Sucks books

"Yes--oil of turpentine."
Suddenly he opened his eyes, and the blank look of abstraction
that had masked his face was broken through by a gleam of
comprehension that I knew flashed the truth to him intuitively.
"Turn out that light in the corridor," he ordered quickly.
Dr. Leslie found and turned the switch. There we were alone, in
the now weird little dressing-room, alone with that horribly
lovely thing lying there cold and motionless on the little white
bed.
Kennedy moved forward in the darkness. Gently, almost as if she
were still the living, pulsing, sentient Blanche Blaisdell who had
entranced thousands, he opened her mouth.
A cry from O'Connor, who was standing in front of me, followed.
"What's that, those little spots on her tongue and throat? They
glow. It is the corpse light!"
Surely enough, there were little luminous spots in her mouth. I
had heard somewhere that there is a phosphorescence appearing
during decay of organic substances which once gave rise to the
ancient superstition of "corpse lights" and the will-o'-the-wisp.


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