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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"The Mystery of Cloomber"

From these we could see
that they had walked abreast, and, furthermore, that each was about
equidistant from the other. Clearly, then, no physical force had
been used in taking the general and his companion along. The compulsion
had been psychical and not material.
Once within the swamp, we had to be careful not to deviate from the
narrow track, which offered a firm foothold.
On each side lay shallow sheets of stagnant water overlying a
treacherous bottom of semi-fluid mud, which rose above the surface here
and there in moist, sweltering banks, mottled over with occasional
patches of unhealthy vegetation. Great purple and yellow fungi
had broken out in a dense eruption, as though Nature were afflicted with
a foul disease, which manifested itself by this crop of plague spots.
Here and there dark, crab-like creatures scuttled across our path, and
hideous, flesh-coloured worms wriggled and writhed amid the sickly
reeds. Swarms of buzzing, piping insects rose up at every step and
formed a dense cloud around our heads, settling on our hands and faces
and inoculating us with their filthy venom. Never had I ventured into
so pestilent and forbidding a place.
Mordaunt Heatherstone strode on, however, with a set purpose upon his
swarthy brow, and we could but follow him, determined to stand by him to
the end of the adventure. As we advanced, the path grew narrower and
narrower until, as we saw by the tracks, our predecessors had been
compelled to walk in single file.


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