“I dragged him forward. He would have fled, but I was firm. We passed through the gate—we followed the figure as it silently glided on. We turned to the left. The place grew very dark as the trees met overhead. I heard the trickling of water and knew we were close to the ditch.
“I gazed intently at the pines. When would the horror drop from them? A sickly terror laid hold of me. I turned to fly.
“To my surprise Leethwaite stopped me. He was all excitement. ‘Wait,’ he hissed. ‘Wait. It is you who are afraid. Hark! It is twelve o’clock.’ And as he spoke, the clock of the parish church slowly tolled midnight. Then the end came. An awful scream rang out; so piercing and so full of terror that I felt the blood in my heart stand still. But no figure dropped from the pines. Not from the pines, but from behind the woman a form darted forward and seized her by the neck. It tore at her throat with its hands, it dragged and hurried her into the moonlight; and then, oh damning horror, I saw its face!—it was my own.”
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