As they all passed through it, Sarah remembered how she had come this way in the dark, feeling before her with her hand, and how cold the great iron bolt had struck against her palm. The bolt was shot back now. It showed black against the oak of the old door. The Grimsbys must do some work in the house after all. There was no rust upon the iron. The light from the lamp which the Reverend Peter was carrying showed that the bolt had been oiled. They passed through, and the icy damp of vacant, unused rooms was heavy about them. The door swung to. Against this side of it Sarah had dashed herself, running from—what? She didn’t know. She told herself that it was her own terror, and she remembered how she had wrenched round and seen a shadow stand black beside her in the dusk from an open door. And the shadow had been John Wickham. She felt her own relief again. The lamplight seemed suddenly much brighter, perhaps because she was remembering the dark. On this side the bolt was rusted in its socket.
What do You think about Weekend With Death (2016)?
