tween his hands. He controlled himself with an effort. But he could not experience for the girl that just loathing.
She had altered subtly. At George's question her form had lost its alertness and had assumed the unyielding lines of a somnambulist; and her voice had the colorless tone of one who speaks out of a dream.
"Maybe when you get it open, George. Time enough to think of that then. I'm not so sure you'll open it. I'm not so sure of your nerve."
"Wait and see," he said. "You're a pretty one to talk about nerve. You look as though you'd seen a ghost."
She sank back in a heap. She screened her face with her hands. George stared.
"Now what—"
"Don't say that, George," she whispered. "Not here. Ever since I've been in this room—it—it doesn't feel right."
She trembled.
"Hurry! I'm afraid here."
"Hold the light up," he said roughly. "What's the matter with you? This isn't a graveyard."
He resumed his manipulation of the knob. Garth noticed that from time to time he glanced quickly over his shoulder at the somber corners of the room.
Nora had, to a certain extent, startled Garth. Her barely audible words still breathed disquietingly in his ears. They had been like a bow drawn across a string too tightly stretched.
