Three Ghost Stories HTML version

Three Ghost Stories
‘Halloa! Below there!’
When he heard a voice thus calling to him, he was
standing at the door of his box, with a flag in his hand,
furled round its short pole. One would have thought,
considering the nature of the ground, that he could not
have doubted from what quarter the voice came; but
instead of looking up to where I stood on the top of the
steep cutting nearly over his head, he turned himself
about, and looked down the Line. There was something
remarkable in his manner of doing so, though I could not
have said for my life what. But I know it was remarkable
enough to attract my notice, even though his figure was
foreshortened and shadowed, down in the deep trench,
and mine was high above him, so steeped in the glow of
an angry sunset, that I had shaded my eyes with my hand
before I saw him at all.
‘Halloa! Below!’
From looking down the Line, he turned himself about
again, and, raising his eyes, saw my figure high above him.
‘Is there any path by which I can come down and speak
to you?’
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