Behind the town the woods had swayed
and creaked, funeral black against the grey thick sky. Across the
folds the rain fell in slanting sheets with the sibilant hiss of
relentless power and resolve.
After luncheon, on this day the 13th, Maggie disappeared into the
upper part of the house and Grace settled down on the drawing-room
sofa to a nice little nap. She fell asleep to the comforting patter
of rain upon the windows and the howling of the storm down the
chimney. She dreamt, as she often did, about food.
She was awakened, with a sudden start, by a sense of apprehension.
This happened to her now so often that there was nothing strange in
it, but she jumped up, with beating heart, from the sofa, crying
out: "What's happened? What's the matter?"
She realised that the room had grown darker since she fell asleep,
and although it was early still there was a sort of grey twilight
that stood out against a deeper dusk in the garden beyond.
"What is it?" she said again, and then saw that Jenny, the maid, was
standing in the doorway.
"Well, Jenny?" she asked, trying to recover some of her dignity.
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