The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. A single false step might have precipitated him into the street; or, if he had trodden upon an unsound part of the roof, he must have fallen through it. ’ ‘I do not tell you why,’ the lady uttered flatly. Lucy sprinted to one side to avoid the crash and grabbed at Rhea’s solitary patch of yellow hair, which ripped out loosely in one decayed piece like strands of rotten corn silk. "Can you pull him through?" was the anxious question. When she judged that she must be nearly back at the library, she began to feel somewhat dispirited. But though she lied about pretty much everything else, she didn’t lie about that.
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