“Yes, that’s it, my lad—there’s something I—Yes, it’s a bad night—bad storm. Listen, George!”
“Yes, sir.”
“What say?”
“I’m listening, Mr. Lewis.”
“Well, listen then.”
The sharp eyes peered up and down the hall. Dorothy moved further back into the dark room.
“Your father had a lot of books, George—a very fine library.”
“Yes, he had.”
“What say?”
“I said he had.”