He then sat himself down by the door, with the key in his hand, waiting.
He had no light; the time was dreary, long, and awful. The ringers were
practicing in a neighbouring church, and the clashing of the bells was
almost maddening. Curse the clamouring bells, they seemed to know that
he was listening at the door, and to proclaim it in a crowd of voices to
all the town! Would they never be still?
They ceased at last, and then the silence was so new and terrible that
it seemed the prelude to some dreadful noise. Footsteps in the court!
Two men. He fell back from the door on tiptoe, as if they could have
seen him through its wooden panels.
They passed on, talking (he could make out) about a skeleton which had
been dug up yesterday, in some work of excavation near at hand, and was
supposed to be that of a murdered man. 'So murder is not always found
out, you see,' they said to one another as they turned the corner.
Hush!
He put the key into the lock, and turned it. The door resisted for a
while, but soon came stiffly open; mingling with the sense of fever in
his mouth, a taste of rust, and dust, and earth, and rotting wood.
Pages:
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348