He was coming towards me--a straining, panting figure--half
carrying, half dragging, the dead man who flopped aside from his
arms.
God! what was I to do now! How meet those cold, indifferent eyes
filled only with thoughts of his own safety and see them flare
again with murderous impulse and that impulse directed towards
myself! I couldn't meet them; I couldn't stay; but how fly when
not a muscle responded. I had to stay--hanging from the sill and
praying--praying--till my senses blurred and I knew nothing till
on a sudden they cleared again, and I woke to the blessed
realisation that the door had been pushed against my slender
figure, hiding it completely from his sight, and that this door
was now closed again and this time tightly, and I was safe--safe!
The relief sent the perspiration in a reek from every pore; but
the icy revulsion came quickly. As I drew up my knees to get a
better purchase on the sill, heaven's torch was suddenly lit up,
the closet became a pit of dazzling whiteness amid which I saw the
blot of that dead body, with head propped against the wall and
eyes--
Remember, I was but fifteen. The legs were hunched up and almost
touched mine. I could feel them--though there was no contact--
pushing me--forcing me from my frail support. Would it lighten
again? Would I have to see--No! any risk first. The window--I no
longer thought of it. It was too remote, too difficult. The door--
the door--there was my way--the only way which would rid me
instantly of any proximity to this hideous object.
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