CHAPTER XVIII The doctor reached for the key and studied it sombrely. ‘Eh bien, Eugénie. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. I'm ashamed to say that I was too much terrified to scream out—but ran and hid myself. A hazy face appeared through the fog of sleep, pale and thin and looming. Kneebone, who did not appear in the slightest degree disconcerted by his cool reception, each sank carelessly into a chair, and made himself at home in a moment.
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