Bond could feel dozens of tiny feet lightly touching his skin. It was long, five or six inches as long as his hand. He had once seen a tropical centipede in a bottle of spirit on the shelf in a museum. On either side of the blunt head, there had been curved poison claws. The label on the bottle had said that its poison was mortal if it hit an artery. Bond lay frozen. Whatever happened, he mustn't move.

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