She seized the key, and he grasped her hand and squeezed it roughly and painfully between the handle and the ward as she tried to turn it. "You remember that starling, Sir Rowland," he said maliciously, "and what occurred on it, twelve years ago?" "Too well," answered the knight, frowning. Boldly he turned the knob of a certain door and entered. Her hair was gathered up behind, in a sort of pad, according to the then prevailing mode; and she wore a muslin cap, and pinners with crow-foot edging. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. Ennison looked down on him in disgust.
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