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Pulp Fiction, 1911 · page 137 of 196

Adventure Magazine Cover — page 137: what you’re looking at

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Adventure Magazine Cover — page 137: Pulp Fiction, 1911

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The Strangler and an Apostle by profession. You remem- ber that old priest in Vodena whom you roasted on a spit like a lamb-chop? That ras my father—God rest his soul! That was the story that greeted me when I came home from the seminary. And those two girls, the daughters of Stephan the miller in Novoselo? And the carpenter’s bride of two months in Ridovy? Yours is a long, long story, Selim Effendi; and here is the last chapter! You couldn’t read those papers in the schoolmaster’s pocket? Here is something to satisfy your curiosity, Se- lim. On the fifteenth of January, in Novo- selo, a congress will decide to light the fuse that will blow to smithereens your whole 701 Government. But my brother-in-freedom is groaning on my donkey’s back. A cold nightmare to you, Effendi, and may the charcoalmen bless me for ridding the land o1 another bloodsucker!”’ And the two figures vanished into the fog. The wheel-rims had sunk out of sight. The Turk stared wildly around. He could see nobody, hear nobody. Far away in the distance his eyes could catch the faintest glimmer of what he imagined was Tetino. All around him was that glassy, creepy, ser- pentine ice-glaze of the treacherous Livady forass. And the carriage slowly sank, sank. YOUNG man, whose clean-cut features and well-groomed fig- ure clipped him sharply from m__ase among the nifiraff of the lower qua oe rol the city, picked his way deliber- ately among the loiterers of Washington Street and turned in, with an air of leisurely consideration, at a squalid corner saioon. ft was an unpromising place for such a man to quench his thirst. Half a dozen ragged loungers slouched about the musty, il-lighted barroom, scowling suspiciously at each other or making flabby advances toward the white- aproned mixer of fancy beverages, with the hazy idea, apparently, of scraping up enough courage to attempt MICLOO© Cc SS (C@