She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. She moved her elbow nearer to him and spoke in a still lower tone. His heart was beating, but faintly and slowly, with ominous intermissions. It was just such a bedroom as she would have chosen for herself. Now I’d like the rest of your story. Yet the smoke was curling upwards in a faint innocent-looking cloud to the ceiling. But I'd a mind to try whether you really loved him as much as you pretended.
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