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Pan Demos, v. 1, issue 2, March 1949
Page 30
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Now Chung Li was a man without a conscience and as I have already said, a Chinaman of uncommonly low and despicable character. He very coldly perused Mr. Sing's body and relieved it of its burden of wallet and watch (a very nice watch, incidentally). He then decided it would be best, in case an unlikely wayfarer chanced by, to prop his enemy's body upright in the driver's seat. After accomplishing this dubious feat, he danced joyfully away, in search of an open liquor establishment and was soon "well crocked" as the saying goes. About two a.m. Mr. Chung Li went home to his filthy room which happened to be but two blocks from the scene of his crime. He immediately went to bed, feeling to his disgust, singularly sober. As soon as his head touched the pillow, he realized he was wide awake, and also noticed an unnatural deathly quiet in the air. He took very little time to worry about it, however, and rolled over on his other side. He shivered a little from the intense cold that seemed to penetrate the blanket, cursed the weather and everything concerned, and then found himself once again straining his ears to something -- anything -- to break the absolute mosoleum quiet that pervaded the atmosphere. It was now that Chung Li began to feel a vague, unreasoning apprehension. For the first time, he began to reflect on the murder he had committed earlier. It seemed that the dead face of his old arch-enemy glared at him from the darkest corners of his dreary abode. Just as he was about to get up and drain the few remaining drops from the bottle he had brought with him, he heard, or thought he heard a long, sighing intake of breath coming from somewhere within his room. Immediately following came a long, mournful wail -- penetrating the room, everything, echoeing ghastly through his head. Mr. Chung Li was frozen with horror. The moan became more and more terrible and incessant by the second, unchangeable in tone, 30
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Now Chung Li was a man without a conscience and as I have already said, a Chinaman of uncommonly low and despicable character. He very coldly perused Mr. Sing's body and relieved it of its burden of wallet and watch (a very nice watch, incidentally). He then decided it would be best, in case an unlikely wayfarer chanced by, to prop his enemy's body upright in the driver's seat. After accomplishing this dubious feat, he danced joyfully away, in search of an open liquor establishment and was soon "well crocked" as the saying goes. About two a.m. Mr. Chung Li went home to his filthy room which happened to be but two blocks from the scene of his crime. He immediately went to bed, feeling to his disgust, singularly sober. As soon as his head touched the pillow, he realized he was wide awake, and also noticed an unnatural deathly quiet in the air. He took very little time to worry about it, however, and rolled over on his other side. He shivered a little from the intense cold that seemed to penetrate the blanket, cursed the weather and everything concerned, and then found himself once again straining his ears to something -- anything -- to break the absolute mosoleum quiet that pervaded the atmosphere. It was now that Chung Li began to feel a vague, unreasoning apprehension. For the first time, he began to reflect on the murder he had committed earlier. It seemed that the dead face of his old arch-enemy glared at him from the darkest corners of his dreary abode. Just as he was about to get up and drain the few remaining drops from the bottle he had brought with him, he heard, or thought he heard a long, sighing intake of breath coming from somewhere within his room. Immediately following came a long, mournful wail -- penetrating the room, everything, echoeing ghastly through his head. Mr. Chung Li was frozen with horror. The moan became more and more terrible and incessant by the second, unchangeable in tone, 30
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