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Clive limped to our fence, as the morning mists cleared, anxiously sipping rum. Brushing myself down, I went to reassure him. I glanced over the fence at his feet. I felt my eyes widen. From his faded slippers protruded thick, horny plates of amber-coloured toenails in pockets of red skin. More like claws or hoofs, they were ridged with thimble-like pitting, curving down. I had seen paronychia and ingrowing toenails, but nothing like this.
"Clive! You can't walk about like that! You must book into outpatients tomorrow!" I used the brisk voice at which patients fell silent.
"Yeah, I'll go." He averted his late.
"C'mon, Clive, that must be so ...
Source: HighBeam Research, Clive of India kisses the echoes.(Story)(Short Story)