Those red roses on the yellow ground were to her much more ghostly
than any strange figure clad in the white robes of the grave
entering the room.
She took a step toward the door, then she turned with a resolute
air. "As for going downstairs and owning up I'm scared and having
that Lippincott girl crowing over me, I won't for any red roses
instead of peacocks. I guess they can't hurt me, and as long as
we've both of us seen 'em I guess we can't both be getting loony,"
she said.
Mrs. Elvira Simmons blew out her light and got into bed and lay
staring out between the chintz hangings at the moonlit room. She
said her prayers in bed always as being more comfortable, and
presumably just as acceptable in the case of a faithful servant
with a stout habit of body. Then after a little she fell asleep;
she was of too practical a nature to be kept long awake by anything
which had no power of actual bodily effect upon her. No stress of
the spirit had ever disturbed her slumbers. So she slumbered
between the red roses, or the peacocks, she did not know which.
But she was awakened about midnight by a strange sensation in her
throat.
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