I was still in Mrs. Packard's room, brooding over the enigma offered by the similarity between the account I had just read and the explanation she had given of the mysterious event which had thrown such a cloud over her life, when, moved by some unaccountable influence, I glanced up and saw Nixon standing in the open doorway, gazing at me with an uneasy curiosity I was sorry enough to have inspired.
"Mrs. Packard wants you," he declared with short ceremony. "She's in the library." And, turning on his heel, he took his deliberate way down-stairs.
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