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But I feel a little frightened to go into it alone. Would you mind coming with me?" So we walked slowly up the brick walk and I turned the key in the lock. A cold mist was blowing in and the swollen door yielded with difficulty gaping finally like a great wound in the white clapboard flank. We stepped over the threshold and entered the room on the right.

It was like the scene of a flight, perhaps even a disaster, the scene of death. Paintings of homes, barns, wharves or willows stood about the floor propped against the legs of furniture; fineboned paint brushes and tubes of paint lay where they had been left and near the hearth was a sofa - pillow still bearing the imprint of a resting head. I managed to kindle a few sticks of wood and opened the door on the water side, to dilute the desolation and then turned back to Katharine where she was sitting on the little bench before the fireplace. Presently we were startled by the sound of scratching on the dresser door and the silhouette of a cat against the blowing