At the head of the stairs he
hesitated. There was still time to flee.
But it was unthinkable. He would maintain his will. He turned past the
door of the parental bedroom like a shadow, and was climbing the second
flight of stairs. They creaked under his weight--it was exasperating.
Ah what disaster, if the mother's door opened just beneath him, and she
saw him! It would have to be, if it were so. He held the control still.
He was not quite up these stairs when he heard a quick running of feet
below, the outer door was closed and locked, he heard Ursula's voice,
then the father's sleepy exclamation. He pressed on swiftly to the
upper landing.
Again a door was ajar, a room was empty. Feeling his way forward, with
the tips of his fingers, travelling rapidly, like a blind man, anxious
lest Ursula should come upstairs, he found another door. There, with
his preternaturally fine sense alert, he listened. He heard someone
moving in bed. This would be she.
Softly now, like one who has only one sense, the tactile sense, he
turned the latch.
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