« I waited a good hour after the last flick­ering light had disappeared. Then I crept softly up to the house, and, concealed in its shadow, listened for sounds. There were none, except those strange, almost inexpressible voices which seem to come from nowhere in the dead of night. I do not know that anybody has ever noticed them; but I have always fancied that they were like the breathing of the earth—if such a thing were possible—for they come in regular, rhythmic pulsations. »

Geo E. Walsh, The Mysterious Burglar, 1901

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