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The Soul of a Child by Edwin Björkman
page 68 of 302 (22%)
"Oh, nothing," said Lena indifferently.

"There might be skeletons," he ventured after a pause.

"Jesus Christ, child," Lena almost screamed, looking as if she had
caught sight of a ghost. "Where in the world does he get such notions
from? Come out of here now. I think the master will have to go down for
potatoes himself hereafter."

"There was a skeleton in the story you told me the other night," Keith
protested with dignity, but not unaffected by the girl's
unmistakable fright.

"This is no place for stories of that kind," she declared pulling him
away from the barrels and almost forgetting to close the cellar door
behind her.

That evening Keith kept thinking of the story and the steps in the
cellar. He was sorry not to be able to walk up those stairs. And there
must be some old things left lying about on them. Then he imagined
himself a conspirator, hearing the police beating at the doors and
making his way through the stairway and the tunnel to some quiet,
unobserved doorway in another lane, much narrower and darker than their
own. It was exciting, the passage through the tunnel, which he could see
with his mind's eye--but the part of conspirator did not appeal to him.
He had seen policemen on the street several times. They were very tall
and carried sabres. Some time when he was conspiring they might be too
quick for him and get him before he could reach the secret stairway. It
would be much better, he decided finally, to be able to look them in the
face and say truthfully:
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