I think I was at the top of the last flight
when I had a sudden impression of a sharp whisper in my ear '_Take
care_.' I clutched the balusters and naturally looked round at once.
Of course, there was nothing. After a moment I went on--it was no
good turning back--but I had as nearly as possible fallen: a cat--a
large one by the feel of it--slipped between my feet, but again, of
course, I saw nothing. It _may_ have been the kitchen cat, but I do
not think it was.
_Feb. 27_--A curious thing last night, which I should like to forget.
Perhaps if I put it down here I may see it in its true proportion. I
worked in the library from about 9 to 10. The hall and staircase
seemed to be unusually full of what I can only call movement without
sound: by this I mean that there seemed to be continuous going and
coming, and that whenever I ceased writing to listen, or looked out
into the hall, the stillness was absolutely unbroken. Nor, in going
to my room at an earlier hour than usual--about half-past ten--was I
conscious of anything that I could call a noise.
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