"I still have very little recollection of what
happened between my climbing out of our garden and dropping into theirs.
I remember that my feet were rather cold, but that is about all.
"It was near midnight, as you know, and the room it happened in--the
study--had the brightest light of all. An electric lamp was blazing on
the writing-table at the window, and another from a bracket among the
books. The window was as wide open as it would go, the lower sash thrown
right up; it was just above the scullery window, which is half
underground, and has an outside grating. The sill was only the height
of one's chin. I can tell you all that now, but at the time I knew very
little until I was in the room itself. Thank you, I will take another
sip. It does me more good than harm to tell you. But you will find it
all written down."
Langholm set down the glass and replenished it. The night had fallen
without. The single candle in the farthest corner supplied the only
light; in it the one man sat, and the other lay, their eyes locked.
"I spilt the ink as I was creeping over the desk. That is an odd thing
to remember, but I was looking for something to wipe it up with when I
heard their voices upstairs.
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