The shaking process had taken them across the tiny hall. They were by the hatstand now. Emily’s oscillating head cannoned against a hat-peg. Her weight became suddenly noticeable. Emily’s hands stopped scrabbling at his wrists⁠ ⁠… her bare feet stopped kicking. Good, she was becoming sensible. Thank God! Cautiously, with a vast relief, Stephen took his hands away. “That’s better,” he said.

And then Emily Gaunt fell heavily against his shirtfront and slithered past him to the floor. Her forehead hit the bottom corner of the hatstand. Her body lay limp, face downwards, and perfectly still.

In the dark hall the sound of snoring was heard.

He knew then that Emily Gaunt was dead. But it was absurd.⁠ ⁠… He turned on the light, groping stupidly in the dark for the switch. His hands were shaking⁠—that was from the gripping, of course. And they were sweating. So was his face.

Kneeling down, he pulled at Emily’s shoulders. He pulled her over on to her back.