"Oh God! she is dying," exclaimed Jack in a voice suffocated by emotion. Pausing at each door on the landing, Jack placed his ear to the keyhole, and listened intently. Lucy could see Diane’s clear dislike of her, the foster background she had come from, and the single mysterious episode with the police that had inflamed the gossips from all the corners of town. Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and disappear. Stanley allowed his paper to drop a little, and scrutinized the hats and brows of their three fellow-travellers. Superimposed was the agitating thought of what would follow the death of this unwelcome guest: confusion, poking authorities, British and American red tape. Their heads touched again, their arms tightened. "No, I won't hear you, murderer," rejoined Wood. Spurling," rejoined Ireton; "we can taste the rum when he returns.
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