Creeping, writhing, insidiously crawling and groping, the long arm reached out in its ghastly errand of death.
active, and at that time I was half mad about her. Still waters run deep, you know.
"Well, she had me under her spell so completely that I changed my mind about Father's money. I began to truckle to him, much as I had truckled to Wolansky. I began to feel him out to find whether he had made a will. He was very cold and non-committal. Finally I asked him outright if he would reconsider his decision to leave me penniless. He told me it was I that had made the decision, not he, and that he had no use for wishy-washy people that changed their minds like weather-cocks. He was very sarcastic. I lost my temper and answered him back. We had a terrible quarrel, and finally he--he struck me. I was twenty years old and a bigger man than he. And I think no man ever had more stubborn pride, at bottom, than I have.
"It was the Wolansky thing all over again. The humiliation, the effort at ingratiation, the failure, the long, eating, gnawing, growing hatred. And it--it ended the same way. The night of brooding
Pretty good boogeyman story. A failure of an insurance salesman returns to his hometown and meets an old school chum in a bar. The friend, despite being the head of their class, is also a failure and racked with guilt. He explains a crazy story about a talent he learned from a Hindoo which lets him strangle his enemies at a distance.
A two-person story told from the point of view of the salesman, it is creepy enough to cause a shiver. It's helped by the fact that the friend only hints at some things when telling his story.
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