hole so long they can see in
the dark better than we can in the light."
Of course he was right, and I was a fool not to have thought of
it before and practised caution. The knowledge was decidedly
unpleasant. No doubt our every movement was being watched by a
hundred pairs of eyes, while we lay helpless in the darkness,
bound even more tightly than before.
"Look here," said Harry suddenly, "why can't we see their eyes?
Why don't they shine."
"My dear boy," said I, "in this darkness you couldn't see the
Kohinoor diamond if it were hanging on your nose, drawing-room
travelers to the contrary notwithstanding. We have one
advantage--they can't understand what we say, but they even up
for it by not saying anything."
There was a short silence, then Harry's voice:
"Paul--"
"Well?"
"I wonder--do you think Desiree--" He hesitated, his voice
faltering.
"I think the same as you do," said I.


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