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Yonge, Charlotte Mary, 1823-1901

"Stories by English Authors: Africa (Selected by Scribners)"

Whom did that belong to?
You surely never got a white woman up here?"
"Yes, we did," said Ghamba, with a horrible half-smile which bared the
gums high above the sockets of his tusks. "She was a young girl who had
strayed from a waggon passing over the mountain by the Ladysmith road,
only a day's walk from here. I pretended to show her the shortest way
to her waggon, and thus brought her as far as she could walk in this
direction. I then killed her, and came up here and fetched my sons. We
carried her up in the night. She was very young and plump, and I have
never eaten anything that I enjoyed so much." (Whitson turned cold
with horror. He remembered the girl's mysterious disappearance, and the
fruitless searches undertaken in consequence.) "His flesh"--glancing
again at Langley--"looks something like hers did, and I am sure it would
taste just as nice. There was still a little of her left when I went
away last week. If you will go in there and look where the rock is split
on the right-hand side, you will--" But he did not finish the sentence,
for a bullet from Whitson's revolver crushed through his brain, and he
tumbled forward on his face into the fire.


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