

"The expression on his face was not so much mortal terror as of mortal sickness...he reeled, put his hand to his throat, stood swaying for a moment, and then, with a peculiar sound, fell from his whole height face foremost to the floor. I went down on my knees at once. On the floor close to his hand there was a little round of paper, blackened on the one side. I could not doubt that this was the black spot..."
-- Robert Louis Stevenson Treasure Island, 1883--
joansy64@hotmail.com