I am not boring you, am I?” She raised her eyes to his and smiled into his face. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. She listened, her suspicions confirmed. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. ToC The ward into which Jack was endeavouring to break was called the Red Room, from the circumstance of its walls having once been painted in that colour; all traces of which had, however, long since disappeared. ‘To find what?’ demanded Gerald. "It is never too late.
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