In a far corner, huddled against the wall, there was a shivering,
silent figure, a Pariah even among these under-world outcasts. He sat
apart from the others, denied a place in the circle, despised and
abhorred by the men he once had scorned because they were the devil-
may-care companions and emulators of his brother. His beady black eyes
never shifted from the low, padlocked door in the opposite end of the
room. He, too, was waiting for the dread news from the upper world.
His breathing was sharply audible, as of one drugged by sleep; his
body had not moved an inch in an hour or more, so fierce was the
suspense that held him rigid. From time to time he swallowed, although
his mouth was dry and empty; there was a rattling sound accompanying
the act that suggested the hoarse croak of a frog. Always his gaze was
on the door, never wavering, unblinkng, fascinated by the horror that
was creeping down to him as surely as the sun crept up to the apex of
the day.
Noon! Twelve o'clock, midday! The hour they were dreading!
One of the shivering thieves beside the stove drew forth from a ragged
pocket the plutocratic timepiece of a millionaire victim.
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