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Quiller-Couch, Arthur Thomas, Sir, 1863-1944

"Dead Man's Rock"


After a while, as I repeated my question, the lips again parted and I
heard.
I looked down the road. The cemetery lay far out in one of the
northern suburbs, and just now the neighbourhood seemed utterly
deserted. By good chance, however, I spied an old four-wheeler
crawling along in the distance. I ran after it, hailed it, brought
it back, and with the help of the wondering driver, placed my love
inside; then I gave the man the address, and bidding him drive with
all speed, sprang in beside Claire.
Still faint, she was lying back against the cushion. The cab crawled
along at a snail's pace, but long as the journey was, it was passed
in utter silence. She never opened her eyes, and as for me, what
comfortable words could I speak? Yet as I saw the soft rise and fall
of her breast, I longed for words, Heaven knows how madly! But none
came, and in silence we drew up at length before a modest doorway in
Old Kensington.
Here Claire summoned all her strength lest her mother should be
frightened. Still keeping her eyes averted, she stepped as bravely
as she could from the cab, and laid her hand upon the door-handle.


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