you. From poor you shall become poorer; the older you grow the lower shall you sink in want and misery; at the end there is waiting for you, one and all, a death in abandonment and despair. This is Hell—Hell—Hell!’”
His voice had risen in pitch, and the last cry was so terrifying that Pennyloaf fled to be out of hearing:. She reached the house to which her visit was, and in the dark passage leaned for a moment against the wall, trembling all over. Then she began to ascend the stairs. At Mrs. Candy’s door she knocked gently. There was at first no answer, but when she had knocked again, a strange voice that she did not recognise asked, “Who’s that?” It seemed to come from low down, as if the speaker were lying on the floor.
“It’s me,” she replied, again trembling, she knew not with what fear. “Mrs. Hewett—Pennyloaf.”
“Are you alone?”
She bent down, listening eagerly. “Who’s that speakin’?"
“Are you alone?”
Strange; the voice was again different, very feeble, a thick whisper.
