(From the pocket journal of Edgar Willard)282Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡG9S6IJDgFA
Oct. 25, ‘50282Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡU6z2gFwn81
282Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHxalW4o2JP
Mr. Beal has slept nearly all this day. His face is pallid and much thinner. I fear recurrence of his fever is inevitable.
While refreshing his water carafe I caught sight of two mailed letters to Mr. Tibbles in Florida. He plans to return to Christian’s Lot; ‘twill be the killing of him if I allow it! Dare I steal away to Ministers’ Corners and hire a buggy? I must, and yet what if he wakes? If I should return and find him gone again?282Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBDYrSAux9Q
The noises have begun in our walls again. Thank God he still sleeps! My mind shudders from the import of this.
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Later282Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMQ3enACjhv
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I brought him dinner on a tray. He plans on rising later, and despite his evasions, I know what he plans; yet I go to Ministers’ Corners. Several of the sleeping powders prescribed to him during his late illness remained with my things; he drank one with his tea, all-unknowing. He sleeps again.
To leave him with the Things that shamble behind our walls terrifies me; to let him continue even one more day within those walls terrifies me even more greatly. I have locked him in. 282Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5LF3TAfqZV
God grant that he should still be there, safe and sleeping, when I return with the buggy?
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Still later282Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡppBnYtIACR
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Stoned me! Stone me like a wild and rabid dog! Monsters and fiends! These, that call themselves men! We are prisoners here----
The dogs have begun to gather.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
