Then she raised herself and faced the direction the prince
had taken. Her lithe body bent a little, her rigid arms were thrust
back of her, and the hands were clenched hard. Her head was forced
forward, the long neck curved sinuously like a vulture's. She began to
speak in a whisper that hissed as though she breathed through her
words. Masanath felt her flesh crawl and her soft hair take on life.
Not all the words of the sorceress were intelligible. At first only
her ejaculations were distinct.
"Puny knave!" Masanath heard. "Well for thee I do not love thee, else
thou shouldst sleep this night in the reeking cave of a paraschite,
with the whine of feeding flies about thee for dreams. Well for me
that I do not love thee, for thine instant death would rob me of the
long revenge that I would liefer have! Share thy crown with me! When
Ta-user hath done with thee thou shalt have no crown to share! Turned
from Siptah for thee! How thou wilt marvel when thou learnest that I
never turned from Siptah nor wooed thee with a single glance but for
Siptah's sake. Go on! Sleep well! Have no regrets, for thy doom was
spoken long before this night's haughty work. Rather do I thank thee
for thy scorn.
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