The white cloth was instantly dyed with crimson; but, regardless of this, Jonathan continued his murderous assault. Her mother did not seem to like the new doctor at all, shunning him with a near superstitious dread. “Yes, I remember you now. If I could but——” To escape from her thoughts she began to undress, humming a light tune to herself, though her eyes were hot with unshed tears, and the sobs kept rising in her throat. The door was too strong, and too well secured, to break open,—the walls too thick: but the ceiling,—if he could reach it—there, he doubted not, he could make an outlet.
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