She saw a great
black group of people crossing it just in front of the vacant lot.
There was something inexpressibly strange and gloomy about this
moving group; there was an effect of sweeping, wavings and foldings
of sable draperies and gleams of deadly white faces; then they
passed. She twisted her head to see, and they disappeared in the
vacant lot. Mr. Townsend came hurrying into the room; he was pale,
and looked at once angry and alarmed.
"Did you fall?" he asked inconsequently, as if his wife, who was
small, could have produced such a manifestation by a fall.
"Oh, David, what is it?" whispered Mrs. Townsend.
"Darned if I know!" said David.
"Don't swear. It's too awful. Oh, see the looking-glass, David!"
"I see it. The one over the library mantel is broken, too."
"Oh, it is a sign of death!"
Cordelia's feet were heard as she staggered on the stairs. She
almost fell into the room. She reeled over to Mr. Townsend and
clutched his arm. He cast a sidewise glance, half furious, half
commiserating at her.
"Well, what is it all about?" he asked.
"I don't know. What is it? Oh, what is it? The looking-glass in
the kitchen is broken.
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