Summary

Portrait of Arthur Machen Arthur Machen The Three Impostors; or, The Transmutations

At the first touch of the hand on his arm, the unfortunate man had wheeled round as if spun on a pivot, and shrank back with a low, piteous cry, as if some dumb beast were caught in the toils. The blood fled away from the wretch's face, and the skin became gray as if a shadow of death had passed in the air and fallen on it, and Dyson caught a choking whisper—
"Mr. Davies! For God's sake, have pity on me, Mr. Davies. On my oath, I say—" and his voice sank to silence as he heard the message, and strove in vain to bite his lip; and summon up to his aid some tinge of manhood.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Arthur Machen Arthur Machen The Three Impostors; or, The Transmutations

But I must give you a sample of my experiences some night.
"Why not to-night?" said Dyson. "This evening seems to me admirably adapted for an odd chapter. Look out into the street; you can catch a view of it, if you crane your neck from that chair of yours. Is it not charming? The double row of lamps growing closer in the distance, the hazy outline of the plane-tree in the square, and the lights of the hansoms swimming to and fro, gliding and vanishing; and above, the sky all clear and blue and shining. Come, let us have one of your cent nouvelles nouvelles."
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Arthur Machen Arthur Machen The Three Impostors; or, The Transmutations

It was, one might almost say, a street devoid of inhabitants, and scarce a window showed the glimmer of a light. I was wondering at the strange peace and dimness there, where it must be close to some roaring main artery of London life, when suddenly I heard the noise of dashing feet tearing along the pavement at full speed, and from a narrow passage, a mews or something of that kind, a man was discharged as from a catapult under my very nose and rushed past me, flinging something from him as he ran.
Source: Gutenberg

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