The girl shrank back from the window, hiding her eyes as if to blot out
that picture.
The light, that is to say the absence of it in true sense, the angle of
view, and the distance, all had conspired to prevent her from making sure
that neither her father nor Karslake were of those four whose broken bodies
cluttered the street. But the fear and uncertainty were maddening....
She wheeled suddenly toward the door: the ancient stairs were creaking
beneath a measured tread. She made an offer to add her weight to that of
the table, but checked and fell back immediately, seeing the folly of
sacrificing her strength, the wisdom of saving it to serve her when
finally....
The creaking ceased, the wards of the lock grated, the knob turned, the
door was thrust open--the table offering little hindrance if any. From the
threshold Victor eyed the girl with a twitching grin.
"The time is at hand," he announced with a parody of punctilio. "We have
beaten them off in the street, but they have found the tunnel from the
cellar of the Red Moon, and are attacking from the river besides. So, my
dear, it ends for us...."
In silence, shoulders to the wall farthest from the door, Sofia watched him
unwinking. The lamp at her feet painted the tensely poised young body and
bloodless face with quaint, stagey shadows.
Victor's glance ranged the cheerless room.
"I think you understand me," he said.
She might have been a waxwork dummy out of Madame Tussaud's.
A white blaze of madness transfigured Victor's countenance.
Pages:
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257