"I want you," he said: "come this way: take your time, and make
no noise."
My slippers were thin: I could walk the matted floor as softly as
a cat. He glided up the gallery and up the stairs, and stopped in
the dark, low corridor of the fateful third storey: I had followed
and stood at his side.
"Have you a sponge in your room?" he asked in a whisper.