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The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Voice in the Fog, by Harold MacGrath, Illustrated by A. B. Wenzell This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net Title: The Voice in the Fog Author: Harold MacGrath Release Date: June 13, 2005 [eBook #16051] Most recently updated February 21, 2008 Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VOICE IN THE FOG*** E-text prepared by Al Haines Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 16051-h.htm or 16051-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/6/0/5/16051/16051-h/16051-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/6/0/5/16051/16051-h.zip) THE VOICE IN THE FOG by HAROLD MACGRATH Author of The Man on the Box, Hearts and Masks, The Million Dollar Mystery, etc. With Illustrations by A. B. Wenzell New York Grosset & Dunlap Publishers The Bobbs-Merrill Company 1915 [Frontispiece: Kitty Killigrew] TO CAV. GIOVANNI PICCININI IN MEMORY OF MANY HAPPY FLORENTINE DAYS THE VOICE IN THE FOG CHAPTER I Fog. A London fog, solid, substantial, yellow as an old dog's tooth or a jaundiced eye. You could not look through it, nor yet gaze up and down it, nor over it; and you only thought you saw it. The eye became impotent, untrustworthy; all senses lay fallow except that of touch; the skin alone conveyed to you with promptness and no incertitude that this thing had substance. You could feel it; you could open and shut your hands and sense it on your palms, and it penetrated your clothes and beaded your spectacles and rings and bracelets and shoe-buckles. It was nightmare, bereft of its pillows, grown somnambulistic; and London became the antechamber to Hades, lackeyed by idle dreams and peopled by mistakes. There is something about this species of fog unlike any other in the world. It sticks. You will find certain English cousins of yours, as far away from London as Hong-Kong, who are still wrapt up snugly in it. Happy he afflicted with strabismus, for only he can see his nose before his face. In the daytime you become a fish, to
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