All the turnkeys were assembled. There was no reason why she shouldn’t be his restrained and dignified friend. No more did she offer her forehead for the good-night kiss. “What have you done?” 212 “It is your own fault, Lucia. While he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark. And all the old—the old trick of shrinking up like a snail at a touch. Her head dangled unnaturally for an instant, unleashed from its moorings, then sank to join her husband’s on the floor.
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