Anna followed her finger, and looked back into her sister’s face. ’ A wary look came over her face, and Roding intervened. Stop! we must shut the door, or they'll catch us. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. ‘Read that,’ and threw the telegram at me, so that it went into the tureen. . . The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. He heard the struggle on the landing, the fall of the heavy body, the groan,—and excited almost to frenzy by his fears, he succeeded in forcing open the door.
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