"In one year, in two, three, a swift pain comes, like a needle, you
understand? Perhaps in the foot, in the hand, in the arm. It is
exquisite, deathly, while it lasts, but it only lasts for a few
moments. It is agony. And then it goes, leaving nothing to show what
has caused it. But, my friends, it is a death warning!
"If it comes here"--she raised one delicate white hand--"you may have
five years to live; if in the foot, ten, or more. But"--she sank her
voice dramatically--"the nearer it is to the heart, the less are the
days that remain to you of life."
"You mean that it recurs?" asked Harley.
"Perhaps in a week, perhaps not for another year, it comes again, that
quick agony. This time in the shoulder, in the knee. It is the second
warning. Three times it may come, four times, but at last"--she laid
her hand upon her breast--"it comes here, in the heart, and all is
finished."
She paused as if exhausted, closing her eyes again, whilst we three who
listened looked at one another in an awestricken silence, until the
vibrant voice resumed:
"There is only one man in Europe who understands this thing, this
Creeping Sickness.
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