Through a chink in the curtain she could see that he was stooping down, collecting some letters.
She stole out, ran down the hall, opened the front door and hastened down the avenue.

Her heart was beating quickly.

The front door handle had slipped from her fingers, and it seemed to her that she could hear even now the slam with which it had swung to.

At the gates she looked back.
There were no signs of life.

The house still bore its customary appearance, gloomy and deserted.