Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. She crept into the living room and turned off the set, adjusting Cathy’s blanket which had fallen to the carpeted floor. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. “John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house.
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