This curse is not put on me; it grew out of me, like this horror here. Even now I go."
His eyes closed and we stood helpless, the adherent figure spouting shrill sentences.
In a moment Stone spoke again.
"You speak all tongues?" he asked thickly. And the emergent minikin replied in sudden English:
"Yea, verily, all that you speak," putting out its microscopic tongue, writhing its lips and wagging its head from side to side. We could see the thready ribs on its exiguous flanks heave as if the thing breathed.
"Has she forgiven me?" Stone asked in a muffled strangle.
"Not while the moss hangs from the cypresses," the head squeaked. "Not while the stars shine on Lake Pontchartrain will she forgive."
And then Stone, all with one motion, wrenched himself over on his side. The next instant he was dead.
•••••••••
WHEN Singleton's voice ceased the room was hushed for a space. We could hear each other breathing. Twombly, the tactless, broke the silence.
"I presume," he said, "you cut off the little minikin and brought it home in alcohol." Singleton turned on him a stern countenance.
"We buried Stone," he said, "unmutilated as he died."
"But," said the unconscionable Twombly, "the whole thing is incredible."
Singleton stiffened.
"I did not expect you to believe it," he said; "I began by saying that although I heard and saw it, when I look back on it I cannot credit it myself."
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“I presume,” he said, “you cut off the little manikin and brought it home in alcohol.”
Singleton turned on him a stem countenance.
“We buried Stone,” he said, “un¬ mutilated as he died.”
“But,” said, the unconscionable Twombly, “the whole thing is incred¬ ible.”
Singleton stiffened.
“I did not expect you to believe it,” he said; “I began by saying that although I heard and saw it, when I look back on it I can not credit it myself.”
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