It seemed to her as though a curious note of finality sounded in the metallic clamour of the grille--a grim resemblance to the clank of keys and shooting of bolts which cuts the outer world from the prisoner in his cell.
With a little strangled cry she sank into a chair, clasping her hands tightly together.

She sat there, very still and quiet, staring blankly into space.

.

.

.
And so, an hour later, Penelope found her.