“God!” I cried, starting back in horror when my gaze fell upon the object it contained.
Appalled and breathless I stood, unable to move.
Some moments elapsed before I summoned sufficient courage to again rivet my eyes upon it. The sight was sickening.
The box was lined with black silk, and in it there reposed a woman’s hand that had been hacked from the wrist! It was white and bloodless. Rings still remained upon the slim waxen fingers, the nails of which were stained brown with henna. I recognised them! One was the signet ring that had belonged to my father. On the back of the dead hand was a scar. I examined it closely. Yes! it was the same that I noticed while the woman I adored was penning the letter to the imam I now carried in my pocket!
Trembling, I touched the lifeless fingers. They were cold as marble.
The hideous, blood-smeared Thing that had been sent me was the dead severed hand of Zoraida!