‘In the bookroom, sir,’ answered the man, his eyes round as they took in the furious beauty at the visitor’s side. He began to talk again in quick undertones that she could not clearly hear. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. “With your permission I should like to search the remainder of your rooms. Just speak the word," he added, drawing the knife significantly across his throat, "and I'll put it out of his power to do the same by your second. Wood fared still worse. .
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