A Journey to Nowhere
229
grown white. The hand which she had placed on my arm was trembling.
Through the mist, out there in the Fulham Road, there came the sound of a woman's laughter. It was that curious laughter which I had heard in Edwin Lawrence's room—soft, low, musical; yet within it, indefinable, yet not to be mistaken, a quality which was pregnant with horrible suggestion.
At the sound, for some cause, my heart stood still.
