They thought that she was her own mother. She had neither the semi-boisterousness of the average American girl nor the chilling insolence of the English. Then her fingers moved. Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. When he found himself thinking about it, it upset him so that he at once resorted to distraction. It does sound a little horrid to talk so much about oneself and to have views.
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