And, in strange
contradiction to the moving voices within the house, came the blurred
echo of the London life, whirring, buzzing, like a cloud of gnats at the
window-pane. "Look out! Look out! Look out!" the house cried, and Henry,
with chattering teeth, was on guard.
There came an evening when standing thus, shivering in his little shirt,
he was aware that the terror, so long anticipated, was upon him. It
seemed to him, on this evening, that the house was suddenly still; it
was as though all the sounds, as of running water, that passed up and
down the rooms and passages, were, in a flashing second, frozen. The
house was holding its breath.
He had to wait for a breathless, agonising interval before he heard the
next sound, very faint and stifled breathing coming up to him out of the
darkness in little uncertain gusts. He heard the breathings pause, then
recommence again in quicker and louder succession. Henry, stirred
simply, perhaps, by the terror of his anticipation, moved back into the
darker shadows in the nook of the cabinet, and stayed there with his
shirt pressed against his little trembling knees.
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