There was, it might be said, a double illumination. He knew not how to act, urged as he was in two directions. She knew it. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. A militiaman came belting down the stairs, another leapt from outside the front door, and a third, stalwart and stolid, came in through the door that led to the rooms to the front of the house. "So much the worse," replied Jonathan, rising and taking a turn, as if uncertain what to do. The one nearest to her, which must lead to the library.
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