He shuffled about from one bookcase to another, and
his hands trembled violently as he touched the big volumes. Now
and then he glanced towards one or the other of the doors
expecting at every moment that some one would enter to tell him
the news, if indeed any one at such a time should chance to
remember the existence of the humble librarian. His brain was on
fire and seemed to burn the sockets of his eyes. And yet the time
passed, and no one came. The suspense grew to be unbearable, and
he felt that he would do anything to escape from it. He went to
the door and laid his hand upon the latch.
For an instant the flush disappeared from his cheeks, as a great
fear took possession of him. He was not able to face the sight of
Montevarchi's body lying across that table in the silent study.
His hand fell to his side and he almost ran to the other side of
the library; then, as though ashamed of his weakness he came back
slowly and listened at the door. It was scarcely possible that any
distant echo could reach his ears, if the household had been
already roused, for the passage was long and tortuous, interrupted
by other doors and by a winding staircase. But in his present
state he fancied that his senses must be preternaturally sharpened
and he listened eagerly.
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