Explore "The Black Abbot" by Perley Poore Sheehan on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
DURING the several minutes that must have followed before Shattuck was face to face with one of the strangest men he was ever to meet, that feeling of the weird hung about him. It wasn't the fact that he had a dead girl in the crook of his arm. He'd been too often in contact with death for that to affect him--at any rate, in this highly special way. Death--that was but the turning out of a light; no more, no less. It might be with regret, as at the closing of a half-read story. Generally, not even this regret. You called it a day, turned out the light and went to sleep!
For a little space, he was occupied with looking for a place to put the girl. He laid her on the clean matting of a deserted fan-tan table.