“I will not trouble you with any questions about the other occupants of the flats,” Mr. Winifred screamed. Teenagers buzzed about her newly discovered talent for the violin in the same sentences as they gossiped about her torrid police scandal and a lost mother who remained in the deep shadows of murder mystery. Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. Lucy slipped upstairs silently.
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