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Widdershins by Oliver [pseud.] Onions
page 88 of 299 (29%)
matter, and that his hand, chancing to stray to his face in the darkness,
should encounter a beard.

"Most extraordinary!" he began to mutter to himself. "Have I been ill? Am
I ill now? And if so, why have they left me alone?... Extraordinary!..."

He thought he heard a sound from the kitchen or bathroom. He rose a
little on his pillow, and listened.... Ah! He was not alone, then! It
certainly would have been extraordinary if they had left him ill and
alone--Alone? Oh no. He would be looked after. He wouldn't be left, ill,
to shift for himself. If everybody else had forsaken him, he could trust
Elsie Bengough, the dearest chum he had, for that ... bless her faithful
heart!

But suddenly a short, stifled, spluttering cry rang sharply out:

"_Paul!_"

It came from the kitchen.

And in the same moment it flashed upon Oleron, he knew not how, that two,
three, five, he knew not how many minutes before, another sound, unmarked
at the time but suddenly transfixing his attention now, had striven to
reach his intelligence. This sound had been the slight touch of metal on
metal--just such a sound as Oleron made when he put his key into the
lock.

"Hallo!... Who's that?" he called sharply from his bed.

He had no answer.
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