I gave up then and held her as if she indeed were my only hope.

A noise, a stealthy sound, a step, froze that embrace into stone.
"Up yet, Sally ?" came Sampson's clear voice, too strained, too eager to be natural.
"No.

I'm in bed, reading.

Good night, Uncle," instantly replied Sally, so calmly and naturally that I marveled at the difference between man and woman.

Perhaps that was the difference between love and hate.
"Are you alone ?" went on Sampson's penetrating voice, colder now.
"Yes," replied Sally.
The door swung inward with a swift scrape and jar.