The night before he had gone to bed at five, had risen sleepless at seven, and having dressed and breakfasted had locked himself in his study.

The very last page, he told Doria, was to be written.

He was to come down to us for Christmas, with his novel a finished thing.

At ten o'clock, in accordance with custom, when he began to work early, the maid came to his door with a cup of chicken-broth.
She knocked.

There was no reply.