The watcher's intake of breath was sibilant. Winifred's face had a thoroughly amiable look. A few bricks, dislodged probably by his last descent, came clattering down the chimney, and as it was perfectly dark, gave him the notion that some one was endeavouring to force an entrance into the room. “Don’t be childish, Annabel. There is turmoil, shouts, cries, jostlings, milling congestions that suddenly break and flow in opposite directions. ” “Of course,” he said, reaching out his hand tentatively for his hat, “I could go away even now. ” “Perhaps,” she said, “I am superstitious.
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