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Chapter 7

           Hedroppedtheaxewiththebladeinthewater,snatchedapieceofsoapthatlayinabrokensauceronthewindow,andbeganwashinghishandsinthebucket.Whentheywereclean,hetookouttheaxe,washedthebladeandspentalongtime,aboutthreeminutes,washingthewoodwheretherewerespotsofbloodrubbingthemwithsoap.Thenhewipeditallwithsomelinenthatwashangingtodryonalineinthekitchenandthenhewasalongwhileattentivelyexaminingtheaxeatthewindow.Therewasnotraceleftonit,onlythewoodwasstilldamp.Hecarefullyhungtheaxeinthenooseunderhiscoat.Thenasfaraswaspossible,inthedimlightinthekitchen,helookedoverhisovercoat,histrousersandhisboots.Atthefirstglancethereseemedtobenothingbutstainsontheboots.Hewettedtheragandrubbedtheboots.Butheknewhewasnotlookingthoroughly,thattheremightbesomethingquitenoticeablethathewasoverlooking.Hestoodinthemiddleoftheroom,lostinthought.Darkagonisingideasroseinhismindtheideathathewasmadandthatatthatmomenthewasincapableofreasoning,ofprotectinghimself,thatheoughtperhapstobedoingsomethingutterlydifferentfromwhathewasnowdoing.“GoodGod!”hemuttered“Imustfly,fly,”andherushedintotheentry.Buthereashockofterrorawaitedhimsuchashehadneverknownbefore.

           Hestoodandgazedandcouldnotbelievehiseyes:thedoor,theouterdoorfromthestairs,atwhichhehadnotlongbeforewaitedandrung,wasstandingunfastenedandatleastsixinchesopen.

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