They had decided that they would go to the window of the torn shade and see what they might discover, but, on arriving at the scene, decided that there was too much chance of detection.
“We’ll just walk up and down the street,” suggested Lucile. “If she comes out we’ll follow her and see what happens. She may go back to the university for more books.”
“You don’t think she’d dare?” whispered Florence.
“She returned once, why not again?”
“There are no more Shakespeares.”
“But there are other books.”
“Yes.”
They fell into silence. The streets were dark. It grew cold. It was a cheerless task. Now and again a person passed them. Two of them were men, noisy and drunken.
“I—I don’t like it,” shivered Lucile, “but what else is there to do?”
“Go in and tell them they have our books and must give them up.”