ght for it; and so we waited. I had, I felt, gained an advantage in the last few seconds, for I knew my danger and understood the situation. Now, I thought, is the test of my courage-the enduring test: the fighting test may come later!
The old woman raised her head and said to me in a satisfied kind of way:
"A very fine ring, indeed-a beautiful ring! Oh, me! I once had such rings, plenty of them, and bracelets and earrings! Oh! for in those fine days I led the town a dance! But they've forgotten me now! They've forgotten me! They? Why they never heard of me! Perhaps their grandfathers remember me, some of them!" and she laughed a harsh, croaking laugh. And then I am bound to say that she astonished me, for she handed me back the ring with a certain suggestion of old-fashioned grace which was not without its pathos.
The old man eyed her with a sort of sudden ferocity, half rising from his stool, and said to me suddenly and hoarsely:
"Let me see!"
I was about to hand the ring
On of the most suspenseful short stories out there, and one of Stoker's best. A terrifying pursuit through the fetid rat-infested marshes outside Paris, where the garbage pickers live.
The Burial of the Rats by Abraham "Bram" Stoker (1847–1912) is a truly suspenseful tale of a young man who finds himself in a very bad part of Paris and must flee for his life.
And the rats are the least of his worries.
That this has never been made into a movie, especially with today's taste for thriller and "slasher" films, is quite a surprise.