There was a
door. He stood and listened. He could hear two people's breathing. It
was not that. He went stealthily forward. There was another door,
slightly open. The room was in darkness. Empty. Then there was the
bathroom, he could smell the soap and the heat. Then at the end another
bedroom--one soft breathing. This was she.
With an almost occult carefulness he turned the door handle, and opened
the door an inch. It creaked slightly. Then he opened it another
inch--then another. His heart did not beat, he seemed to create a
silence about himself, an obliviousness.
He was in the room. Still the sleeper breathed softly. It was very
dark. He felt his way forward inch by inch, with his feet and hands. He
touched the bed, he could hear the sleeper. He drew nearer, bending
close as if his eyes would disclose whatever there was. And then, very
near to his face, to his fear, he saw the round, dark head of a boy.
He recovered, turned round, saw the door ajar, a faint light revealed.
And he retreated swiftly, drew the door to without fastening it, and
passed rapidly down the passage.
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