"Yes—" she said, with a funny cold feeling inside her. "Yes, I suppose it is."
Suddenly, without another word, she turned about and hurried upstairs. She couldn't get the padlock on the door fast enough to suit her.
"Whew!" she gasped, sinking into a kitchen chair. "I've never been so jittery in my life."
At the rear window of the kitchen, just over the cellar door, she heard something, a kind of beating, flapping sound, but when she turned to look through the window, there was nothing there.
"Brrr," she shuddered. "Someone must be walking over my grave."
She began to make a pot of tea to warm herself up. She was having her second cup when the bright idea struck her.
"He'll be so grateful," she said, hurrying into the front hall to search through the junk in the closet there. She hadn't liked the look in his eyes when she'd last seen him. Perhaps he'd be so angry with her that he'd leave, and then she'd have to refund what remained of the five hundred dollars. This really gave her something to worry about.
"But," she half-sang to herself, taking out the box from the closet, "this will make him change his mind. Anyone would be grateful not to have to sleep in a dirty old box like that another night...."