Long, smooth loops of sallow hair fell from Margaret Bean's clean white cap over her cheeks, which looked as if they had been scrubbed and rasped red with tears.

Her own gray hair was strained back out of sight--not to be discovered, even when there was a murder in the house.
"Does he know anybody ?" queried David Hautville.
"Just as well as ever he did." Margaret Bean rubbed a tear dry on her cheek with her starched apron.
"We've got to see him, then." "I dunno as you can--the doctor--" "I don't care anything about the doctor! We've _got_ to _see him!"_ David's voice rang out quite loud in the hush of murder and death which seemed to fill the house.

Margaret Bean stood aside with a scared look.

David Hautville threw open the door on the right, and he and Madelon went in.
Lot Gordon's eyes turned towards them, but not his head.

He lay as still in bed as if he were already dead, and his long body raised the gay patchwork quilt in a stiff ridge like a grave.
Madelon went close to him and bent over him.