.

If I had dared to speak I would have done so, but I felt that a word
would be like dynamite, and would tear the silent house into a pile of
smoking bricks and plaster. I felt sure it would act like an earthquake,
toppling the house over into the street. I felt that a word would be
like the roaring voice of some strange god that would send everything
off in thin vapor. I felt I must shut the door, and I went away
remembering the words of my Julianna, "If I do not answer some morning
when you knock, have the door broken in!" and my heart jumped again with
new fear. It was the fear of some other person who seemed to be in the
house, unseen and hidden from my eyes. For in spite of my peep into the
room, I felt that it was still there.

And now you have heard all! I have told everything--all that I
know--things that many a time I have sworn to myself to take through my
lonesome life unspoken to the grave.

BOOK V

THE MAN WITH THE WHITE TEETH

CHAPTER I

BLADES OF GRASS

When Margaret Murchie, sitting in the interior of the limousine, with
the arc light playing through the thousand raindrops on the window pane
spotting a face lined with the strength of a stolid old maid, had
finished her narrative, there was no sound but that of the storm
mourning down the avenue. Estabrook sat with his forehead in his hands.
I had had enough experience in my practice with those who are struggling
to overcome a great shock, not to speak until some word from him had
disclosed the effect that Margaret's story had produced. His face was
hidden, but his fingers moved on his temples as if he were grinding some
substance there into powder. When at last he raised his head, his
expression astounded me. It had, I thought, softened rather than
hardened. A little patient smile almost concealed the fear that looked
out of his eyes.

"The daughter of a murderer?" he asked, touching my knee.

What could I say?

"She must be in some distress, Doctor?" he whispered.

I nodded.

It was then that the true Estabrook went tearing up through the crust of
custom, manners, traditions, egotism, smugness, and self-love. From the
depths of his personality, the man for whom I have since that moment had
a deep regard, then called his soul and it came. He leaned forward and
looked through the misty glass in the door, across