Herbert George Wells
THE CRYSTAL EGG
There was, until a year ago, a little and very grimy-looking shop near Seven
Dials over which, in weather-worn yellow lettering, the name of "C. Cave,
Naturalist and Dealer in Antiquities," was inscribed. The contents of its window
were curiously variegated. They comprised some elephant tusks and an imperfect
set of chessmen, beads and weapons, a box of eyes, two skulls of tigers and one
human, several moth-eaten stuffed monkeys (one holding a lamp), an old-fashioned
cabinet, a flyblown ostrich egg or so, some fishing-tackle, and an
extraordinarily dirty, empty glass fish tank. There was also, at the moment the
story begins, a mass of crystal, worked into the shape of an egg and brilliantly
polished. And at that two people, who stood outside the window, were looking,
one of them a tall, thin clergyman, the other a black-bearded young man of dusky
complexion and unobtrusive costume. The dusky young man spoke with eager
gestulation, and seemed anxious for his companion to purchase the article.
While they were there, Mr. Cave came into his shop, his beard still wagging
with the bread and butter of his tea. When he saw these men and the object of
their regard, his countenance fell. He glanced guiltily over his shoulder, and
softly shut the door. He was a little old man, with pale face and peculiar
watery blue eyes; his hair was a |
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