Listening on the dimlit landing, he saw Roding’s face muscles tighten. What passed between them I cannot think—I dare not. Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. If our young person hadn’t had the nurse part cut out, eh? She might have known more and done less. You're the first widow I ever heard of who could withstand that lure.
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