“In Paris our lives were far apart, and we had seldom the same friends. It was Celeste’s idea. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. What the editor had to say none of the three cared just then. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. There was a case, or something, some years ago. For on reaching the second floor, a swishing sound came to Gerald’s ears, as of someone moving about. If Jack Sheppard could behold his mother in this state, he'd have a lesson he'd never forget—ay, and a severer one than even the hangman could read him. He might be unfortunate, but he would scarcely be a fool. "Oh lord! I hope not. If, when he returned, he blew out the light, she would go to bed; but if the light burned on for any length of time, she would go silently to the study curtain to learn if his agony was still upon him.
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