Mrs. Winifred pointed to the door. She spied him sitting on his armless black couch, his feet splayed as he stared at his television blankly. She refused coffee, though she knew that anyhow she was doomed to a sleepless night. There was some justification for her annoyance, for negotiation of the secret passage demanded either a stout heart, or a desperate one. Fortunately, ever since Wild's late murderous attack, the household has all been well armed. Then her white teeth gleamed, and her excuse for remaining any longer before that little marble table was gone.
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