He took up the chair on which he had been sitting, and placed it
out of the way near the door. Then he lifted the lighted lamp off the
table and put it on the buffet.
As he did so, Sylvia, looking up, saw the shadow of his tall, lank figure
thrown grotesquely, hugely, against the opposite wall of the room.
"Now take the cloth off the table," he said curtly. And his wife, gulping
down the last drops of her coffee, got up and obeyed him.
Sylvia suddenly realised that they were getting ready for something--that
they wanted the room cleared.
As with quick, deft fingers she folded up the cloth, Madame Wachner
exclaimed, "As you are not taking any coffee, Sylvia, perhaps it is time
for you now to get up and go away."
Sylvia Bailey looked across at the speaker, and reddened deeply. She felt
very angry. Never in the course of her pleasant, easy, prosperous life
had anyone ventured to dismiss her in this fashion from their house.
She rose, for the second time during the course of her short meal, to her
feet--
And then, in a flash, there occurred that which transformed her anger
into agonised fear--fear and terror.
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