Explore "The Living Mummy" by Ambrose Pratt on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
One evening after a hard morning's work on my book, and a particularly fatiguing afternoon spent in vainly trying to lift Hubbard out of a funereal mood, I thought I should make myself a present of a few minutes' conversation with Miss Ottley. I argued that she would be sure to spend the evening out somewhere, so I knocked at her father's door a few minutes before eight o'clock. A gloomy-looking footman opened the door. Yes, Miss Ottley was at home. He would give her my card. Would I wait? I would, though I wondered. I heard Dr. Belleville's voice. It issued from a room that opened on the hall. He was talking shrilly as though he were angered, and in French, perhaps to spare the feelings of the servants. He kept repeating that he had made up his mind and that he would not wait another day for God Almighty. All of a sudden the door opened and he stalked out looking like the baffled villain in a melodrama.
We came face to face. He stopped dead and glared at me. / "You!" he gasped. "What are you doing here; what do you want?"