took his wife's little, thin, veinous hand and clasped it tenderly.
Her bony fingers clung gratefully to his.

When they were all out in the south room Flora Barnes spoke again. "I
have never seen a more beautiful corpse," said she, in exactly the
same voice which she had used before. She began taking off her large,
white apron. Something peculiar in her motion arrested Sylvia's
attention. She made a wiry spring at her.

"Let me see that apron," said she, in a voice which corresponded with
her action.

Flora recoiled. She turned pale, then she flushed. "What for?"

"Because I want to."

"It's just my apron. I--"

But Sylvia had the apron. Out of its folds dropped a thin roll of
black silk. Flora stood before Sylvia. Beads of sweat showed on her
flat forehead. She twitched like one about to have convulsions. She
was very tall, but Sylvia seemed to fairly loom over her. She held
the black silk out stiffly, like a bayonet.

"What is this?" she demanded, in her tense voice.

Flora twitched.

"What is it? I want to know."