by Mary Roberts Rinehart and Avery Hopwood, The Bat — IV. The Storm Gathers (1926)
“ A little wind wailed somewhere in that darkness like a beaten child—beyond the hills thunder rumbled, drawing near, and with it lightning and the storm.She made herself sit down in the chair beside her favorite lamp on the center table and take up her knitting with stiff fingers. "Knit two—purl two—" her hands fell into the accustomed rhythm mechanically—a spy, peering in through the French windows, would have deemed her the picture of calm. But she had never felt less calm in all the long years of her life.She wouldn't ring for Lizzie to come and sit with her—she simply wouldn't. ”
