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Burroughs, Edgar Rice, 1875-1950

"Son of Tarzan"


Flattened against the side of the hut, yet not arousing a single
warning rustle from its dried thatching, The Killer came closer
and closer to the watcher. Now he was at his shoulder. Now he
had wormed his sinuous way behind him. He could feel the heat of
the naked body against his knees. He could hear the man breathe.
He marveled that the dull-witted creature had not long since been
alarmed; but the fellow sat there as ignorant of the presence of
another as though that other had not existed.
Korak moved scarcely more than an inch at a time, then he would
stand motionless for a moment. Thus was he worming his way behind
the guard when the latter straightened up, opened his cavernous
mouth in a wide yawn, and stretched his arms above his head. Korak
stood rigid as stone. Another step and he would be within the hut.
The black lowered his arms and relaxed. Behind him was the frame
work of the doorway. Often before had it supported his sleepy
head, and now he leaned back to enjoy the forbidden pleasure of a
cat nap.
But instead of the door frame his head and shoulders came in contact
with the warm flesh of a pair of living legs.


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