Immediately afterwards Paul heard the mother slowly mounting the stairs.
The candlelight flashed through the cracks in his door. Her dress
brushed the door, and his heart jumped. Then it was dark, and he
heard the clatter of her latch. She was very leisurely indeed in her
preparations for sleep. After a long time it was quite still. He sat
strung up on the bed, shivering slightly. His door was an inch open.
As Clara came upstairs, he would intercept her. He waited. All was dead
silence. The clock struck two. Then he heard a slight scrape of the
fender downstairs. Now he could not help himself. His shivering was
uncontrollable. He felt he must go or die.
He stepped off the bed, and stood a moment, shuddering. Then he went
straight to the door. He tried to step lightly. The first stair
cracked like a shot. He listened. The old woman stirred in her bed. The
staircase was dark. There was a slit of light under the stair-foot
door, which opened into the kitchen. He stood a moment. Then he went on,
mechanically.
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