Black Ajax Read Online Free PDF

little face distorted to that of a Medusa, her teeth bared and gnashing, her slim fingers rending her fan to shreds. At each blow her body shudders in ecstasy and she screams with laughter. Blenkinsop lounges and lights a fresh cigar, regarding the slaughter of his creature with sullen indifference. Richard is mad with excitement, beating his fists upon his knees as he bellows his triumph. Mollybird crouches beneath the stage, her hands clasped and her eyes closed, a charming study of maidenly devotion.
    Spicer shouts a sharp command, and Tom directs his blows at the Ghost's body. They fall on the breast, the stomach, the groin, the kidneys, and the flanks. The Ghost wails in agony, falling to his knees. He rises, and is struck down again, and yet again. He crawls to the limit of the stage, imploring Blenkinsop, whom he can no longer see,to end his anguish. “Mass' Bob, Mass' Bob, make 'im stop! Cain't see, Mass' Bob! Ah's beat – mercy on me, Mass' Bob! Please, please, mass'!”
    Tom, exhausted by his efforts, sinks to his knees and looks to Spicer. I note with interest the conduct of this English sailor. He frowns, and walks rapidly to Blenkinsop, plucking from his waist the blood-stained rag with which he sponged Tom's wounds. He presents it, but for Blenkinsop it has no meaning. He knows nothing of the pugilist's token of surrender. He calls instead to his drivers, who leap to the stage and lash the fallen Ghost with their whips, goading him to resume the contest. He tries to rise but cannot. He falls on his back, his head lolling over the edge of the stage, his blood coursing to the ground from a face that is a face no longer but a hideous crimson sponge.
    Spicer casts down his cloth in anger, and nods to Tom to continue. Tom cannot rise. I see the great muscle a-flutter in his leg, and know that its use has deserted him for the moment. He pulls himself to the side of the Black Ghost, and gathers his strength for a last terrible blow directed at the upturned chin. Even through the din we hear the fearful crack as the spine is fractured at the neck, and as the Black Ghost's head hangs limp a deafening yell of delight rises from a thousand throats. I bid Ganymede bring the girl Mollybird to my house, and make my way to my carriage. Butchery, however detestable, I can view with a dispassionate eye, but slobbering expressions of gratitude from cousin Richard, before such a Gadarene assembly, are not to be borne.
    * Waterloo

SEÑORA MARGUERITE ROSSIGNOL,
lady of fashion
and independent means, Havana
    Fact is, I don't much care to remember. 'Deed, suh, you'd be astonished jus' how good I can be at
dis
-rememberin', specially when some 'quisitive stranger comes pokin' his nose in my private affairs, wants to set it all down – for what? So you can lay an info'mation 'gainst me? Pouf! Not these days, mister, not in this town. La Senora Rossignol is re-spectable
an'
respected, as my good friend the Alcalde can tell you. An' I doubt he'd take kin'ly to any Paul Pry seekin' scandal … to squeeze money out o' prom'nent gennlemen, maybe? That ain't your game? Well, then, I reckon you mus' be one o' those de-generates that get all tickled up havin' a lady tell 'em the intimate de-tails of her past, from her own ruby lips. Brother, have I seen my fill o' that sort! What some men'll pay good dollars for … praise be. Not so, you say? Oh, my apologies. So, mister, jus' what
do
you want?
    Tom
Molineaux
? Me'ciful heavens! An' what in cree-ation is he to you, may I ask? A subject of his-toric interest? My, my! Tom got called plenty in his time, but that's a noo one. An' why might you s'pose I know anythin' of his-toric interest 'bout him, or would tell you if I did? Ah-h … you been talkin' to Lucie de la Goddam Guise! Well, I trust you scrubbed real well with carbolic aft'wards. Pouf ! An' you want
my
side o' the story? Tom's story, you mean? Well, perhaps I don't choose to tell. Why should I?
    Your pardon? You are prepared to make