It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. There were no evidences of any struggle, no overturned chairs or disarranged furniture. Not entirely. ” She pressed her ear to the door. She had slept badly at first in a long chair next to the fire waiting for him to return, but caught on after that. The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. ’ He had abandoned the “sir”, Gerald noted, realising that the footman’s respect for him had dropped sharply. Again having recourse to the centre-bit,—for Winifred's door was locked,—Jack had nearly cut out a panel, when a sudden outcry was raised in the carpenter's chamber.
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