The Professor's House
It seemed strange to be dreading Augusta, but just
now he did dread her. He believed he was safe,
for to-night. Though it was only five o’clock, the
sky was black, and the room was dusky and chilly.
He lit the stove and lay down on the couch. The
fire made a flickering pattern of light on the wall. He lay watching it, vacantly; without meaning to, he fell asleep. For a long while he slept deeply and peacefully. Then the wind, increasing in violence, disturbed him. He began to be aware of noises—things banging and slamming about. He turned over on his back and slept deeper still.
When St. Peter at last awoke, the room was pitch-black and full of gas. He was cold and numb, felt sick and rather dazed. The long-anticipated coincidence had happened, he realized. The storm had blown the stove out and the window shut. The thing to do was to get up and open the window. But suppose he did not get up——? How far was a man required to exert himself against accident? How would such a case be decided under English law? He hadn’t lifted his hand against himself—was he required to lift it for himself?
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