Page:Weird Tales Volume 30 Number 02 (1937-08).djvu/97

 of a million hells! Falling chandeliers, the agonized shrieking of the blacks—but the eyes of Atma have not left mine. They sparkle, they flash as horrible black pools.

The heat! Blazing—crashing of lofty towers!

Now she stands before me, and beyond the blackened clouds of smoke comes an ever-increasing stamping—a bestial treading. The gun—the black gun is slowly being raised as a weird cat-like purr springs from those blood-red lips.

The walls are falling!

She is going to shoot! Yes, she is going to kill me! The long fingers are tightening—I am doomed! There is no—that awful treading is nearer!

What—what's that strange form coming out from the flames?

Oh! Oh God, I see

[Here the manuscript ends abruptly.]



