Every time he left a room, she chastised herself bitterly for her own profound weakness. "The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a faint shudder stir her shoulders. She became more assertive, more defiant. “Is this a concession to Mrs. ’ Jack Kimble took a deep breath. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. Aunt and niece regarded each other silently.
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