Even Maggie herself became aware of this.
It was not that now for one single moment she allowed that the two
little sudden noises in the room could possibly proceed from any cause
whatever except that which she had stated--the relaxation of stiffened
wood under the influence of the thaw. Nor had all Laurie's arguments
prevailed to shake in the smallest degree her resolute conviction that
there was nothing whatever preternatural in his certainly queer story.
Yet, as she sat there in the lamplight, with Laurie speechless before
her, and the great curtained window behind, she became conscious of an
uneasiness that she could not entirely repel. It was just physical,
she said; it was the result of the change of weather; or, at the most,
it was the silence that had now fallen and the proximity of a
terrified boy.
She looked across at him again.
He was lying back in the old green arm-chair, his eyes rather shadowed
from the lamp overhead, quite still and quiet, his hands still
clasping the lion bosses of his chair-arms. Beside him, on the little
table, lay his still smoldering cigarette-end in the silver tray....
Maggie suddenly sprang to her feet, slipped round the table, and
caught him by the arm.
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