“Come on in. “How did you hear that?” Lucy’s brows knitted. Abruptly she desisted, recoiled, and turned and fled up-stairs. Spurling had retired for the night. “There’s another instinct, too,” he went on, “in a state of suppression, unless I’m very much mistaken; a child-expelling instinct. ” Lucy yanked him into the hidden door to Room 109, a door to the backstage that looked like the entrance to a broom closet. When the bell rang, she lagged behind as was her habit. “Guineas, of course,” Mr.
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