He was in his evening dress, she saw, knee-breeches
and buckles all complete; and his hands were clenched, as they hung
held out a little from his sides, as he himself, crouching a little,
stared at the door.
She, too, looked at the door, at its conventional panels and its brass
handle; and it appeared to her as if both he and she were expectant of
some visitor. The door would open presently, she perceived; and the
reason why Laurie was so intent upon the entrance, was that he, no
more than she, had any idea as to the character of the person who was
to come in. She became quite interested as she watched--it was a
method she followed sometimes when wooing sleep--and she began, in her
fancy, to go past Laurie as if to open the door. But as she passed him
she was aware that he put out a hand to check her, as if to hold her
back from some danger; and she stopped, hesitating, still looking, not
at Laurie, but at the door.
She began then, with the irresponsibility of deepening sleep, to
imagine instead what lay beyond the door--to perceive by intuitive
vision the character of the house. She got so far as understanding
that it was all as unfurnished as this room, that the house stood
solitary among trees, and that even these, and the tangled garden that
she determined must surround the house, were as listening and as
expectant as herself and the waiting figure of the boy.
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