We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.
Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.
22
THE MOTION PICTURE 8T0B7 MAGAZINE
I'LL
of neutralness. A storm is an awful thin g. It s c □ <1 s in e n 'a thoughts homing, like frightened, I o n c 1 y pigeons lack to thei r
nesl : it s.-ts laws
loose for the tno
liirlit — 1 a W s of
Nature and those man-made — filling tlic gray, impalpable, s li ;i (1 owy world with creeping shapet of mystery or ill. Even t li c mosl practical of men, as And y was. feels his eonimon • sense adrifl on a sea of imagination. He ran the ear into the shack, bolted the door and turned
homewards, whistling damply in
subdued, under-the-breath fashion. The curtain of rain swayed aboul his shoulders, revealing momentary flashes of tree-stumps or goblin-armed
hushes, and underfoot the loose gravel ran ahead of his footsteps in showers down the steep path to the ravine.
Suddenly he paused, straining ahead
with eye and ear. Voices? And SUCfl voices, hoarse and menacing.
muffled by the wisps of fog.
"Hi tell }i'V it 's a go! ' mine, fellers. Aint a t rip she donl carry ten thon'. An' it 'a mini I 'r th' arskin'." A
chuckle made a threal of the words.
"Th' bridge's th' place Vi th' job," monotoned another. " 'Do's
got th' soupl Vmi. Hill? Hall
right." •• Now Boon's th' bloke wit ' th' car
goes \>me, Well start aint any too
soon."
"Hid '
In the strained silence a pebble
bounded, Binging, down the ravine;
1 crunched warningly; a twig,
somewhere i snapped 1 i k •
-shot.
Andy, w h i t efaced, was feeling
his way hack Dp the steep path toward the shark: the roar of blood in his ears d l o w n «■ d t h e sound of his own incautious footsteps. A w a r e only of the pa-^i n g of precious m o m e n t s . he stumbled on. his thoughts outracing him to the s h a <■ k and the car. T h e mail ! She would he due in an hour, and there was no waxto warn her hut to get to the uexl
station b e y o n d the b r i d «: e in t i m e. Tic ssed him hack, like clutching fingers, strangely like. It choked his nostrils like tierce hands, and then turned red beneath his puzzled, closing ej e&
"Haver h< into th' drink.
boys — dead men cant peach. Aha! Now I'Y th' car."
•'Susie !" the man moan 1 [e beat the water with lax tintips. Bending ugly, v<-<\ Btreal the scummy gray. Was it a nightmare, this heavy weight upon his head, this sense of struggling thru
painful eternities \^\' darkness toward the light I (Mi. kind Heaven I
was there no light anywhere in all the
world .' lie opened difficult lids.
Straining thru the murk in a travail
of returning
train! He sohhed the words aloud.
wrenching himself to Ids knees in the pool, groping for hand-hold on the slippery bank. Under his clawing fingers, the rain-loosened earth tore
BE HOME AT LAMPLIGHT, in: PROMISED