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Doyle, Arthur Conan

"The Adventures Of Sherlock Holmes"



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It was useless, however. He was off in one of those hysterical outbursts which come upon a strong nature when some great crisis is over and gone. Presently he came to himself once more, very weary and pale-looking.


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"I have been making a fool of myself," he gasped.


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"Not at ail. Drink this." I dashed some brandy into the water, and the colour began to come back to his bloodless cheeks.


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"That's better!" said he. "And now, Doctor, perhaps you would kindly attend to my thumb, or rather to the place where my thumb used to be."


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He unwound the handkerchief and held out his hand. It gave even my hardened nerves a shudder to look at it. There were four protruding fingers and a horrid red, spongy surface where the thumb should have been. It had been hacked or torn right out from the roots.


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"Good heavens!" I cried, "this is a terrible injury.


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