They never winked, for
ophidians have no movable eyelids, but kept up that awful fixed stare
which made the two unwinking gladiators the survivors of twenty pairs
matched by one of the Roman Emperors, as Pliny tells us, in his "Natural
History." Their eyes did not flash, but shone with a cold still light.
They were of a pale-golden or straw color, horrible to look into, with
their stony calmness, their pitiless indifference, hardly enlivened by
the almost imperceptible vertical slit of the pupil, through which Death
seemed to be looking out like the archer behind the long narrow loop-hole
in a blank turret-wall. On the whole, the caged reptiles, horrid as they
were, hardly matched his recollections of what he had seen or dreamed he
save at the cavern. These looked dangerous enough, but yet quiet. A
treacherous stillness, however,--as the unfortunate New York physician
found, when he put his foot out to wake up the torpid creature, and
instantly the fang flashed through his boot, carrying the poison into his
blood, and death with it.
Pages:
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312