“Oh! Laura,” cried Page. “I don’t know her any more these days, she is just like stone⁠—just as though she were crowding down every emotion or any feeling she ever had. She seems to be holding herself in with all her strength⁠—for something⁠—and afraid to let go a finger, for fear she would give way altogether. When she told me about that morning at the Cresslers’ house, her voice was just like ice; she said, ‘ Mr. Cressler has shot himself. I found him dead in his library.’ She never shed a tear, and she spoke, oh, in such a terrible monotone. Oh! dear ,” cried Page, “I wish all this was over, and we could all get away from Chicago, and take Mr. Jadwin with us, and get him back to be as he used to be, always so lighthearted, and thoughtful and kindly. He used to be making jokes from morning till night. Oh, I loved him just as if he were my father.”

They crossed the street, and Landry, taking her by the arm, ushered her into the corridor on the ground floor of the Board.