The ready attendant held out a glass
of whisky, and he clutched the goblet with skinny hands that, in their
trembling eagerness, rattled the crystal against his teeth. In the
momentary respite afforded by the powerful stimulant, he lifted his
yellow, claw-like hand to wipe the clammy beads of sweat that gathered
upon his wrinkled, ape-like brow; and the painter saw, on one bony,
talon-like finger, the gleaming flash of a magnificent diamond.
Mr. Taine greeted the artist with his husky whisper "Hello, old chap--glad
to see you!" Peering into the laughing, chattering, glittering, throng he
added, "Some beauties here to-night, heh? Gad! my boy, but I've seen the
day I'd be out there among them! Ha, ha! Mrs. Taine, Louise, and Jim tried
to shelve me--but I fooled 'em. Damn me, but I'm game for a good time yet!
A little off my feed, and under the weather; but game, you understand,
game as hell!" Then to the attendant--"Where's that whisky?" And, again,
his yellow, claw-like hand--with that beautiful diamond, a gleaming point
of pure, white light--lifted the glass to his grinning lips.
When Mrs. Taine appeared to claim the artist, her husband--huddled in his
chair, an unclean heap of all but decaying flesh--watched them go, with
hidden, impotent rage.
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