Bylash
seemed touched with a new dignity, and even Miss Miller's pompadour
looked human and sorry. But two faces Miss Weyland did not see among the
kind-eyed boarders: the old professor, who had locked himself in his
room, and the little Doctor who was at that moment coming down the
steps.
"Supper's very late," said she. "Emma and Laura ... have been much
upset. I'll have it on the table in a minute."
She turned into the hail and saw Queed on the stairs. He halted his
descent five steps from the bottom, and she came to the banisters and
stood and looked up at him. And if any memory of their last meeting was
with them then, neither of them gave any sign of it.
"You know--?"
"No, I don't know," he replied, disturbed by her look, he did not know
why, and involuntarily lowering his voice. "I came down expressly to
find out."
"Fifi--She--"
"Is worse again?"
"She ... stopped breathing a few minutes ago."
"_Dead!_"
Sharlee winced visibly at the word, as the fresh stricken always will.
The little Doctor turned his head vaguely away. The house was so still
that the creaking of the stairs as his weight shifted from one foot to
another, sounded horribly loud; he noticed it, and regretted having
moved.
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