There were some stairs.... Crumbling stairs.... She pressed her bleeding hands, right and left, against the stone wall, by the stone steps. She dragged herself up. She staggered up, step by step.... There was the top.
The stairs ended in a stone trap-door.
The girl groaned: “Freder...!”
She stretched both fists above her. She pushed head and shoulders against the trap-door.
And one more groan: “Freder....”
The door rose and fell back with a crash.
Below—deep down—laughter....
The girl swung herself over the edge of the trap-door. She ran hither and thither, with outstretched hands. She ran along walls, finding no door. She saw the lustre which welled up from the depths. By this light she saw a door, which was latchless. It had neither bolt nor lock.
In the gloomy wood glowed, copper-red, the seal of Solomon, the pentagram.
The girl turned around.