The Red Room. The lad hesitated. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. The doctor nodded. Life is so good. Her eyelids fluttered with recognition, and she cried out softly. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms.
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