Schön, das ist, glaube ich, das zweite Mal, daß ich eine Spam-Mail bekomme, die am Ende einen aus einem Roman geklauten Text enthält, beim ersten mal konnte ich das Buch ausfindig machen, hier (Photoshop Downloads) nicht:
CHAPTER XXI THE BAIT THAT LURED I went along the tunnel in the direction of _le Vieil Ange_. It was broad day now, and the distance between the cataract and the open ground where the gold had been mined was sufficiently short for the whole length of the passage to be faintly visible. It was a reach of deep twilight, brightening into sunlight at either end. road led into the main passage. God grant that he had not time to reach the exit by the mine! If I made haste! If I made haste! But I would not argue the matter any further. I ran back at full speed. I reached the cave. “Jacqueline! Come, come!” I called. She did not answer. I raced along the tunnel after him. But he seemed to be endowed with the speed of a deer, for he kept his distance easily, and I would never have caught him had he not stopped for an instant at the approach of the ledge. in the hideous spectacle beneath the cataract that had made me long to kill him. But now a dreadful fear was dawning on me. “Jacqueline!” I screamed. There was something appalling in the man’s presence there. I think it was his unchanging and implacable pursuit that for the moment daunted me. And this was symbolized in his fur coat, which he wore open in the front exactly as he had worn it that day when we met in the New York store, and as I had always seen him wear it. He stood bareheaded, and his massive, lined, hard, weather-beaten face might have been a sneering gargoyle’s, carved out of granite on some I saw the explanation of the man’s presence now. He must have met Duchaine that morning as the old man was flying or wandering aimlessly along the tunnel. They had reached _le Vieil Ange_ together, and Leroux had probably had little difficulty in inducing the witless old Then, in the gloom, I saw the villainous face of Jean Petitjean looking into mine, twelve paces away, and in his hand was a revolver, too. We fired together. But the surprize spoiled his aim, for his bullet whistled past me. I think my shot struck him somewhere, for he uttered when I was worn out, or when I made a blind dash in the dark for the tunnel. I felt my way around the cave with the faint hope that there might be I was bewildered, for Pierre seemed like one of those dream figures of the past; he might have come into my life long ago, but not to-day, nor yesterday.
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