Wednesday, August 4, 2010

INGOTS OF GOLD 39 - Agatha Christie - short stories

"'It is clearing,' he said. 'I shouldn't wonder if it was a perfectly fine night in another half-hour. If so, I shall go out for a stroll.' "I yawned. 'I am frightfully sleepy,' I said. 'I didn't get much sleep last night. I think that tonight I shall turn in early.' "This I did. On the previous night I had slept little. Tonight I slept heavily. Yet my slumbers were not restful. I was still oppressed with an awful foreboding of evil; I had terrible dreams. I dreamt of dreadful abysses and vast chasms, amongst which I was wandering, knowing that a slip of the foot meant death. I waked to find the hands of my clock pointing to eight o'clock. My head was aching badly, and the terror of my night's dreams was still upon me. "So strongly was this so that when I went to the window and drew it up, I started back with a fresh feeling of terror, for the first thing I saw, or thought I saw, was a man digging an open grave. "It took me a minute or two to pull myself together; then I realized that the grave-digger was Newman's gardener, and the 'grave' was destined to accommodate three new rose trees which were lying on the turf waiting for the moment they should be securely planted in the earth. "The gardener looked up and saw me and touched his hat. "'Good morning, sir. Nice morning, sir.' "'I suppose it is,' I said doubtfully, still unable to shake off completely the depression of my spirits. "However, as the gardener had said, it was certainly a nice morning. The sun was shining and the sky a clear pale blue that promised fine weather for the day. I went down to breal{fast whistling a tune. Newman had no maids living in the house. Two middle-aged sisters, who lived in a farmhOUse near by, came daily to attend to his simple wants. One of them was placing the coffeepot on the table as I entered the room. to download complete story


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