(From the pocket journal of Edgar Willard)327Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡB1Jsqvz1hi
Oct. 25, ‘50327Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXJjrPun7vc
327Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1yVjR1uHtI
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?327Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbHyAJjF4nx
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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Later327Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgAbErVDen5
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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. 327Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfD41baNAiS
God grant that he should still be there, safe and sleeping, when I return with the buggy?
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Still later327Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuIUhsKaUr3
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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.
ns216.73.216.37da2
