He pulled at
the door with fierce curiosity. It came open without a squeak of hinge,
without a rustle, with no sound at all; and he found himself glaring at
the opaque surface of some rough blue stuff, like serge. A curtain was
fitted inside, heavy enough and long enough not to stir.
A curtain! This unforeseen veil, baffling his curiosity checked his
brusqueness. He did not fling it aside with an impatient movement; he
only looked at it closely, as if its texture had to be examined before
his hand could touch such stuff. In this interval of hesitation, he
seemed to detect a flaw in the perfection of the silence, the faintest
possible rustle, which his ears caught and instantly, in the effort of
conscious listening, lost again. No! Everything was still inside and
outside the house, only he had no longer the sense of being alone there.
When he put out his hand towards the motionless folds it was with
extreme caution, and merely to push the stuff aside a little, advancing
his head at the same time to peep within. A moment of complete
immobility ensued. Then, without anything else of him stirring,
Ricardo's head shrank back on his shoulders, his arm descended slowly to
his side. There was a woman in there. The very woman! Lighted dimly
by the reflection of the outer glare, she loomed up strangely big and
shadowy at the other end of the long, narrow room.
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